Bryce Johnson From Expedition Bigfoot Warned Us… We Didn’t Listen

Is that something that’s commonly reported that people are disappearing in this area?
>> That’s what I’ve heard.
>> The other witnesses I spoke to about this event had very similar stories. And the fact that these people were willing to give up months of work tells me this was real and we could be facing a very serious threat.
>> Some warnings aren’t meant to be ignored. But when they come from the wilderness, when they’re whispered through fear rather than shouted in safety, they often get dismissed until it’s too late. Whispers of fear. A logger explained that just two weeks earlier, he and nearly 20 others had been out working in the forest when things started to feel wrong. At first, they noticed objects being moved, like tools and equipment showing up on the edge of the woods instead of where they had been left. Then came something far worse. Pieces of devoured flesh were discovered in the area. Eventually, the body of a logger was found deep in the woods. A discovery that turned fear into raw panic. When asked if it might have been a bear, the logger rejected the idea. A bear would have left tracks, he explained. But here there were none. No prince, no signs of any animal moving through. That absence was what unsettled him the most. By the time Bryce Johnson and Maria reached the island, the damage was already done. The community wasn’t just unsettled, it was fractured. People whispered in hush tones about what had taken place, unwilling to say too much, as if speaking of it aloud might invite the same fate.
>> I’m a logger and uh two weeks ago we were all working out here. There was at least 20 guys and uh we just started noticing things were moved.
>> Really, >> we’d find things just gone and then we’d go looking for them and find them down in the edge of the wood.
>> Town meetings had been called. Neighbors clutched together, trading pieces of the story like fragments of a nightmare. It had only been weeks, but the fear still clung to the streets like fog. For some, the weight of that fear was unbearable.
Families quietly packed up their belongings and left the town, refusing to spend another night under the looming shadow of the woods. The risk of staying, of pretending life could go back to normal, was simply too great.
Maria and Bryce pressed on, determined to hear the truth for themselves. They sought out anyone willing to talk, tracking down nearly 20 people who had some connection to the incident. Yet, almost everyone turned them away when cameras came out. The silence wasn’t accidental, it was deliberate. People didn’t just want privacy, they wanted protection. They believed speaking about it might draw attention from whatever haunted the forest. Finally, one man agreed to share his story. A logger, hardened by years of work in unforgiving conditions, carried himself with a weight that suggested he wasn’t exaggerating for effect. But he had one demand. His face could not be shown. His condition wasn’t vanity. It was fear.
Fear that being recognized might put him in danger. Fear that even recounting his story came with consequences. The logger’s warning. When the logger began, he didn’t hesitate.
After the strange disturbances with their tools, something far more terrifying emerged. On the first night, as darkness closed over their camp, the crew heard screams echoing from deep within the forest. They weren’t the cries of wolves or the growls of bears.
The loggers struggled to find words, finally settling on the closest comparison he could think of.
>> You think a bear could have taken this stuff?
>> No. It would have if it would have been a barrier, there’d have been some kind of signs or tracks or something. And >> were there any kind of tracks at all?
>> Nothing.
That’s what was really weird about it.
>> It sounded like a woman being attacked.
Raw agony stretched into sound. The terror escalated night after night. The noises grew louder, closer until it felt as though something was circling them.
Every man in that camp felt like prey waiting in the open for a predator to strike. and they knew there would be no help if it came. Their camp was isolated, 30 mi from the nearest town with no roads leading out. If they called for help, no one would arrive in time. They were on their own. When asked if he thought the culprit was Bigfoot, the logger didn’t flinch. His words were cold. Matter of fact, we knew what it was. People disappear out here. These things come and take them. The logger didn’t hesitate when he spoke of the mountains. He said it with certainty.
The kind that comes from lived experience, not superstition. Those peaks weren’t for people. They weren’t for logging, for hunting, or for wandering. They belong to something else entirely. And for that reason, he explained, he would never set foot up there. It wasn’t just his own belief.
