Archive 117 Bigfoot

good man before he died. He told me a story about when he and a friend of his were nine years old, as little boys were inclined to do back then, they had taken up a game of cowboys and Indians out behind a field, armed with homemade sling shots that were taking pot shots at just about anything that could draw a bead on. There was a daisy. Pop, Now it was a dead daisy. Oh look at that milkweed. Bang splattered milk everywhere. They carried on in this fashion,

shooting and conquering everything in sight. They even took aim at a rock and it just ricocheted, But they congratulated of themselves on the fine effort. And then my grandfather saw the bushy tail of a squirrel sticking out from behind a tree, with eyes filled with the glint of mischief only a nine year old can muster. He loaded his trusty slingshot and pow, he nailed that pesky squirrel

right in the backside. But it wasn't a squirrel, roar cried the squirrel with a deafening thunder as it stood up to over eight feet tall and stepped from behind the tree. What was worse is right next to the giant two legged squirrel was an identical giant two legged

squirrel who looked just as angry. It's not a squirrel, It's not a squirrel, stammered my grandfather's friend, as the boy slowly began to back away, Run, screamed my grandfather, and they both turned, grabbed hold of the wind and scattered. My grandfather chose a route that took him straight to an old rickety two seater outhouse that he knew was

on the property. He got inside and did his best to both the door before the creatures caught up with him and began to shake and rock the little building with all their might. Inside, my grandfather held on to the two holes as dirt and debris of the ages

rained down on his head. He could smell the pit directly below him, but his fear of the two beings trying to tear down his only shelter outweighed his disgust He rattled and bounced around, losing and then regaining his grasp, feeling like every joint in his body was being jarred loose, until with an awful, moaning crack, the little house began

to split apart. The plank of wood with the two holes gave way, first cracking and splitting before falling into the pit below, taking my grandfather right with it to eight feet into that hole, landing with a great kerkplop into the muck below. Darkness surrounded him as he sat quietly listening to the two bigfoot above. Suddenly he heard a muffled call from somewhere in the woods, and then there was silence. It felt like an eternity before he

began his long climb back to the world. He grabbed at the roots and kicked his feet into the cold earth to make footholes, until he was finally standing back on the surface, surrounded by the splintered pile that was once an old outhouse, and to his great relief, the epe boys were gone. That was the day that my grandfather, God rest his soul, learned a big lesson on respect for others in the woods. I still have his smell. He slink shi.

Could y'all love that story?

mud flat on the right where nothing grew. My best friend and myself decided we would go camping to go fishing early in the morning and the mud flat is where we set up our camp. I want you to understand that I knew these woods and the wildlife as I hunted and fished this area with my dad and my uncles since I was about six. I also hunted herbs and fruit with my mother when I was even younger.

We were not rich people, so this was used to keep food on the table, so even at twelve, I was a fair to great woodsman, as most kids were that grew up in this town. Me and a friend set up our tent and built a rock circle for a fire and hung our cooler up in a tree. We went fishing until it got dark and came back to camp. We started a fire and cooked a few of the fish we had caught. As it was early spring mid April, just after my twelfth birthday, it got chilly,

so we went to bed shortly after dark. Some time later, I woke up and had to get up and go pee. I got out of the tent and went over to a tree about twenty five feet from camp. As I was finishing up, I noticed someone looking at me across the mud flat about thirty feet away. It was light enough for me to see fairly well as the moon was up and the sky was clear, a rare thing in that area. And what was watching me was a female bigfoot. I know she saw me as she watched

me move and followed me with her head. She had to be at least seven and a half foot tall. I could tell she was not looking to cause problems. She seemed to be interested in what I was or who I was. I was scared out of my skin, but my best friend was in the tent sound asleep, and the tent was only about ten feet from her. So I slowly went back to the tent and went in to wake up my friend as quietly as I could.

