In the months after the 1980 eruption of Mount St. Helens, the Pacific Northwest became a landscape transformed. Forests were flattened, ash blanketed entire counties, and the mountain itself had lost more than a thousand feet of elevation. But amid the destruction, another story began circulating, one that had nothing to do with geology. Witnesses described a creature seen near the blast zone: a towering, winged figure with glowing eyes and a silhouette unlike any known animal. The creature would later be called “Batsquatch,” a name that sounded like folklore but was tied to sightings by pilots, loggers, and residents who reported a nearly identical figure in the years that followed.
The earliest and most widely cited modern encounter came from a Mount St. Helens resident named Brian Canfield in 1994. Canfield claimed he was driving a remote road near the foothills when his truck suddenly stalled. The electrical system failed without warning. As he sat in the unexpected silence, a massive figure descended onto the road in front of him. He said it stood at least eight feet tall, with blue-tinted fur, glowing red or yellow eyes depending on the retelling, and wings folded behind its back like a bat’s, leathery, muscular, and spanning more than a dozen feet. The creature did not attack. It simply stared at him before leaping into the air and vanishing into the treetops. Moments later, his truck roared back to life.
While this account gained attention, earlier reports from the 1980s suggested that sightings began closer to the eruption itself. Local pilots described seeing “large, dark shapes” soaring around the still-smoking crater in the months after the blast. One pilot flying near the Toutle River valley reported a winged creature keeping pace with his small aircraft before veering sharply upwards with a speed no bird of prey could match. Hunters in the region also claimed they saw a “humanoid bat” perched in blasted trees during the early rebuilding years, too large to be an owl, too broad-winged to be an eagle.
Other accounts from the 1990s and 2000s echoed similar descriptions. A group of hikers on the south side of Mount Adams, roughly 30 miles from St. Helens, claimed they saw a dark, winged figure sweeping silently over the tree canopy. They estimated its wingspan at more than twenty feet, far beyond anything native to the area. Their report was consistent with sightings logged by Washington’s regional cryptid researchers, who noted that descriptions of Batsquatch often included unusually silent flight. Unlike birds, whose wings produce audible turbulence, the creature was said to move “as if the wind carried it.”
Some researchers draw parallels to the region’s long-standing Indigenous stories of sky spirits or thunderbirds, beings associated with storms, volcanic activity, and upheaval in the land. While Batsquatch’s specific features don’t match the thunderbird tradition, some locals have speculated that the eruption may have triggered unusual animal behavior or exposed hidden cave systems where unknown species might reside. Mount St. Helens is riddled with lava tubes, unstable chambers, and remote ravines, places where sightings of large, elusive animals could occur without broader detection.
Biologists argue that eyewitnesses likely encountered misidentified birds under unusual lighting conditions. Great blue herons, eagles, and turkey vultures can appear larger than expected when seen against sunlit clouds or through rising ash. But this explanation falters against consistent claims of humanoid shape, glowing eyes, and immense wingspans far exceeding any known species. Some skeptics suggest the Eruption Zone’s dramatic landscape — with sulfur haze, distorted light, and sweeping thermals, might contribute to optical illusions. Others note the psychological impact of the disaster: the eruption generated fear, trauma, and a heightened sense of the uncanny, potentially influencing later interpretations of strange sights.
Yet the sightings persist. A 2009 report from near Mineral, Washington, described a creature landing in a cluster of fir trees with such force that branches snapped audibly. The witnesses claimed it launched itself skyward seconds later, wings spread wide enough to eclipse the moonlight. In 2016, a group of high school students flying drones near Mount St. Helens captured vague, dark shapes in the distance that some interpreted as a large airborne creature. While inconclusive, the footage revived discussion of earlier sightings.
What makes the Batsquatch legend enduring is not only its dramatic appearance but its geographical consistency. Nearly every report falls within a narrow corridor stretching from Mount St. Helens to Mount Adams, a rugged, heavily forested wilderness with vast stretches inaccessible by road. Whether the creature is an unknown species, a misinterpretation amplified by the region’s mystique, or a modern folklore echo of older sky-beast traditions, it remains one of the Pacific Northwest’s most memorable post-eruption mysteries.
Mount St. Helens continues to stir with geothermal life beneath the surface. And while the forest has regrown and wildlife has returned, stories of a silent, winged figure still surface from those who wander close to the mountain. In the shadow of the volcano, where ash once blotted out the sun, the legend of Batsquatch remains as enduring as the wilderness that gave it form.
Sources & Further Reading:
– Washington State regional cryptid sighting reports (1980s–2010s).
– Local newspaper accounts referencing Batsquatch and Mount St. Helens sightings.
– Eyewitness interviews including the 1994 Brian Canfield testimony.
– Pilot logs and anecdotal reports from post-eruption overflights (1980–1981).
– Pacific Northwest folklore archives covering sky-beast mythology and Indigenous oral histories.
(One of many stories shared by Headcount Coffee — where mystery, history, and late-night reading meet.)