The old men of the community had said the same thing for years. The mountains had boundaries no one was meant to cross. From childhood, the message was clear. Respect the land, but never mistake it for your own. The elders passed those warnings down like heirlooms, knowing exactly what happened to those who ignored them. The logger emphasized this point. Their territory wasn’t just an idea. It was an unspoken law. Intrude and you wouldn’t return. To him, this wasn’t up for debate. When outsiders arrived, curious or reckless, they weren’t simply walking into the wilderness. They were stepping into someone else’s home. The mountains were watched, guarded, and anyone foolish enough to explore them was gambling with their life. Before the conversation ended, the logger leaned into his warning with all the weight of someone who’d seen too much. He told Maria and Bryce directly. If you’re not from here, if you don’t understand the rules, then you should stay far away. There would be no protection, no second chances. It was advice spoken plainly, stripped of drama, because it didn’t need embellishment. The truth already carried enough gravity.
>> What do you think it was making those noises?
>> We know the animals that are in the area, what they sound like, and it was nothing like anything we’d ever heard before.
>> It’s hard to explain or hard to describe. It made our skin crawl.
>> Yeah.
>> Just being here now is makes me nervous just thinking about it.
>> Yet, the Expedition Bigfoot team, driven by their mission and drawn deeper by every story, wasn’t about to walk away.
Warnings once given carry an unsettling pattern. They echo for a moment heavy in the air and then they fade. And more often than not, the people who hear them push forward anyway, believing they’ll be the ones to prove them wrong into the mountains. Despite the loggers chilling words, Bryce and the Expedition Bigfoot team prepared their gear and set out toward the mountains. To them, this place was a gold mine of potential sightings, a target-rich environment where every story pointed to something hiding in the wilderness.
As their helicopter carried them closer, Russell reminded the group of what native legends described, a supernatural human-like being, but one more aggressive and hostile than the stories most people knew. The team had to stay on high alert. Not only was the island rumored to house such creatures, but real predators, wolves, and massive bears, roame the same territory. They believed they were prepared. At least that’s what they told themselves. To give themselves an edge, the crew relied on drones. High above the forest canopy, the machines searched for movement and sent back data the human eye could never catch. But what they found wasn’t comforting. The drones picked up strange odors, rotting flesh, the scent of wet dogs, even other smells they couldn’t categorize. None matched what they had expected. Instead of clarity, the technology brought unease. Then two locations were flagged as possible hotspots. Two places, both with the potential to hold answers. The decision was made, split the team. Maria would cover the lower ground while Russell took the higher slopes, flesh and bones.
That night, a storm pushed them into a makeshift shelter. Yet, even with the pounding rain, they couldn’t ignore the noises. Russell’s team heard something heavy moving closer, accompanied by the stench locals had warned about. Armed with flashlights, they pushed into the dark woods. Branches cracked, the underbrush rustled, and then, suspended above them, they spotted pieces of flesh hanging in the trees. It wasn’t old. It wasn’t weathered. It looked fresh. Skin torn, meat gnawed. Before they could process the sight, more rustling erupted. A massive shape moved quickly between the trees, visible only as a blur before vanishing into the dark.
Broken branches marked its path. Russell knew from experience something enormous had just been there, but now it was gone.
>> I felt like I was right on its heels, but whatever this thing is, it’s moving much faster than I can move in this forest. On the lower slope of the mountain, Maria picked up the same foul odor Russell had reported earlier. A sharp, pungent stench that didn’t fade, but grew stronger the deeper she went.
Following it, she froze when she came upon a sight that drained the color from her face. A pile of bones scattered across the ground like discarded fragments from a feeding site. There were skulls, shattered pieces of skeletons, and broken remains spread in a way that didn’t suggest random scattering. It was organized chaos, the kind of pattern left when a predator devours its prey and leaves the remains behind. Maria immediately connected it to a previous investigation in Washington, where the crew had come across what looked like a similar kill site. The resemblance was too close to ignore. Her voice shook as she grabbed her radio and called it in. This wasn’t speculation. It was evidence, raw and visible. Something had killed here, and it had done so more than once. Trying to make sense of it, she pulled out her laserg guided equipment to scan the area. The readings spiked erratically, jumping back and forth without consistency, as though something invisible was actively tampering with the instruments. The behavior wasn’t natural. Equipment doesn’t misfire this way without cause. Then, just as quickly as it started, the chaos ended. The spikes leveled out. The smell began to thin, and silence reclaimed the forest.
