SO EP:707 Year In Review

grudges that go back decades. People argue about evidence, People argue about methods. People argue about whether we should even be calling them bigfoot or sasquatch or something else entirely. I've watched researchers tear each other apart online. I've seen friendships dissolve over disagreements about a footprint cast. I've witnessed the heattiness and the ego and the territorial nonsense that plagues this community, just like it plagues every other community

of passionate people. But you know what, none of that matters. At the end of the day, none of it. When someone dies, all that noise fades away, the arguments stopped mattering, the disagreements become irrelevant. What remains is the work. What remains is the contribution. What remains is the mark they left on this subject that we're all so passionate about. Whether you agreed with these men or not, whether you stood in their corner or debated them at every turn,

they left their marks on the subject of Bigfoot. Each one did it differently. Each one brought something unique to the table, and now they're gone. So tonight I want to remember them. I want to honor what they gave us. I want to set aside whatever differences might have existed and simply acknowledged that we've lost some truly important figures. I know people die. I get that it's the natural order of things. People are born, they live their lives,

and eventually they pass on. That's how it works, that's how it's always worked. But knowing that death is inevitable doesn't make it easier when it happens, especially when it happens to people who meant something, people who contributed something, people who spent their lives chasing the same mystery that keeps so many of us.

We lost places too. The Bigfoot Discovery Museum in Felton, California closed its doors after twenty years. Michael Rugg, who opened that little museum back in two thousand and four after seeing a Bigfoot as a child in Humboldt County, finally had to retire. Health issues and financial struggles made it impossible to continue. Twenty years of history, artifacts, footprint casts, and that famous map with all those push pins marking local sidings, all of it gone. That museum was a

pilgrimage site for believers and skeptics alike. People would drive down Highway nine in the Santa Cruz Mountains just to step inside that barn like building and talk to Michael about what he'd seen and learned. He collected over one hundred and fifty local siding reports, He had pieces of the Patterson Gimlin film playing on a loop. He had newspaper clippings going back decades. And now it's closed, another piece of our community's infrastructure simply gone. Then there was

the tragedy in December of twenty twenty four. Two men from Portland, Oregon, ages fifteen thirty seven, went into the Gifford Pinchot National Forest in Scamania County, Washington, looking for sasquatch. They never came home for Christmas. Over sixty volunteers searched for three days, through freezing temperatures, snow, high water levels, and heavily wooded terrain. The Coastguard provided air support. When they finally found those two men, it was too late.

They died from exposure. The weather was brutal and they weren't prepared for it. That hit hard. Those weren't celebrities, they weren't researchers with podcasts or book deals. They were just two guys who believed enough in this mystery to spend their Christmas Eve in the woods looking for answers, and they paid the ultimate price. Scamania County, for those who don't know, has more Bigfoot sightings than almost anywhere

else in the country. They even have a law on the books making it illegal to harm a sasquatch one thousand dollars fine. And yet despite all that history, despite all those sightings, the forest took two believers from us. So when I tell you this year has been heavy.

as the four Horsemen of Sasquatchery. Grover Krantz, Renee de Hendon, John Green, Peter Burn. These were the pioneers, the ones who took bigfoot from campfire story to legitimate subject of inquiry. They didn't always get along with each other, in fact, they often didn't, but together, whether they intended it or not, they built the foundation that everyone who came after them

would stand on. Grover Krantz was a physical anthropologist at Washington State University who risked his academic career to study sasquatch. He was the first serious scientist to devote his professional energies to the subject, starting back in nineteen sixty three. It cost him research grants, it delayed his tenure, His papers were rejected by peer reviewed journals, but he kept going anyway because he believed the evidence warranted scientific attention.

Renee de Hendon was a Swiss born researcher who became one of the most dedicated field investigators in the history of bigfoot research. He spent decades in the Pacific Northwest interviewing witnesses and examining evidence. He was tenacious, he was no nonsense, and he was absolutely relentless in his.

Peter Burne was an explorer and big game hunter who led multiple expeditions in search of the Yeti and the Himalayas before turning his attention to bigfoot in North America. In the nineteen nineties, he founded the Bigfoot Research Project, which received funding of nearly five million dollars from the Academy of Applied Science. He set up a toll free hotline one eight hundred Bigfoot and investigated reports that came in from across the country. These four men didn't just

investigate Bigfoot. They created the infrastructure for investigation. They developed methodologies, They collected in cataloged evidence. They appeared in documentaries and wrote books and gave interviews and kept the subject alive during decades when it would have been easy for it to fade into obscurity. And now they're all gone. Renee died in two thousand and one, Krantz died in two thousand and two. Green died in twenty sixteen. Byrne died

in twenty twenty three, at ninety seven years old. The men we lost in twenty twenty four and twenty twenty five were the next generation. They were the ones who picked up where the four Horsemen left off. They were the ones who carried the torch forward into the twenty first century, and their loss leaves a hole that may

never be filled. When you say the name Jeff Mildrum, people know exactly who you're talking about, even people outside the Bigfoot community, even skeptics who spent their careers trying to debunk everything he stood for. They knew his name, they respected his credentials, and whether they admitted it or not, they took him seriously. That's because doctor Meldrum was different. He wasn't just another enthusiast with a podcast and an opinion. He was a scientist, a real one, A full professor

of anatomy and anthropology at Idaho State University. The man had a PhD in anatomical sciences from Stonybrook University. He understood primate locomotion at a level most of us can't even comprehend, and he chose to focus that expertise on sasquatch. Think about that for a moment. This was a man who could have played it safe. He could have stuck to mainstream research, published papers that nobody would question, and climbed the academic ladder without controversy.

in academic circles. In nineteen ninety three, he joined Idaho State University as a full professor, and for the first few years he did what professors do. He taught human anatomy to graduate students in the health professions programs. He published research on primate locomotive adaptations. He built a reputation as a serious scientist. Then came nineteen ninety six. He was shown a set of fifteen inch footprints in Washington State.

