Retired BC Worker Shares 1983 Bigfoot Encounter with Cousin

There's something about a story that's been carried in silence for over four decades that hits differently. A video recently surfaced on YouTube from a channel called The Porch Light Visitor, and it's one of those accounts that sticks with you long after the screen goes dark. The storyteller is a 71-year-old retired highway maintenance worker named Glenn, who spent 33 years working the roads of British Columbia's Fraser Canyon and Coquihalla corridor. He's not some wide-eyed guy chasing shadows in the woods. He's the kind of man who knows every drainage ditch and washout between Hope and Lytton, who pulled 30-something vehicles out of creeks over his career, and who filled out more incident reports than he can count. When a man like that says something doesn't add up, you listen. The story centers on his cousin Dale Graham, who was 29 years old in October of 1983. Dale was working a logging camp near Boston Bar, running cut for a falling crew on the high ground above the canyon. On October 23rd, he was driving back alone down a logging spur road about 12 km northeast of Hope. It had been raining for three days straight, that cold October kind that sits right at the edge of freezing once you get up in elevation. The outer edge of the road grade had undermined in the wet, and Dale's blue 1979 Ford half-ton went off the left-hand curve and dropped 30 feet into the creek drainage below. The truck was found the next morning, cab down in the creek bed, engine still running. The door had been pushed partially open from inside. There was blood on the driver's side window. But Dale wasn't there. No trail through the brush, no crushed ferns, no blood drops leading anywhere. Just gone. What happened next is where this story takes a turn that no rational explanation can account for. After nearly 20 hours of searching, Dale was found 60 meters up the road shoulder from the wreck site, lying on his back, arranged on a bed of fresh-cut fir boughs and covered with more boughs laid in overlapping rows across his chest and legs. The cuts on the stems were clean. There was no cutting tool at the scene. His pelvis was fractured. Two ribs were cracked. The attending physician at Hope Hospital told Glenn plainly that a man with those injuries could not have moved himself across flat ground, let alone up a 30-foot embankment in the dark. The paramedic who reached Dale on that slope later described his core temperature as "marginally incompatible with life" without the insulation of the bough arrangement. That insulation made the difference between a body recovery and a living man. And then there's the track evidence. Glenn describes bipedal impressions in the soft ground along the road shoulder, larger than any human foot he'd encountered in 33 years of highway work. Deep impressions consistent with significant weight. A stride pattern longer than any man he'd ever seen walk. The discussion cuts off mid-sentence right as he's describing the track count, which is frustrating, but what he does share is enough to give you chills. Hope, BC and the surrounding Fraser Canyon country has long been considered one of the most active regions in North America for Sasquatch reports. The area has produced countless sightings over the decades, and the dense old-growth forest, steep canyon walls, and remote logging roads create exactly the kind of terrain where these beings could move through largely undisturbed. The 1941 prospector cabin incident near Hope remains one of the most famous encounters on record, and the region continues to draw researchers and witnesses to this day. What makes this particular account stand out is the credibility of the witness and the physical evidence that was documented at the time. Constable Lawn Peach took measurements and photographs before Dale was evacuated. His report, which Glenn later obtained through a records request in 1986, noted that the injured party had been found in a manner and condition inconsistent with self-evacuation given documented injuries. The bough arrangement was logged as field evidence, but no mechanism for it was offered. Petch documented what he could. He couldn't document the explanation. Glenn carried this story for 41 years. He only decided to share it after his wife Ruthie died of pancreatic cancer in 2019. In her last week, she told him she was releasing him from the promise they'd made together to keep it quiet. "Glenn, when I'm gone, you tell it. You tell it right." And that's what he did. The video is worth watching in full. Glenn's voice carries the weight of a man who has lived with this knowledge for most of his adult life, and his matter-of-fact delivery makes the story land even harder. There's no sensationalism here, no reaching for dramatic effect. Just a retired highway worker telling you what he saw with his own eyes on a cold October hillside in 1983, and trusting you to make of it what you will.