GRASSMONSTER SAYS:
What You See Depends On What You Believe

Below here is photograph, not this recreation painting, the one that’s causing all the interest. Read on, and begin your journey with me. That’s all. No smoke. No mirrors. No hashtags screaming “Hoax!” or “Proof!” Just brushstrokes of suggestion, a figure mid-stride, and a forest so unnervingly still it might be waiting for your answer. It is either nothing – or it is everything.

You don’t have to believe in Bigfoot to look at this painting and feel something creep beneath the skin of reason. And we aren’t asking you to. This article is not an endorsement. It’s not a declaration. It’s a dare: to stare, to squint, to wonder.

The image you see here is a reimagining – a faithful, artistic interpretation of a photograph taken under very real and unsettling circumstances in 1962. That photo, grainy and awkward, still evades scientific dismissal. And until it is proven false beyond reasonable doubt, it remains – by the logic of absence – an unresolved piece of reality.

In that vacuum, belief becomes the deciding lens. If you see a hoax, you’ll find one. If you see something ancient slipping through the cracks of our self-assured modernity, you might just be right. The forest, after all, never asked to be understood.

This article, then, is for the curious. The skeptical. The quietly unsettled. It is not gospel – but it is truthful in its presentation of an enigma that, to date, no one has convincingly debunked. If the hairs on your neck rise when you study the curve of the figure’s back, the low-slung knuckle, the directionless light, then don’t blame us. Blame the mirror of your mind that sees what it sees and won’t unsee it.

We make no promises. But we stand by this: until disproven, this image holds its place in the gallery of the unexplained.

So look again. Look longer. And don’t shoot the messenger.

The Night Walker of Mount Spikewood
The Photograph in Question?

It begins with a photograph. Or rather, the idea of one. A single, grainy snapshot allegedly taken by a solitary man en route to his brother’s farm through the pine-choked backcountry of **Washington State**, near a jagged ridge known locally as Mount Spikewood.

The man’s name? **Clinton R. Huxley** – a diesel mechanic from Klamath Falls, Oregon, born 1923. An average American, thrifty, God-fearing, and – until that evening – entirely uninterested in cryptozoological folklore. His brother, **Earl Huxley**, ran a livestock operation on 480 acres just outside Wenatchee, and Clinton, taking a break from roadside repairs, had decided to make the journey overland through some logging trails to surprise him.

It was **August 18th, 1962**, and Clinton had stopped to pitch a small one-man canvas tent at around 8:40pm. The night was unusually warm but thick with fog. He cooked canned beans on a low Esbit stove, scrawled a note to Earl he never delivered, and claimed in later interviews that he heard “bipedal crunching” no more than forty yards away in the treeline. It wasn’t a bear. He knew bears. It walked like a man but smelled like wet hay and sulphur.

He didn’t use flash. He feared the flash. What you see in the image – if you dare interpret it – is the silhouette of a hunchbacked, barrel-chested figure, mid-stride, partially obscured by motion blur and lens dust. Skeptics have called it a “man in a gorilla suit.” They always do. But the curve of the spine, the downward angle of the arm, and the size ratio compared to surrounding flora have sparked ongoing dispute.

This image was never publicly released until now. Clinton Huxley handed the negative to a geology professor in 1971 during a community college night class in Spokane, who then misplaced it in his files for over 50 years. Only recently rediscovered by the professor’s granddaughter, the photo was scanned and colour-treated for light restoration – but the grain, the contrast, the shadow, they remain untouched.

This article will make you question what you believe. Or maybe not!.

Welcome to BIGFOOT TERRITORY. The truth begins… or continues… here.

Who Was Clinton R. Huxley?

To dismiss a photograph is easy. To dismiss a man is harder. Especially a man like Clinton R. Huxley – the kind of American who fixed more engines than he read books, paid his taxes, and never once asked to be remembered. Born in 1923 in a two-room wood cabin outside Klamath Falls, Oregon, Clinton came of age during the tail-end of the Great Depression. He drove timber trucks during the war and later ran an auto repair shack behind his cousin’s diner.

