Many have asked. Few have seen. Even fewer have understood.
At Squatch Health, we don't just believe Bigfoot is real — we believe he's unionized.
Our plans were inspired by legendary field reports, blurry VHS footage, and campfire whispers.
And while science may debate, our coverage doesn't. Whether you're deep in the woods or deep in denial, Squatch Health is here for you.
Remember: belief is optional. Enrollment is not.
Let’s begin with the obvious: not everything that exists has been cataloged, measured, or accepted by mainstream science. The wilderness, particularly in North America, still holds countless secrets. In fact, more than 86% of Earth’s species have yet to be described. Why should we assume a large, intelligent, elusive primate isn’t among them?
For centuries, indigenous tribes across the continent have spoken of a towering, hair-covered figure who lives deep in the forests. Known by names such as Skookum, Ts'emekwes, and Sasq’ets, these stories weren’t the result of viral internet myths — they are ancient oral histories. It’s cultural arrogance to dismiss them outright. Their consistency across tribes, regions, and centuries provides a folkloric backbone far stronger than mere urban legend.
Then, we have the photographic and video evidence. While skeptics are quick to mock the famous Patterson-Gimlin film from 1967, no definitive debunk has ever withstood expert scrutiny. Anatomists and biomechanical analysts have argued that the figure’s gait, limb proportion, and muscle movement would be nearly impossible for a human in a suit — especially one in the 1960s. If it’s a hoax, it remains one of the most sophisticated physical deceptions ever filmed. Is that more plausible than the subject simply being real?
Eyewitness accounts number in the thousands. These aren’t just backwoods eccentrics or overactive imaginations. We’re talking law enforcement officers, military personnel, park rangers, and scientists. People with no motive to lie and everything to lose by reporting a sighting. They describe the same towering frame, the same deep-set eyes, the same long arms and fluid movement. They speak of smells, vocalizations, and even moments of eye contact — encounters filled with detail and emotion. How can we so casually dismiss that?
Let’s also address the elephant — or should we say, Sasquatch — in the room: why hasn’t one been captured? The answer is both simple and profound. Bigfoot is not your average mammal. We are likely dealing with a creature that possesses higher intelligence, possibly even cultural behavior, such as avoiding areas of human traffic or understanding how to obscure its tracks. Elephants bury their dead, octopuses solve puzzles, crows use tools. Are we so sure that we’ve reached the upper limit of non-human intelligence? Bigfoot may simply be smarter than we expect.
Technology has limits. Trail cameras, drones, and cell phones don’t operate with flawless coverage, especially in remote, mountainous terrain. Most trail cams are set to detect movement of smaller wildlife and rarely catch wide-field movement in high brush or at night. In fact, a lack of consistent footage could suggest something actively avoiding our tech — not its absence.
We should also consider the growing body of audio evidence. Recordings of tree knocks, whooping calls, and long-distance howls have been captured and analyzed for decades. These aren’t bear sounds or known primate calls. Some even occur in call-and-response sequences, suggesting communication. Again — we return to the intelligence argument.
Why does all of this matter? Because belief in Bigfoot is not just belief in a creature. It’s belief in mystery. In possibility. In the idea that nature still holds something from us. In a world where GPS can pinpoint the color of your shoes from space, it’s comforting — and maybe even important — to remember that some things are still wild. Still hidden. Still free.
Bigfoot is real not because of one blurry photo, but because of a convergence of stories, science, silence, and awe. Dismissing him is easy. Believing? That takes courage. That takes imagination. That takes… a Squatch Health member card.