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That's alllbi rds dot com. On the night of October twentieth, nineteen sixty seven, journalist Betty Allen was working late at the offices of the Time Standard newspaper based out of Eureka, a vibrant seaport town at the northwestern edge of California, when a call came into the office. Picking it up, she was greeted by the urgent and excited voice of
thirty four year old Roger Patterson. Patterson was calling from the Lower Trinity Ranger station out in Willow Creek, a small mountain town about forty miles to the east, a popular spot from which to venture out into the vast and ancient forests that surrounded it on all sides. Patterson's words, as Betty later described it, cascaded out between gasps as it did his best to precisely detail the events from
earlier that day. It all started around one thirty pm that afternoon, when he and his friend thirty six year old Bob Gimlin, were riding through the Six Rivers Nation Forest along Bluff Creek, a tributary of the Klamath River, deep within the forest about forty miles north of Willow Creek. A few years previously, an almighty flood had forced a torrent of rain water through the narrow waterway, leaving behind fallen trees and branches that now littered the banks, strewn
about in huge piles of bleached driftwood. Patterson and Gimlin were just approaching one such pile when they caught sight of something moving at the far side of it, about eighty to ninety feet away. To the pair's amazement, it was some kind of hominid, measuring well over six feet tall, with silvery brown hair all over its body, and it was just standing alone right in front of them. Patterson, who had a film camera, with him was just about to reach for it when his horse reared up, suddenly
throwing him to the ground. With the horse agitating to get away, Patterson had just enough time to grab the camera from his saddle bag before the horse bolted into the trees. As the bizarre creature began to move away from them, Without thinking, Patterson ran toward it, hoping to get a better angle, wile Gimlin followed on horseback. Then Gimlin's horse also reared up, forcing him to dismount and
let it go. With the two men now on foot, Patterson yelled for Gimlin to cover him with his rifle as he moved in a little closer and pressed the shutter release lever. With the blood rushing through their ears and only the sound of the film whirring round in the camera to break the silence, the pair could only stand all struck as they watched the creature slowly amble away from them, its arms hanging almost to its knees, swinging languidly by its side as it went. As Patterson
put it. The two men then watched with disbelief as the creature turned to regard them for a moment before it simply sloped off and disappeared into the trees. As Patterson, who believed the creature was female owing to the shape of its chest, went on to say, she never made a sound. She wasn't hostile to us, but we don't think she was afraid of us either. She acted like she didn't want anything to do with us if she
could avoid it. But she stunk like a dog coming out of the rain that smelled like it had been rolling in something dead. The footage that Roger Patterson shot, known today as the Patterson and Gimlin Film, was the first time that anyone claimed to have caught the mythical forest creature known to some as big footile sasquatch on camera.
As a consequence the film, in particular, the still that was taken from it, known as frame three to five two, showing the precise moment the apparent creature turned to look directly at the camera, instantly transformed what was a local legend into a global phenomenon. Although the film failed to gain any credible support, leading to accusations that Patterson and Gimlin had faked the entire thing, supporters of its veracity are quick to point out that it hasn't been satisfactorily
debunked either. As for Patterson, the film was the culmination of an eighty emission to find irrefutable evidence of the forest creature, which began after he first read about it in a True Magazine article in nineteen fifty nine. The author of the article was Ivan T. Sanderson, whose fascination with mythical creatures led him to coin the phrase crypto zoology, a portmanteau of three ancient Greek words which translates roughly
to English as the study of hidden animals. In a later book, which also served as inspiration to Patterson, Sanderson made note of a number of footprints and strange occurrences that had been reported by forestry workers in the Bluff Creek region. Chief among them was the story of Jerry Crew, who, in August nineteen fifty eight, was helping to build a timber road through the surrounding forest of Bluff Creek when he apparently discovered a series of sixteen inch humanlike footprints
in the dirt. A subsequent article detailing Crew's incredible story, written in The Humboldt Times by journalist Andrew Genzoli, is thought to be the first instance in which the term bigfoot was used in relation to such things. In truth, of course, tales of strange and terrifying creatures stalking the ancient forests of the Pacific Northwest had long been shared and traded, first by the Native American people of the
region and later by the newcomers. For many bigfoot enthusiasts, however, there is one story above all others that they will often come back to, the one that really makes the hair st and up on the back of their necks. And for that we need to move a little deeper into the forest to a place known today as Ape Canyon.
