On February 20, 2025, California’s Assembly Bill 666, introduced by Assemblyman Chris Rogers (D-Santa Rosa), seeks to designate Bigfoot as the state’s official cryptid, stirring a mix of amusement, pride, and playful rivalry among Oregonians. The bill, currently under review in the state Assembly, taps into the Golden State’s long history with the elusive Sasquatch, particularly in Northern California’s forested regions. However, across the border in Oregon—widely regarded as the Pacific Northwest’s Bigfoot epicenter—the proposal has sparked a range of reactions, from bemusement to a sense of territorial claim over the legendary creature.
Oregon has long embraced Bigfoot as a cultural icon, with its vast wilderness, including the Mount Hood National Forest and the Blue Mountains, serving as prime territory for alleged sightings. The state boasts a rich Sasquatch legacy, with 257 reported encounters logged by the Bigfoot Field Researchers Organization (BFRO), a figure that dwarfs many states despite California’s larger population. For Oregonians, Bigfoot isn’t just a myth—it’s a symbol of their rugged, untamed landscape. The North American Bigfoot Center in Boring, Oregon, and the annual Oregon Bigfoot Festival in Troutdale underscore this deep connection, drawing enthusiasts and skeptics alike to celebrate the creature’s lore.
When news of California’s bill reached Oregon, reactions varied. Scot Violette, an anthropologist and founder of Blue Mountain Bigfoot Research, chuckled at the notion. “California can try to claim Bigfoot, but everyone knows Oregon’s the real Sasquatch state,” he said, referencing the state’s dense forests—covering nearly half its land—and its history of sightings stretching back to indigenous tales. Violette, who claims a personal encounter in the Blue Mountains, sees the bill as a lighthearted jab, but one that doesn’t threaten Oregon’s unofficial title as Bigfoot Country. “They’ve got the Patterson-Gimlin film, sure, but we’ve got the culture,” he added, nodding to the 1967 footage shot just south of the Oregon border.
In Portland, social media buzzed with Oregonians staking their claim. “California can have their earthquakes and traffic—Bigfoot’s ours,” one X user posted, echoing a sentiment of playful possessiveness. Others saw it as a chance for regional camaraderie. “If California wants to join the Bigfoot party, fine by me—just don’t expect Oregon to hand over the crown,” wrote another. The tongue-in-cheek rivalry harkens back to 2017, when Washington State Senator Ann Rivers proposed a similar bill to name Bigfoot Washington’s official cryptid, citing fears that Oregon might beat them to it—a measure that didn’t pass but highlighted the creature’s contested regional identity.
Not all Oregonians are territorial, though. Eric Nelson, a volunteer at the China Flat Museum & Bigfoot Collection in Willow Creek, California—just miles from Oregon—views the bill as a potential boon. “If California makes it official, it could bring more attention to the whole Northwest,” he told SFGATE, noting Willow Creek’s Bigfoot-themed attractions could benefit from extra tourism. Yet, even he acknowledged Oregon’s edge: “They’ve got the Bigfoot Trap up there in the Siskiyou Forest. We’re not competing with that.”
Some Oregonians, however, greeted the news with skepticism or indifference. “California’s got bigger problems than picking a state cryptid,” quipped a Bend resident, reflecting a pragmatic streak amid the state’s own wildfire and housing concerns. Others leaned into the absurdity, with a Eugene hiker joking, “Maybe Bigfoot’s moving south because Oregon’s too rainy for him now.”
The debate taps into a broader Pacific Northwest rivalry, where Oregon, Washington, and Northern California each claim a piece of Bigfoot’s mystique. Oregonians point to their state’s sparse population—around 4.2 million compared to California’s 39 million—as ideal for a creature that thrives in seclusion. The state’s elk and deer populations, potential Bigfoot prey, further bolster their case. Yet, California’s move has forced Oregonians to confront a question: should they formalize their own claim? “If anything, this might light a fire under us to make it official first,” mused a Troutdale festival organizer.
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