Maria felt it in her gut. The presence hadn’t vanished. It had simply withdrawn, slipping back into the dark, aware of her, but unwilling to show itself. And that realization brought an even sharper edge of terror. She wasn’t alone. She was being watched. Prey in the night. Moments later, backup arrived at Maria’s location. No sooner had they regrouped than the woods exploded with sound. The >> hell was that?
What the?
That’s not a wolf. That sounded like a like a person yelling something.
>> The first sounded like an animal in distress, but that had a more human >> like tone to it.
>> Yeah. Screams, neither animal nor human, ripped through the air, unnatural and uncanny. The sound sharpened, stretching into something agonized. Bryce, shaken, could only mutter under his breath as the echoes rolled through the trees. The noise came from all directions, disorienting and relentless. Above them, branches rattled. Rustling came from the treetops, and then silence.
The group knew instantly this wasn’t a wolf or a bear. The cries mimicked a human in distress, closer to a person calling for help than any known animal sound. The logger’s words came back to them at that moment. This was exactly what he had described, the unnatural voice that drove men from their camps.
Russell quickly told his crew to stay sharp. They were in the very place the loggers had abandoned, and now the creatures were circling, pressing closer, making it clear this was their ground, not human territory.
Russell returned to the spot where he and his crew had first seen flesh dangling high in the branches. But when he got there, the pieces were gone.
Nothing remained on the tree, and nothing had fallen to the ground. They studied the footage captured earlier and measured the height. The flesh had been nearly 20 ft up. Russell knew bears could climb, but a bear would have broken branches in the process. Here, the branches were untouched. That meant whatever had placed it there had also come back later after they’d left and taken it away deliberately. Russell analyzed the scene and realized the creature had lured them. By chasing the noise and movement earlier, they had left the sight unguarded. In that time, the flesh had been reclaimed. It wasn’t a chance. It was a strategy. He admitted openly. Whatever they were tracking was 10 steps ahead of them. His crew felt the same. One member said plainly that something was watching them. The feeling of being prey wasn’t just paranoia anymore. It was fact. Recognizing the risk, the next day they added an extra safeguard. Zach, a gunman, joined them for security. The overnight rain had softened the ground, and Russell knew this gave them their best chance at finding tracks. They searched the area extensively, but what they found was disappointing. Bear tracks everywhere, covering the terrain. Zach explained why. Bears eat new growth after rain, and this place was full of them. The tracks made it nearly impossible to tell if anything else had been moving there.
He reassured them they were safe during the day. But as Maria noted, the expedition now felt more dangerous than ever because for the first time they needed armed guards shadowing them.
Alaska’s wild edge. Maria explained the difference. They had worked in bear country before, but Alaska was unique.
The bears here were bigger, wilder, and far less accustomed to human presence.
That unpredictability made them dangerous. Any encounter could spiral out of control in seconds. And since it was morning, Zach reminded them the bears would be emerging from their dens hungry and aggressive. The tension was constant. The crew knew the guards were necessary, but their very presence was a reminder of how exposed they truly were.
>> So, we’re safe here.
>> Yeah, this is safe.
>> Okay.
>> For the very first time of any of our expeditions, we have armed bear guards with us.
>> Yet, the greatest danger in Alaska wasn’t always the bears. For generations, stories had circulated of something far worse. Massive humanoids, beings described not just as predators, but as cannibals that hunted human flesh. Many Bigfoot accounts elsewhere painted the creatures as elusive, even shy. But here, the stories were darker.
When these beings felt their territory was invaded, encounters didn’t just end in sightings. They turned violent. In this part of Alaska, the fear wasn’t treated as a rumor or legend. It was tied directly to history. A place called Portlock carried the scars of that fear.
Its legacy stained with tales of disappearances and violent deaths. The abandoned village stood as proof. An entire community that had once thrived, left behind because something in the wilderness refused to let them live in peace. A ghost town’s curse. Port Lock, Alaska. Once a settlement by the sea, now nothing but a husk. Its story was unlike any other abandoned place in America. People didn’t just leave because times were hard. They fled because they believed the land itself was cursed. Port was cursed and Bigfoot’s place and nobody goes there.
Overnight, everybody left.
>> Generations had tried to settle there, but each attempt ended the same way.
fear, sickness, and overwhelming dread.
