BIGFEET Part 2 - Bigfoot Country: The Western United States, Canada, and the Birth of Modern Bigfoot

Bigfoot Country: The Western United States, Canada, and the Birth of Modern Bigfoot

An Oddex Special Series | October 20, 2026 — The 59th Anniversary of the Patterson–Gimlin Film

The afternoon of October 20, 1967, began like any other day in the forests of Northern California, with one notable exception. Two men, Roger Patterson and Bob Gimlin, were riding horseback through the remote Bluff Creek drainage, searching for evidence of a creature that most scientists believed didn't exist.

They had come prepared to look for footprints, interview witnesses, and perhaps catch a glimpse of something unusual. Patterson had a 16mm movie camera with him, although what happened next would leave him struggling to get it running while his horse reacted to something ahead.

Beyond a fallen tree, on a gravel bar beside the creek, stood an enormous figure covered in dark hair. It began walking away on two legs, moving steadily toward the forest. Patterson scrambled to film it while Gimlin watched the encounter unfold. Then, in one of the most recognizable moments in cryptozoological history, the figure turned its head and looked back toward the camera.

Frame 352 from the Patterson Gimlin film above.

The resulting footage would become known as the Patterson–Gimlin film, and its large hairy subject would eventually acquire a surprisingly ordinary nickname: Patty.

Was it an undiscovered primate, an elaborate costume, or something else entirely? Nearly six decades later, the debate remains unresolved in the minds of Bigfoot enthusiasts. To understand why those few seconds of film still matter, we need to travel backward through the history of Bigfoot Country, long before anyone pointed a camera toward that California creek bed.

Before Bigfoot Had a Name

Long before the word Bigfoot appeared in newspaper headlines, Indigenous peoples throughout the Pacific Northwest had their own traditions involving powerful beings associated with forests, mountains, and places beyond ordinary human settlement.

Those traditions are often described today as ancient Bigfoot sightings, but that interpretation can overlook what the stories mean to the communities that preserve them.

Among the Sts'ailes people of British Columbia, for example, Sasq'ets is a spiritually significant being associated with the land and the responsibilities people have toward it. Other Indigenous nations have their own names, accounts, and understandings of wild or hairy beings. They aren't necessarily describing the same creature, and many traditions cannot be accurately reduced to stories about an undiscovered primate.

The modern word Sasquatch entered wider English-language use largely through the work of J.W. Burns, a British Columbia schoolteacher and writer who collected accounts of mysterious hairy giants.

In 1929, Maclean's published Burns' article, “Introducing B.C.'s Hairy Giants.” It described accounts of powerful, humanlike beings reportedly inhabiting the wilderness of British Columbia, helping introduce a wider audience to stories that had previously circulated primarily within local communities.

Burns' work was influential, but it also illustrates a recurring problem in Bigfoot history. When culturally distinct traditions are translated and retold for outsiders, important details can disappear. A spiritually meaningful being may gradually become a mysterious wild man, and eventually an animal that someone hopes to photograph.

By the middle of the twentieth century, Sasquatch had become a recognizable mystery in western Canada. South of the border, however, another name was about to take over.

Ape Canyon

The Pacific Northwest's hairy-giant stories weren't confined to British Columbia.

One of the most famous early American accounts emerged in July 1924, when a group of prospectors claimed they had encountered large, hairy creatures near Mount St. Helens, Washington.

According to the story told by Fred Beck and other members of the party, the men were staying in a remote cabin when rocks began striking its roof and walls during the night. They believed several enormous creatures were responsible and described a frightening siege that continued for hours.

Newspapers picked up the account, and the area became known as Ape Canyon.

The story has acquired plenty of additional details over the decades, some of them difficult to trace to the earliest reporting. Beck later offered an interpretation involving supernatural beings, rather than ordinary undiscovered animals. That makes the case especially interesting: even among people reporting encounters with hairy giants, there wasn't always agreement about what those beings actually were.

Ape Canyon became part of the developing Bigfoot mythology, but it didn't produce a body, specimen, or other evidence capable of establishing a new species. What it did produce was a memorable story that helped cement the Pacific Northwest's reputation as a place where something enormous might be hiding in the trees.

