Sasquatch Predicted Wildfires 20 Years Before They Happened

A story out of the Cariboo country of British Columbia has been circulating, and it's one of those accounts that sticks with you long after you've heard it. A man named Cliff Russell, who lived alone in the hills north of Likely for over four decades, shared an experience that spans more than a decade of contact with a Sasquatch neighbour — one that allegedly spoke to him and made predictions that, disturbingly, have all come true. The video, posted by Bigfoot Sightings Canada, walks through Cliff's story from beginning to end. It starts with tragedy. In January 1980, Cliff's wife Faye was killed in a head-on collision on a stretch of highway near Lac la Hache during a freezing rain event. She was just thirty years old. The kindness of friends and neighbours, while well-meaning, became unbearable for Cliff. By September of that year, he'd quit his job cruising timber and was walking the river valley trails before dawn just to avoid people. Then came Alvin Hughes, a seventy-seven-year-old trapper laid up in Cariboo Memorial Hospital with a broken hip. Alvin had run a trapline in the hills above Cariboo Lake since 1931 and needed someone to take it over. Cliff bought the line, the cabin, the traps, and the tools for four thousand dollars. But Alvin also passed along a set of rules that had nothing to do with the Fish and Wildlife Branch. Keep fish heads and guts on a flat rock below the spring. No lock on the cabin door. Don't move the long bench against the south wall. Never bring a dog. And if you carry a rifle, keep it slung unless you have a real reason to take it down — because pointing a gun at the trees was the worst manners a man could show in that country. Alvin mentioned a neighbour. One who had been there before him. And if that neighbour ever spoke, answer civil, the same as you would to anybody. Cliff moved in on May 9, 1981. The cabin was sixteen by twenty, saddle-notched spruce logs chinked with moss and clay, a McClary cookstove, a Hudson's Bay blanket on the bunk. A tidy, hushed place, as Cliff described it, like a church after the service has ended. Then, in April of 1984, the Sasquatch spoke. Its first word was the name of a dead man. Its voice sounded, in Cliff's telling, like wind pulled through a length of stovepipe. Over the next twelve years, it picked up words from Cliff. And in the fall of 1996, it put those words together and delivered a warning. The winters were going to stop getting cold. The pine would die. And once the pine was dead, the country would burn. In July 2017, Cliff sat in a line of cars crawling out of Williams Lake with ash landing on the windshield. The 2017 wildfire season had erupted across the Cariboo, forcing the evacuation of Williams Lake and devastating vast stretches of forest. The mountain pine beetle epidemic had already killed millions of hectares of pine across British Columbia over the preceding decades, leaving dead, dry timber primed for exactly the kind of catastrophic fires that consumed the region that summer. Every piece of what the Sasquatch told him, Cliff says, has come true. One after another. The Cariboo has long been Sasquatch country. The region around Williams Lake, Likely, Quesnel, and 100 Mile House has produced more than its share of sightings over the years, and accounts of long-term relationships between trappers, hermits, and the resident Sasquatch population are part of the local folklore. The idea of a "neighbour" who watches from the trees, who has been