Something clicked, something changed. From that moment forward, he devoted a significant portion of his professional life to studying the evidence for sasquatch. He collected over three hundred footprint casts, three hundred. He analyzed them with the same rigor he'd applied to any scientific study. He looked at dermal ridges. He studied the biomechanics He examined the pressure points and weight distribution. He asked the hard questions that most people

were too afraid to ask. His laboratory at Idaho State University became a repository for sasquatch evidence. He built a collection that's probably the largest and most carefully documented in the world. When other researchers found interesting tracks, they'd send casts to Meldrum for analysis. When witnesses reported encounters, they knew there was a credentialed scientist at a major university who would take them seriously. Meldrum brought forensic techniques to

the study of alleged bigfoot tracks. He looked at the way weight was distributed across the footprint. He examined how the toes spread during locomotion. He studied the depth of impressions at different points and what that revealed about how the creature moved. He was particularly interested in the mid tarsal break, a feature scene in some of the footprint casts that suggests a flexible foot structure different from human feet.

Humans have relatively rigid feet, an adaptation for efficient bipedal walking on flat surfaces. Some of the sasquatch track showed evidence of a mid foot flexibility more like what you'd see in great apes, suggesting an adaptation for walking on uneven forest terrain. His book Sasquatch Legend Meets Science was published in two thousand and six, and it became essential reading for anyone serious about this subject. It wasn't sensationalism,

it wasn't entertainment. It was an honest attempt to bring scientific methodology to a topic that most scientists wouldn't touch with a ten foot poll. The book accompanied a Discovery Channel documentary of the same name, produced by Doug Hicheck. The documentary brought Meldrum's work to a mass audience. People who had dismissed bigfoot as nonsense saw a real scientist examining real evidence and treating the subjects seriously. Did he

take criticism for it absolutely. Some of his colleagues called his work pseudoscience. The Skeptical Inquirer published a detailed critical review anthropology. David Daggling said Meldrum was unable or unwilling to distinguish good research from bad science from pseudoscience. Some critics went further. In two thousand and six, a group of faculty members at Idaho State University petitioned to have his tenure revoked. They argued that his bigfoot research was

damaging the university's reputation. The petition failed, but it showed the professional risk Meldrum was taking. There were also accusations that he had been fooled by hoaxers. Paul Freeman, a forest patrol officer in Washington State, had produced multiple sets of alleged Sasquatch tracks in the Blue Mountains near Walla Walla during the nineteen nineties. Mildrum had examined some of

these tracks and found them convincing. When questions arose about Freeman's credibility, some argued that Meldrum had been taken in. Meldrum defended his analysis. He pointed out specific features of the Freeman tracts that would have been difficult for a hoaxer to fake, and stay tuned for more SaaS Odyssey. We'll be right back after these messages. He acknowledged that some tracks Freeman found might have been faked, while maintaining

that others showed genuine anatomical detail. But Jeff never backed down from his overall position. He believed in what he was doing, and he had the courage to keep doing it despite the professional cost. He edited a scholarly journal called The Relict Hominoid Inquiry, providing a venue for serious academic papers on Sasquatch and related subjects. He traveled the world, from China to Siberia, examining evidence and building connections with

researchers in other countries. In twenty eleven, he attended a conference in Russia about the Siberian Snowman, investigating alleged footprints found in a cave. He appeared in countless documentaries and interviews, always bringing that measured, accessible approach that made complex ideas understandable. He never stopped teaching either. He taught human anatomy to graduate students in the health professions programs. He mentored young researchers.

He gave lectures and presentations. Even as his bigfoot work drew attention and controversy, he remained committed to his primary academic duties. In twenty twenty three, he had a medical emergency while on an Alaska cruise. He had to be evacuated for treatment. He canceled an appearance at a bigfoot conference the week before his death. The end came quickly. Now I want to be honest with you here. I didn't always agree with doctor Meldrum. We had our disagreements.

Anyone who's been around this community long enough knows that disagreements are inevitable. We all have our theories, we all have our methods, we all have our interpretations of the evidence, and sometimes those interpretations don't line up. But here's what I want you to understand. Disagreeing with someone doesn't mean you don't respect them. Disagreeing with someone doesn't mean you don't like them. Disagreeing with someone doesn't mean you can't

recognize the value of their contributions. I disagreed with Jeff on certain points, but I never for one second doubted his integrity. I never questioned his dedication. I never thought he was anything less than a sincere, honest researcher who was trying to get to the truth. And here's what makes this so personal for me. I had the privilege of sitting down with Jeff just a few weeks before he passed, just a few weeks. We had a great conversation.

