BC Man Keeps Father's 32-Year Promise, Finally Sees Bigfoot

So I just came across this video that genuinely stopped me in my tracks. A 72-year-old retired timber cruiser from southern British Columbia named Wayne Coleman sits down at his kitchen table and tells a story that spans over six decades, and it's one of the most compelling first-person Sasquatch accounts I've come across in a while. The short version: Wayne's father Earl was a timber faller who disappeared for three days during an October snowstorm back in 1961. He walked back into camp on his own, never explained where he'd been, and came home a changed man. Two months later, he built a feeding station on their property outside Keremeos and started leaving deliberate offerings, smoked ham bones, dried corn, dried beans in a wooden tray he built himself. When Wayne was nine and finally asked why, Earl told him simply: "There's something in those hills that did me a good turn once. I don't intend to forget it." Then he made Wayne swear to keep the station going after he was gone. Wayne kept that promise for 32 years. He fed the station, replaced the boards when they rotted, adjusted what he left based on what was taken. He assumed deer, raccoons, the usual suspects. He had no reason to think otherwise, and he's upfront about that. Then in January 2019, standing in minus-19 Celsius with his dog Buster pressed against his leg, Wayne finally saw what had been visiting that feeding station all those years. And suddenly everything his father did made sense. What makes this account hit different is the texture of it. Wayne spent 33 years reading timber country for a living. He knows tracks. He knows what a bear looks like at the edge of a meadow in moonlight on snowpack. He's not someone prone to misidentification, and he tells you that plainly. He also doesn't dress up the story. He lays out what he knows, what he doesn't know, and where the line between them sits. The discussion even includes a two-page incident report from the camp boss, Harlon Drossst, who noted that Earl "appeared disoriented and declined to answer questions" about where he'd been for 72 hours. The report uses the phrase "recovered unassisted," which is just a bureaucratic way of closing a file without describing what actually happened. There's something about multi-generational relationships with Sasquatch that keeps surfacing in these accounts. The idea that these beings have long memories, that they form bonds with specific families or specific pieces of land across decades. The feeding station tradition Wayne describes, deliberate food left at a consistent location, checked and refreshed on a regular schedule, is something researchers have documented in various parts of the Pacific Northwest and BC over the years. It suggests a kind of reciprocity, a relationship maintained quietly across time without fanfare. Wayne's account also touches on something that doesn't get talked about enough: the emotional weight of keeping a promise you don't fully understand. He carried this for 32 years before the pieces fell into place. His wife Dileia apparently understood early on that there were things her husband carried that didn't have enough language around them yet for a real conversation. That's a small detail that says a lot. The video cuts off before Wayne gets to the full January 2019 encounter, but what he shares in this portion is more than enough to make you want to hear the rest. It's the kind of testimony that reminds you why people who've spent their lives in timber country tend to take Sasquatch seriously, because they've spent decades learning to read the land accurately, and when they tell you something was there, they usually know exactly what they're talking about. If you're into long-form, unhurried first-person Sasquatch accounts from people with real wilderness credentials, this one is absolutely worth your time. Wayne Coleman tells his story the way a timber cruiser walks timber: steady, thorough, and without wasting a single word.