Great Story about the Big Hairy Man

In 1967 I was 7 years old. We lived in Alaska. Dad was a flight engineer with the Strategic Air Command. His favorite place to fish was a branch off the Russian River. I remember it pretty well even after all these years. I'm 60 now. It was a five mile walk from the parking area to the spot we always camped at. He told my Mom that it was the only place he felt safe to take us boys during the salmon runs. The brown bears were thick as flies. I remember that my Grandfather was up from West Virginia. I remember the trappers cabin in small clearing at the top of mountain. We were ready to take a break from the hike when my said Bear.. We all froze and looked ware he was looking. Just as he was pulling the pump shotgun from his shoulder a huge brown bear stood up at maybe 50 yards away from behind the trappers cabin. It was taller than the cabin. Just then we heard what sounded like a steam whistle blast from the direction we had come from. The Bear let out a sound like a moan and spun around and stood up looking in that direction when suddenly a giant came running from the tree line running full speed. Arms and legs pumping like a football player. The Bear took off down the mountain like it was on fire. The giant stops at the place the bear had been standing a looks at us. My Dad put the shotgun back on his shoulder and held his hand up. Palm out and told us to do the same. The giant blinked its eyes and nodded at us and slowly walked away up the hill ahead of us. He said let's go and started walking up the trail. I asked him what was that??? He smiled and said.. That's Big Stinky. He won't bother us. But we will see him again at the camp. He told us not to talk about it outside the family. I asked what it was. He said it was a man. Just different than us. Just like black people or Indians look different but were still people. Just different. And that we didn't have to worry about bears as long as he was around. When we got to the camp the first thing he did was open a pack and took out a bag of potatoes and walked over into the trees and put that bag of potatoes on a stump and came back and told us get busy setting up camp. The next time I looked the bag of potatoes was gone. Every evening he would take a few potatoes and some of the bigger fish to the same spot. This is my first memory of the giant man we call Bigfoot. But definitely not the last. My Dad gave them names. He said that there were five living on that mountain. His favorite place to fish. And the safest place for his boys to wander around without having to worry about us getting eaten by bears during the salmon runs..