He was kind, he was generous with his time. He talked about his research with the same passion he'd always had, even as his health was failing. I didn't know it would be our last conversation. I didn't know that brain cancer would take him so quickly. The illness was brief, they said, brief and brutal. He passed on September ninth, twenty twenty five. He was sixty seven years old. His family was at his side in Pocatello, Idaho. His wife,

Lauren said something that stuck with me. She said, he loved teaching and researching Bigfoot, but he was a husband and father, first nine children, six grandchildren, a man with a full life beyond the research. She called him a force of nature. I can't think of a better description. Jeff Mildrum gave our community something precious. He gave us legitimacy. When a skeptic dismissed Bigfoot research as nonsense, we could point to doctor Meldrum and say, here's a credentialed scientist

who disagrees with you. Here's someone who's actually examined the evidence. Here's a full professor at a major university who thinks this subject deserves serious attention. He picked up where Grover Krantz left off. He continued the tradition of academic rigor in a field that desperately needed it. And now he's gone, leaving behind his collection of over three hundred foot print casts, his published works, his students, and a legacy that will

influence Sasquatch research for generations to come. Henry Franzoni passed away in August of five, twenty twenty four, so technically he falls just outside of twenty twenty five, but I felt compelled to include him here. I had to include him here because Henry's contribution to this community deserves recognition. If Jeff Meldrum brought scientific credibility to bigfoot research, Henry Franzoni

brought something equally important. He brought the Internet back. In nineteen ninety three, Henry created the first bigfoot website on the World Wide Web, the first one let that sync in. Before social media, before YouTube, before podcasts, before any of the tools we take for granted today. Henry Franzoni looked at this new technology called the Internet and said, this is how we connect, This is how we share information,

this is how we build a community. He also created the first online bigfoot discussion group, the Internet Virtual Bigfoot Conference. He called it the IVBC. From that foundation grew pretty much every Bigfoot Organization and website you see today, the BFRO, the forums, the Facebook groups. All of it traces back in some way to what Henry started. He was a pioneer,

a real one. He understood before most people that the Internet would change how we shared information, how we connected with witnesses, how we built a community around this shared interest. Think about what the world of Bigfoot research looked like before Henry's work. If you wanted to learn about Sasquatch, you had to find books at the library, if they even had any. You had to track down researchers through word of mouth. You had to travel to conferences or conventions.

Information was scattered and hard to access. The Internet changed everything. Suddenly, researchers in Washington could communicate instantly with researchers in Florida. Witness reports could be shared and discussed in real time. Archives of sightings could be built and searched. The isolation that had plagued Bigfoot research for decad aids began to dissolve. Nineteen ninety three was before most people even knew what the World Wide Web was. The first web browser, Mosaic,

had only been released that year. Very few people had Internet access at home, and yet Henry was already building Bigfoot infrastructure online. The Internet Virtual Bigfoot Conference he created became a gathering place for researchers around the world. It was a precursor to the forums and social media groups we have today. People could ask questions, share evidence, debate theories. A community began to form. From that foundation came the

organizations we know today. Matt Moneymaker founded the Bigfoot Field Researchers Organization in nineteen ninety five, just two years after Henry's online work began. The BFRO built on the model of online community that Henry had pioneered. Other organizations followed. The infrastructure Henry created became the template for how Bigfoot research would operate in the digital age. Henry was born in Paris, France, though he was raised in glen Ridge,

New Jersey. His father served in the army during the Korean War and was sent to Paris as a French interpreter at NATO's Shape headquarters. That's where Henry was born. Eventually, the family moved back to the States, and Henry ended up settling in the Pacific Northwest, where he lived for nearly fifty years. His scientific training was rigorous. He built a career as a fishery scientist, working with Native American tribes on salmon management and conservation. He understood data, he

understood methodology. He brought that scientific mindset to bigfoot research, even as he explored more unconventional approaches. He worked with some of the biggest names in bigfoot research. He was on the board of advisors for Peter Burn's Bigfoot Research project alongside Ron Moorhead. That project spent nearly five million dollars investigating Bigfoot during its run from nineteen ninety three

to nineteen ninety eight. Five million dollars. That serious money, that serious research, and Henry was right there in the middle of it. Peter Burn was a legend in his own right, a big game hunter turned conservationist who had led expeditions in search of the Yetti in Nepal and the Bigfoot in North America.

nineteen ninety eight. He appeared in documentaries like Drumming for Bigfoot in nineteen ninety seven, where he famously played drums in an attempt to communicate with Sasquatch. It was unconventional, certainly, but Henry believed that the creatures might respond to rhythmic sounds, that drumming might be a way to attract their attention or establish contact. He appeared in Sasquatch Odyssey in nineteen ninety nine, the documentary that profiled the four Horsemen of Sasquatchery.

More recently, he was in A Flash of Beauty Bigfoot revealed in twenty twenty two. He was interviewed countless times over the years by podcasters and journalists and documentary filmmakers, and then for twenty three years Henry went quiet. He stepped away from public Bigfoot research and built a career as a fishery scientist working with Native American tribes. Twenty three years of silence on the subject that had defined so much of his life. Why did he leave. That's

a question many people asked over the years. Henry never fully explained it. Maybe he got burned out. Maybe the controversies and conflicts within the community wore him down. Maybe he simply needed to focus on his career and his personal life. The reasons were his own, but he came back. In his final years, Henry started talking about Sasquatch again. He appeared on podcasts, including mine. He gave interviews, He reconnected with old colleagues and made new connections with younger researchers.