And by the late 1950s, that reputation was about to grow some very large feet.

Bluff Creek, 1958: Bigfoot Gets His Name

In 1958, workers constructing logging roads near Bluff Creek in Humboldt County, California, began reporting enormous footprints appearing around their equipment.

One worker, Jerry Crew, made a plaster cast of a footprint and brought it to the Humboldt Times newspaper in Eureka. The resulting publicity helped popularize a name that was catchy and easier to remember: Bigfoot.

Above: Period photo one of many reported to newspapers in the years following the Patterson-Gimlin film. Eureka Humboldt Times. 4 September, 1962.

The footprints were extraordinary in their reported dimensions, and the story spread quickly. Here was something apparently leaving physical evidence in a landscape already associated with mysterious hairy creatures.

But Bluff Creek had another important character: Ray Wallace, a logging contractor whose name would eventually become closely associated with allegations of footprint hoaxing. Following Wallace's death in 2002, members of his family publicly claimed that he had created some of the famous tracks using carved wooden feet. Their accounts and the reported wooden stompers gave the hoax explanation substantial attention, although the extent to which Wallace was responsible for different historical track reports remains disputed.

Nevertheless, the Bluff Creek stories transformed Bigfoot from a regional curiosity into a national sensation. Newspapers, magazines, and television helped spread the idea of a giant, hairy creature walking upright through the western wilderness.

Nine years later, two men would return to the same general area with a movie camera, and Bigfoot would never be quite the same.

October 20, 1967: The Film That Changed Cryptozoology

Roger Patterson wasn't a casual visitor who happened to stumble into Bigfoot Country.

Born in 1933, Patterson had become deeply interested in the Sasquatch mystery and was determined to investigate it. In 1966, he published Do Abominable Snowmen of America Really Exist?, a book exploring reported encounters and evidence from across North America. Mr. Patterson may have been a better Bigfoot hunter than a Bigfoot writer, as the book sports a sleepy three stars on Goodreads.

He was also interested in producing a Bigfoot documentary, which is an important detail when considering the events that followed. Patterson had both a strong belief in the creature's possible existence and a desire to capture it on film.

Bob Gimlin, Patterson's friend and fellow horseman from Yakima, Washington, accompanied him on the expedition. Gimlin was experienced with horses and the outdoors, although he wasn't nearly as consumed by Bigfoot as Patterson.

The two men traveled to Northern California after reports of new footprints in the Bluff Creek area. They brought horses and supplies, along with a rented Cine-Kodak K-100 16mm camera. This was a mechanical, spring-wound device that required its operator to wind it and focus manually. Unlike modern digital cameras, it offered no instant playback, automatic image stabilization, or convenient opportunity to check whether the subject had been captured clearly.

If Patterson wanted a movie of Bigfoot, he would have to be ready when the opportunity appeared. Lucky for the world, or at least the Bigfoot enthusiast community, that opportunity arrived on the afternoon of October 20.

The Encounter at Bluff Creek

Patterson and Gimlin were riding along the creek when they rounded a bend near a large fallen tree. Ahead of them, on an exposed gravel bar, was something neither man expected to see. The figure was upright, covered in dark hair, and moving on two legs.

The entire film, in its original format is below:

Patterson later described his horse reacting violently to the unexpected sight. He dismounted, retrieved his camera, and began running toward the figure while attempting to film it. The resulting opening footage is shaky and difficult to interpret, consistent with a cameraman moving quickly across uneven ground.

Gimlin remained behind, watching the creature and keeping an eye on the horses. According to his later recollections, he carried a rifle but did not fire. Patterson wanted the animal alive, or at least wanted a chance to document it rather than shoot it.

The figure continued walking away, seemingly more interested in reaching the forest than confronting the men. Its arms swung at its sides, and its broad torso moved with a steady, deliberate gait. Then it looked back and, for a brief moment, the figure turned its head and upper body toward Patterson's camera, producing the image that would eventually become one of the most famous frames in cryptozoology. It continued toward the trees and disappeared from view.

The men later reported finding large footprints in the gravel and soil. They made measurements and arranged for casts, although the chronology of the different casts and subsequent site investigations is important when assessing the evidence. The entire encounter, as preserved on film, lasted less than a minute, but that was enough.

