‘I befriended a Sasquatch’ Woman’s Strange Bigfoot Encounter Story
The Silent Guardian: My Friendship with Sasquatch
Introduction: The Unbelievable Bond
At 73 years old, I can feel the ache in my knees when the weather turns, and my body is a map of the trails I’ve walked over the years. I can’t hike as I used to, and I’ve traded in my rugged outdoor gear for a more comfortable life. But there is one thing I’ve carried with me all these years, one memory that never seems to fade no matter how much time passes or how many years I’ve spent trying to forget.
This isn’t a story about monsters or terror, though it started that way. No, this is the story of a friendship, an impossible bond formed with a creature that defies every piece of logic, biology, and science I’ve known. A creature that I once believed only existed in myths and stories told around campfires, something that shouldn’t be real, but somehow, it was. My name is Eliza Price, and this is my story—one that has haunted me for over 40 years, and one I feel I can finally share before it’s too late.
Chapter 1: The Call of the Wild
It was 1981, and I was 28 years old, fresh out of a small town in Iowa. For the first time in my life, I was living alone in the city, working as a secretary, and leading what some might call a “normal” life. But that normal life never quite satisfied me. It didn’t fill the void that had been growing inside me for as long as I could remember. For me, home was always the wilderness. I had grown up hiking, camping, and exploring the forests with my family. My parents took us camping every summer, but while my siblings complained about the bugs and the lack of television, I fell in love with the wilderness—the quiet of it, the smell of the pine, the way the world seemed to slow down, and the way the forest held its mysteries.
When I moved to the city for work, I felt the pull of the outdoors stronger than ever. I spent every free weekend I could hiking and camping alone. I had honed my survival skills—mapping, navigation, foraging, and the like. It wasn’t recklessness; it was preparation. I loved the challenge, the solitude, and the way nature seemed to speak in its own language, one that I was determined to understand.
It was in October of 1981 when everything changed.
Chapter 2: A Remote Escape
I had been planning a solo hiking trip in the remote hills of northern Iowa. The weather was just starting to change, and the trees were beginning their autumn transformation, painting the landscape in shades of orange, yellow, and red. I had heard about an unmarked trail deep in the woods, the kind of place where only a handful of people ventured every year. There was something about it, something that felt untouched by the noise and chaos of modern life. I was drawn to it, almost as if the forest itself had whispered my name.
I drove to a small access point near a dense patch of woods. The kind of place that barely had a trailhead, but enough of a path worn down by deer and occasional hikers to follow. There was no sign, no clear map. I wanted it that way. I didn’t want to meet anyone out there, didn’t want the hum of human presence. Just me, the trees, and the sky.
By the time I reached the point where I intended to camp for the night, the sky was already turning soft pink and amber. The air was crisp, and the forest felt alive with the sounds of rustling leaves and birds preparing for the coming cold. I had planned to make it to a clearing by sundown, where I could settle and make camp, but something caught my attention. Off the main path, just a few feet into the trees, I saw an unfamiliar trail, barely visible to anyone but a seasoned hiker like myself. Without hesitation, I followed it, intrigued by the idea of discovering something new.
I didn’t know it at the time, but that simple detour would change my life forever.
Chapter 3: The Encounter
The first sign that something was wrong came when I stopped for lunch by a small stream. The forest had fallen quiet. Not just quiet, but unnatural. There were no birds, no insects, no small animals rustling through the underbrush. For someone who had spent most of her life outdoors, this kind of silence was not normal. I didn’t know why, but something in my gut told me that I wasn’t alone.
I tried to shake off the feeling and continued on my journey, but it lingered in the back of my mind. Every step seemed louder than usual. Every crack of a twig, every rustle of the leaves felt too pronounced. I found myself glancing over my shoulder more often than I usually did, scanning the woods with growing unease.
