Washington state proclaimed Sasquatch its official state monster.
Every state has an official bird or tree, but only one state’s governor has declared a state monster. Washington state is home to some impressive forests, and it’s within these misty woods that a legend has grown about an apelike man known as Bigfoot or Sasquatch (sasq'ets means “hairy man” in the Halq'emeylem language of British Columbia). The myth of the Sasquatch began centuries ago with West Coast Indigenous peoples, and gained steam in the 19th century when British explorers (allegedly) discovered “Sasquatch prints” during explorations of the Columbia River. However, the modern legend really kicked into high gear in 1958, when a journalist for the Humboldt Times in northern California pondered if a set of mysterious footprints, mentioned by a reader, could be a relative “of the Abominable Snowman of the Himalayas.” Almost a decade later, the famously grainy video shot in Bluff Creek, California — known as the Patterson-Gimlin film (named for its creators) — cemented the iconic status of this hirsute creature.
Today, Bigfoot’s image can be found throughout the Pacific Northwest, emblazoned on festival signs and gift shop tchotchkes. In 1970, Washington state’s governor issued a proclamation declaring Sasquatch the state monster of Washington; he even affixed a lock of the legendary monster's supposed hair to the document. (The proclamation also deemed “all Sasquachii” a protected state resource.) More recent endeavors, in 2017, attempted to solidify that official status when state Senator Ann Rivers introduced bill SB 5816, calling for Sasquatch to become the state’s official monster. The bill was referred to committee but has yet to be signed into law, which means that for now, the Sasquatch’s official status — much like the creature itself — remains elusive.
The Pacific Northwest is well known for its cryptids, but this region of the U.S. also birthed another realm of paranormal fascination. On June 24, 1947, a fire extinguisher salesman named Kenneth Arnold flew past Mount Rainier in his single-engine CallAir plane, en route to an air show, when he spotted something out of the ordinary — nine metallic discs whose trajectory appeared to defy known physics. Days later, Arnold told the story to two reporters at the East Oregonian newspaper, using phrases like “pie pan,” “disk,” and the now-familiar “saucer.” One of the reporters wrote a story for the Associated Press wire service, and by the afternoon, the nation was abuzz with the possibility of unknown “flying saucers” hovering above the U.S. A month later, allegedly extraterrestrial events at Roswell, New Mexico, fanned this smoldering craze into a full-blown blaze. Although Arnold at one point lamented his role in this “flying saucer” obsession — he often found himself the subject of ridicule — later in life he saw his otherworldly report as a necessary patriotic duty, saying: “If I had not reported it, it would have constituted a disloyalty to my country. Wouldn’t you think so?”