Meet Patty

The figure in the film would eventually become known as Patty, a nickname derived from Patterson's surname and likely feminized due to what appeared to be large pendulous breasts. While a gender-check has never been established, Patty is either a female or a dude with the worst case of “moobs” ever!

Patty appears broad-shouldered, heavily built, and covered in dark hair. The arms look long, the head seems to sit low between the shoulders, and the legs move with a gait that has fascinated researchers for decades.

Supporters argue that a hoaxer in 1967 would have been unlikely to include convincing female anatomy in an elaborate ape costume, particularly when the objective was supposedly to create a frightening, powerful forest creature.

Skeptics counter that adding breasts to a costume was entirely possible and that their appearance, by itself, cannot establish whether the figure was biological or artificial.

There are also questions about Patty's actual height. Estimates have varied substantially, partly because the film doesn't provide an uncontested scale reference. Researchers have attempted to reconstruct the scene using trees, logs, camera positions, and other landscape features, but the results depend on assumptions about distances and filming conditions.

The film's exact camera speed is another complication. Patterson's camera could operate at different frame rates, and the setting used during the encounter wasn't conclusively documented. Since frame rate affects calculations of walking speed and stride timing, even apparently straightforward measurements can become contentious.

Despite those uncertainties, Patty remains remarkably compelling to watch.

Unlike many alleged monster films, the subject isn't simply a dark shape hidden behind trees or a few seconds of movement in the distance. We see a substantial portion of its body walking across an open landscape.

For believers, it's a rare glimpse of an animal that has spent generations avoiding human contact. For skeptics, it's an unusually successful example of how convincing a staged encounter can appear when the viewer doesn't know what happened behind the camera. And for everyone else, there's that look over the shoulder.

The Case for Patty Being Real

Among Bigfoot researchers who regard the film as authentic, several arguments have remained central.

The first concerns Patty's body proportions. Supporters point to the apparent length of the arms, the width of the shoulders, the shape of the head, and the relationship between the torso and legs. They argue that these features would have been difficult to reproduce convincingly with an ordinary human wearing a costume.

The second concerns movement. Anthropologist Grover Krantz and, later, anatomist Jeff Meldrum examined aspects of Bigfoot evidence, including footprints and the Patterson–Gimlin film. Film analyst Bill Munns has also conducted extensive studies of the footage, arguing that the subject's anatomy and movement are more consistent with a living creature than a person inside a suit.

Above: Grover Krantz shows plaster casts of Bigfoot footprints, 1977

Some proponents identify what they interpret as muscle movement beneath the hair, particularly around the thighs and shoulders. Others focus on the apparent flexion of the knees, the motion of the feet, and the way the figure carries its weight. These interpretations aren't universally accepted. The image quality limits what can reliably be distinguished, and the lack of confirmed measurements complicates attempts to prove that a human body couldn't produce the observed movement.

The footprints reported at the scene form another part of the supporting case. Some researchers have argued that their dimensions and apparent characteristics are consistent with an unusually large bipedal animal. But the casts are not biological specimens, and the possibility of manufactured tracks has been part of the Bigfoot debate since before the film was made.

For supporters, however, the combined picture remains persuasive: a substantial figure, an apparently unusual gait, reported tracks, and two witnesses who maintained that they encountered a real animal.

The Case for a Costume

The skeptical interpretation begins with a straightforward possibility: Patty was a human being wearing a carefully constructed suit.

Patterson's prior interest in Bigfoot, his book, and his documentary ambitions have all contributed to suspicion that the encounter could have been staged. Critics have also questioned aspects of the film's production history, the circumstances surrounding its early screenings, and the lack of a definitive original film element available for modern independent examination.

Perhaps the most famous accusation came from Bob Heironimus, a Yakima resident who later claimed that he had worn the costume seen in the film. Heironimus' account became widely known through investigations and interviews published decades after the encounter. Costume maker Philip Morris separately claimed that he had sold Patterson a gorilla suit that could have been modified for the filming.

Both claims have been disputed, and neither produced an authenticated costume conclusively matching the figure in the footage.