You're listening to Unexplained and I'm Richard McClane smith. We often talk about how the advent of streaming has revolutionized the way we engage with audio and visual content, placing countless numbers of films, TV shows and music tracks at our fingertips, But did you know this has also been happening for books too. Described as the Netflix for books, scribbt is quite simply the largest digital library in the world,
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Fred Beck always had the sense that he was a little different, as if strange things would just happen to him. One time, when he was playing in the pastures as a child, Fred realized he'd lost his precious beanshooter, a favorite toy that he'd worked weeks to save up the money to afford. As he began to cry over it, a mysterious woman appeared and told him not to be sad, because his shooter would be waiting for him when he
got home, wiping the tears away. A somewhat unconvinced Fred swiftly made its way back home, where no sooner had he stepped inside he caught sight of the toy lying before him on the kitchen table. He never saw the woman again, and as it turned out, the bean shooter
wasn't even the same one he'd bought. Born in eighteen eighty eight, Fred grew up in Kelso, forty miles north of Portland in Washington, USA, a small but bustling hub of the confluence of the Cowlitz and Columbia Rivers that was quickly establishing itself as the epicenter of the local logging industry. There, Fred would spend his days down by the banks of the Columbia, watching the giant steamers drift
by or out roaming the surrounding countryside. While down week after week, trainloads of loggers piled in, who seemed to spend as much time frequenting the many taverns and other late night spots of the town as they did shifting wood. With little other work to be found, it was only natural that Fred would one day end up in the logging trade too. By nineteen eighteen, however, he had his
sights set on something a little more financially rewarding. It was Back in eighteen ninety one the two farmers, on a hunting trip near Spirit Lake, fifty miles east of Kelso, discovered what they recognized to be mineral deposits of black tormaline and hematite minerals that were often found near rich
veins of precious metals. Their discovery triggered a minor gold rush in the area that by nineteen ten had seen thousands of prospect pits and eleven thousand feet of tunnels dug out of the area, yielding several thousand tons of gold, silver, and copper or A geological review soon after, however, suggested the region was in no danger of becoming the next Klondike, and by nineteen sixteen most attempts to develop substantial minds
in the area had been all but abandoned. There still remained a few hardy individuals, however, for whom the dream of striking it rich had yet to evaporate, and soon, having tired of the usual odds and sods jobs back in Kelso, fred Beck decided it was high time that he gave it to go to in nineteen eighteen, Fred teamed up with his father in law Marion Smith and Marion's son Roy, along with their friends Gabe Lafeva and John Patterson, to stake out an area of forest known
as the Lewis River area, located just south of Spirit Lake at the foot of Mount Saint Helens, a breathtaking cone shaped volcano that loomed high over the surrounding landscape. Those early days would be spent scouring the area together for the perfect place to begin prospecting. They trekked endlessly through the forest with rifles in hand, should they find themselves suddenly in the path of a big black bear or a hungry cougar, occasionally chancing upon the eerie sight
of a long forgotten mining cabin. Whenever the men found a good spot, they would put up camp, then spend the days blasting into bedrock or tunneling into cliffs looking for the telltale signs of gold, while nights would be spent gathered round the camp fire with a pot of beans, smoking pipes, and gazing up at the endless night sky as they were serenaded by the nocturnal movements of the forest.
