Janitor Reports Months of Bigfoot Encounters on Remote Washington Property

If you've spent any time following Sasquatch reports out of the Pacific Northwest, you already know that Skamania County, Washington, is practically hallowed ground. This is the same region where, back in 1924, the famous "Ape Canyon" incident unfolded, where a group of miners claimed they were attacked by large, ape-like creatures near Mount St. Helens. The Gifford Pinchot National Forest, which borders the area in question, has long been considered one of the most active Sasquatch territories in North America. So when a firsthand account surfaces from right in that neck of the woods, it tends to get attention fast. A video recently popped up on the YouTube channel Kryptid-Station that shares exactly that kind of story, and honestly, it's one of the more unsettling, slow-burn encounters I've come across in a while. The narrator, a 47-year-old janitor who took a job maintaining a sprawling 200-plus-acre private property in late 2019, describes what started as a peaceful retreat and slowly morphed into something he still can't shake years later. It began small. He noticed thick branches, wrist-sized, snapped off at heights of 10 to 12 feet along the northern boundary where the property meets federal land. Not wind damage. Not snow. Something had just bulldozed through the undergrowth like the trees weren't even there. He shrugged it off at first. Most people would. Then came the knocking. Not the sharp crack of a falling tree, but a deep, deliberate thud against the trunks, like someone swinging a baseball bat with everything they had. Two or three hits, always from different directions, every couple of nights. Then a scream from the ravine that he describes as starting low, building into a long, modulating wail, and finishing in something that sounded like a human female scream cranked up to an impossible volume. The kind of sound that makes the hair on your neck stand straight up just reading about it. After that, the evidence started piling up. A massive, bipedal footprint in the muddy meadow by the stream, at least a foot and a half long and significantly wider than his size 11 boot. A strange woven structure of branches near the guesthouse that looked intentional, like an arch or a small hut. A river stone placed deliberately on his porch with a single twig laid across the top, almost like a calling card. And perhaps the most chilling detail of all: a 400-pound drum of diesel fuel, moved from where he'd left it, carried, not rolled, with no drag marks. Something with serious strength had picked it up and walked off with it. What makes this account stand out isn't just the physical evidence, it's the psychological weight of it. The narrator never actually sees the creature. It stays at the edge of his vision, the edge of his hearing. He describes it as a siege, not an assault. Something designed to wear him down rather than attack him outright. He tried reaching out to the property owner, who basically told him to handle it himself. He started barricading in at night. He triple-checks his locks to this day, hundreds of miles away from those woods. Skamania County has a long, long history with these kinds of reports. The area around the Gifford Pinchot is dense, remote, and full of the kind of old-growth forest that Sasquatch researchers have pointed to for decades as ideal habitat. The terrain in the story, with its ravines, hills, and streams, matches exactly the kind of landscape where witnesses tend to report activity. And the behavior described, the territorial knocking, the vocalizations, the branch structures, the moved heavy objects, lines up with patterns that have shown up in encounter reports across the continent for generations. The full story is worth sitting down and listening to. The narrator's voice and pacing really do add to the weight of it, and there are a few details in the video that don't translate quite as well in a summary. Definitely check it out over on Kryptid-Station when you get a chance.