Camping

Back in the late 1990s, Joseph was staying alone overnight to guard supplies at an unfinished family cabin along the remote Nushagak River. The cabin was still under construction, lacking finished window panes and leaving open, rough-framed cutouts directly into the wilderness. As dusk fell, Joseph heard an unsettling, unusually loud howl echoing miles away that sounded like a poor imitation of a wolf. Within an hour, the unnatural howling had closed the distance, sounding less than 200 yards away from the cut bank before falling dead, unnervingly silent.

Six years ago, Jesse, a cannery worker from Dillingham, decided to spend his final week in Alaska fly fishing along Silver Salmon Creek. Setting off from Aleknagik Road with a collapsible rod, he hiked deep into the dense brush, catching and releasing silver salmon. On his second night, while frying up a small salmon at his spike camp, he heard a low, dog-like woof echoing from the distance. Later, while fishing a deep eddy, the forest fell completely dead and silent, and he spotted a large, brown mass lurking on the opposite bank.

A husband and wife, John and Betty, agreed to house-sit for close family friends along the highway north to Fairbanks. To deter local equipment thieves while their friends were away, the couple parked their fifth-wheel camper jackknifed across the driveway. After spending a quiet evening by an outdoor fire pit behind the house, they were walking back to the camper when they heard a bizarre, guttural gurgling sound coming from the darkness.

Three years ago, two friends, Jack and Eric, launched their kayaks near the Denali Highway to caribou hunt down the remote Maclaren River. After setting up a spike camp downriver, they awoke to a deafening, unnatural silence. While hiking the tundra in the lifting morning fog, Eric spotted a dark shadow pacing them laterally just inside the mist.

In 1978, Eric and two friends from the Tongass National Forest cruiser team took their two-week leave to camp and explore the pristine wilderness around Powers Creek, located in the ominous Tracy Arm-Fords Terror Wilderness of Southeast Alaska. On their second day, the peacefulness of their trip was shattered by a hellacious scream originating further down the Endicott Arm inlet. Dismissing it at first, the three unarmed men returned to camp to find their belongings strangely shifted and toyed with.

While prospecting for gold veins along the remote King Salmon River (north of Dillingham), Ivan and his younger brother set up a small spike camp on the riverbank. On their third night, their quiet evening was shattered by a scream from across the river that sounded like a woman being murdered. Grabbing their rifles, the brothers crossed the river in their 18-foot skiff to investigate. Finding nothing in the small stands of black spruce, they heard splashing back across the river—and turned to see a dark figure running into the brush exactly where they had just left their camp.

Over 15 years ago, a retired teacher named Mary and two former co-workers traveled to the Kennecott Mine to fulfill one of her bucket-list adventures. After setting up a remote camp away from the main site, the trio spent the day hiking the steep terrain around the abandoned mine. While taking a lunch break on a high ridge, the male teacher jokingly whistled the Smurf and Sesame Street theme songs. As they hiked back down the trail, they were shocked to hear the Smurf theme perfectly whistled back at them from the ridge they had just left.

A man named Rick booked a bush plane flight deep into the mountains north of Tanana, across the Yukon River, on a deeply personal backpacking trip. He had spent two years planning the multi-day excursion to spread his late mother's ashes in an alpine meadow she had always longed to revisit. After spending his first day scattering ashes around the scenic mountain bowl, Rick set up his tent near the timber line on the far side of a small alpine pond.

Fred and Squatch Bait hike two miles deep into the dense, overgrown brush along the Kings River to document the site of a harrowing encounter from the previous year. After navigating past massive beaver dams and deeply scarred timber, they reach the exact spot where a man named Daniel was stalked and chased from his isolated camp.

Ten years prior to 2022, two brothers, Jim and James, began constructing a remote 5-acre cabin cabin in the interior of Alaska, south of Fairbanks and north of Wasilla. During the building phase, they experienced recurring bear-like encroachments, forcing them to adopt a hyper-vigilant 'two-person always' security protocol. While James was left alone at the cabin to overnight, he began hearing a persistent 'click-click' sound originating from the walls of the windowless log shell.

On site at Eklutna Lake where Coloradans Douglas and Trina, had an encounter a few weeks ago.  While enjoying the camping, they heard a scream across the lake they thought could be a cougar, even though they thought it was too loud.  Soon after that, they heard another scream from the other direction that was moving towards them.  They quickly jumped into their kayaks and left.

Two shares, the first a retired fish and game biologist that had an experience ten years ago off the Mulchatna river while gathering data on salmon with three others, where they realized what they at first thought was a person exiting the freezing cold river was a Sasquatch they estimated to be over 10'.  They later met up with a group of observers who didn't believe them at first, but did later after they had an encounter, topped off with screams.  When both groups tried to relay their experiences to a fish and game trooper, they fell on deaf ears.

Greg, who lives in Europe, used to spend a lot of money to fly his dogs and equipment to Alaska to participate in the Iditarod.  About five years ago, while training a few months prior to the race, he and fellow team members stopped a few miles outside of Rainy Pass to camp out in an area with multiple available cabins before continuing the next day. That night, his dogs were huddled together in fear and kept moving around the cabin away from something outside.

Chad, a cyclist who'd over the years travel to Alaska for a long-distance cycling event, became a recipient of typical Alaskan Sasquatch behavior while setting up a camp to take a break during his trip a few miles north of Trapper Creek.

Mark was camping with his family off the Matanuska River back in 2020 when they heard a scream and loud splashing in the river.  After he saw it in the water, they had sunlight and used it to pack up camp and leave.  He has not camped since.