Supporters also point out inconsistencies in various hoax accounts, while skeptics argue that the absence of a surviving costume doesn't establish that one never existed.

Then there's the question of what costume technology could accomplish in 1967. Hollywood had already produced sophisticated creature effects, including ape costumes and prosthetic makeup. The original Planet of the Apes would reach theaters the following year, demonstrating how much could be achieved through professional makeup and costume design. But whether the resources available to Patterson could have produced the specific appearance in the film remains debated. The costume explanation is plausible, but identifying a plausible explanation isn't the same as demonstrating precisely how an event occurred.

What Can We Actually See?

After nearly sixty years of analysis, enhancement, stabilization, and argument, it's worth returning to the original question.

What does the film itself establish?

• It shows a large-looking, dark, hair-covered figure walking upright across an open area near a creek. The figure turns toward the camera, continues walking, and disappears from view.

• The footage is real in the sense that a physical 16mm film was made. Its subject's identity, however, remains unverified.

We cannot determine its exact height from the surviving footage alone without accepting particular reconstruction assumptions. We cannot establish its species, identify individual anatomical features with scientific certainty, or demonstrate that the figure was incapable of being a human in a costume. Nor can we conclude from the film alone that it was definitely a hoax.

The original camera film's present whereabouts are uncertain, and researchers generally work from copies and derived materials. Stabilized versions can make the movement easier to follow, but they cannot recover detail that wasn't recorded in the first place.

And yet, despite all these limitations, the film has never lost its ability to fascinate. Perhaps that's because Patty doesn't behave like a monster in a horror movie. There are no threatening gestures, no dramatic charges, and no attempt to attack the men who have apparently disturbed her. The figure simply walks away, glances back, and continues into the forest. It's an ordinary moment made extraordinary by the possibility of what we're watching.

Fifty-nine years later, the most famous Bigfoot film remains both the mystery's greatest visual icon and one of its most fiercely contested pieces of evidence.

After Patty: The Search Goes On

The Patterson–Gimlin film didn't create the Bigfoot mystery, but it changed what people expected evidence of Bigfoot to look like.

Before 1967, many reports described an enormous hairy wild man or an upright-walking creature. After Patty, investigators had a moving image against which they could compare subsequent sightings, footprints, and alleged anatomical features.

That created an interesting problem. Did later witnesses independently describe creatures resembling Patty, or had the film become so familiar that it influenced what people expected to see? It's a difficult question to answer, especially when later accounts resemble details that became widely publicized through television documentaries, books, and Bigfoot conferences.

The film also inspired more systematic attempts to investigate the mystery. Researchers including John Green, René Dahinden, Grover Krantz, and later Jeff Meldrum devoted considerable effort to documenting sightings, analyzing footprints, and examining the possibility that an unknown primate inhabited North America's western forests.

One particularly intriguing development involved alleged footprint casts displaying what researchers interpreted as anatomical details, including variations in foot shape and possible evidence of flexible midfoot movement. Meldrum, a professor of anatomy and anthropology, argued that some tracks appeared inconsistent with ordinary human feet. Skeptics countered that casts made in variable soil conditions can be misleading, that apparent anatomical features may result from substrate deformation, and that sophisticated hoaxes can reproduce convincing details.

The debate expanded into other forms of evidence.

The Sounds of Squatch

In the early 1970s, recordings made in California's Sierra Nevada mountains became known as the Sierra Sounds.

Investigators Ron Morehead and Al Berry reported recording unusual vocalizations, including howls, whistles, and rapid chattering sounds, which they believed might originate from Sasquatch. The recordings have attracted considerable interest among Bigfoot enthusiasts, partly because some vocalizations sound strikingly unlike familiar animal calls.

But sound alone is difficult to interpret without knowing its source. Echoes, distance, recording equipment, known wildlife, and human vocalizations can produce surprising results. No verified animal has been conclusively linked to the recordings.

Still, the Sierra Sounds represent an important shift in Bigfoot investigation. Researchers weren't simply searching for footprints anymore. They were attempting to document the creature's supposed behavior and communication.

The DNA Question

As genetic testing became increasingly accessible, investigators began submitting alleged Bigfoot hair, tissue, and other biological samples for analysis.

