The legend of Beerfoot has circulated among social drinkers for decades, whispered through backwoods hollers and over sticky bar tops across southern Appalachia. By the late twentieth century, the rumors started spreading beyond the mountains, suggesting Beerfoot had begun to roam, expanding his territory, chasing a good time, or maybe just an opportunity.

Eyewitness accounts are rare, but the stories of his exploits are everywhere, most often surfacing in the hazy aftermath of celebration. Some call him a guardian of good times; others say he’s a wandering troublemaker. Maybe he’s both. Maybe he’s just the misunderstood mascot of mountain hospitality.

Part local mystery and part regional icon, Beerfoot embodies the spirit of the Appalachians: unpredictable, rugged, and just a little rowdy. Though not known to be dangerous, his reputation for unlawfully acquiring other people’s beverages has earned him his infamous name.

Beyond an insatiable thirst, Beerfoot is also known for making sport of the inebriated – borrowing from inattentive revelers with a magician’s touch. Cash, credit cards, lighters, keys, wallets, phones, and other personal effects have all been reported missing after long nights of celebration. Somewhere between last call and what the hell happened last night is exactly where Beerfoot thrives, slipping through the noise and laughter with stealth unbecoming a creature of his size.

If you’re not guarding your beer, you’re sending an invitation – and that’s how ordinary nights become part of the legend.

This is where the PSA comes in.

In 2019, a civilian outfit calling itself Beerfoot Outfitters began producing public-facing materials related to the Southern Appalachian Sasquatch known as Beerfoot. Merchandise. Artwork. Encounters. Mock case files. What some might dismiss as “exploitation,” we prefer to call “awareness.”

The Legend of Beerfoot, as documented and expanded by Beerfoot Outfitters, represents an ongoing effort to blend folklore, satire, and cautionary tale into a single, coherent mythology. Think of it as a public service announcement wrapped in Americana absurdity – a partnership of necessity between the public and the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco & Folklore.

Every T-shirt sold, every cap worn, every poster hung, every story shared – it’s another person who might recognize the signs. Another drinker who might be able to account for every last beer. Another witness who might finally believe.

Because when it comes to Beerfoot, awareness is the first line of defense.

Beware of Beerfoot. Guard your beer.