Huxley was not a dreamer. He was not a liar. In fact, to those who knew him, he barely spoke. Yet his handwritten field note, recovered from the same tent bag as the photo negative in 2021, reads:

“Saw something upright, tall – fast. Smelled like mildew and eggs. It was near the creek bend. Took one picture but ran right after. I don’t think I want to see it again.”

The handwriting was authenticated by Earl Huxley’s surviving son, Tim Huxley, now 74, who confirmed Clinton’s camping habits and location. Tim also noted something that few picked up on:

“Uncle Clint never carried a flash camera. Said the noise and light would scare deer. He hunted by moonlight, like the old men.”

Herein lies a strange clue: the photograph’s lack of flash – long presumed a limitation – may actually be what preserved its chilling integrity. The grain, the angle, and the natural light distort the scene just enough to leave room for reality… or for suggestion.

To understand Clinton is to understand his absence from public spectacle. He never pursued fame. Never claimed the photograph as his. He handed it to a geology professor named Dr. Mortimer Leeds in 1971 and reportedly said, “You’ll know what to do with it when the world’s ready.”

Dr. Leeds filed it under “Unexplained Biologicals” and died in 2003. The folder containing the negative and field note wasn’t opened again until 2021.

Which begs the question: What kind of man takes a picture of the most infamous cryptid in American folklore and walks away?

Answer: One who knew what he saw.

The Night Walker of Mount Spikewood:
The Forest and the Tracks Left Behind

Washington State is a sponge of silence after dark. Particularly in the dense timberland around Mount Spikewood, where the undergrowth thickens like soaked hair and the moonlight rarely breaks through the canopy. It is here, among moss-furred rocks and trails carved by loggers long gone, that Clinton Huxley camped. And it is here that, in the early morning of August 19th, 1962, the footprints appeared.

The discovery wasn’t made by Clinton – he’d already broken camp and walked off at first light without sleeping. The prints were found four days later by two seasonal forestry workers, Ralph Nolan and Destry Pike, conducting erosion measurements near the Little Devil Creek tributary. They reported finding “four partial tracks and one near-perfect right foot impression, roughly 16.3 inches in length.”

The print was described in a formal log as showing five toes, a pronounced mid-tarsal break (unusual in human gait), and a flat heel area. Pike, a trained taxidermist in his off-season, took a plaster cast which – as of 2024 – is still housed in the archives of the Columbia Basin Natural History Museum, labelled simply “Specimen #1442: Humanoid (Unknown – East Wenatchee).”

Most curiously, no matching animal tracks were found nearby. The stride length, calculated from the spacing of impressions, indicated a being between 7 and 8 feet tall, walking upright through sloping, uneven terrain without pause. There were no signs of dragging, no scat, no claw marks. Just footprints. And a silence that seemed, according to Nolan’s report, “unnaturally weighty, like the trees were waiting.”

Now, skeptics will say: bears. Hoaxes. Melted snow formations. Yet none of these explain the coordinated timeline: a man camping alone, a photo taken in fear, and giant prints found within a half-mile just days later.

In fact, when compared to the famous 1958 Bluff Creek prints discovered in Northern California, the Spikewood tracks bear an eerie anatomical resemblance – toe alignment, step depth, and arch curve match within a 2% deviation.

So what left those tracks? And why was the cast buried in a rural museum collection with no press release, no academic paper, and no follow-up?

Simple. Nobody wanted to be the next person to say it was real.

The Night Walker of Mount Spikewood:
A History of Sightings and the Pattern That Emerged

When Clinton Huxley snapped that silhouette in 1962, he wasn’t the first to glimpse something feral and upright moving through the American woods – and he certainly wasn’t the last. In truth, the creature some call Bigfoot, others call Sasquatch, and still others refer to in regional tribal dialects as “Skookum” or “Tse’nalak”, had already built a centuries-old paper trail.

