Around 1997, a fly-fisherman named Daniel chartered a bush flight to drop him off alone on a sharp grassy spit at the first major bend of the Tikchik River system, northwest of Tikchik Lake. Armed with a heavy .480 Ruger revolver in a chest vest, Daniel finished a four-hour trout session. While packing his rod at the slough edge, a shift in the august wind parted the dense, 12-foot shoreline willow wall to expose a massive dark silhouette that towered far above his own standing height. Out of extreme caution, Daniel backed up flush to the river cutbank.
Attempting to deploy an acoustic deterrent to clear the path, he advanced toward the thicket, screamed, and fired a thunderous round from his handgun. As the echo died, a low, mechanical-sounding hum or vocalized vibration emerged from the brush. Hunkered flat on his knees to improve his visibility, an intense feeling of point-blank tracking caused his hand to tremble so violently he struggled to hold a sight picture. Climbing down the 4-foot bank onto the gravel margin to look around the curve, he spotted the pitch-black humanoid figure standing perfectly motionless and stoic in full silhouette on the upper shelf just 20 yards out.
Daniel began backtracking downriver in a state of severe nausea when a heavy bipedal crashing—resembling a freight train tearing through the alders—charged his path at a sharp angle. Daniel collapsed onto his knees in prayer, left with a single cartridge in his cylinder after leaving his ammo pouch on the guide's skiff. Suddenly, a violent gust of wind parted the leaves, revealing half of a massive, 10-foot-tall chest and head just 25 yards away; the entity bared a shocked facial expression and ducked back. Daniel screamed out in survival panic until a returning skiff client armed with a shotgun arrived, witnessing the giant entity bounding through the upper brush line as they executed a rapid escape.