It wasn’t until later in the evening, as the light began to fade, that the true weight of the situation hit me. I had ventured farther than I had originally intended. I was deep in unfamiliar territory, surrounded by dense forest, and the path had long since disappeared. I tried retracing my steps, but the forest seemed to close in around me. That’s when I heard the first noise—a low, guttural growl that seemed to vibrate through the ground.
My heart skipped a beat.
It came again, this time closer. A growl that was unmistakably deep, resonating through the trees with a vibration that felt unnatural. I froze, my breath caught in my throat. I knew there were predators in the woods—bobcats, coyotes, maybe even a bear, but this was something else. This was not a growl of warning, nor a defensive posture. This was something deliberate, something designed to instill fear.
I tried to move, but my legs felt heavy, like they were glued to the forest floor. The sound stopped, and the eerie silence returned, but I didn’t dare move. Then I heard something else—footsteps, heavy and deliberate. Not the quiet padding of a bear, but the kind of purposeful, controlled steps that suggested a creature of intelligence. It was approaching, and it wasn’t hiding. I finally broke into a sprint, heading for the path I had hoped would take me back to camp.
But no matter how fast I ran, I felt like something was keeping pace with me, just out of sight. Something was watching me, following me, and I couldn’t outrun it.
Chapter 4: The Creature Revealed
I managed to reach a small clearing where I could catch my breath, my heart pounding in my chest. My legs were shaking from the exertion and fear. I looked around frantically, scanning the tree line, and then I saw it. At the edge of the clearing, standing just beyond the shadows of the trees, was a figure.
It was massive. Easily 8 feet tall, with broad shoulders and a body covered in thick, dark fur. It stood upright like a man, but its head was not human. It was canine in shape, with pointed ears and a pronounced muzzle that glistened in the fading light. The creature didn’t move at first. It just stood there, watching me.
I felt my heart stop. The air seemed to freeze around me. This was no bear. No wolf. This was something else entirely. It was impossible, but I was seeing it, standing in front of me, just watching.
For what seemed like an eternity, we stared at each other across the clearing. I don’t know what passed between us in that moment. Fear, curiosity, recognition, something I couldn’t name. Then, without a word, the creature turned and disappeared back into the forest, as silently as it had come.
I stood there, rooted to the spot, trembling, unable to process what had just happened. My mind screamed at me to run, to get out of there, but I couldn’t move. Eventually, I managed to force myself to the campsite, where I spent the night in a restless daze, unable to sleep, too frightened to even close my eyes.
Chapter 5: The Truth Revealed
I returned to the forest the next day, determined to understand what I had seen. I couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t just a freak encounter. There had to be something more to this, something deeper. I began researching the area, trying to learn if anyone else had encountered something similar. And that’s when I stumbled upon the stories of the Dogman.
The more I researched, the more I found—reports stretching back decades, across the Midwest and into the Appalachian Mountains. Stories of a creature with the body of a man and the head of a wolf, walking upright, stalking the edges of human settlements. Each account matched what I had seen in the woods, from the size to the behavior, to the way it seemed to watch, to assess, before disappearing back into the trees.
I found one report from a hiker in 1975 who described seeing a creature near the same forest where I had hiked. It stood at the edge of a clearing, just watching, before turning and walking back into the woods. The similarities were undeniable.
The Dogman wasn’t just a myth. It wasn’t a creature of urban legends. It was real, and it was living in the forests of Iowa, Kentucky, Michigan, and beyond.
Conclusion: The Unseen Watchers
I know what I saw that day, and I know that it’s not the last time I’ll encounter something I don’t understand. The Dogman, whatever it is, has been hiding in the forests for centuries, watching us, studying us, and waiting.
As I sit here writing this, I realize that the creature I saw that day is not just part of a forgotten story. It’s still out there, still watching. And maybe that’s the most unsettling part of all: that there are things in the woods, things we can’t see, that have been watching us long before we ever noticed.
I don’t know what it wants. I don’t know if it means us harm, or if it’s just curious. But one thing is for certain: it’s out there, waiting.
And it’s watching.