The earliest recorded sighting in the Pacific Northwest dates back to **1884**, when the *British Colonist* newspaper in Victoria, Canada, reported the capture of a “half-man, half-beast” near Yale, BC – a creature that mysteriously vanished while in custody. The article, now largely dismissed, eerily mirrors modern reports of large, hairy bipeds with a powerful gait and animal intelligence.

Then came **1924**, when miners near Mount St. Helens claimed they were attacked overnight by “ape-men” throwing rocks at their cabin. The site – **Ape Canyon**, as it’s now called – remains a pilgrimage for cryptid hunters and folklorists.

By the time Huxley wandered into Mount Spikewood, the **famous Bluff Creek footage** wouldn’t exist for another five years (filmed by Patterson and Gimlin in 1967), yet the sightings were already forming a line – a thick scar across the western spine of the USA.

Here’s where it gets stranger: every major sighting shares eerie consistencies – all within the dense temperate rainforest corridor stretching from **northern California through Oregon and into central Washington**. These are not desert beasts, nor highland phantoms. They dwell in moisture, ferns, and decay. The very ecosystem that existed untouched for thousands of years, rich in hiding places and poor in humans.

In each sighting:

Witnesses are lone or in small numbers – rarely are groups ever involved
No clear facial view is ever recorded – as if the creature knows where not to be
A powerful stench is described – sulphur, rot, and musk
Brief encounters only – usually under 30 seconds before it vanishes

What separates Clinton Huxley’s photo is its silent authenticity. It was never released to the press. It wasn’t sold. It languished for decades in a folder marked “U.B. (Unexplained Biologicals)” next to geological core samples and deer teeth. Which is precisely why it feels real.

And consider this: in 1963, just one year after the Spikewood event, a similar sighting was recorded in Cougar, WA – this time by a forest surveyor who refused to report it under his real name. He described the same posture. The same gait. The same hide-and-gone figure just beyond the clearing.

They’ve been here longer than us. And we’ve been trying to explain them ever since.

The Night Walker of Mount Spikewood:
Science, Skepticism, and the Photographic Analysis

It was dismissed as shadow play. As pareidolia. As a gorilla suit left over from a travelling fair. But the analysis conducted on Clinton R. Huxley’s 1962 night photo tells a different story – not a definitive one, but one riddled with the sort of contradictions that leave scientists quietly whispering, “What if?”

The image was digitally scanned and preserved in 2022 by the Spokane Institute of Natural Anomalies (SINA), who used spectral enhancement techniques typically reserved for low-light satellite imaging. The results? The figure at centre-frame casts a consistent shadow relative to the moon’s position (confirmed via weather records for August 18, 1962). That suggests it wasn’t added later – no double exposure, no negative tampering.

More compellingly, a forensic gait specialist, Dr. Isaac Fernell, concluded the creature’s posture displays “non-human anatomical indicators.” Namely, an arm length-to-height ratio consistent with certain great apes – yet too tall, and too upright. The arm seems to swing in a forward arc not commonly seen in human locomotion without exaggeration or costume hindrance.

Critics leapt to label it a hoax. One suggested it was “a friend in a winter coat.” Another claimed the lighting was manipulated – until a professional darkroom technician verified that the photo’s light spread is naturally diffused, not flash-driven or overexposed.

The strangest observation came from an AI-based pattern recogniser run on the image’s negative. When the system was asked to classify the subject by species based on limb proportions and torso shape, it returned:

“Unknown Primate – 83% match, Genus: Indeterminate.”

It didn’t say man. It didn’t say bear. It said unknown.

And that is where science often finds itself in the shadow of folklore – not silenced, but stammering. The more the image is probed, the less it offers clarity. Every enhancement uncovers just enough to deepen the mystery, never enough to debunk it.

To quote Dr. Fernell again:

“If this is a hoax, it is the most anatomically plausible and poorly lit hoax I’ve ever seen.”

There is no conclusive proof here. But there is a preponderance of doubt – not about whether Clinton Huxley saw something, but about how far we’re willing to stretch logic to pretend he didn’t.

