Bigfoot Sighting Aborts Helicopter Bridge Installation on Remote Trail

So I just stumbled across something pretty incredible on YouTube the other night, and I had to share it with you all right away. A guy named Cole Marston posted a detailed firsthand account about a helicopter sling load operation that went sideways in the most unexpected way possible. Trust me, this one is worth every minute of your time. Cole was working as ground crew lead for Northline Trail Works back when he was 43, overseeing the aerial delivery of a 28-foot composite bridge frame to Halden Creek. The old pedestrian bridge had been removed due to decay, and the replacement had to be flown in by helicopter because there was simply no road access. The frame was sitting at a gravel staging pit about three air miles away, waiting to be slung beneath an Airbus H125. The setup was textbook. Cole had his signal point about 70 feet southwest of the placement area. Meera Calder, the bridge carpenter, was positioned another 25 feet behind him and farther west, outside the load path. Dana Ror was the pilot in command from Cascade Utility Helicopters, and Ed Hollis was the lift superintendent back at staging. Everyone had their roles, everyone knew the plan, and everyone had rehearsed the wave-off protocol. If Cole called the site occupied, Dana would take the load back to staging. No discussion under an active load. The first cargo run went perfectly. Compact decking and hardware came in clean, and the receiving site was confirmed ready for the main frame. Then the second trip started. Cole was at his signal point with the radio in his right hand when he saw it. A figure walked out from beside the north end of the placement area. Dark hair covered the body, and water shone on the lower legs, like it had just come from the creek. The figure crossed beside a survey reference that stood seven feet above the gravel, and its head rose beyond it. Cole didn't hesitate. He keyed the radio and called it. "Sight occupied. Wave off. Wave off. Keep the load clear." Dana responded immediately. The frame stopped coming toward him. The aircraft and load began moving away from the abutments while the dark figure remained beside the creek. The whole thing played out exactly as they'd drilled it, which is probably the most reassuring part of the whole story. Now here's where it gets really interesting from a research standpoint. Cole mentions a fixed work camera mounted west of the site that was recording during the operation. Its view included most of the abutments, though part of the incoming frame would later pass across the image. That camera was placed to document cargo arrival and fit, not wildlife, but it's worth wondering what might have been captured on that footage. The survey reference standing seven feet tall also served as an unintentional height comparison, which is the kind of detail that makes this account stand out from typical sighting reports. The financial aftermath was real too. That single sentence Cole spoke that morning added $17,450 to the Halden Creek bridge job. Aircraft commitment, crew time, cargo handling, storage, and remobilization all added up. It wasn't a fine, and nobody tried to charge him personally. It was just the cost of bringing a remote lift to the edge of completion and then stopping it. What I really appreciate about this account is how Cole pushes back against the more dramatic version of the story. He makes it clear that a helicopter did not nearly drop a bridge on a Sasquatch. The load was kept clear, returned to staging, and set back on the timber supports prepared for it. The dangerous part ended quickly because the people involved did what they had agreed to do before the aircraft ever started. The bridge went in eleven days later. Nobody was hurt, the aircraft wasn't damaged, and every piece of cargo reached the trail project intact. The harder part, as Cole puts it, came after that, when they had to decide whether the receiving site could become usable again. That's a question a lot of researchers don't talk about. What happens to a job site, a piece of land, a trail system, after an encounter like this? How do you go back to work in a place where something unexplained walked through your workspace? This is one of those accounts that feels different because of the professional context. Cole wasn't out looking for anything. He wasn't on a research expedition or a late-night investigation. He was doing his job, running a standard helicopter sling load operation with proper safety protocols, and something walked into his placement area that didn't belong there. The fact that he had a seven-foot survey reference right there for scale comparison is almost too perfect. If you haven't seen this one yet, do yourself a favor and check it out. Cole Marston tells the whole story himself, and the level of detail is exactly what makes a good sighting report. He knows the terrain, he knows the equipment, he knows the people involved, and he's not trying to sell you anything. He's just telling you what happened on a Tuesday morning at Halden Creek.