My wife and I had just gotten married when everything happened. It was actually during our honeymoon that the most incredible—and terrifying—moment of our lives took place. We encountered Bigfoot—or more accurately, multiple Bigfoot.

Looking back on that experience, we nearly lost our passion for the outdoors. An event like that can change your perspective, especially when someone you love might have been in danger.

Here is our story.

Teenagers in Love

I had just turned nineteen, and Chrissy was eighteen. Admittedly, that may sound too young to get married, but we were mature for our age, and we had clear plans for the future. Besides, marriage is a beautiful thing, hard at times, yes, but beautiful.

We met in the sixth grade and became friends immediately. For reasons I still cannot fully explain, our personalities seemed perfectly aligned—like soulmates, perhaps.

By the time we reached high school, our friendship had evolved into a romantic relationship. We started dating when she entered the ninth grade.

From the outset, our relationship was serious—one that we believed would last a lifetime. In fact, our parents seemed to realize it before we did. They assumed, quite accurately, that we would get married after she graduated.

And so, we did.

We planned to attend a local college together. However, after completing my second year, I decided to become a wildland firefighter. Chrissy, on the other hand, wanted to finish her degree and pursue a career with the U.S. Forest Service.

As you can probably tell, we loved our outdoor lifestyle. We had spent much of our youth hiking, camping, and fishing together. Our families got along well and often camped together during the summer months.

Of course, we weren’t permitted to camp alone—just the two of us—until after we were married.

The wedding took place at a relative’s home near Steamboat, along the beautiful North Umpqua River. Interestingly, my cousin, who lived in the area, jokingly warned me that Bigfoot might crash the wedding.

At the time, neither of us believed in Bigfoot. That would change soon—and suddenly.

The wedding was everything we hoped it would be. After the celebrations and farewells, we got into our old Jeep and drove to my parents’ house to pick up our camping gear and supplies. It would be the last time we spent any significant time in that house.

Chrissy and I had secured a loan and planned to move into our new home after returning from our honeymoon. Once we had packed everything, we set out for a secluded location we had carefully selected: Toolbox Meadow.

Choosing the destination had not been easy. We knew we wanted to stay within the Umpqua National Forest—that was non-negotiable. We considered eight different locations, but only one would be our final choice.

We weren’t interested in populated campgrounds. While we had camped at Diamond Lake and Lemolo in the past, this time, we wanted something more remote, a bit more off-grid, I guess you’d say.

Toolbox Meadow lies just far enough from the main highway to feel isolated, especially during that time of year. As we pulled in that early afternoon, it was completely deserted—no cars, no tents, no people but us.

We were entirely alone.

The Toolbox

The meadow was ideal. Although we had talked about visiting it for years, we had never actually been there before.

Lava Creek flowed from what looked like an oversized pond. Surrounding the meadow were hills and mountains blanketed in fir and pine trees. The meadow itself was flat, scenic—almost the archetype of a secluded mountain landscape.

Chrissy began unpacking our food supplies first—she was hungry, and so was I. As she made us lunch, I set up the tent about ten to fifteen feet in front of the Jeep and handled the heavier gear.

After eating, we decided to explore the area, walking around the pond to take in the scenery—just the two of us.

Or so we thought.

Chrissy was the first to notice something unusual. As we reached the far side of the pond, she told me she felt uneasy. When I asked what she meant, she couldn’t quite explain it—only that something felt off.

Concerned, I positioned her between me and the water in case a predator—perhaps a mountain lion—was nearby. I had a pistol with me, so I felt confident we were safe. Still, I never liked seeing Chrissy upset, especially when she was frightened.

We eventually returned to our side of the pond, and she began to relax. As the sun dipped behind the mountains, we made dinner. The scene was breathtaking: Chrissy, my beautiful new bride, eating macaroni and cheese while gazing across the meadow.

We stayed up for a while, drinking hot cocoa and roasting s’mores over the fire, talking about our hopes for the future and the children we someday wanted to raise.