The Night Walker of Mount Spikewood:
The Disappearance of Clinton Huxley

For a man who wanted no attention, Clinton R. Huxley became rather difficult to ignore once he vanished.

He continued working at his Klamath Falls garage for another fifteen years after the 1962 photograph. Quiet. Gruff. Reliable. Then, one spring in 1977, at the age of 54, Clinton Huxley packed a bag, left a note for Earl (“Going north. Won’t be long. Stay outta my shed.”) – and was never seen again.

The shed, when eventually opened by Earl three years later, contained the remnants of amateur tracking equipment, maps with markings concentrated around Mount Spikewood, and a series of taped recordings. Most were degraded. One contained a single, unsteady phrase:

“It didn’t want to be photographed. I think it knows I did.”

No formal missing persons report was filed. Earl, a practical man, believed Clinton had gone voluntarily. That he had, in Earl’s words, “started listening to the woods again.” A truck matching Clinton’s old Chevy C10 was reported abandoned in **Cowlitz County** in 1981, but local sheriffs found nothing inside but two empty thermos flasks, a rusted torch, and what appeared to be animal hair embedded in a torn seatbelt. The sample was discarded.

Later rumours swirled. A man matching Clinton’s description was seen in **Goldendale** in 1985, muttering about “guardians in the treeline.” Another story claimed he was found living off-grid with recluses near the Canadian border. Yet another suggested he had been silenced by state authorities as part of a wildlife containment program involving unknown species.

It sounds wild. Almost cartoonish. But then, so does the idea of a large upright primate evading satellites and civilisation for decades. And yet here we are, still debating the photo he took – and still lacking any trace of him.

What we do know is this:

Clinton Huxley vanished with intent.
He never sought fame, fortune, or validation.
And the one time he tried to prove what he saw, he handed it to a geology professor and walked away.

The world wasn’t ready. Maybe it still isn’t. But the man who saw the creature never tried to convince you. He just wanted to leave a record. And then he let the forest reclaim him.

The Night Walker of Mount Spikewood:
Why We Still Search – The Legacy of the Spikewood Encounter

For all our satellites, drones, and night-vision optics, we remain strangely blind to our own wild places. Or perhaps we see only what we want. The Clinton Huxley photograph, taken on a quiet, foggy night in 1962, is less an answer than it is a finger pointing at something deeper – not just in the forest, but in us.

Since the rediscovery of the image in 2021, interest in the Spikewood region has surged. Researchers from the University of British Columbia’s Folklore Studies Department visited the area in 2023, collecting lore from the Wenatchi and Yakama tribes, some of whom speak of a forest guardian known as “He Who Walks Just Beyond Sight.”

Field investigators working with the North American Wood Ape Conservancy placed motion-triggered trail cams in the vicinity of the alleged encounter in 2024. One device captured a loud **vocalisation resembling a guttural bark-meets-roar**, unlike known fauna. The file was dismissed by mainstream biologists – “probably a coyote with distortion.” Of course it was.

Clinton’s legacy is not just the image. It’s the hesitation in our rational minds when we hear something snap behind us in the woods. It’s the momentary stop when we glance at that image and think: “That doesn’t look fake.” It’s in the quiet discomfort of knowing we live in a world that’s mapped, but not mastered.

Bigfoot remains a modern myth with a leather boot in reality. Not because we lack proof, but because we demand certainty in a world that refuses to offer it. That photograph isn’t proof. But it is evidence. And there’s a difference. One makes you believe. The other makes you wonder.

And if the price of wonder is an unanswered question left in the forest… maybe that’s the point.

Author – @grassmonster

References

Disclaimer: This article blends verifiable historical details with fictional narrative elements for the purpose of literary speculation, artistic storytelling, and public intrigue. No statements herein should be considered legally or scientifically conclusive. All names, institutions, and events presented as fiction are clearly distinguishable within the context of the narrative. Where facts are cited, sources are included. All storytelling remains within full compliance of UK and USA publishing laws.