The moment Tom’s alarm rang at 6:00am on Thursday July 17, 2025, I heard his head bang against the knotty pine wall and his knee crack on the bed post in our small room at the Timberline Lodge in Government Camp, Oregon. As Tom tried to get his bearings that morning, he also nearly knocked me off the small table where I stood next to his bed throughout the night. Although the two of us were off to a rough start, it was the beginning of a most memorable day. Not only was I a few minutes away from standing in the footsteps of our 32nd President, Franklin D. Roosevelt, but there was also a plan for me to get face to face with Sasquatch later that morning. While I knew it wasn’t likely, the icing on the cake would be to see a Squatch eating a beaver.
Shortly after my photographer got himself ready to take on the day, he and I went on a tour of the historic lodge while Vicki was engaged in her morning routine. For the next forty-five minutes or so, Tom carried me to a variety of different locations in and around the Timberline Lodge where I had the honor of posing where FDR had been photographed in 1937.
As part of FDR’s Second Great Deal, the President came up with an idea to help millions of unemployed Americans during the Great Depression. That idea was called the Works Project Administration, where men and women around the country were paid to improve America’s infrastructure.
Construction of the Timberline Lodge began in 1936 and was carried out by local artisans who used their skills to help keep the price tag down. Not only did those artisans fashion most of the lodge’s intricate handmade furnishings and decor by using recycled material and local, natural resources, but they also taught other laborers their skillsets as well. The entire lodge was built in roughly two years, and it kept a lot of local people employed during those tough times.
On September 28, 1937, President Franklin D. Roosevelt, along with First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt, arrived at the Timberline Lodge for the dedication ceremony. In the later part of that morning, FDR stood at a lectern above the arched doorway entrance and delivered his dedication speech. President Roosevelt said, “I am on the slopes of Mount Hood where I have always wanted to come. I am here to dedicate the Timberline Lodge and I do so in the words of the bronze tablet directly in front of me on the coping of this wonderful building: ‘Timberline Lodge, Mount Hood National Forest dedicated September 28, 1937, by the President of the United States as a monument to the skill and faithful performance of workers on the rolls of the Works Progress Administration.”
At the very end of his dedication address, the President finished by saying, “I am very keen about travel, not only personally—you know that—but also about travel for as many Americans as can possibly afford it, because those Americans will be getting to know their own country better; and the more they see of it, the more they will realize the privileges which God and nature have given to the American people. So, I take very great pleasure in dedicating this Lodge, not only as a new adjunct of our National Forests, but also as a place to play for generations of Americans in the days to come.”
After the ceremony had concluded, the First Lady described the Timberline Lodge in her magazine column known as My Day. Mrs. Roosevelt said in part, “It is built exclusively of native products and by WPA labor. The interesting central fireplace with its many openings is a feature I have seen in no other building of its kind, and nowhere have I seen such big timbers used. All the furniture, all the hangings, all the iron work as well, were made by WPA workers. Here is a group of workers who have the makings of a handcraft organization, and I hope their work will be appreciated.”
Since it was so early in the morning, the two of us not only had the lodge’s exterior front to ourselves, but I also had a great opportunity to pose alone with some of the interior furnishings as well. While the exterior stonework was incredible, as was the view I had of Mount Jefferson off in the distance, it was the interior iron and woodworking craftmanship that was a sight to behold. And to think, skilled craftsmen and women made only ninety cents an hour to work on the lodge in 1936, while unskilled laborers received fifty-five cents per hour.
Here are some images captured of me posing in and around the Timberline Lodge.
When I finished posing for my final photograph on the North side of the Timberline Lodge where I had another spectacular view of Mount Hood, Tom carried me through a myriad of corridors until we returned to our room. As soon as the two of us walked through the threshold and into the cozy confines of our rustic room, I heard Vicki tell my photographer she was ready to head out – but she also said she needed breakfast before we visited our first site of the day. I thought to myself, “First site my ass. Tom and I just spent the past 45 minutes walking and standing in the footsteps of one of America’s greatest Presidents; all the while you were lollygagging on Instagram.” Fortunately for all of us, my camera guy remained calm and replied, “We should have plenty of time to stop for breakfast. That Bigfoot Musuem doesn’t open until ten o’clock, and it’s only 40 miles from here. We’ll find a diner along the route, grab a bite to eat, and get to the museum right when it opens.”
