These shares involve pacing or paralleling—something matching speed and direction along a trail, road, or river without showing itself clearly.
Common threads are the feeling of being walked with, brush movement in step, and rising dread. Browse these shares for stalking-by-pace reports.
While salmon fishing along a secluded bank of the Russian River on the Kenai Peninsula, a local angler named Brandon and his two out-of-state college friends noted a series of unusual disturbances across the water. While practicing his fly-casting loops, Brandon first spotted a patch of vibrant, chimpanzee-like red hair moving through the opposite brush line, which he initially joked was a fellow redhead angler.
During a winter backcountry snowmachining excursion, a group of four friends staged out of Trappers Creek to boondock through fresh, deep powder fields. Navigating individual routes using personal GPS trackers, George paused his 700 RMK snowmachine on a segment of packed ground to safely fill his engine with a spare gas can. While refueling, he noted an immense dark form executing high-speed maneuvers through a thick tree line several hundred yards back.
Three years prior to 2022, two finance professionals from São Paulo, Brazil, named Louis and Franco, embarked on a high-priced guided wolf and bear combo hunt on the outskirts of the Katmai Wildlife Refuge down on the Alaska Peninsula. Operating from a remote spike camp carefully hacked out inside a ten-foot radius of thick willow shrubs to shield from heavy winds, the hunters hiked up a treacherous switchback path onto an adjacent high mountain shelf to glass a major north-south river clearing.
In an on-site field interview conducted north of Willow along the Deception Creek trail system, a lifelong Alaskan outdoorsman named Ryan walked the channel researcher through a highly strategic, dual-creature stalking encounter. While tracking a game trail leading past a localized swamp clearing at dusk, Ryan's two highly trained dogs—Keen and Brutus—suddenly locked up with their hackles completely raised. A massive unseen presence began heavily pacing and paralleling Ryan's route through a dense thicket of tall willow and alder brush just 20 to 25 yards away.
Jonathan, a 30-year resident of a remote forested property situated within the Wasilla-Willow corridor, was ambushed by a pair of massive Sasquatch entities while executing nighttime supply runs from his vehicle to his cabin. Transporting an awkward bulk package of Costco toilet paper balanced on his left shoulder, Jonathan heard heavy brush-crashing seamlessly parallel his step just feet away inside the pitch-black thicket. Hit by an unprecedented wave of absolute dread, he left the package on the trail and retreated to secure a 10mm Glock pistol.
In the 1980s, lifelong outdoorsmen Spencer and Max returned to a remote, reverse-Z-shaped muskeg swamp line near the boundary of Denali National Park, ten years after discovering an abandoned camp layout and enduring anomalous mimicry whistles and gibberish vocalizations in their youth. Operating a high-speed Honda 250R three-wheeler, Spencer hopped off the rear rack to escape exhaust fumes, walking the spongy moss edge while Max opened the throttle down a 3-mile valley trail.
During a spring bear hunt expedition, a veteran Alaskan bush pilot named Buck flew two out-of-state hunters to a remote base camp east of Salcha. Left with an hour of free fuel time, Buck puddle-jumped his Piper Cub onto a nearby open tundra ridge flanked by a sparse black spruce tree line and large old-growth timber stands. Encountering an uncanny, absolute silence upon stepping out of his cockpit, Buck slung a .454 Casull revolver on his chest and hiked 500 yards out into a tundra berry patch to engage in wildlife photography.
Around 2014, two brothers, Kyle and his younger sibling (spaced less than two years apart), were foraging wild berries along a remote backcountry trail roughly a mile and a half deep from any actual road system on the outskirts of Fairbanks. After picking berries, they detected an unsettling, low-frequency 'grumbling' acoustic pattern that seemed completely constant and unceasing within the thicket, prompting them to pack their buckets.
Around 2016, a seasonal cannery worker from Dillingham named Jesse utilized his week off to execute a solo catch-and-release silver salmon trek along Silver Salmon Creek, hiking from the Aleknagik Road culverts down to the Wood River mouth. Setting up an 8-inch skillet camp cookstove on a hard bank slough, Jesse heard a series of heavy 'woof' grunts that he initially attributed to a stray dog. While casting into a deep pool, an absolute silence dropped over the drainage, and Jesse spotted a large chocolate-brown mass crouching across the channel just 20 meters out.
In the mid-1970s, a 10-year-old boy named Dan, who had recently relocated to the Gulkana River drainage region, wandered off into the timber alone. After navigating a trail where he was actively paced and eventually cut off by a large, intimidating hair-covered figure 15 yards out, he retreated. Eight months later in May, during a torrential rainstorm, Dan became profoundly lost in the remote backcountry wearing only a t-shirt and jeans.
In an extensive panel interview, a mainland native resident named Mike detailed the profound oral histories and recent close-range encounters on a remote, windswept island in the Bering Sea. Mike's grandfather (born in 1904) maintained historical accounts of a rogue 'hairy man' who systematically abducted and consumed disobedient village children caught out past dark, culminating in a historic campaign where a local shaman tracked and dispatched an entity, slicing open its stomach to recover nine hairless, amnesiac children.
While house-sitting a rural property north of Glennallen along the Richardson Highway to protect against localized equipment theft, a married couple named John and Betty jackknifed their 16-foot fifth-wheel trailer across the driveway entrance, placing their camper a mere 100 feet off the primary asphalt road. While returning to the rig at dusk after utilizing an outdoor fire pit behind the main house, they were unsettled by a low, non-animal gurgling throat-clear emerging from the foliage.
Around 2019, a first nations hunter named Jack and his less-experienced partner, Eric, executed a remote catch-and-release style caribou hunt via single-man kayaks, launching from the Maclaren River bridge off the Denali Highway down to the Tyone Creek confluence. After pitching pop-up tents on the river's west bank, they awoke to an absolute, deafening silence that dropped over the tundra canopy. Proceeding on foot down a game trail through heavy morning fog, Eric spotted an edge-of-vision dark shadow tracking them.
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.
During an autumn gold prospecting trip, two first nations brothers named Ivan and his sibling navigated their 18-foot Lund skiff as far upstream as possible into the headwaters of the King Salmon River, north of the Nuyakuk confluence. While meticulously searching the bank cuts for gold-bearing quartz veins, they pitched a light spike camp using a Coleman cookstove. On their third night, a terrifying vocalization that sounded exactly like a woman being murdered erupted from the opposite bank.
