Overthinking Bigfoot, the most Pennsylvanian cryptid

The Pennsylvania wilderness boasts creatures great and small, from wild turkeys to black bears to the occasional river gator. There are those, however, who believe a more mysterious creature roams the commonwealth’s bountiful forests, remaining elusive even in the age of ubiquitous smartphone cameras and increasing rural development.

Some of these believers recently gathered in Farmington, Pa., for the Bigfoot Camping Adventure, a weekend dedicated to one of the world’s most famous cryptids. On an especially sunny Saturday in August, I made the 1.5-hour drive from Pittsburgh to wander the small festival based at the Benners Meadow Run RV Campground, where vendors sold Bigfoot-themed merchandise and “hunting” equipment (one man demonstrated his megaphone-like Bigfoot callers, which retailed anywhere from $300 to $500). The itinerary included Bigfoot hunting night hikes.

Upon entry, the vibes became immediately clear as I spied an affable older gentleman wearing a “Bigfoot Grabbed My Weiner” T-shirt. Attendees took photos with a performer in a bright-white Bigfoot costume that, in the mid-August temperatures, was likely suffocatingly hot.

The main attraction, however, was the guest speakers recounting their Bigfoot experiences to small crowds seated on folded chairs under shade tents. When one speaker, Ron Morehead, asked if anyone had a Bigfoot encounter, a few hands went up.

“There’s no unnatural or supernatural phenomenon,” Morehead declared into a microphone, part of a modest tech setup positioned under a wood camping shelter. “Only large gaps in our knowledge of what is natural that we strive to fill with ignorance.”

With a chuckle, Morehead admitted his own ignorance in not knowing from whom the quote came (a cursory Google search attributes it to astronaut Edgar Mitchell).

Like Morehead, many of the featured cryptozoologists, including local paranormal investigator Stan Gordon, bolster their credibility in the Bigfoot-hunting community with resumes that, among other things, list appearances on History or Discovery Channel shows. Many sat at tables selling self-published books, chatting with anyone likely seeking answers about what they witnessed while out riding their ATV or stalking a deer.

This wasn’t my first Bigfoot festival. In 2023, I attended the Forest County Bigfoot Festival in Marienville, Pa., nestled in the (for now) especially untamed Allegheny National Forest. The event, organized around the tiny town’s one gazebo, retained a similarly rustic, chill atmosphere — aging country hippies mingled with Trump-y conservatives wearing ballcaps boasting the NRA logo or anti-Biden “Let’s Go Brandon” rallying cry.

I’ll always remember the man in a way-too-long T-shirt, which featured Bob Marley smoking an enormous blunt, volunteering to tell his story about how he and his brother saw Bigfoot at their town’s “fishing hole,” as well as the head speaker who, with the utmost earnestness, described how he always carries candy bars in the off-chance that he may run into a Bigfoot.

The kicker is that I don’t even believe in Bigfoot. I do, however, believe in the subcultures and the passion of the people in them, a refreshing change from the smirking irony of being a millennial coming of age in the early aughts.

That being said, unlike other cryptids and supernatural beings, there’s something quintessentially Pennsylvanian about Bigfoot. While the creature has also reportedly appeared in different parts of the country and, in some variations, the world, the vast protected forests, deeply rural enclaves, and general bigness of the commonwealth, especially when compared to its neighboring states, seem like a prime safeguard for the reclusive apelike humanoid.

According to the Bigfoot Field Researchers Organization, a total of 130 sightings have been documented in Pennsylvania, with some as recent as March 2025, and several reported in Allegheny County. While substantial, the number pales in comparison to larger states like California (465) and Texas (259), the notoriously wild Pacific Northwest (Washington state boasts a staggering 730 sightings), and, surprisingly, Ohio, where, to be fair, they probably don’t have much to do anyway.

There are also the strange politics of Bigfoot, a creature my friend once described as the most libertarian cryptid. I thought of this during the Bigfoot Camping Adventure, realizing that the most avid believers in the creature were overwhelmingly men — white men, to be exact, the prime demographic of the Libertarian Party. This included every expert and most of the crowd, some of whom openly pulled from their vapes while listening to testimonies or waiting in line at on-site food trucks.

On the other hand, the women in attendance were, as far as I could tell, there to represent other supernatural or paranormal. One woman enthusiastically spoke to me about the famed 1965 Kecksburg UFO incident, handing me fliers and gleefully describing her plans for the event’s 60th anniversary. Two other women were there to promote their podcast, which combines talk of all things creepy, from ghosts to true crime, with pizza reviews.

The libertarian theory does not stem from a place of criticism, but rather from observation. After all, what is Bigfoot but a creature clearly wanting to be left alone and ungoverned, minding his own business while appreciating the natural beauty of the United States, like a larger, hairier Ron Swanson?

Alternatively, there’s an argument to be made that Bigfoot represents both the disenfranchised Indigenous and colonizing populations that led to the creation of what is now Pennsylvania. For example, Western Pa. specifically saw the flooding of ancestral lands belonging to the Seneca Nation of Indians to build the Kinzua Dam (coincidentally located in the Allegheny National Forest, not far from where organizers host the Forest County Bigfoot Festival). Pennsylvania historically welcomed those seeking individual freedom, as immigrants from Germany, Ireland, Scotland, and Sweden sought to presumably escape the rule of the church and form self-sustaining communities (the Amish and Mennonites are prime examples of this, as well as other Pennsylvania Dutch-related movements).

These groups were, in both a figurative and literal sense, left to wander and fend for themselves in the North American wilderness.

After a day meeting some of Bigfoot’s biggest fans, it’s difficult to avoid philosophizing about what the creature represents, and exploring what, exactly, drives people to spend their time and money on proving the unprovable. They bond over the dedication to a pursuit that, at its best, encourages the preservation of our wilderness, and the unpretentious creative leaps needed to explain why such a huge creature has avoided capture (my favorite concerns Bigfoot’s status as an interdimensional being). As a result, there is no such thing as irony or judgment at Bigfoot festivals, only a supportive community that wants to believe.

This article appears in Aug 27 – Sep 2, 2025.