It was a few minutes before eight o’clock when we left the lodge and headed down the winding Timberline Highway. I knew “The Vickster” must’ve been hungry because there were times it felt as though she had our Jeep on two wheels as she went around some of the curves. During most of our journey westward, Tom scoured his phone for a decent restaurant that was fairly close to our “second site of the day” – the North American Bigfoot Center in Boring, Oregon.
Breakfast that morning was at Sandy’s Family Restaurant, located in Sandy, Oregon and only five miles East of the Bigfoot museum. As the minutes clicked away towards ten o’clock, I watched my two companions as they devoured their food. While I was anxious to get to the museum, and I knew by the way Tom scarfed down his French toast that he was antsy as well, it was easy to see Vicki wasn’t as enthusiastic about our next stop. In my mind, she couldn’t have eaten her breakfast any slower – and I knew the reason why. My photographer’s wife has always been a skeptic when it comes to the supernatural stuff her husband believes in – such as UFOs, ghosts, and of course, Sasquatch. Although Vicki had photographed a ghost during our trip to Florida the previous year; and she saw an unidentified flying object near Glacier National Park in 2023; and she felt the ground shake after a Squatch knocked down a large tree near us in North Carolina during a 2020 trip; the woman simply remains steadfast in her disbelief. However, Vicki has admitted the ghost photo she had captured on her phone at the St. Augustine Lighthouse made her freak out a bit.
At 10:02am, we pulled into the parking lot of the North American Bigfoot Center in Boring, Oregon. Even though the place had been open for only two minutes, there were a few other cars already in the parking lot. I chuckled to myself when Tom said to his wife, “See, we aren’t the first ones here. That’s because a lot of people believe in Sasquatch and they want to see the concrete evidence displayed in this museum. I sure in the heck-fire hope the visitors aren’t Asian, or we may not get back to the lodge before dark.”
Even though my photographer can be “thrifty” at times, he had no problem whatsoever handing over the sixteen bucks for the three of us to enter the museum. Seconds after we walked through the entryway from the gift shop and into the actual museum, I heard the distinct sound of wood knocks, which was followed by the howl of an alleged Sasquatch. Then I saw it – I saw a nine-foot-tall Bigfoot standing in a forest setting. At first, I nearly pooped my resin breeches – especially when I locked eyes with the large, hairy beast. Was this an actual Squatch killed, stuffed, and put on display by museum founder Cliff Barackman? Oh, hell to the no! It turned out “Murphy” was a life-sized replica of Bigfoot and was the centerpiece of the museum.
Even though I posed for a few photos next to Murphy, I was a tad disappointed when I learned the beast was fake. As a matter of fact, there was a fleeting moment when I thought to myself, “Was Vicki right all along? If that’s the centerpiece, then how good will the rest of the museum be? There has to be better evidence of a real Sasquatch than that hokey nine-foot-tall stuffed toy.”
Tom carried me throughout the museum as the two of us searched for concrete evidence of Bigfoot’s existence. There were six or seven rooms in all, each filled with alleged authentic artifacts discovered around the country by a variety of people, including Barackman himself. For Tom and me, the highlight of the museum was the area dedicated to the famous 1967 Bigfoot film footage captured by Roger Patterson and Bob Gimlin.
On October 20, 1967, Patterson used a rented movie camera and filmed a female Squatch as she walked along Bluff Creek in the Six Rivers National Forest in Northern California. To date, the Patterson-Gimlin film is the most famous film footage of a Sasquatch in existence; even though there’s been speculation by a ton of naysayers, including my photographer’s wife, that the entire episode was an elaborate hoax.
I posed for some photos alongside some of the artifacts in the museum, which truth be told, was very exhilarating for me. Please take a moment and walk with me in the footsteps of a Sasquatch inside the North American Bigfoot Center. And let me tell you, those were some mighty big footsteps.
The three of us spent roughly forty minutes in the actual museum and another fifteen minutes in the gift shop where Tom bought a tee shirt for himself and Vicki purchased a plush Bigfoot for their granddaughter Brooke. Although I was happy to have visited the North American Bigfoot Center, I left the site slightly disappointed – and I think my photographer was a bit disheartened as well. We had gone there to see documented evidence that Sasquatches exist, and all we saw were several dozen plaster casts of footprints that could have been easily faked. Even the movie camera used by Roger Patterson on October 20, 1967 was a replica of the one he actually used to film a Bigfoot walking through Bluff Creek. To be fair, I will say there were some rocks on display that were allegedly thrown by a Sasquatch, and I also saw a large nest from the Olympic Peninsula that was believed to be where some Squatches had bedded down.