He appeared in the documentary A Flash of Beauty Bigfoot, revealed in twenty twenty two. In January of twenty twenty four, he attended Squatch Fest in Kelso, Washington with Tim and Dana Hallerin. He was out there, engaged, part of the community again, and then he wrote a book. And that book, let me tell you about that book. Henry called it Failing in a Cooler Way, Why I Never Found Bigfoot. Listen to that title again. Let it sink in. Failing in a cooler way, Why I Never found Bigfoot? There's

something profound in that title. There's something that tells you everything you need to know about who Henry was as a person. He was humble, genuinely humble. In a field full of people claiming to have all the answers, claiming to have definitive proof, claiming to know exactly what Sasquatch is and where to find them. Here was a man who admitted he often failed more than he succeeded. That takes courage, that takes intellectual honesty, That takes the kind

of character that's increasingly rare in this world. I got to interview Henry about a year before he passed. We had a wonderful conversation. He talked about his early days in the Pacific Northwest. He talked about his first encounter near Scukum Lake in Clacamus County, Oregon, back in ninety three, when he and his wife went camping and experienced something they couldn't explain. According to old Indian legend, Skukum Lake

was inhabited by a powerful mystical entity. Henry and his wife experienced a series of inexplicable events during their stay that led Henry to believe they had encountered a Sasquatch. He shared his theories, he shared his doubts. He was open in a way that many researchers aren't now. Like I said about doctor Meldrum, I didn't always agree with Henry either. We had our differences of opinion. That's just

the nature of this field. When you have passionate people investigating a mystery with no definitive answers, you're going to have disagreements. But disagreements don't mean dislike. Disagreements don't mean disrespect. I disagreed with Henry on certain points, but that didn't make me like him any less. It didn't make me value his contributions any less. After that interview, Henry did something that meant the world to me. He sent me

a copy of his book. That copy of Failing in a Cooler Way sits on my shelf today, and I've cherished it.

Cliff Barackman and Bobo fet from Finding Bigfoot dedicated a classic episode of their podcast to him after he passed. They talked about how he encouraged other researchers, how he stayed above the fray when things got contentious, how he supported people even when he disagreed with them. That was Henry, a pioneer, a truth seeker, and above all, a genuinely good human being. And here's something that struck me when I learned of his death. August twenty second is a

significant date in cryptozoology. Bernard Hoevelman's the father of modern cryptozoology, died on August twenty second, two thousand and one. Peter Burne, the Yetti and Bigfoot hunter, was born on August twenty second, nineteen twenty five, and now Henry Franzoni passed on August twenty second, twenty twenty four. Maybe it's just coincidence, maybe it means nothing, But in a field where we're always looking for patterns, always trying to find meaning in the unexplained,

it's hard not to notice. If you've ever been to Willow Creek, California, you know about Bigfoot books. And if you know about Bigfoot books, you know about Stephen Streufurd. Stephen was an institution, not just a researcher, not just a bookseller, an institution. He'd been selling rare and unusual books in Bigfoot country since the early nineties. His little shop on Highway to ninety nine became a pilgrimage site for anyone serious about this subject. You went to Willow Creek,

you stopped at Bigfoot Books, you talked to Stephen. Willow Creek itself is the self proclaimed Bigfoot capital of the world. It's where the modern Bigfoot phenomenon really began with those tracks found by logging crews at Bluff Creek back in nineteen fifty eight. The town has embraced its reputation and stay tuned for more sasquatch ott to see. We'll be right back after these messages. There's a Bigfoot statue downtown, there's a Bigfoot museum, and for more than two decades

there was Bigfoot books. Stephen had been a professional bookman since nineteen ninety two, selling online since nineteen ninety nine. He had moved to Willow Creek in two thousand and one, and he quickly became one of the most knowledgeable people in the community when it came to the history and lore of Bigfoot in that region. But Stephen was more than a merchant. He was a historian, a scholar of

Bigfoot history in the truest sense. He knew the stories, he knew the players, he knew the timeline of how this phenomenon evolved from local legend to international sensation. And then there was the Bluff Creek Project. For those who don't know, Bluff Creek is where Roger Patterson and Bob Gimlin shot their famous film on October twentieth, nineteen sixty seven. That footage of a large, bipedal, hair covered figure walking

along a sandbar changed everything. It's the most analyzed, most debated piece of evidence in the history of this subject. By the nineteen nineties, the exact location had been lost, Nature reclaimed it. The sandbar changed, the vegetation grew back, the flood of sixty four had transformed the landscape. Nobody could agree on precisely where Patterson and Gimlin had been standing when they captured that footage. Stephen and his colleagues set out to find it. The Bluff Creek Project became

their mission. They poured over old photographs, They studied the original film frame by frame. They interviewed people who'd been there in the sixties. They consulted with geologists. They hiked into that remote canyon over and over again, comparing landmarks to frames from the original film. It was painstaking work. They had to scarred many cherish theories and bits of wisdom that had built up over the decades. Old timers had different memories of where the film was shot. Maps

from the sixties were imprecise. Nature had transformed the landscape. The flood of nineteen sixty four had changed the creek bed dramatically. Vegetation had grown up where there had once been open sandbar. Trees that were saplings in sixty seven were now mature. Some of the landmarks visible in the original film had rotted away or been buried by debris,

but they kept at it. The members of the group lived nearby, so they had a unique opportunity to conduct local historical studies on site and to explore the whole watershed intimately. Week after week, month after month, they hiked into that remote canyon, comparing what they saw to photographs from the archives. They studied the original film frame by frame. They looked for specific trees, specific stumps, specific rock formations. The exam photographs taken by Renee de Hendon when he

visited the site in the years after the filming. They consulted geological surveys. They did everything they could to triangulate the exact position, and in twenty eleven they found it. The breakthrough came when they identified certain stumps that were still visible barely above the accumulated vegetation and debris. The angle matched, the distances matched. A geologist friend did trigonometric calculations and confirmed that this was, mathematically speaking, the spot

where Patterson had stood when he filmed. Miraculously, some of the stumps and logs from the original footage were still there.

