A Little Childhood Magic (in a gorilla suit)

Some travelers collect t-shirts and hats. Others collect postcards, magnets, or stickers. Me? I collect them all—as long as they have a Sasquatch on them.

If you look at my travel gear, you’ll find my metal water bottles plastered in vinyl stickers of the big guy. My closet has a healthy rotation of Bigfoot tees, my fridge is adorned with his likeness, and my camera roll is full of photos of me grinning like a kid next to statues of the 'Squatch all over the country. Whenever I see a Sasquatch statue or souvenir, I'm either taking a picture with it or it is 100% making its way back into my suitcase.

Posing with the legend at the summit of Pike's Peak in Colorado.

People always ask me, "Why Bigfoot?"

For that, we have to travel back in time to when I was about five or six years old, standing in the backyard of my grandparents’ house right on the water in Crystal River.

It was late in the day, that golden Florida twilight, when something caught our eye across the river. There, moving among the trees on the opposite bank, was a massive, hairy figure. It wasn’t just standing there, either—it was actively dancing around, trying to get our attention.

Me out on the river searching for Big Foot!

At five years old, I didn’t see a punchline. I saw a miracle. I was 100% convinced I was looking at the real, legendary Bigfoot.

Now, if you ask the rest of my family, they’ll tell you a completely different version of the story. They claim it was just my uncle who had thrown on a gorilla costume to mess with us kids. But hey, they can't prove that, right? Personally, I like to leave a little room for the mystery. Maybe it was the real deal.

That childhood magic only grew in 1987 when a cinema classic was born (*wink*) with Harry and the Hendersons. I must have watched that movie a dozen times, and I guess that is why I never really felt the fear of Bigfoot. I grew up with the image portrayed by actor Kevin Peter Hall: a 7'2" shaggy goofball. There was absolutely no monster there.

Sasquatch represents that sweet part of childhood where fantasy was still real. It’s the same vibe as 1984's Splash—which, let’s be honest, is the exact reason I once dumped an entire container of salt into the bathtub, fully expecting to sprout fins. And let me tell you, I was heartbroken when I didn't grow a tail!

Me and Big Foot at The Sasquatch Museum in Georgia.

But as I’ve gotten older, my love for the big guy has evolved. If I am being totally honest, I also just relate to him. I definitely like my alone time. The crazier, busier, and louder this world gets, the more I find myself seeking out faraway places to detach from all the noise and nonsense of modern life. Maybe Sasquatch is just a bit of an introvert like me. I think if I was hanging out in my peaceful home and strangers were creeping through the woods with flashlights, cameras, and making funny tree-knocking sounds, I would probably hide too. Humans are a mess; he’s just protecting his peace.

And that is why Bigfoot has such a big place in my heart.

It’s the mystery, the cheekiness, and the reality that while no one has proven they exist, no one can prove they don't. Having something fun to believe in—even if it’s just a seven-foot-tall cryptid playing the best game of hide-and-seek in the world—keeps my inner child smiling.

Being silly in Lake Lure, North Carolina.