It is one of the many mistaken assumption about the great outdoors that it is a quiet, peaceful place, when in truth it is an eternal cacophony of unhuman things, from a hooting and chirping of birds, to the chitter of insects and the many barks and howls of unseen,
fur covered creatures. One night, however, Fred's group heard something else that none of them had heard before, a strange thumping sound coming from somewhere far off that was met by another similar sound soon after, coming from some other distant place. It sounded for all the world as if
they were responding to each other. The men thought little of it until the next day, when they heard it again, this time in broad daylight, with one of the men later describing it as sounding as though there was a hollow drum in the earth somewhere and something was hitting it. Having all heard the tales of strange, apelike creatures that were said to roam the surrounding hills, the men were quick to joke about just what might be out there,
but Fred didn't see the funny side. Back in the nineteen hundreds, while working at a logging camp just outside of Kelso with his brother, he and Fred were just bedding down for the night when they heard something snorting and kicking about outside their tent. Then it started pushing
against the side of the tent. As the men cowered inside, doing their best to stay completely still, They took it in turns to keep watch outside through a small slit in the canvas, through which they could just about make out something large, covered in dark hair, ambling about under the moonlight. The following morning, Fred's brother couldn't hide his relief but their luck he escaped from a possible bear attack.
But Fred couldn't share his elation. He'd seen enough bears in his time, and whatever that thing was, it was no bear. One morning, a few years after they began prospecting, Fred's group were camped out in the eastern shadow of Mount Saint Helen's, in an area known as Pumis Butte, when Fred's father in law, Marion, set out early to fetch water from a nearby creek. When he returned soon after, he hurriedly woke up the others and told them to
follow him immediately. Twenty minutes later, the bleary eyed men were stepping grumpily through the trickling waters of the creek, demanding to know what all the fuss was about. As Marion led them on to a sand bar running through the middle of it and pointed toward the ground. The men stared down in disbelief at what looked like two huge footprints, similar to a humans, but far far bigger,
each pressed about four inches deep into the sand. Fred looked up and scoured the surrounding hills, gripping his rifle a little tighter. By nineteen twenty two, having thankfully seen no further evidence of anything untoward, the men had decided to focus their efforts on a portion of cliff on the eastern side of Mount Saint Helens, in an area
known as the Plains of Abraham. According to Fred many years later, they'd apparently been led there by a Native American spirit guide with the tantalizing promise that their fortune would be found within it. Having spotted a ledge part way up the cliff, the men swiftly levered themselves up to it, and, with the use of explosive powder, blasted out a much larger ledge, from which they were able
to start tunneling into the cliff face. Soon sensing they could be onto something, the men staked a claim on the land, and soon after built a log cabin at the base of the cliff where they could stay. Though not especially big and with no windows, it was a solid, cozy construction comprised of pine logs, with a stone fireplace and enough room to comfortably sleep all five of them. It wasn't long after they moved into the region, however,
that strange things began to happen. One afternoon, after working the tunnel, the men returned to the cabin to find their items had been interfered with. At first, they suspected a bear had just passed by looking for food, until Fred discovered that their food store had been left completely untouched. Another time, they found an entire sack of canned food emptied onto the ground, with the bag tossed at the side, but no sign of claw marks to be found anywhere.
What they did apparently find, however, were a number of strange footprints that looked just like the others they'd seen in the creek. For the next two years, the men spent their time chipping away at the vein of ore inside the cliff, then walking the chunks of it down in bags to Marion's ford, which he kept parked at the foot of the mountain. The ore would be driven back to the nearest town and analyzed for its mineral content.
Though they never hauled anything life changing, they found enough to suggest that something big might be just within their grasp. One morning in July nineteen twenty four, Marion was chipping at the rock face when a large chunk of it fell to the ground. Marian picked it up and smiled as it sparkled in the light. This is it, he told the others. I think we're getting close. Fred was unable to share his enthusiasm, however, having been suffering with
throbbing too fake for the last twelve hours. But when he asked Marian to give him a lift into town to get it seen to, Marian refused, too excited by the prospect of that morning's fined. By the end of the day, however, the team had failed to uncover anything else significant, and eventually returned more or less empty handed to the cabin. After another meal of hot cakes and beans, it was spread and Marian's turn to fetch more water.