Even the strongest men felt it, a heavy sensation that clung to anyone who stayed too long. In 1867, a group of nomadic Sukpyak people believed they had found paradise. The waters and forests around Portlock were full of clams, fish, and moose. Food was plentiful, and life seemed promising. But their relief didn’t last. Within a month, attacks began. Not from rival tribes. The villagers described something worse.
Cannibal giants, monstrous in size, who came not for resources, but for flesh.
Night after night, these giants stormed the settlement, leaving brutality in their wake. The villagers fought back, but they couldn’t withstand such power.
Eventually, they had no choice but to evacuate. The death of Andrew Camllock.
By the 1930s, Portlock had grown again.
residents felt safer, confident enough to relax old rules about staying near the forest’s edge. But in 1931, a logger named Andrew Camluk ignored the warnings and ventured deeper into the trees. When he didn’t return, a search party set out. What they found was horrifying.
Camluck’s head had been crushed by his own sled. A load so heavy no human could have lifted it alone. Nearby, his sled dogs had been ripped apart, and the sled itself was hurled far from the sight.
The violence was staggering beyond anything natural predators could explain. His death was more than a tragedy. It was a message. Something in the forest had strength and savagery far beyond human capability. Tom Larson’s encounter. The next incident only deepened the terror. A man named Tom Larson went to the shore gathering wood for fish traps. As he worked, he noticed movement. A massive figure stood upright on the beach, covered in hair, radiating a disturbing intelligence. Panic surged through him. He ran home, grabbed his rifle, and returned, determined to confront whatever it was. But when he raised the weapon, his body betrayed him. He was paralyzed, unable to pull the trigger, locked in place under the creature’s gaze. The figure eventually turned and walked back into the forest.
Larson was left shaken. His fear now laced with certainty. What people whispered about wasn’t just a tale. It was real, and it was bold enough to face humans directly. Camluk’s gruesome death and Larsson’s chilling paralysis ignited new terror in the community. People began whispering about the non-tinch, describing it as vengeful and relentless, like a predator that never forgets.
>> I I think it’s they’re out looking for food. um maybe raiding the campground or sneaking around. Um in the winter they’re looking for people with uh chicken farms or sheep or something so they can grab a quick meal.
>> First it was miners who disappeared, then hunters. At first, towns folk tried to rationalize the vanishings, chalking them up to long trips or accidents, but the pattern was too strong to ignore.
Bodies began turning up, mangled, mutilated, marked with wounds that no bear could inflict. Some washed into the bay. Others were found along trails, dismembered beyond recognition. The town realized it wasn’t a coincidence. They were being hunted. Even as fear gripped Portlock, some held on to the idea that a rogue bear was to blame. It seemed easier to believe in a known predator than something out of legend. But then heavy spring rains came and the river delivered proof that shattered any lingering doubts. A body was found, torn apart and swept down from the mountains.
The brutal damage went far beyond what a bear could do. Limbs were dismembered, the remains shredded in ways no natural predator would leave behind. The message was undeniable. Something else was hunting in those forests. Guards were stationed day and night, patrolling the town and its outskirts, but their presence did nothing to stop the attacks. Bodies continued to appear, some along trails, others near rivers, a few washing up along the bay. Each carried the same horrifying marks, mutilated and broken. Fear became the town’s lifeblood. Residents realized they weren’t simply living near danger.
They were living inside a hunting ground. Accounts varied, but all painted a grim picture. Some said up to three dozen bodies were found over the years.
Official records admitted to about 15 missing, but the native community insisted the number was far higher. The state of the bodies made their case. The mutilations were too severe, too deliberate for wolves or bears. These were killings by something stronger, something with intent. The end of Portlock.
By 1950, survival no longer felt possible. Families could no longer justify risking their children, their neighbors, or themselves. The decision was swift. Nearly the entire town packed up and left overnight, abandoning their homes to rot by the sea. What remained was a ghost town, a place remembered not for prosperity or promise, but for terror, mutilation, and warnings that had gone unheeded.
From devoured flesh found in the woods to loggers swearing they were stalked to Portlock’s final collapse, the message repeats itself. The wilderness keeps its secrets. And sometimes those secrets don’t want to be found. And yet, despite the loggers warning to Bryce Johnson, “Stay away. Stay far away.” The team went forward. They pursued the mystery, walking deeper into territory the locals said belonged to something else.
Warnings are easy to dismiss, but history shows us what happens when people don’t listen.