You Can’t Kill Bigfoot Here… It’s The Law

In the dense, whispering forests of the Pacific Northwest, there’s a tall tale that’s grown deep roots in both Indigenous and American folklore. Bigfoot or Sasquatch, whatever name you call it, has been a part of stories passed down through generations. These legends were mostly whispers, shared around campfires under starry skies, until the late 1960s rolled around and changed everything.

So how did this folklore become a chapter in U.S. legal history? For starters, the mid-20th century saw a Sasquatch sensation kick off like never before. Bigfoot fever hit its peak when the Patterson-Gimlin film made the rounds in 1967, showing what many claimed was a living, breathing Bigfoot roaming the wilderness. Eyewitness reports poured in, and suddenly, Bigfoot wasn’t just a secret shared in hushed tones it was on front pages and in living rooms across America.

With this surge in sightings came an unexpected side effect: the forests were filled with hunters, both serious and curious, eager to claim the creature as a new discovery. Guns were loaded; cameras clicked in the hope of catching Bigfoot’s gait and glare. But amid this fascination, local authorities in Skamania County, Washington, found themselves staring down a much scarier reality someone was bound to get hurt or even killed in the chaos.

Local law enforcement saw an opportunity wrapped in responsibility. They needed a solution that didn’t just prevent harm, but also acknowledged the cultural and historical depth of Sasquatch lore. So, in a move that seemed both wildly imaginative and wisely practical, Skamania County decided to write Bigfoot’s name into the law books. They pushed for a legal order that offered the legendary creature protection reserved for a rare few but deemed necessary for this icon of the unknown.

The Sasquatch Sanctuary: Understanding Ordinance No. 69-01

In a groundbreaking move, Skamania County set a precedent by introducing Ordinance No. 69-01 on April 1, 1969. This wasn’t a prank—despite airing on April Fool’s Day—but a sincere step in intertwining law with legend. The ordinance essentially elevated Bigfoot from myth to a sort of legal sanctuary. Under this law, the intentional harm or killing of Sasquatch became a felony. Imagine that: up to five years in prison and a hefty $10,000 fine for laying a hand on this cryptid.

So, why take such a bold step? Well, the county cleverly crafted this ordinance without outright confirming Bigfoot’s existence, instead choosing their words to protect the possibility that he might be real. The text didn’t declare Bigfoot undeniably present in the forests; rather, it acknowledged the very real belief that so many held. “There are many reputable people who believe in the existence of the creature known as Sasquatch or Bigfoot,” it stated, leaving room for belief while establishing boundaries for safety.

The ordinance also showed a unique respect for Indigenous stories and oral histories. Bigfoot wasn’t just about modern sightings but was deeply rooted in the cultural lore of the region’s Indigenous peoples, who spoke of the Sasquatch long before the 60s hype. By drawing on this rich folklore, Skamania County honored cultural history and brought it to the forefront in a respectful manner.

This ordinance wasn’t merely about preserving legend; it was a strategic decision aiming to curb potential violence and chaos in the woods. While some came hoping to catch a glimpse of Bigfoot, others with guns had far less pure intentions. Lawmakers wanted to diffuse that danger, showing a profound blend of civic responsibility and cultural awareness.

Safety Over Sightings: The Underlying Purpose

When you look closely at Ordinance No. 69-01, what shines through is the priority given to public safety over chasing myths. The decision to legally protect Bigfoot wasn’t only about embracing legend, but a proactive step in safeguarding lives.

Imagine, the forests were buzzing with thrill-seekers sporting gorilla suits or staging pranks in the name of fun. At any moment, what seemed like an innocent adventure could quickly turn into tragedy an open invitation to disaster. Authorities in Skamania County wanted to prevent someone from getting hurt amid the fervor of Sasquatch mania.

The county understood that Bigfoot sightings were attracting teams of rifle-toting individuals, not all of them patient or cautious. Tensions ran high between true seekers and those pulling hoaxes. The fear was real that among these heated encounters, there could be casualties, whether human or cryptid.

This ordinance wasn’t just about Sasquatch, but about embracing a rare opportunity to protect the public from phantom threats. The notion was simple yet impactful: create a barrier that deters reckless action. It was a wise blend of respecting tales that were part of the area’s heritage while ensuring that the woods remained a safe haven for all who ventured there.

I find it interesting how the government chose to place value on cultural respect and safety without drawing firm lines in the sand about the existence of Sasquatch. This balancing act between reality and myth turned out to be a testament to forward-thinking governance, acknowledging that stories, whether believed or not, have palpable power.