It's dense and technical, full of maps and photographs and appendices. Not light reading, but it's thorough, it's rigorous, and it stands as a permanent record of one of the most important pieces of research in the history of Sasquatch studies. Think about what that accomplishment means. For decades, researchers debated where exactly the Patterson Gimlin film was shot. Different people had different theories. Some thought the site was gone forever,

destroyed by floods and logging. Without knowing the exact location, analysis of the film was limited. Now we know, thanks to Stephen Stroyford and his colleagues, we know exactly where Roger Patterson and Bob Gimlin stood on October twentieth, nineteen sixty seven. We can go there, We can stand in the same spot. We can compare what we see to what they filmed. That opens up new avenues of research. We can analyze the proportions of the figure in the

film against known distances in the landscape. We can study how the site has changed over time. We can look for other evidence that might have been overlooked. The Bluff Creek Project also set up trail cameras in the area, hoping to capture footage of any Sasquatch that might return. In the process, they documented rare wildlife, including footage of the endangered Humboldt Martin. Whether or not they ever photograph a Bigfoot, they've contributed to our understanding of that remote ecosystem.

That's a legacy, that's something concrete and valuable that will outlast all of us. Whether you think the Patterson Gimlin film shows a real Sasquatch or a man in a suit. The rediscovery of that film site was a major accomplishment. Its genuine historical preservation, done by dedicated volunteers who spent years in difficult terrain. Stephen Stroyford was a key part

of that team. His knowledge of local history, his network of contacts in the Bigfoot community, his bookstore that served as an informal headquarters for researchers passing through the area, all of it contributed to the project's success and beyond the Bluff Creek Project. Stephen was simply a wealth of knowledge. He'd read everything he knew. The history of every major case,

every researcher, every controversy. If you wanted to know something about the history of bigfoot in northern California, Stephen was the person to ask, Here's something else about Stephen. He was a skeptic, not a debunker, but a genuine skeptic. He approached claims with critical thinking. He didn't believe everything he heard. He demanded evidence, He asked hard questions, and

yet he remained open, He remained curious. He dedicated his life to this subject while maintaining the intellectual honesty to admit he didn't have all the answers. Now, I have to be honest here too. Stephen and I didn't always get along. We had some rather public disagreements in his Facebook group. If you were around back then, you probably saw some of them. We went back and forth on various topics. We argued, we debated. Sometimes it got heated.

But here's the thing. That's what this is all about. That's what a community of researchers should look like. We can all have our opinions and still show mutual respect for one another. We can disagree passionately about the evidence, about the methods, about the theories, and still treat each other with dignity. Stephen understood that even when we were going at it in those Facebook threads, there was never

any real animosity. It was just two people with strong opinions trying to figure out the truth, and at the end of the day, we both wanted the same thing. We both wanted answers. In September of twenty twenty three, Stephen nearly died a fire broke out at Bigfoot Books on September first. Was a Type one diabetic, and he had passed out from low blood sugar shortly before the fire began. He was awoken by the flames, managed to make it to the front porch, and then lost consciousness again.

He was sitting there, unconscious on the front porch, with smoke billowing out the windows and flames encroaching when a California Highway Patrol officer happened to spot the smoke from the highway. That officer dragged Stephen from the porch to safety. He was loaded onto an ambulance and taken to mad River Community Hospital in Arcada. If that CHP officer hadn't been driving by at that exact moment, Stephen would have died in that fire. As it was, he lost everything.

The store was a total loss. He'd been living in the building for about a month, so his personal possessions were destroyed too, Decades of accumulated books and research materials all gone. To make matters worse, Stephen had canceled his insurance due to financial struggles. The bookstore had been hit by online shopping, the pandemic, and a decline in the local economy. It simply wasn't financially viable anymore. Stephen described

going back to salvage what he could. He called it completely disturbing to see his whole life in ruins, burned up, covered in ash, saturated in fireman's hose water, just totally destroyed. But the Bigfoot community rallied around him. People who disagreed with him online, people who'd argued with him in forums. They all put that aside and helped a friend set up a GoFundMe. Another friend paid for two months in

a room in Eureka so Stephen wouldn't be homeless. Cliff Barrockman from Finding Bigfoot, posted about it on social media and encouraged people to donate. I, along with many from our community, donated because that's what you do when someone in your community needs you. You set aside the disagreements, You set aside the debates.

handheld devices. DNA analysis has become more sophisticated and more accessible. Anyone with a smartphone can document an encounter in high definition video.

from serious investigative shows to entertainment focused programs. YouTube channels attract millions of views. TikTok has brought Bigfoot content to a whole new generation. The cultural fascination with Bigfoot shows no signs of fading. Television continues to cover the subject. Finding Bigfoot ran for eleven seasons on Animal Planet from twenty eleven to twenty eighteen, investigating reports across the country. New documentary programs continue to be produced. Streaming services have

added Bigfoot content to their libraries. But the old guard is dying. The pioneers are gone, the institutions are closing, and the losses of twenty twenty four and twenty twenty five have accelerated that transition. When Grover Krantz died in two thousand and two. Jeff Meldrum was there to carry on the tradition of academic rigor. When John Green died in twenty sixteen, others had already digitized his database and continued his cataloging work. But who picks up the mantle

now that Meldrum is gone. Who continues Henry Franzoni's work of building online communities. Who preserves the historical knowledge that Stephen Streyford accumulated over decades. These aren't rhetorical questions, They are challenges that our community needs to face. Doctor John Bendernagel, the Canadian wildlife biologist who wrote North America's great ape, the Sasquatch, died in twenty eighteen. He was another credentialed

scientist who took the subject seriously. Gone, the circle of academically trained researchers who are willing to publicly associate themselves with bigfoot research grow smaller every year. The stigma remains. Young scientists are warned away from the topic. Those who pursue it risk their careers, just as Grover Krantz did

decades ago. And then there are the setbacks that have nothing to do with death, the DNA studies that keep coming back with disappointing results, the hair samples that turn out to be from known animals, The hoaxes that damage credibility, the infighting that fractures organizations. In twenty fourteen, Brian Sykes at Oxford published the first peer reviewed genetic analysis of

alleged Bigfoot hair samples. Out of thirty seven samples tested, all were identified as known animals bears, horses, dogs, cows. Not a single one was from an unknown primate. That study didn't prove Bigfoot doesn't exist, but it did demonstrate how many supposed pieces of evidence turn out to be misidentifications. It showed how easy it is to fool yourself when you want to believe. There was also the Melbuqtchum controversy.