The pair grabbed their guns and water bottles accordingly, and promptly headed off down the mountain to the nearest spring. Moments later, having just stepped through the tree line. Marion froze suddenly and raised his rifle. Don't move, he whispered sharply. Then Fred saw it too, about a hundred yards ahead of them, on the other side of the narrow canyon,
poking out from behind a pine tree. It was hard to make out what it was exactly, only that it was some kind of huge, apelike creature, standing at least seven feet tall and covered in dark fur. Fred was just stepping round to get a better look when Marian suddenly opened fire, sending bark flying from the pine tree. As the creature made a break for it, The men watched incredulous as it ducked and weaved between the trees, clearly moving on two legs, before it eventually disappeared out
of sight. Don't worry about that devil, fred I got him right in the head, said Marian proudly. When Fred and Marion returned to the cabin, they wasted no time in telling the others what had just happened, warning them
that the creature could well return, much to their dismay. However, the men were a little less than impressed, accusing the pair of being drunk or mistaking a black bear for something else, and before long Fred and Marian were questioning their own account, too, agreeing that it probably was just
a bear after all. After a quick smoke around the fireplace, the men decided to call it to night, and each made their way to their beds, with two sharing a long bunk bed and the others sleeping on pine boughs that they'd scattered on the floor. It had just gone midnight when Fred was awoken by a tremendous thud ringing out from the cabin wall, followed by Marion screaming as he sat up, suddenly frantically waving his gun around in
the air. As the rest of the group jumped up from their beds, Fred hurriedly lit a lamp, revealing a large pile of chinking next to Marion, which had just been knocked loose from the wall. Then another almighty thump rang out around them. Marion hissed for Fred to put out the light. In the pitch black silence, As the men's breathing settled, they soon began to hear things shuffling about outside the cabin, like a small herd of horses
loping about. Marion held his finger to his lips, then bent down and peered out of the gap in the wall, then threw his head back in horror. There's three of them, he whispered, but was suddenly interrupted by another round of thumps against the wall, this time from what sounded like rocks being thrown against the cabin. Just then, a flurry of rocks tumbled down the chimney, causing the men to jump back into the room, and then something heavy was
heard moving about above them. They're on the roof, said Fred aghast with the sound above moving closer to the middle of the cabin. The men backed up against each other, their rifles pointed at the ceiling, when Marion suddenly let rip, sending a flurry of bullets through the roof. Then something pounded at the front door. Quick grab, something, yelled Marion, as Fred pulled a pole from the bed and hurriedly pushed it up against the door as the other three
backed further away into the cabin. When another thump came against the door, Fred fired off a few more rounds at it, sending splinters of wood everywhere and filling the cabin with gunsmoke. Just then, something dark and hairy through the hole in the cabin and grabbed hold of an axe that was lying against the cabin wall. Fred was just quick enough to twist the head of it so it couldn't be pulled out. Then another shot rang out
from Marion, missing Fred's hand by inches. As quick as it had appeared, the hairy limb dropped the axe and retracted through the hole, giving Fred just enough time to
kick the axe away from the wall. Things then calmed for a moment before another flurry of bangs from outside was met with another volley of bullets from Marion and Fred, until finally it was all over and everything stilled, And so things remained until the first light of dawn crept in through the gap in the chinking and the numerous
bullet holes that covered the wall. Satisfied that the cabin was no longer surrounded, Fred removed the poll from the door and cautiously stepped out into the fresh morning air. Then he saw what he took to be one of the creatures, standing about eighty yards away on the edge of the gorge. Grabbing his winchester, Fred darted out toward it, then took aim and fired three times, watching with satisfaction as the thing stiffened for a moment and then tumbled
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happier life today. At the first opportunity that morning, the men grabbed everything they could and high tailed it to Marion's truck at the bottom of the mountain, running off in such haste that they were forced to leave almost two hundred dollars worth of supplies behind to half thousand