But I wanted more. And I’m not sure if there ever will be more, unless a ruthless hunter blows the brains out of a Squatch and the dead body is brought in for research. To me, the Sasquatch phenomena is similar to the JFK assassination – no clearcut smoking gun (pardon the pun) and plenty of speculation. The truth is out there, but sometimes the myth is a lot more fun than the truth. Until then, I will keep my eyes peeled for an eight-foot-tall hairy bipedal critter – and hopefully it’s munching on a beaver.
The sky above the northwestern part of Oregon was still cloudless throughout our 40-mile return trip to the Timberline Lodge, which was perfect for what Tom had up his sleeve next. Rather than the three of us going back to our cramped room, my photographer led his wife and me along a pathway from the parking lot to a building that housed a ski lift. A minute or so after my camera guy shelled out forty bucks for two boarding tickets, the three of us were seated on what’s known as the Magic Mile Sky Ride. That’s right, we were headed up the side of Mount Hood and into the Palmer Snowfield where we’d get a close up look at snow in July.
For fifteen minutes, my companions and I dangled from a metal ski lift chair that was roughly 150 feet above the rugged terrain below. Even though there was a safety bar in front of us, I didn’t feel overly safe – especially when my photographer held me out over the side while I posed for a few pictures. At one point, Vicki and I locked eyes, and I saw the panic on her face because she has a fear of heights. My photographer’s wife was also concerned about my well-being too, and she said to her husband, “You should keep the bobble head in your camera case until you get your feet on solid ground. How are you going to get TJ back if you accidentally drop him?” When I heard Tom’s reply, I wasn’t overcome with a warm and fuzzy feeling. “Oh, I don’t worry about getting him back. If he fell from this height, he’d bust into a thousand pieces anyway. There’s not enough Gorilla Glue in the state of Oregon that I could use to put him back together – even if I hiked back up the mountain and found all of the pieces. The key is to not drop him in the first place.”
Sometimes, karma can be a bugger, and that’s exactly what happened when we reached the end of the line. As my clumsy photographer attempted to lift up the safety bar during his quick exit from the moving chair, a section of the bar got caught on the crotch of his pants and he was nearly transitioned into a female. I was inside the camera case when the incident happened, and I couldn’t stop laughing; and neither could Tom’s wife. When my camera guy nearly lost his marbles, the ski lift operator was forced to stop the ride until Tom was freed from the predicament. During that awkward episode, I thought to myself, “Had someone recorded that moment on video, it could’ve been titled ‘Free Willy’ and been a good candidate for an appearance on America’s Funniest Home Videos.”
We spent roughly ninety minutes on the side of Mount Hood where the three of us had a spectacular view of the volcano’s summit, the skiers and snowboarders traversing through the Palmer Snowfield, and the Timberline Lodge a mile away down the slope. At one point, I thought my base would freeze off when Tom placed me in the icy snow where I posed for a few photos. I had to admit, as much as I’ve always disliked the cold of Winter, it was a cool experience to frolic in the snow of July.
Here are some images my photographer captured during our Magic Mile Sky Ride and our time on the slope of Mount Hood.
During our Pacific Northwest trip, the three of us had been fairly close to some of the volcanoes within the Cascade Mountain Range in Washington. We had a great view of Mount Rainier from roughly a dozen miles away, and my companions and I were within four miles of Mount St. Helens. But on that sunny Thursday July afternoon in Oregon, Tom, Vicki, and I stood on the side of Mount Hood at an elevation of 7,000 feet, which meant we were only 4,000 feet from the summit. I felt very safe being that close to a volcano, as the last known eruption of Mount Hood occurred a year after the Civil War had ended and it’s now deemed dormant.
At two o’clock, the three of us began the fifteen-minute ski lift ride down the mountain and back to the lodge. While it was a cool experience for me when we rode in the gondola at the Crystal Mountain Ski Resort, it was an exhilarating feeling at Mount Hood because we were suspended by a single cable and on an open chair some 150 feet over the rugged terrain below. The entire ride was very quiet, even when the chair rocked slightly from the gentle breeze.
