Night Technician Reports Bigfoot Encounter on Observatory Dome

Now this is one of those encounters that sticks with you long after you finish watching. A night technician, alone on a mountain at a closed research observatory, describes watching a Sasquatch walk across the curved steel dome directly above his head while every piece of equipment confirmed nothing was moving. The video comes from the YouTube channel Watchtower Files, and the storyteller lays out the scene with the kind of methodical detail that makes the hair on your arms stand up. Cowlett's Ridge Observatory was shut down for maintenance that week. The narrator was the only authorized person on the mountain after the daytime crew left. Before he started any work, he went through what he calls the "known state" procedure, verifying that the telescope was parked, the dome was at its home mark, and both shutter sections were closed. He even opened the motor disconnects and put his own locks on them. The low voltage controls were still live on backup power, so he could see every limit and every command on the console. Everything read zero. Nothing was moving. Then he heard it. Footfalls striking through the ribs of the dome above the observing floor. Each step deliberate, heavy, and unmistakable. The dome was pale enough against the cloud cover that he could actually see the position of the creature's feet as it crossed the curved steel. One foot planted beside a raised panel seam. The other came forward slowly, toes spreading on wet metal before the weight settled. Its left hand stayed low against the edge of the shutter track for balance. What makes this account so compelling is the contrast between what the instruments were telling him and what his own senses were confirming. The output current fields on the console read zero. They had read zero since he locked out the motors. The structure was moving anyway. He pressed his thumb against the edge of the console as if he could feel the truth of the reading through the plastic. After 11 years of maintaining that equipment, he trusted those readings. And that trust led him to a worse conclusion. The displays were right, and the figure crossing the dome was real. The physical description is where this story really separates itself from the usual blurry shape in the timber. The narrator had spent years working around that dome. He knew exactly how high the upper rail of the shutter track sat above the lower curve. He had stood beside it in daylight with fall protection clipped to the service line. So when he looked up and saw the figure, he had a fixed reference point to measure against. The creature was too tall, too wide, and too deliberate to be a person scrambling in bad footing. Its legs were short compared with the length of its arms. Its feet lay flat to the dome instead of balancing on the front like boots. He could see hands, not paws, and a head that rose directly from massive shoulders. Wet charcoal hair moved in the wind along its shoulders and arms. No clothing, no light, nothing around its body that could have been a climbing harness. That was the moment he used the word Bigfoot. Not because of a noise in the trees or a blurred shape on a camera. He had the whole body against a piece of equipment he had maintained for over a decade. The creature reached the steeper part below the slit and stopped walking upright. One hand moved higher on the track. The opposite palm pressed to a seam. It lowered its center of gravity and climbed with three points of contact, bringing its face closer to the opening with each shift. Ice pellets came through the gap and struck the covered telescope behind him. He could hear it breathing above that sound. Then a hand rose toward the lip of the open slit. Long fingers opened above the rail, reaching for the inside. What is particularly chilling about this account is the timeline the narrator lays out. The encounter happened 44 minutes after he had stopped the shutter. But it had begun much earlier, while every camera still showed an empty mountain. Camera 4 covered the south apron, generator cabinet, and the edge of the west stair base. Camera 3 looked along the upper landing and catwalk. Neither could see the upper dome. That blind spot did not matter during normal operations because no one was supposed to be up there during motion. But during a maintenance closure, with the motors locked out, something found its way onto a structure that should have been impossible to climb in freezing weather without authorization, fall protection, and a second worker. Encounters like this are rare for a reason. Most sightings happen at a distance, in poor light, through trees, or across a valley. What makes this one stand out is the proximity, the duration, and the fixed reference points. The narrator was not guessing at size or distance. He was looking at a known piece of architecture he had worked on for years and measuring what he saw against it. The dome was not moving because the motors were locked out and the console confirmed it. Yet something heavy and deliberate crossed the steel above him, placed its weight carefully enough that the panels gave a low, broad complaint and returned when the foot lifted, and then climbed toward the opening with the kind of three-point contact you would expect from something that understood the structure it was on. For anyone who has spent time around remote research stations, mountain facilities, or industrial sites at night, the procedural detail in this account will feel familiar. The badge logs, the remote duty desk, the work order verification, the call before first motion, the locked gates and signed signout sheets. This was not a casual visitor wandering onto the property. This was a controlled environment with documentation, and the documentation did not explain what happened on the dome that night. Watchtower Files has built a reputation for long-form witness accounts that read more like field reports than campfire stories, and this one fits that pattern. The narrator does not rush to a conclusion. He walks through the verification steps, the instrument readings, the physical measurements, and the timeline before he lets the weight of what he saw settle in. By the time he uses the word Bigfoot, the reader has already arrived there with him. If you have ever wondered what a close encounter looks like when the witness has the training, the equipment knowledge, and the procedural framework to rule out almost everything else, this video is worth your time. It is the kind of account that does not need dramatic music or shaky camera work. The dome, the console, the locked-out motors, and the figure crossing the steel do all the work on their own.