Drone Pilot Captures Thermal Footage of 211 Bigfoot Figures in Idaho

A drone pilot with six years of thermal survey experience has captured what might be the most staggering piece of Sasquatch evidence ever recorded on government equipment. The footage, which surfaced through a Hidden Documentary upload, shows not just one or two of these elusive beings, but a coordinated line of 211 moving through the Bitterroot Mountains of Idaho in a formation that suggests something far more sophisticated than anyone expected. The pilot, known as Cordell, spent years counting elk for Idaho's wildlife agency using fixed-wing drones equipped with thermal cameras. Flying at 2,000 feet in grid patterns at night, he became an expert at distinguishing animals by their heat signatures. Warm bodies against cold ground, that's how thermal works, and after 400 flights, nothing surprised him anymore. Until February 9th. That night over Moose Creek, a shape emerged from the timber into an open park, walking upright on two legs. The heat distribution was all wrong for any animal Cordell knew. It blazed from the head and chest, down the front of the thighs, but faded along the arms and shoulders, like something furry on the outside keeping warmth contained inside. The shoulders were too wide for the head, and when Cordell did the math, factoring ground elevation and altitude, the figure measured between seven and a half and eight feet tall. What happened next is what makes this footage so extraordinary. Cordell returned to the same grid the following nights, adjusting camera settings, trying to prove his equipment was malfunctioning. Instead, he captured more. On February 11th, between 9 p.m. and 1 a.m., he recorded a line of Sasquatch that never stopped. 211 of them, moving west to east across 11 miles in file at a steady walking pace. He counted them four times frame by frame, getting 209, 211, 214, and publishing 211 because it came up twice. Nine of the figures were smaller, about two-thirds the height of the adults, mixed throughout the line, walking the same interval as the grown ones. Whatever was happening that night, it included young ones. The really unsettling part came when wildlife biologist Ketchum overlaid elk collar data onto Cordell's footage. Ninety-one collared elk on that range, each reporting position every four hours. Every single elk was ahead of the Sasquatch line, moving two to four hours before the first figure crossed that ground. The elk knew the line was coming. Ninety-one elk fleeing east, ahead of a line of Sasquatch, all in one night. Ketchum said the word out loud: a drive. A drive is the oldest hunting method there is. You arrange beaters in a line, walk them forward, and everything in front flees. No chasing, no running. You just walk, pushing the prey ahead. The only requirement is numbers and discipline, and Cordell had both on thermal. The line held. When Ketchum and Cordell flew ahead 11 miles east during a second drive in November, the thermal showed something even more chilling. Thirty or forty more Sasquatch were already waiting, stationary, spread across half a mile in an arc, open side facing west, waiting for the drive. They had sat there for hours in the cold and dark. This was not migration. This was a coordinated push, Sasquatch walking in line, driving prey into a waiting arc. The line doesn't catch. It doesn't need to. The line are the beaters. The arc are the guns. Two men lost their lives investigating this phenomenon. A field tech named Ruddic vanished in February while servicing a collar receiver, leaving only a glove behind. Another wildlife tech named Naylor was found dead in November, 1,200 feet from the bowl where the drive had passed. Both shoulder blades broken, left arm dislocated and twisted, collarbone and ribs shattered. His hands and forearms were clean, his face unmarked, and his boots had moved through snow after the first injury. Whatever happened, it took its time. The 40th image on Naylor's camera showed the ground covered in bone, elk bones mostly, cracked for marrow, ribs snapped, skulls opened, antlers still attached, dark hair pressed into the snow. For anyone who has spent time studying Sasquatch reports, the idea of coordinated group behavior is not new. Researchers like John Green documented possible family groups in the Pacific Northwest decades ago, and Native American traditions across countless tribes have long described these beings as organized, intelligent, and capable of sophisticated communication. What makes this thermal footage different is the scale and the clarity. This is not a blurry figure in the distance. This is a state wildlife agency file showing 211 warm bodies moving with military precision across federal wilderness, backed by flight logs and elk collar data that confirms the prey knew they were coming. The Bitterroot region has long been considered prime Sasquatch territory, sitting at the intersection of Idaho and Montana with vast stretches of untouched wilderness. The Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness is one of the largest roadless areas in the contiguous United States, exactly the kind of deep forest habitat where these beings have been reported for generations. What Cordell captured suggests the reports may have only scratched the surface of what is actually happening out there. The state closed the survey contract on November 11th, and the flights ended. But the questions Cordell and Ketchum uncovered never disappeared. Two men entered that wilderness and never returned alive, and thermal footage showed exactly why. This is one of those pieces of evidence that deserves to be watched in full. The original upload goes into far more detail about the flight logs, the timeline, and the analysis that turned a routine wildlife survey into something that challenges everything we think we know about what shares these mountains with us.