Tracks in the Snow Near Klamath Falls
We left Brookings early this morning, headed northeast toward a property just west of Klamath Falls. Jennifer rode up front with me while Vernon and Caleb crammed into the back of the wagon. The rest of the group split between two other vehicles. Vernon had some motion sickness near Grants Pass, so we pulled off at a diner that served hot breakfast all day. The coffee tasted like metal but it was strong. We sat and discussed what we were expecting based on Grandpa’s briefing last night.
The property belongs to a man named Doyle, a retired forester. His call came through Grandpa’s contact network about two weeks ago. He reported finding a trail of large three-toed tracks running across a wide stretch of snow-covered land near his back fence. The unusual part—aside from the shape—was that the tracks were evenly spaced in a straight line, over 80 yards, and with no visible signs of tail or drag marks. The prints had remained preserved because of continued freezing temperatures.
We arrived at Doyle’s property just after 1:00 p.m. after logging a little over 230 miles. He met us in a heavy canvas jacket, said he didn’t mind the snow but hated “company with cameras.” Fortunately, we weren’t that kind. Jennifer did bring a sketchpad.
The tracks were visible about 40 yards beyond the treeline. At first glance, they looked like oversized bird prints—three forward-pointing toes, deep-set, roughly 17 inches from front to back, and spaced almost exactly 42 inches apart. There was no melting distortion. I paced it out while Robin took depth measurements. Vernon used a thermal probe to test the snow temperature and said the compression patterns suggested something heavy—over 300 lbs—moved through.
The oddest detail: no backtrack. The tracks just started about ten feet inside the tree line and ran a straight line toward a ridge and vanished where the snow ended at a rocky outcrop. No scat, no fur, no feathers. Nothing to suggest what had made them. Egiel joked it could be part of an elaborate prank, but Grandpa didn’t laugh. He said the pattern reminded him of historical reports from British Columbia in the late ‘60s—he mentioned a creature described by some locals as “half-bird, half-man,” though none of those reports ever included snow evidence.
Mathew ran a quick electrometer sweep but found no residual readings near the tracks. The only EM anomaly registered near the ridge, where my compass needle began to oscillate slightly before leveling again. We took core samples of the surrounding soil and snow, and Robin collected spore samples from under the fir trees near the beginning of the track line. Nothing stood out—no evidence of melting, artificial creation, or heating that could suggest mechanical involvement.
Ray Doyle mentioned that his dog wouldn’t go near that part of the property since the tracks appeared. He said the dog just stands near the fence line and whines, especially at night.
After gathering samples and documenting what we could, we left around 5:30 p.m. No one felt like driving the full stretch back to Eugene, so we stayed at a small highway-side motel between Klamath Falls and Chemult. The heater in our room clicked like a metronome. Vernon, Jennifer, and I sat up reviewing the photos, and Robin started mapping out the stride pattern using graph paper taped to the window.
As of now, there’s no conclusive theory. Grandpa suspects something more “dimensional than terrestrial,” though he didn’t elaborate. Tomorrow, we’ll regroup and try to cross-reference similar sightings from archived reports.
Miles driven today: 237
