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Chased by Shadows on Mount Shasta
A Skeptic's Unshakable Encounter with the Unknown
If you know anything about me—or my story—you know I am a dyed-in-the-wool skeptic. Some might even call me a super-skeptic, especially when it comes to anything lacking verifiable proof. For years, I kept God at arm’s length, wary of belief until it intervened in my life in a way so undeniable it forever changed me, gifting me an infallible intuitive voice. Ghosts were another matter entirely. I’d heard countless tales from others who swore they’d encountered them, yet until my own eyes bore witness, I remained unconvinced such entities traversed our physical plane.
In September 2025, I traveled to Mount Shasta—drawn there not to chase myths, but to investigate a phenomenon I doubted. Ironically, I came away believing I had encountered something else entirely.
The Cosmic Empress and I spent the day meandering through Mount Shasta’s quirky little shops. The refrain was constant: the mountain is a hotbed for UFO activity. Locals spoke casually of unidentified craft seen gliding across the night sky from the mountain’s vantage points. Since we’d already planned to watch the sunset there, we decided, “Why not? Let’s see if we might become one of those who claim a close encounter.”
The Sunset Fades to Mystery
And what a sunset it was. The sky burned with color, and around a dozen others joined us in silent awe. As if the scene weren’t magical enough, a lone harpist had hauled a full-sized harp up the mountain to serenade the fading light. The atmosphere was otherworldly—until it wasn’t.
When darkness fell, most of the crowd trickled away, leaving the Empress and me, plus a handful of couples, scattered about. Most stayed huddled in their cars some twenty yards away—wise, it turns out, given the night’s chill and what was to come. Only one other couple braved the open meadow opposite us, unprotected from the elements and whatever else might share the space. Hindsight, of course, being perfect, we wonder now if those sitting safely behind their windshields suspected what we would soon encounter.
The first hours passed uneventfully. No UFOs. No mysterious lights. Just a meteor—or perhaps space debris—streaking across the heavens in a brilliant display of celestial fire. Satellites and commercial planes drifted by, but otherwise, nothing.
We were seated on a picnic table, about fifty yards from the mountainside slope, eyes trained upward, when the Empress suddenly stiffened. Her hand clamped my arm. “I hear something coming down the mountain,” she whispered. Footsteps. Heavy. Deliberate.
I followed her gaze and, with my own sharper night vision, caught it first: “I see something coming down the mountain!” My eyes had fully adjusted to the dark. There was no mistaking it—something was running, fast, directly toward us. A towering, shadowy biped. Giant strides, silent but for the crunch of rocks beneath its feet.
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A Bear or Bigfoot?
My first instinct was primal: a bear. Bears are known to rear onto their hind legs. That was the only thing my brain could compute at that moment. But I wanted no part of a bear encounter. We bolted toward our car, twenty yards of open ground between us and safety. I scooped up a few rocks as makeshift weapons, trailing a few steps behind the Empress.
Then, just as abruptly as it had charged, the creature veered ninety degrees to its right, cutting across the far side of the meadow. It moved swiftly—eerily so—and within moments vanished down the far slope. What unnerved me most wasn’t its speed or size, but its silence. Aside from shifting rocks underfoot, it made no sound.
Back at the car, hearts pounding, we began to deconstruct what had just happened. At first, I clung to my bear theory. Yet the more I replayed it, the less it held water. Bears don’t sprint bipedally for long stretches, certainly not down a rocky slope at that speed. And this wasn’t human, either. It was far too tall—easily eight feet, if not more. Too tall, too fast, too sure-footed.
The only explanation left standing? Sasquatch. Mount Shasta is, after all, as famous for Bigfoot sightings as it is for UFOs. We had come up the mountain hoping for a glimpse of craft from other worlds and, instead, stumbled upon a legend of our own planet.
All in all, I’d call that a successful evening. If you ever find yourself on Mount Shasta at night, know this: you may think you’re alone under that vast sky—but you almost certainly are not.