In twenty twelve and twenty thirteen, veterinarian Melbokechum claimed to have conducted DNA analysis proving that Sasquatch is a hybrid species the result of human females mating with an unknown primate around fifteen thousand years ago. She spent years and reportedly half a million dollars on the study. The scientific community rejected her findings. Todd Dissattel, a professor of anthropology at New York University, called it complete junk science. The

paper was never accepted by a peer reviewed journal. Ketchum ended up self publishing it in a journal she created herself. Whether Ketchum's work was legitimate science that was unfairly rejected, or flawed research that didn't meet scientific standards, the controversy damaged the credibility of DNA based bigfoot research for years, and yet the sightings continue and stay tuned for more Sasquatch odyssey. We'll be right back after these messages. People

who have no reason to lie, keep reporting encounters. Witnesses with nothing to gain, keep coming forward. The phenomenon persists, even as the explanations remain elusive. That's the paradox of sasquatch research. There's too much smoke for there to be no fire at all, but the fire itself remains stubbornly invisible. The BFRO continues to host expeditions where members and the

public can join investigators in the field. The North American Wood Ape Conservancy conducts research in Area X. The Olympic Project focuses on the Pacific Northwest, various state and regional organizations continue their work. Technology continues to advance. In twenty twenty four, researchers used AI to analyze reported Bigfoot vocalizations, trying to identify patterns that might distinguish them from known animal calls. Others have experimented with environmental DNA analysis, testing

soil and water samples for trace genetic evidence. Camera trap technology keeps improving with higher resolution and better night vision, but we're still waiting for the breakthrough. We're still waiting for the clear, unambiguous video, the physical specimen, the DNA that can't be explained away, the proof. Maybe it will come. Maybe someone hearing this will be the one who finds it. Maybe the next generation of researchers, armed with tools we

can't imagine, will finally solve the mystery. Or maybe the mystery will remain unsolved. Maybe Bigfoot will continue to dance just beyond the edge of verification, seen by thousands but proven by none. Maybe that's the nature of some mysteries. I want to be fair here.

The researchers found that the locations of reported sighting matched almost perfectly with the habitat of the American black bear. They concluded that most bigfoot sightings are probably misidentifications of bears, particularly when bears stand upright. These are serious objections. They deserve serious consideration. But here's the thing. None of them prove Bigfoot doesn't exist. They prove that we don't have definitive evidence that it does exist. Those are two different things.

The absence of evidence is not the evidence of absence. Just because we haven't found a body doesn't mean there's no body to find. The forests of North America are vast millions of acres of wilderness where humans rarely set foot. Bodies decompose quickly in the wild, scavengers consume them, Nature recycles everything. The hair sample studies prove that many samples submitted as Bigfoot evidence were misidentified. They don't prove that

all samples are misidentifications. They don't prove that somewhere out there there isn't hair from an unknown primate waiting to be found. The hoaxes proved that some people have faked evidence. They don't prove that all evidence is faked. Ray Wallace might have carved wooden feet to make some tracks, but that doesn't explain the thousands of other tracks found by

thousands of other people across the entire continent. And the ecological niche modeling proves that bigfoot sidings correlate with black bear habitat, but black bears and bigfoot could share habitat, they could both prefer the same environments. Correlation is not causation. Doctor Meldrum understood this. He spent his career carefully distinguishing between good evidence and bad evidence, between credible sightings and

obvious hoaxes. He didn't accept everything at face value. He applied rigorous methodology to separate the wheat from the chaff. That's what real science looks like, not blind belief, not dismissive skepticism, but careful, methodical examination of the evidence with an open mind and high standards. I've interviewed close to

one thousand people over years of research. A thousand people who claimed to have seen something they couldn't explain, something large and bipedal and covered in hair, something that shouldn't exist but appeared to them.

they'd ever seen before. I've talked to law enforcement officers trained to observe and report accurately. They saw something that defied explanation. I've talked to forest rangers and biologists and people who have no reason to make things up. Their stories share common elements. The size, the bipedal locomotion, the way it moved through the woods with a grace and speed that seemed impossible for something so large. The smell, often described as overwhelming, like a wet dog mixed with

something worse. The eyes that seem to reflect light in the darkness. Not everyone who claims to see Bigfoot is telling the truth. Some people misidentify bears, some people hoax, some people have experiences that are more psychological than physical. But a thousand people, ten thousand people across North America, hundreds of thousands of reported sightings over decades. At some point you have to wonder, if there's nothing out there, where are all these stories coming from? Why do they

share so many common elements. Why do people who've never met each other, who live in different states and have no connection to each other describe the same thing. I don't know the answer. Nobody does. But the witnesses deserve to be heard. Their experiences deserved to be documented. Their stories deserve to be taken seriously, even if we can't explain them. That's what doctor Meldrum did. That's what Henry

Franzoni did. That's what Stephen Streyfert did. They listened, they documented, They took the witnesses seriously, even when the rest of the world laughed. What can we learn from the lives of doctor Jeff Mildrum, Henry Franzoni, and Steven Streyfert. I've thought about this a lot since learning of each of their deaths. What wisdom can we extract from their experiences? What should we carry forward? I think the first lesson is the importance of bringing your unique skills to the table.

