If you happened to be on I-90 this Memorial Day weekend, you probably felt it: the distant vibrations of thousands of cars rolling across the country, tearing over mountain passes and weaving between semi trucks. Cars packed to brimming with Canadians, beer, three-foot bongs, and saltine crackers, all headed for the single illuminated blue dot radiating off of screens and road maps: Sasquatch.

Within a matter of hours, Washington State became a four-day mecca for cut-off jeans and frayed t-shirts, the home of the Northwest’s most relentless music festival. By the time I arrived on the scene people were already funneling beer into each other’s mouths and blasting techno out of industrial-grade boom boxes. There was no doubt that this festival meant business. It wasn’t just about body paint and Ray-Bans. No, Sasquatch 2013 was a celebration of impeccable leg strength and party endurance.

Friday, May 24th

Sea Wolf was the first band I watched, taking to the Bigfoot stage with persuasive confidence. The band played “He’s A Wolf,” wearing their selective fame with ease, leaving behind the lingering understanding that they plan on bursting forth again in the years to come, only this time on a bigger stage, with confetti.

Next came Vampire Weekend tossing out amazing lyrics and refrains to an adoring audience. This was their second appearance at Sasquatch, and they unleashed a repertoire of well-loved hits such as “Oxford Comma,” “I Stand Corrected,” and “Giving Up The Gun,” with the addition of the more recent track, “Diane Young.” The audience ate up the performance with an insatiable appetite: people were swinging about like drunken blades of grass, singing, and wildly grappling for a superior view of the stage.

Perhaps the biggest bang out of Friday’s performances took place when Macklemore and Ryan Lewis took to the main stage. After the recent skyrocket of “Thrift Shop,” “Can’t Hold Us,” and “Same Love,” Macklemore has, by some standards, become one of the greatest pop culture icons produced in the Northwest, and seeing the crowd’s reaction to his act from my perch on the hill was absolutely breathtaking. The entire pit was a writhing mass of waving arms and cheers. The voices of Wanz, Ray Dalton, and Mary Lambert (the featured artists from each hit single) wrote their own bold signatures across the stage, stealing back some of the attention Macklemore amassed from the boisterous audience. A tremendous sense of Washington pride swept the arena. This show was not merely a tour date, but a reciprocation of support between the performer and the audience. The atmosphere was electric.

Saturday, May 25th

Saturday surfaced along with some glorious 80-degree sunshine. I commenced my day with pre-concert proceedings, which involved sleeping in late, eating boundless handfuls of Red Vines, and taking spontaneous walks around the campground, absorbing the general festival ambiance.

The first act on my list was Andrew Bird. Out of all of the performances I witnessed, this man takes the cake for raw, un-repressed talent. His set included plenty of whistling, a trademark skill that he has mastered perfectly. While he played the violin and guitar, an ecstatic smile spread across his face like blackberry jam. Even during the day, beneath the sights of a crowd of hangover hipsters, his songs gushed joy in the form of spellbinding melodies and unpretentious skill.

I stood in the pit for The xx. They sounded just as hypnotic as they do in the recording studio, and the show was fantastic. I found myself lured in by the soft vocals and soul-entrenching bass, yearning to be closer still to the stage where the music resounded. The crowd, however, was a squirming mass in front of the performance, and I was left to linger on the outskirts of a sound, which would have been more satisfying if experienced directly beneath the laser-beam riffs the band projected.

Sunday, May 26th

I spent six hours waiting in the pit for Mumford and Sons, and thanks to my persistence I was forced to absorb all of the amazingness Edward Sharpe And The Magnetic Zeros had to offer. Having only heard their song “Home,” I was introduced to a band that deserves more attention. Alex Ebert and Jade Castrinos, the two lead singers, didn’t hesitate to leap off stage to exchange some of their irresistible joy with the audience. At one point, Jade passed the microphone to some of the fans lined up in the front row so that they could tell stories, or as it played out, express the sheer thrill of their festival experience. The energetic vibes these guys left behind was enough to get me through the lackluster Elvis Costello and The Imposters performance sandwiched between Edward Sharpe and Mumford and Sons.

Marcus Mumford sounded just as he does on the radio, and his “sons” were energetic accomplices at winning over the crowd. The lights went crazy and the crowd went crazier, singing and participating in the restrictive form of dancing that ensued due to our close proximity. The highlight of the set came at the end when Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros joined Mumford and Sons for a collaborative cover of Fleetwood Mac’s “The Chain.” For those final four minutes, I forgot the pain in my feet and the semi-asphyxiation of the atmosphere surrounding my face, and stood in complete amazement of the unabashed perfection that transpired before me.

Monday, May 27th

Monday started off soggy with some unwelcome rain, but despite the decidedly un-hipster ponchos that kept turning up, and the wet shoes, the spirit of Sasquatch had gained too much momentum to falter over Washington’s weather antics.

I ended up waiting around at the Imagine Dragons performance, which started a whole hour late. The band got on stage and played a set full of their recent victories over the pop music scene such as “Radioactive” and “It’s Time.” I was left feeling a bit disappointed, but I have reason to suspect this was due more to the rain and schedule delays than the actual performance. Dan Reynolds, the band’s lead singer has the stage antics of a rock star, and when he humbly attributed the bands recent success to the audience, he left me convinced that he was a truly regular person propelled by the faith of his fans and his love for music.

To complete my Sasquatch experience, I watched the entire Alt-J performance. Of all the bands, I was most anticipating Alt-J’s performance, and it was worth seeing. Alt-J doesn’t have the sound many have come to expect from listening to recordings of “Tesselite,” “Fitzpleasure,” and “Breezeblocks.” Live, they have a soft-spoken manner that is simultaneously true to the dark alternative themes found in their record, An Awesome Wave, as well as to the delicacies of Joe Newman’s voice, which floats amidst indecipherable lyrics and whispering melodies. Alt-J isn’t necessarily the kind of band a festival crowd receives graciously. The music requires a patience that is not often found; however, from my perspective, the audience stayed responsive and enthusiastic throughout the show.

By the end of the night I hit up The Postal Service, which is “back from the dead,” as the lead singer Ben Gibbard said following the beginning of the set. After I saw enough of the show to confirm that the band sounds just as great as it did before the hiatus, I left to go to the Rusko show held on a smaller stage. The show was so awesome that that my phone flew out of my pocket on the dance-trodden ground, never to be seen again. After all of the good that had come of my time at Sasquatch, I couldn’t help but think my phone was meant to be an offering to the spirit of the festival, a sort of sacrifice designated in the name of a beautiful experience.  Sasquatch took its toll, but with sore feet and no phone, I left the venue for the last time with the satisfaction of a girl who has struck a bargain.