in today's money. Once in the truck, Marion did its best to keep it steady as they bumped and skidded over the rutted earth, while the others kept their rifles trained on the forest either side of them at all times. It was about half an hour later when they pulled into the Spirit Lake Ranger station to inform Ranger William Welch about all that had happened, with Marion insisting they'd been attacked by some kind of mountain devil back in
their hometown of Kelso. Although Fred told the others not to mention anything about it, it wasn't long before word of their bizarre encounter with an apparent race of terrifying
hominid creatures got out. On July twelfth, the story hit the press, appearing in an article published in the Portland Oregonian, A few days later, Fred Beck returned to the cabin, this time accompanied by rangers as William Welch and J. H. Huffman, where first he pointed out the spot that he shot one of the creatures before it tumbled into the gorge. But when the three men peered over to look at the four hundred foot drop below, there was no sign
of anything matching Fred's description. At the cabin, however, they found a number of large rocks scattered about the building. Then Welch spotted something in the earth and motioned for Huffman to come over and take a look. It was what appeared to be a gigantic human like footprint. Huffman studied the shape of it for a moment, then bent down on his haunches and pressed his palm into the
ground next to it. Then, with his knuckles, he placed five indentations at the top of the first impression and stood back up. Side by side, the prince looked almost identical. Over the next few days, rumors swirled about the men's story, with some accusing them of making it up, while others suggested that some boys from a local YMCA group had
been responsible. This theory was quickly quashed However, when all the boys were later accounted for on the night in question, and soon people were flocking in from all over the country and even from abroad in the hope of capturing one of the so called mountain devils. Despite numerous hunting trips, however, no evidence of the creature was ever found, though Ranger Welch remained convinced that a rational explanation would be forthcoming, As he stated in The Oregonian Old Man, Smith, who
started this ape stampede, absolutely believes it. Something happened up there, But I can't imagine what. Another funny thing is that you can't shake the stories of the other men either. The mystery to me is who put up the job on Smith and his companions and why in the world they did it. A few days later, Fred finally had the chance to visit the dentist to have his tooth extracted. Returning home afterwards, he was approached by a stranger in the street who asked if he was one of the
men attacked by the creatures in the forest. When Fred said yes, the man told him there was someone who wanted to talk to him about it, and then invited Fred to accompany him to a tavern across the road. Inside, Fred was introduced to ten or so Native Americans of the local Yakama tribe who wanted to hear more about his apparent encounter. When Fred had finished telling his story again, the other looked to each other, then one of them
began to speak. In their culture, they knew them as the Salartic, a race of outcast Native Americans who had retreated to the forest, where they'd evolved to better suit their environment, becoming superhumanly strong, with huge bodies much bigger than ordinary humans that were covered in hair to survive the cold. Since they could no longer see in daylight, the Salatic, who lived in deep secluded caves, preferred to hunt at night and had a long history of abducting
the members of other Native American tribes. Fred and his compatriots, it seemed, who'd had a lucky escape. So what are they, exactly, asked Fred. Are they human or spirits? Neither replied the Yakama men, there were something in between. Thank you to Neil McRobert for suggesting this week's story. Neil has a brilliant podcast called Talking Scared, interviewing writers and advocates of horror which are thoroughly recommends, so do check it out
wherever you get your podcasts. If you enjoy Unexplained and would like to help supporters, you can now do so via Patreon. To receive access to ad free episodes. Just go to patron dot com Forward Slash Unexplained Pod to sign up. Unexplained, the book and audiobook, featuring ten stories that have never before been covered on the show, is now available to buy worldwide. You can purchase through Amazon,
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