Mildrim brought academic credentials and scientific methodology. He could analyze footprints with an anatomist's eye. He could publish in scholarly venues. He could speak the language of academia, Frienzoni brought technological innovation and community building. He understood how to connect people, how to create infrastructure, how to build something lasting in the digital world. Stroyford brought historical knowledge and critical thinking.

He knew the stories, the players, the timeline. He could separate fact from legend. Each one contributed something different, Each one filled a role that no one else could fill. The lesson for us is to figure out what our unique contribution can be. What skills do you have that could advance sasquatch research? What perspective do you bring that others might not. The second lesson is persistence. These men didn't study Bigfoot for a few months and then move on.

They dedicated decades of their lives to the pursuit. Through ridicule, through setbacks, through personal costs, they kept going because they believed the question was worth asking. Mildrim faced professional consequences for his Bigfoot work. His colleagues tried to revoke his tenure. Grant agencies declined to fund him, peer reviewed journals rejected his papers. He kept going any way. Frienzoni spent nearly five million dollars through the Bigfoot research project and still

didn't find definitive proof. He took a twenty three year break from the field, but he came back. He kept going. Stroyford lost everything in a fire, his business, his possessions, his research materials. He'd been struggling financially even before the fire. Life knocked him down repeatedly, but he never abandoned his interest in the subject. Persistence matters. The mystery hasn't been solved yet. That doesn't mean it can't be solved. It means we have to keep trying. The third lesson is

intellectual honesty. None of these men claimed to have all the answers. Meldrum always emphasized the need for more evidence. He acknowledged when tracks looked suspicious. He didn't endorse everything that was presented to him. Frienzoni wrote a whole book about his failures. The title alone tells you everything you need to know about his approach. Woifford maintained his skepticism even while spending his life in the heart of Bigfoot country.

He demanded evidence, He asked hard questions. They approached the subject with open minds, but demanded rigor. They were willing to believe, but not willing to believe without reason. The fourth lesson is the value of community. Even when they disagreed with each other, even when they argued and debated and went back and forth, they were all part of the same community. They supported each other when it mattered. They recognized that the pursuit of truth was bigger than

any individual ego. When Stephen's bookstore burned down, the community rallied. People who had argued with him online, sent money to help him get back on his feet. That's what community looks like. That's what we should aspire to be. When

Jeff Mildram died, even his critics acknowledged his contributions. Benjamin Radford at the Center for Inquiry wrote a tribute noting that while he disagreed with many of Meldrum's conclusions, he respected his will, willingness to engage, and found him sincere, knowledgeable, and funny. That's how you treat people in your community, even when you disagree. And the fifth lesson, perhaps the most important one, is that life is short. Meldrum was

sixty seven, Frienzoni was sixty seven. Neither of them lived to see seventy. The illness that took Meldrum was brief. The silence that took. Franzoni lasted twenty three years before he returned, only to have a few more years before the end. None of us knows how much time we have. None of us knows when our own chapter will end. All we can do is make the most of the time we're given. All we can do is contribute what

we can while we can. Don't wait, don't put off the research you want to do, don't postpone the connections you want to make. Don't assume you'll have time later to pursue your curiosity. These three men used their time well. They contributed, They built things that lasted. When they died, they left behind legacies that will influence Sasquat's research for generations. That's the goal. That's what we should all aspire to. When our time comes, what will we leave behind? So

where does that leave us? It leaves us with a responsibility, That's where it leaves us.

gave us credibility. He gave us academic rigor. He showed that serious people could take this question seriously without abandoning their intellectual standards. Henry Fraenzone connected us all through technology. He built the online infrastructure that we still used today, and he showed us how to fail with grace, how to acknowledge our limitations while continuing to pursue our curiosities.

Stephen Stroyford preserved our history. He maintained the institutional memory of where this phenomenon came from and how it developed. He located the very spot where the most famous piece of bigfoot evidence was captured, and he taught us to think critically even while remaining open to possibilities. Each one of them made this community better than they found it.

The infighting doesn't matter. The bickering doesn't matter. The petty arguments over evidence and methodology and who said what about whom? On Facebook? None of it matters. What matters is the work. What matters is the pursuit. What matters is whether we're moving closer to the truth or just spinning our wheels. We owe it to these men to keep going. We owe it to them to do better, to be more rigorous, to be more humble, to support each other instead of

tearing each other down. I know Bigfoot exists. I've seen one with my own eyes from just ten feet away. After almost forty years of research, after interviewing close to a thousand witnesses, I can now say that for certain. But I know the question. For many of you, it's still worth asking. I know the mystery is worth pursuing. Doctor Meldrum knew it too. Henry knew it. Stephen knew it. They're gone now, but their work remains, Their contributions remain.