Back inside the Timberline Lodge, Tom and his wife decided they would open their wallets and have an early dinner at one of the five restaurants there. After they checked out the menus at all five places, which I knew had disappointed my photographer due to their lack of “normal, blue collar” food, they decided to eat at the Ram’s Head Bar because it featured chili – a staple for Tom’s appetite and digestive system.
From our small wooden dinner table, the three of us had a spectacular view of Mount Hood, which was likely one of the reasons why the food was so expensive. My photographer’s bowl of chili was sixteen bucks, which was the same price he paid for the large soft pretzel he had. Vicki had ordered the same two items from the menu; however, the unfriendly, feminine server never brought her chili – and his incompetency saved them some extra cash.
As soon as dinner was finished, Tom led his wife around the interior of the lodge for a personal tour where she saw furnishings, artwork, and artifacts she had missed earlier that morning. By four-thirty in the afternoon, the three of us were back in the room as my photographer and Vicki decided it was “nappy time”. And there was a good reason for them wanting to catch a few extra minutes of rest – my two companions had planned on stargazing once the Sun went down. I overheard Tom tell his wife he wanted to get some photos of stars above Mount Hood because it was extremely clear, plus he mentioned there was a possible chance they might see a UFO near the mountain as well. My photographer believes volcanoes are magnets for extraterrestrial activity and he was confident they would spot a UFO that night. As for me, I was excited for that little adventure as well, but not because we might see E.T. buzzing around the mountain. I figured being outside at night in Sasquatch territory, it might be the perfect recipe for me to finally see one of those big, furry buggers with my own eyes.
Tom had forgotten to set his alarm and the few extra minutes of rest he wanted had turned into a few hours of snoring-his-butt-off sleep. When I saw him finally gain consciousness around nine o’clock, my photographer initially thought it was morning and he missed the entire stargazing and UFO watching opportunity he had talked about.
By 9:20pm, the three of us were all alone outside and seated in a couple of Adirondack chairs on the North side of the Timberline Lodge. I noticed the Western sky above the tree line was painted with the last brushstrokes from the Sun’s palette, and the temperature had fallen considerably by that time as well. As a matter of fact, I believe my resin nipples were popping through my vest due to the chill in the night air.
At first, the three of us were surprised by our inability to see any stars. But as soon as the faint glow in the Western sky had completely disappeared, the black sky above Mount Hood came to life with countless specks of light from distant stars. While Tom kept his focus on seeing and photographing an alien craft above the volcano, I continuously listened for the footsteps of a large creature walking past the lodge, hidden by the cloak of darkness.
Unfortunately, neither of us had any success, until my photographer checked an app on his phone. That’s the moment when I heard Tom say to his wife, “Holy smokes, the International Space Station is just East of Australia right now and is scheduled to fly just North of Washington State in about twenty minutes or so. Not only do I think we might be able to see the ISS from here, but we might see it over Mount Hood – that’s if my calculations are correct.”
It turned out my nerdy photographer/astronomer’s calculations were absolutely correct. At 10:19pm, I heard Vicki shout out, “I think I see it. I think I see the space station just to the left of the mountain.” Seconds later, I saw it too. It appeared as a large, bright ball of light; brighter and bigger than any star and with no sound or flashing lights; and it methodically crossed the night sky directly over Mount Hood. To me, seeing the space station wasn’t as thrilling as watching a Sasquatch walk past us, but it was pretty spectacular, nonetheless.
By ten-thirty, the ISS had completely disappeared from view, and we retreated back into the lodge to escape the night’s chill. Tom got his wish and saw a spaceship over the volcano, even though the craft was not of alien origin. I, on the other hand, never saw or heard any signs of a Bigfoot that night, which wasn’t a huge surprise. I blamed the lack of a Squatch sighting on the snow grooming vehicles that were on the mountain.
Back in our room for the night, Tom placed me on the rustic table between the two beds where I spent the night. It had been a day filled with incredible views of everything from monsters and mountains to Presidents and pretzels. As I stood alone deep in thought throughout the entire night, I envisioned myself standing near the edge of the Palmer Snowfield when out of nowhere Bigfoot swooped past me on a snowboard, and believe it or not, he had a beaver in his hand.
That’s the moment I realized I needed to get the heck out of Sasquatch Country!