It wasn’t until after midnight that we turned in. Not long after falling asleep, I was awakened by a strange noise. I looked at my watch—it was just after two a.m.

At first, I thought the sound might have come from my dream. But then I heard it again: knock, knock, knock—the sound of wood hitting wood, coming from across the meadow.

As a baseball fan, I found the sound familiar. It reminded me of a bat striking a fastball—loud and sharp, echoing through the surrounding hills. If it had been a baseball, the hit would have gone 425 feet or more.

Chrissy was still fast asleep. Over the years, I would come to learn that it would probably take an explosion to wake her.

Again, I heard it: knock, knock, knock—resonating through the meadow.

I stepped outside the tent and stoked the fire. I had no idea what kind of animal could make a sound like that. Nothing in these woods knocks on trees with pieces of wood—not that I knew of.

Naturally, I was a bit concerned.

I sat up for nearly an hour. Eventually, the sounds ceased. I told myself that maybe a late-arriving camper was collecting firewood.

Still, something about the situation felt wrong. Eventually, I turned in for the night, following a long yawn.

The Hills Have Eyes

During breakfast—instant maple and brown sugar oatmeal—I told Chrissy about the knocking sounds. She found it odd, but suggested that perhaps someone else had arrived late and was camping on the other side of the meadow.

We decided to hike in that direction after breakfast to see if anyone was there. When we reached the far end, there was no sign of anyone—no people, no vehicles.

“That’s strange,” Chrissy said.

Assuming someone had passed through, we continued with our hike. The sky was clear and blue, with only a few clouds scattered like marshmallows overhead.

Eventually, the trail led us uphill into dense forest. The terrain became more challenging, but as experienced hikers, we moved through the switchbacks and thick underbrush that sometimes crowded the trail with ease.

At one particular bend in the trail, we both felt a sudden shift in the atmosphere. I felt as though we were being watched—my neck prickled with tension. Chrissy seemed to sense it too; she stopped walking and looked around.

There was no sound. The birds were silent, and even the cicadas—which had been active earlier—were quite. The only birdsong we could hear came from far below in the meadow.

The forest around us was completely still.

We decided to return to camp. As we headed back, we spoke loudly—intentionally—to alert any nearby wildlife to our presence.

Once we were back in the meadow, we both felt more at ease.

Over lunch, we discussed the hike. We concluded that a mountain lion might have been nearby. The knocking from the night before, however, remained a mystery.

That evening, we took a brief walk into the woods on the opposite side of the meadow. We knew the sun would set soon, so we didn’t plan to go far.

As we entered the treeline, the light faded quickly, and shadows danced across the forest floor. I felt fine, but I noticed Chrissy pausing occasionally.

When I asked what was wrong, she replied quietly, “I don’t think we’re alone, babe.”

I stopped walking—and then it started.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

The same sound as before—wood on wood—this time coming from directly ahead of us. A moment later, another series of knocks echoed from the east.

It was louder now, more frantic—almost like a warning signal. That’s what it felt like to me.

Chrissy squeezed my hand tightly. I could see it in her eyes—she wanted to leave.

Immediately.

Night-Night, Sleep…

I could tell over dinner that Chrissy was still a bit shaken up. I asked her if she wanted to leave, but nothing was going to change her resolve to have a great honeymoon. Not even the strangeness we had experienced thus far.

We finished our dinner, and I stoked the fire. Chrissy turned on the radio, tuning in to a Mariners game. We loved our baseball.

This seemed to have lifted her spirits a lot. She took out the things we needed for S’mores, while I cleaned up the dishes, well, threw the paper plates in the fire, and rinsed off the two pans and utensils.

The night was clear and bright with a nearly full moon. The meadow was almost aglow with its light. This also put Chrissy at ease as we could see just about all of the entire Toolbox Meadow.

We did not stay up late; all that walking and the late night before had us tuckered. It was nearly midnight when I felt Chrissy nudging me on the arm. She kept whispering my name and asking me to sit up.