Adapting for the Times: The 1984 Update and Its Impact

By 1984, it was clear that while the spirit of the Sasquatch protection ordinance remained relevant, its severity needed a rethink. Skamania County decided to amend their approach, dropping the penalties from felony to misdemeanor. The update reflected a more grounded stance towards enforcement, without losing sight of its original purpose.

What changed wasn’t the essence but the application. Now, with the punishment altered to a $1,000 fine and up to a year in jail, it seemed more feasible in a legal sense. Reducing these penalties didn’t lessen Skamania’s commitment to the legend; instead, it showed an adaptable mindset—one that recognized the importance of evolving with the times.

While the reduction may sound like a demotion, the real story is how it maintained the law’s initial intention: respecting cultural narratives and ensuring public safety. This amendment was a demonstration of balance, keeping the ordinance applicable and enforceable while still rooted in its original philosophical grounding.

Preserving the status of Sasquatch as a protected entity in law stood out as a continued commitment to folklore and community values. It was a quiet statement that even if legal language shifts, the intention to safeguard what is culturally significant remains unaffected.

The 1984 update served to reinforce the law’s significance in a legal environment that understood the need to adapt to changing societal norms and legal precedents. Skamania showed that flexibility and cultural respect can coexist within the boundaries of law and governance.

Influence Spreads: Other Counties Embrace the Legend

Skamania County’s bold move to legally protect Bigfoot didn’t go unnoticed. It wasn’t long before other regions began to take a page from their playbook, crafting their own unique ties between local policy and folklore.

Take Whatcom County in Washington, for instance. By 1991, they recognized the cultural and tourist potential of the Sasquatch legend, integrating those elements into conservation and community planning. Rather than relying solely on taxes or conventional tourism, they saw the potential for Bigfoot to draw in curious travelers eager to explore the mythical creature’s natural habitat.

Clallam County pondered incorporating language around Sasquatch into tourism plans, though it never matured into a formal ordinance. This consideration illustrated the continuing influence folklore had on local government; even the conversations alone highlighted the unique power of regional narratives to shape land use discussions and economic strategies.

Such actions forge a connection between myth and modern eco-tourism. By framing Bigfoot as a symbol of forest preservation, these counties used legend to promote environmental sustainability and outdoor recreation, embracing the idea that the mysteries of nature can be a driving force for both local economies and conservation efforts.

The ripple effect Skamania started encouraged communities to reimagine how cultural heritage and mythological figures could support practical aims. This approach highlighted a broader awareness of how legends aren’t just stories; they’re integral parts of cultural fabric that, with a little creativity, can be leveraged for both community and ecological benefits.

When Myths Become Reality: Legal Precedents and Reverberations

The tale of Skamania County’s Bigfoot ordinance is more than a quirky footnote in legal history. It marks a unique moment where myth and reality intersected, leaving a lasting legacy that reaches far beyond local lore. Today, this law is dissected in classrooms, illustrating how something as seemingly intangible as folklore can shape real-world legislation.

This ordinance is a powerful example of how storytelling can transcend its traditional boundaries, stepping into tangible realms such as policy making. It’s a rare instance where cultural narratives and belief systems informed and influenced legal decisions, showing that understanding and respecting folklore can lead to more inclusive governance.

The inclusion of Indigenous narratives and existing local tales reflects a deeper respect for the oral histories that define a community’s heritage. By affording Sasquatch legal protection, Skamania County highlighted the importance of safeguarding these traditions and giving them a platform in modern discourse.

Even as tourism picks up speed, the law draws attention to broader themes like conservation and sustainable exploration. By respecting the mysterious and the legendary, regional governments found ways to encourage ecological responsibility. It’s this blend of folklore, conservation, and economic innovation that continues to inspire counties to keep parts of their history alive and thriving rather than fading away.

In the end, Ordinance No. 69-01 isn’t just about an enigmatic creature in the woods; it’s about acknowledging the power of cultural legacy and storytelling. The Bigfoot law serves as a reminder that some myths are worth more than belief they’re worth preserving, not just in memory, but in action.

Your Closing Thought

When I read about laws like this, it makes me stop and wonder what are we missing? Why are stories like this tucked away in county records, notarized, published, and yet barely spoken about today? If there was truly nothing out there, why did officials feel compelled to act, to write it into law, and to protect something so many people claimed to see? To me, it feels like a small glimpse of a much bigger picture, a reminder that truths can be hidden in plain sight. And I can’t help but believe that there’s far more beneath the surface than we’re being told.

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Shawn Thomas
Author & Creator of The Hidden Bloodlines of Bigfoot
Founder of Wildfoot Explores

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