The foundations they built remain. It's up to us to build on those foundations. It's up to us to honor their memory by continuing the search, not with ego, not with pettiness, but with the same dedication and intellectual honesty that they showed us. Some people will mock us, some people will dismiss us. Some people will never take this subject seriously. No matter how much evidence accumulates. That's fine. Let them mock, let them dismiss. We're not doing this

for them. Stay tuned for more sasquatch oat to see. We'll be right back after these messages. We're doing this because we saw something in the woods that we couldn't explain. We're doing this because someone we trust told us a story that didn't make sense. We're doing this because there's a mystery out there that refuses to be solved, and we're not the kind of people who can just walk away from a mystery. Doctor Mildrim didn't walk away. Henry

Franzoni didn't walk away. Stephen streiferd didn't walk away.

and they never came home. They died from exposure. The Sheriff's office said they were ill prepared for the conditions. This is serious, This is life and death. The forest where Bigfoot is most often reported are dangerous places. The Pacific Northwest, the Appalachian Mountains, the swamps of Florida, the wilderness areas of the Rocky Mountains. These are beautiful places, but they can kill you if you're not prepared. Hypothermia

can set in faster than you think. One wrong turn can leave you miles from your vehicle with no way to navigate back. Cell phones don't work in most wilderness areas. Weather can change in an instant. What starts as a pleasant height can become a survival situation in a matter of hours. If you're going to go looking for sasquatch, please do it safely. Tell someone where you're going and when you expect to be back. Bring proper gear for

the conditions. Carry fire making materials. Bring more food and water than you think you need. Know how to use a map and compass. Consider carrying a satellite communicator like an inReach device that works where cell phones don't and know your limits. If the weather turns bad, turn back, if you're getting tired, stop if something feels wrong. Trust your instincts. No piece of evidence is worth your life, No sighting is worth dying for. Bigfoot will still be

out there tomorrow. You might not be if you make a stupid decision today. The sheriff in Scamania County said it best. These volunteers sacrifice time away from their families during Christmas to search for those men. They fought through freezing temperatures, snow, high water levels, heavy rain. They did everything they could, and they still didn't reach those men in time. Don't put your family through that, don't put search through that. Be smart, be prepared, come home. I've

been at this for almost forty years now. I had my own encounter back in the mid nineteen eighties in the North Georgia Mountains where I grew up. I was just a kid. I experienced something that I couldn't explain then and I still can't explain it now. That experience shaped my life. It led me down this path. It's why I'm here today talking to you about researchers who died pursuing the same mystery that's haunted me since childhood. I've made a lot of friends in this community over

the years. I've made some enemies too. I've had great conversations and heated arguments. I've been praised and criticized. I've been proven right sometimes and proven wrong other times. That's life, That's what happens when you're part of a community of passionate people who care deeply about something. But here's what I've learned in all those years. The disagreements don't matter as much as we think they do. The arguments fade,

the grudges see petty in hindsight. What matters is the relationships. What matters is the shared pursuit. What matters is treating people with respect, even when you think they're wrong. Doctor Meldrum and I didn't agree on everything, but I respected him, I valued his contributions, and when I sat down with him a few weeks before he died, none of our disagreements mattered.

fellow traveler on this strange journey. He was someone who cared about the truth as much as I do. Three of them are gone now, and I find myself thinking about the conversations we had, the arguments we didn't resolve, the things I wished i'd said differently. That's the lesson I think. Be kind to each other. While you can say what you mean, mean what you say. Don't let pride get in the way of connection, because someday, sooner than you think, one of you won't be around anymore,

and all those arguments will seem so small. If you're young and just getting into Bigfoot research, I have a message for you. You're standing on the shoulders of giants. Doctor Meldrum, Henry Franzoni, Steven Streyfert, Grover Krantz, Renee de Hendon, John Green, Peter Burne, countless others who came before you and paved the way. Learn from them. Read their books, watch their interviews, study their methodologies. Understand their mistakes as well as their successes.

But don't just copy them. Bring something new to the table. You have tools. They never had technology. They couldn't imagine access to information. They had to spend years compiling by hand. Use those tools wisely, apply rigorous methodology, Be skeptical without being dismissive, Be open without being gullible. Question everything, including your own assumptions. And when you find evidence, document it properly. Don't just post a blurry photo on Facebook and call

it proof. Take measurements, note the conditions, preserve the chain of custody. Make your evidence as bulletproof as possible, because someday someone might actually find definitive proof. Someday someone might capture clear video or recover physical evidence that can be tested and verified, And when that day comes, it needs to be done right. The men we lost this year did the best they could with the tools and knowledge they had. They made mistakes, they weren't perfect, but they

moved the field forward. They built something. It's up to you to build on.

died in the woods on Christmas Eve. But we didn't lose everything. We didn't lose the mystery itself. It's still out there waiting to be solved. We didn't lose the thousands of witnesses who've had experiences they can't explain. We didn't lose the footprint cast that doctor Meldrum collected, now preserved for future study. We didn't lose Henry Frazoni's book, his Record of Failure and Perseverance and humble per suit of Truth. We didn't lose the documentation of the Patterson

Gimlin film site that Stephen and his colleagues created. We didn't lose each other, and to everyone listening, take care of each other. Life is short, the mystery is vast, and we're all in this together. Hug your loved ones, Tell people what they mean to you while you still can. Don't let disagreements fester into bitterness. Remember that at the end of the day, we're all just humans trying to

make sense of an inexplicable world. The men we lost this year understood that they lived it, and now they're gone. But as long as we remember them, as long as we continue their work, as long as we carry forward what they taught us, they're never really gone at all. The search continues, the mystery endures, and somewhere out there in the deep woods where humans rarely tread, something is watching, something is waiting, something that's been there longer than we have.

Maybe we'll find it someday, maybe we won't. But the looking itself matters. The pursuit itself has value. The community we've built around this shared curiosity is worth preserving. So keep looking, keep asking questions, keep sharing your experiences and listening to the experiences of others. And remember the giants we lost along the way. Until next time.