She had been hearing movement for at least a minute or two before waking me. At first, she thought it was deer moving through, maybe elk. But that was not the case, she said it sounded bipedal, coming from multiple positions.

I sat up and listened. She was right, there seemed to be several animals moving around our camp!

At first, I too thought it might be elk. But this began to sound like something bipedal. The footfall was unmistakable. They moved quickly and seemed to be within 10 to 15 yards of the tent.

Chrissy was getting so scared that she wanted to get in the Jeep. I agreed. If this were people trying to surround us in the middle of nowhere at night, the intentions were not good. I would do anything to protect my wife, anything.

I reached next to me, grabbed my pistol, and opened the tent slowly. The fire was nothing but a flicker of flame, but still, the moon high above lit up everything around us.

I stood there letting my eyes adjust. There, to the left! I saw someone moving. It was a very tall, dark shadow that moved so fast that I started rethinking what this was. It could not be a person; it was simply too fast and far too large to be a person!

I heard movement to my right. Again, another tall, dark shadow darted as swiftly as a storm cloud from one group of trees to another. This time, however, I caught a glimpse of eyeshine. It was a very brilliant red. It seemed, in my mind and spirit, to be menacing.

I whispered to Chrissy to get out of the tent and stay behind me. We would walk to the Jeep and get out of dodge!

We made it to the Jeep. I turned the key in the ignition. Nothing, just clicking sounds came from the vehicle. The battery was dead! The Jeep was old, and although I loved it, I was constantly dumping money into it to keep it running.

I could not get it to turn over. I wanted to start it the old-fashioned way. Where we were parked, however, was flat and rough, and there was no way we could push this thing fast enough to get it started. We’d end up in the pond first.

Chrissy practically screamed. There was more movement, this time even closer to our campsite. The red eyes from every direction could be seen darting from tree to tree. On my side, I could see one figure lean out from a large pine tree, its eyes looking right through us.

“WHAAAAHHAAAAAAA!” came a scream that had us grabbing hold of each other. Then, not a second later, something hit the back of the Jeep, making it rock back and forth.

I had had enough. My wife was tearing up, afraid for her life. I had to get us out of there, I had to make a call. I reached for my flip phone. My heart almost sank. The phone was in the tent next to my pillow.

When you are afraid for your life, it can be paralyzing. But, when you are scared for the ones you love, when you truly understand what Christ said when He said: “Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends,” then you understand where courage really comes from in moments like the one we found ourselves in.

I opened the door, and I do not know what it was, but all fear left me. I held my gun. I held my ground. I walked over to the tent as if it were a normal thing to do. The fear was gone, only resolve to get my phone was what I felt.

I grabbed my phone and barely shuddered at all when the screams came from all around me. As I walked back to the Jeep, I could see my wife, eyes closed, hands clasped, praying.

I walked back to the Jeep, but did not get in. I stood my ground. I called my younger brother, but the signal was too weak to get through. My only thought was to get on the hood of the Jeep and hit send on a text the second I get a bar on that signal.

My wife thought I was going crazy. I could tell in her eyes the worry she had for me at that moment. But what else was I to do to protect her from these, well, monsters?

I hit send. It worked. However, we were still not out of the woods yet, literally.

I finally got in the jeep. My wife would not let go of my hand after that. After a few more minutes, the screaming and hollering ceased. The red eyes seemed to fade back into the forest. We began to breathe normally again.

After about thirty minutes, I decided it would be best to get that fire going again. Something inside me kept telling me to get that fire going and stay close to it.

I had a plan.

Firelight

I knew what we were seeing, what was harassing us. I did not want to believe it, nor did Chrissy when I told her. This was outside our normal context of known animals, specifically predators.

It was Bigfoot. Well, Bigfoots, as there were four that we could count.

So, my plan was simple: push the vehicle up next to the fire as close as possible, using the fire, the Jeep, and the tent as a sort of fence or enclosure around us.

