Sasquatch Grabs Steering Wheel, Saves Trucker From Mountain Crash

Posted Monday, August 17, 2026

By Squatchable.com staff

A trucker's late-night run across one of Colorado's most treacherous mountain passes turned into something far more extraordinary than a routine haul. The story, shared in a recent YouTube video, follows Russell Doyle, a 25-year veteran long-haul driver, who encountered something on Berthoud Pass that he still can't explain. Berthoud Pass sits high in the Colorado Rockies, winding through the Continental Divide at over 11,000 feet. Truckers know it well, and most avoid it after dark if they can help it. The road has a reputation for sudden ice, sharp curves, and long drops with little more than a low barrier between a vehicle and the dark below. In early November, with winter creeping in, the pass becomes even more unpredictable. Ice can form in one section while the rest of the pavement stays clear, and the grades are steep enough that a fully loaded rig can pick up speed faster than a driver expects. Russell had a rule he never broke: never stop for strangers on a mountain road at night. It wasn't something he learned in driving school. It came from a coworker named Frank Mallaloy, who once picked up a hitchhiker on Interstate 70 and nearly lost his life for it. The scar from that night stayed with Frank until retirement. For Russell, the lesson was simple. Some doors only need to be opened once to ruin everything. That night should have been no different. Russell was hauling industrial equipment from Denver to Grand Junction, a rush job that forced him across Berthoud Pass after dark. He checked his tires, tested his brakes, and settled into the cab. The radio played quietly. The headlights cut through fog and snow-covered pines. For nearly ten minutes, he saw nothing but empty road. Then he saw the eyes. Two dull amber lights stood at the edge of the pavement, too high for a deer, too still for a bear. As the truck crept closer, the figure took shape. More than eight and a half feet tall, covered head to foot in dark, wet hair, with shoulders nearly twice as wide as the truck's cab door. The arms hung long, the fingers curving slightly inward. The face was darker than the hair around it, with a heavy brow ridge and a closed mouth. The figure stepped closer to the road with a balance that didn't look like anything Russell had ever seen on two legs. Instead of running, the figure stood there, both amber eyes fixed on the cab. Then came a sound, low and deliberate, rising from somewhere deep in its chest. Russell described it as feeling like two large tree trunks grinding against each other in strong wind, but with a clear rise and fall that made it feel intentional. The vibration traveled through the windshield, the radio, and the metal of the cab itself. Russell hit the brakes. What happened next is the part of the story that has stuck with people. The figure climbed into the cab. As Russell came down the mountain, a huge hand covered in wet hair suddenly reached across and locked around the steering wheel. The 20-ton truck began drifting out of its lane. Russell shouted, fighting to take back control. The figure didn't look at him. It stared straight ahead through the windshield, as if it knew the road better than the driver who had crossed that pass hundreds of times. Then, at the exact moment the tires reached the last strip of safe braking surface before a deadly curve, the figure let go. Russell never knew whether he had just escaped death, or whether something beyond his understanding had taken the wheel from him for one fateful second. Years later, when he watched the famous Patterson-Gimlin footage, he immediately recognized the forward lean and the swing of the arms. But that night on Berthoud Pass, he didn't have a name for what he was seeing. He only knew it wasn't human. Stories like Russell's aren't uncommon in the high country of Colorado. The Rockies have long been considered Sasquatch territory, with reports stretching back generations. Indigenous peoples of the region, including the Ute and Arapaho, have spoken of tall, hairy beings who lived in the mountains and sometimes watched over travelers. Whether