A notable 2014 study published in Proceedings of the Royal Society B examined hair samples attributed to anomalous primates. The results identified known mammals rather than providing verified evidence of an unknown Bigfoot species. Some unusual Himalayan bear results generated additional scientific discussion, but they didn't establish the existence of Sasquatch.

This illustrates one of the frustrating realities of cryptozoology. A photograph can be disputed. A footprint can be faked. A strange noise can remain unidentified. But a properly documented biological specimen containing distinctive, reproducible genetic evidence would fundamentally change the conversation. So far, that specimen hasn't appeared.

Bigfoot Is Protected by Law. Sort Of.

Here's one of our favorite chapters in the history of Bigfoot Country.

On April 1, 1969, less than eighteen months after Patterson and Gimlin filmed Patty, commissioners in Washington's Skamania County adopted an ordinance addressing the killing of Bigfoot. Yes, April Fools' Day… and yes, the ordinance was real. The county described the possible creature as either an ape-like mammal or a human subspecies, and the original ordinance established penalties of up to $10,000 and five years in jail for deliberately killing one.

Rumor has it that the commissioners were concerned about armed people wandering through the wilderness looking for Sasquatch. Whether Bigfoot existed or not, the possibility of an enthusiastic monster hunter accidentally shooting a fellow human being was a very real public-safety issue.

The ordinance was amended in 1984, reducing the penalties and establishing a countywide Sasquatch refuge. The amended text also distinguished between a humanoid victim, which would fall under ordinary homicide laws, and an ape-like creature covered by the special ordinance. Washington officials had to consider what would happen if someone shot Bigfoot and the coroner couldn't agree whether the victim was human. Recommendation: shoot with a camera only, my friends.

Could Bigfoot Actually Survive in the Pacific Northwest?

Looking at the enormous forests of British Columbia, Washington, Oregon, and Northern California, it's tempting to believe that almost anything could be hiding out there.

The region contains rugged mountains, deep river valleys, dense vegetation, and remote areas where human activity is limited. Large animals such as black bears, grizzlies in parts of the broader region, elk, and mountain lions occupy these landscapes, sometimes living surprisingly close to communities without being frequently seen. So, yes, large animals can survive and thrive here.

The forests of the Pacific Northwest are abundant with life and can certainly support a large, elusive creature. Photo: National Park Service.

But there's a major difference between an elusive individual animal and an undiscovered species maintaining a breeding population. For Bigfoot to exist as a large North American primate, there would presumably need to be enough individuals to reproduce over generations while maintaining genetic diversity. Those animals would require reliable food sources, suitable habitat, and enough territory to support their population.

They would also leave biological traces. Hair, scat, bones, teeth, carcasses, and genetic material would all offer opportunities for scientific documentation. Large mammals can certainly be difficult to observe, but establishing the existence of an entire breeding population requires more than the possibility that an individual animal might avoid people.

The absence of verified remains is therefore a substantial problem for the biological Bigfoot hypothesis.

Supporters sometimes suggest that Bigfoot populations are exceptionally small, unusually intelligent, or behaviorally adapted to avoiding humans. Those ideas may help explain individual encounters, but they also create additional questions about reproduction, population survival, and why definitive physical evidence remains unavailable.

Then there is the inter-dimensional explanation. BTW, you are welcome to place your tinfoil hat on your head at his time. We know for a fact that there are other dimensions that we cannot perceive with our given senses. It is not impossible that other beings not only occupy these other realms but also may have the ability to step in and out of our perceptive limits.

Then there are bears. (Scapegoat alert!) Freakin' bears!

Black bears can stand and occasionally move upright, and unusual viewing conditions can distort perceptions of their proportions. Bears also leave tracks that may become misleading when impressions overlap or deteriorate. That doesn't mean every Bigfoot sighting is a bear. Some reported descriptions differ substantially from bear anatomy, and witnesses have sometimes observed their subjects for longer than a fleeting glimpse. FYI – Patty was NOT a bear.

However, misidentification is a real possibility that must be considered alongside hoaxes, mistaken estimates, and the possibility that a witness encountered something genuinely unusual.

