Helicopter Pilot Films Bigfoot Family Before Bear Attack, Then He Had to Help – Sasquatch Story

Helicopter Pilot Films Bigfoot Family Before Bear Attack, Then He Had to Help – Sasquatch Story

I’ve been flying helicopters in Alaska long enough to know that the wilderness doesn’t care what you believe. It doesn’t bend for logic, doesn’t pause for disbelief. It simply is. After fifteen years of supply runs, rescue flights, and survey work, I thought I’d learned all its moods. Bears wandering onto runways. Moose swimming across glacial lakes. Eagles flying so close I could see the gold ring in their eyes.

I was wrong.

That realization came on a late June afternoon, sixty miles northwest of Fairbanks, over a lake that doesn’t have a name on any map. It was one of those perfect Alaska days when the sun barely dips, and the whole world glows like it’s been dipped in honey. I was running supplies to a ranger station, flying low—about five hundred feet—following a familiar chain of lakes through dense forest. No roads. No towers. No people. Just the same ancient landscape that’s existed for thousands of years.

As I maneuvered through the trees, something caught my eye. It was a flash of movement, something large and dark moving along the shore of one of the lakes. I instinctively adjusted the helicopter’s course, curious to get a better look. I lowered the altitude, my heart racing with the thrill of the unknown.

When I got closer, I couldn’t believe my eyes. There, gathered at the water’s edge, was a family of Bigfoot. A massive male, a female, and what appeared to be two young ones. They were unlike anything I had ever seen—tall, covered in dark, shaggy hair, and moving with a grace that belied their size. The adults were foraging along the shore, while the younger ones played in the shallows, splashing water at each other and rolling in the mud.

I quickly grabbed my camera, my hands shaking with excitement. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I began filming, capturing the incredible scene unfolding below me. The adults occasionally glanced up, their deep-set eyes scanning the skies, but they seemed more interested in their surroundings than my presence. I felt a rush of exhilaration, knowing I was witnessing something extraordinary.

But then, just as I was about to move in for a closer shot, I heard a low growl echoing through the trees. My heart sank as I turned my attention away from the Bigfoot family. Emerging from the forest was a massive brown bear, its eyes locked onto the young Bigfoot playing near the water. The bear was clearly hungry, and the sight of the small, vulnerable creatures was too tempting to resist.

I knew I had to act quickly. I had seen bears attack before, and there was no way I could let this happen. I radioed in to the ranger station, alerting them to the situation. “This is Pilot McAllister! I’m over a remote lake northwest of Fairbanks. There’s a bear approaching a family of Bigfoot. I need backup!”

As I spoke, I kept my eyes trained on the scene below. The bear was moving closer, and the young Bigfoot were oblivious to the danger. The adults, however, seemed to sense the threat. They stood tall, their bodies tense, and emitted deep, resonating calls that echoed through the wilderness. The growls from the adults were a warning, a plea for their young ones to retreat.

I hovered the helicopter lower, trying to create a distraction. I revved the engine, sending a loud roar through the air. The bear paused, momentarily confused by the noise. It turned its head toward me, giving the Bigfoot family a brief reprieve. I hoped the adults would use this moment to guide the young ones back to safety.

But the bear was relentless. It shook off the distraction and continued its approach. I could see the tension in the adult Bigfoot as they moved protectively closer to their young. The situation was escalating, and I knew I had to do something more drastic.

In a split-second decision, I lowered the helicopter even further, hovering just above the treetops. I activated the spotlight, illuminating the area around the bear. The sudden beam of light startled the creature, and it reared back, growling in confusion. The adults seized the opportunity, grabbing the young ones and retreating into the thick underbrush.

I followed them with the helicopter, keeping the spotlight trained on the bear. It was now agitated, swiping at the air as it tried to figure out the source of the light. The distraction was working, but I had to keep it up until the Bigfoot family was safe.

As the adults led their young deeper into the woods, I felt a surge of hope. They were moving quickly, and I could see the bear losing interest, its focus shifting back to the forest. But just when I thought they were out of danger, the bear charged back toward the lake, driven by instinct and hunger.

I couldn’t let that happen. I pulled the helicopter up and circled around, positioning myself between the bear and the retreating Bigfoot family. I revved the engine again, creating a deafening noise that echoed through the trees. This time, I dropped a small flare, hoping to scare the bear away for good.

The flare ignited in a bright burst of color, illuminating the clearing and startling the bear. It paused, confused and agitated, before finally turning and lumbering back into the woods, its appetite thwarted.

Relief washed over me as I watched the bear disappear into the trees. I quickly scanned the area for the Bigfoot family, hoping they had made it to safety. I spotted them a short distance away, their silhouettes barely visible through the foliage. The adults were standing protectively over the young ones, their bodies tense but still.

I landed the helicopter a few hundred yards away, giving them space. I wanted to make sure they were alright, but I also knew I had to respect their boundaries. I stepped out of the helicopter, my heart pounding, and called out softly, “It’s okay. You’re safe now.”

To my surprise, the adult Bigfoot turned their heads toward me. The large male stepped forward, his eyes narrowing as he assessed me. I could feel the weight of his gaze, a mixture of curiosity and wariness. I held my hands up, palms out, trying to convey that I meant no harm.

For a moment, there was silence. Then, to my astonishment, the male Bigfoot let out a low grunt, a sound that seemed to resonate with understanding. The female joined him, and together they moved closer, inching toward me while keeping their young behind them.

I felt a mix of fear and awe. Here I was, standing face-to-face with a creature that had been the subject of countless myths and legends. I could see the intelligence in their eyes, the protective instincts of a parent, and the wildness that defined their existence.

After a few tense moments, the male Bigfoot finally stepped back, signaling to the family to retreat further into the woods. They disappeared into the trees, leaving me standing there, breathless and shaken. I had intervened in a moment of danger, and somehow, I had earned their respect.

As I flew back to the ranger station, my mind raced with the events of the day. I had witnessed something extraordinary, a glimpse into the life of a family that few had ever seen. The wilderness had revealed its secrets to me, and in doing so, it had reminded me of the delicate balance between man and nature.

That day changed everything for me. I became a guardian of sorts, vowing to protect the wild creatures I encountered. I shared my story with fellow pilots, urging them to respect the wilderness and its inhabitants. The memory of that family of Bigfoot stayed with me, a reminder of the wonders that exist beyond our understanding.

And every time I fly over that nameless lake, I look for signs of them, hoping to catch another glimpse of the extraordinary beings that had once crossed my path. The wilderness may not care what we believe, but it holds truths that can change our lives forever.