This made Chrissy feel a lot more comfortable. She would sit in the front seat, safe, and keep me and the fire between her and these creatures. So, we put the plan in motion.

It had to be the fact that we were now moving around; either way, these Bigfoots started communicating with one another, again. This time, it was through clicking and short, hollow-sounding whoops. It would come from all around us, but we kept to our plan, no matter how nervous we both were.

The red eyes were back, too. I watched them as they seemed to lean out from behind trees, run from one to another, or stand there, staring at us from between the thickets, and the dark forest.

It was nearly 2 AM when the scariest part of the horror show we found ourselves in would occur.

When these things went silent, that is when they moved around the most or, worse yet, just stared at us. I could tell that they had backed off a bit from the camp with the fire blazing now.

Still, those screams earlier were ear-shattering and hit you like a train. Chrissy kept an eye out the other side of the car. I kept my eye on everywhere else around us.

I could see them running from one position to another. I was not in a position to get a ton of details about what they looked like, as you would expect, but I can recall enough.

As I watched them move, or more like when I noticed them move, the moonlight lit them up with enough backlight to get a sense that these were, in fact, Bigfoot. Their arms were long, but not past the knees. One in particular I was watching seemed to be the Alpha.

I sensed it through its demeanor. This one did not move often or far. When it made its vocalizations, clicks, and whoops, another would answer and move its own position. It almost seemed, well, tactical in nature. Like wolves in a pack, and unfortunately for us, on the hunt.

I could make out its hair; it was long enough to see it blow around in the breeze that came up off the Toolbox Meadow. It was tall, like I said, and it was pitch black, blacker than the night that surrounded it.

Chrissy started calling my name. As the fire cracked, and sparks flew into he night sky, we watched as three of these large Bigfoots slowly walked off into the meadow and into the night after the large one made a whistling sound.

That one, however, still stood there. Like a statue, it didn’t move a hair. While we were still staring into he darkness at a monster of the woods, big enough to tear our Jeep apart, let alone us, we still felt a little less scared with only the one.

The screams and whoops could still be heard, but they came from the far end of the meadow.

Hi, Harry!

Chrissy stayed in the car as I stoked the fire even more. That Bigfoot just stared. It stood there, not twenty yards away behind some tall brush, and next to a tree. It wasn’t trying to hide; that is what had me worried the most!

After about two or three minutes of this sort of stand-off, it finally started making sounds. These sounds, however, were not the sounds of a happy grunting bear. It was a long, low, and deep growl that both of us could feel and hear. It was like standing in front of a giant amplifier with the world’s best bass player jamming away.

Then, it stopped.

Chrissy and I stared back at it. Its eyes still flickered that brilliant red. Then, it moved. It was like an apparition; one moment it stood between the trees, the next it stood in front of them.

The creature looked so big and powerful that if I shot it with my gun, which was now pointed at it, it would only make it angrier than it seemed. It was covered in shaggy, black hair. Its eyes were sunk behind a large browline, and the stature of this thing was incredible!

Then it grunted at us, turned, and in just a few large strides, disappeared back into the treeline. We could hear it crashing up the hillside and chattering. There came answers in the form of those familiar howls from far away.

Oh, Brother!

We stood there for what seemed like another hour. The sun was still not coming up fast enough for us. I kept stoking the fire as Chrissy finally relaxed a little. The feelings of mortal fear subsided slowly.

It was almost 4 AM when we heard our salvation from nearly a mile away. Minutes later, my younger brother turned into our campsite. Chrissy practically collapsed in exhaustion.

Were their intentions to hurt or kill us? I am still not sure about that today. Days later, Chrissy had mentioned that they might have had a nursery nearby, and we were invading their territory and they were protecting it. That was a good possibility, I thought.

My brother gave us a jump, helped us pack up, and followed us out of the meadow that night.

This episode and our experience did not deter us from our love for the outdoors. However, we are much more inclined to camp closer to more populated campgrounds today, even if on the fringes of them.

That is our story, thanks,

Chrissy and Seth.