Bigfoot Country is certainly big enough to hide surprises. Whether it's big enough to hide an entire undocumented population of giant primates is a much more difficult question.

The Legacy of October 20, 1967

There's something remarkable about the staying power of the Patterson–Gimlin film.

In 1967, Patterson was using a spring-wound movie camera that required physical film to be developed before anyone could see what he'd recorded. Today, millions of people carry cameras capable of recording high-definition video in their pockets. Trail cameras monitor remote forests, satellites photograph the landscape, and wildlife researchers deploy sophisticated equipment to document elusive animals.

Yet when someone asks to see the best-known footage of Bigfoot, we still return to a shaky film made beside a California creek nearly sixty years ago.

Part of that endurance comes from the film's ambiguity. It provides enough visual information to support detailed arguments about anatomy and movement, but not enough to settle those arguments conclusively. Another part comes from its simplicity. There are no dramatic special effects, no elaborate setting, and no obvious attempt by the figure to perform for the camera. Patty walks across the gravel, glances back, and disappears into the trees.

• For believers, that ordinary behavior makes the footage more convincing.

• For skeptics, it demonstrates how little a staged encounter would need to accomplish to create an enduring mystery.

• And for everyone else, it remains a captivating piece of twentieth-century history.

Roger Patterson died in 1972, maintaining that the encounter was genuine. Bob Gimlin continued to defend his account, although his relationship with the film and the attention surrounding it evolved over the years.

Whatever happened at Bluff Creek, their names became permanently attached to Bigfoot's story.

Our Take

We've examined plenty of strange photographs and eyewitness accounts in the Oddex, but there's something special about the Patterson–Gimlin film.

Perhaps it's the setting, or the way the figure moves with apparent indifference to the camera. Perhaps it's simply that we can watch the encounter ourselves instead of relying entirely on someone else's description.

We can understand why believers find Patty compelling. The footage is more substantial than most alleged cryptid videos, and some of the anatomical arguments deserve careful consideration.

We can also understand the skepticism. Patterson had a strong interest in Bigfoot, a motive to capture compelling footage, and no independently verified biological specimen to establish what appeared before his camera. The costume explanation remains viable, even though the competing hoax claims have their own inconsistencies.

Our position is that the film deserves to be studied, not dismissed casually or treated as unquestionable proof.

On October 20, 1967, Roger Patterson and Bob Gimlin returned from the Northern California wilderness with footage that would outlive them, inspire generations of researchers, and become one of the most recognizable images in cryptozoology.

Fifty-nine years later, people are still examining Patty's stride, studying her proportions, arguing about costumes, and replaying that famous glance over the shoulder.

We may never know exactly what crossed Bluff Creek that afternoon.

But whatever it was, it left a footprint on popular culture considerably larger than anything ever cast in plaster.

And somewhere in the forests of the Pacific Northwest, the search continues.

Field Notes: Bigfoot / Sasquatch

Location: Pacific Northwest, Northern California, British Columbia, and surrounding western regions

Historical Reports: Indigenous traditions predate modern cryptozoology; the modern Sasquatch identity developed during the early twentieth century

Reported Height: Commonly 6–9 feet, although estimates vary widely

Reported Characteristics: Large footprints, dark hair, upright walking, broad shoulders, and long arms

Most Famous Evidence: Patterson–Gimlin film, October 20, 1967, Bluff Creek, California

Threat Level: 3/10 — most modern reports describe avoidance rather than aggression

Status: Unverified; no scientifically accepted specimen establishes the existence of a North American Sasquatch

Coming Next: Bigfoot Heads East

We've spent this installment exploring the forests where modern Bigfoot became famous. But what happens when the stories move beyond the Pacific Northwest?

In Part III of BIGFEET, we're heading from the Mississippi River to the Atlantic, where Skunk Apes reportedly haunt Florida swamps, Grassmen wander Ohio woodlands, and an assortment of hairy creatures have developed reputations of their own.

Are these distant populations of the same mysterious animal, or has Bigfoot become so deeply embedded in American culture that almost any unidentified hairy creature gets invited to the family reunion? Tune in next time!

Need more Bigfoot? Check out these posts: Old Yellow Top and Bigfeet Part 1

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