I told him that bigfoot was outside, and he didn't believe me until he stuck his head out and was looking at her, and he froze. We put on our clothes as fast as we could and ran down to the tracks as fast as we could, leaving everything behind. We got to my house around three am. It takes about forty five minutes to walk there, and it was a lot less than that to get home, and ended up with my mom and dad away because we were both in a panic and made a lot of noise

getting into the house. My Dad didn't believe me, but my mom said that many of my uncles said there were bigfoot out there, and she seemed to believe us. The next morning, Mom went with us boys, and we demanded that she bring a rifle just in case. We went back to the campsite and got our gearing was around, so we packed up fast, and then I brought Mom over to where the female bigfoot was and we found very clear tracks. I even tracked her a few feet

into the woods. She had taken our fish on a liveline kept at the lake, and there were tracks there too. This spooked my mom too, so we got out of there. The rest of that year, I did not go into that area on the lake to go fishing, and did not go there actually for the next two years. This got me to looking this stuff up, and I learned how to make track casts, and I learned that the area was well known for this happening often, and even the natives talked about the big man that lived in

the forest. If you fast forward a couple of years and going back to the lake, me and one of my cousins decided to spend the weekend on the island using a small canoe with fishing gear and a deer rifle. So we made camp and we were catching fish like crazy and made a fire and made up a few of the fish and some beans. Before we went to bed. We put our cooler in the canoe and tied it off and pushed it out into the water to keep

the critters out of our food. We went to bed and in the middle of the night we heard a bunch of noise just outside of the tent and smelled this horrid smell, and we stuck our heads out with a thirty six leading the way. We didn't see anything, but something had moved our canoe. We pushed it back out into the water and went back to sleep. The next morning, we went looking for tracks and didn't find much, as it had rained hard just before daylight and the

underbrush was very thick. We decided to look further out as there were better ground forty feet or so away from the camp, and that's when we saw him. He just stepped into the woods out of that clearing, so we tracked him, Having both a high powered rifle and my compound bow with us, we follow him to the log bridge, just an old growth tree that fell over, making a bridge to the mainland from the island, and

that's when we got the best view. He was on a log just over midway past the middle heading to the land. He jumped off and ran through the clear cut area into the woods. My cousin just couldn't believe it, and we watched him leave in a fast manner. We had about fifty foot of clear area and we could see him very well. My cousin demanded that we leave. We were to spend the whole weekend there, and this was Saturday morning, but we went ahead and left early.

We got home and told our parents. Mom knew I wouldn't make this stuff up, so she called my uncle. He was about as close to a mountain man as you could get in modern times, and I got him to help track this bigfoot. We were both on armed and we tracked it from our camp across the island to the clearcut and into the woods for about three miles. My uncle figured that it was long gone and we went home. After these sightings, I did not tell many people, as my dad thought I was full of it and

I did not want to be ridiculed. My closest friends have been told this story and of course my family. I'm not a very good writer and English is not my first language, but I hope you can fully understand my email, and he signs off. A disabled US Army ranger and Jungle Warfare specialist RLC two, I'm fifty eight years old. I'm an Eagle Scout, a six year Army veteran, and former park ranger of thirteen years. I've had what I believe were several encounters with bigfoot. Some happened while

I was camping with the Boys Scouts. One of those incidents I did not recognize as a sisquatch until last week when I heard about a bigfoot making a tree knock so loud it sounded like a shotgun. It brought back along forgotten memory. The times I spent with my former Boy Scout troop in central Florida are among the fondest memories of my youth. Most everyone in the troop had a nickname given by our peers. It was usually the result of some humorous or embarrassing incident. When I

was fifteen, my nickname was sisquatch. I had gotten it when camping in the mountains of Northeast Georgia. We were chasing each.

I came along as an adult leader. I'd gotten out of the Army a few months before, so I was in great shape. There are a lot of Si Squat sightings in this part of the country, but I didn't know it at the time, and there was no internet to research sightings back then. Although this Scout camp was in the mountains, most of the hiking trails went through thick patches of bushes and rhododendrons that blocked the scenery. I caught a flu bug on the way up to camp.

Although I thought I'd be okay on the trail, after the first day, I got so slow and dizzy on the trail that I had to return to base camp. We were two miles up a rocky road, so after working out our plans with the troop, I went back down alone with my backpack. They must have had great faith in my ability to make make it back. Once there, I spent the day resting in a typical big eight

foot by eight foot green canvas tent. It was the middle of the week, so with most of the scouts out on the trail, most of the tents were vacant. One boy, who was too young to handle the heavy backpacking, had stayed behind to do other activities. His name was Bob. I was so sick that I didn't see much of Bob, even though he was only two tenths away from me. He was the last tint on the road, tucked into the corner by the edge of the woods. The bushes

started at his back door. That evening, after resting, I was eating my freeze dried supper at a picnic table outside my tent. My fever felt like it had broken, and I felt nearly recovered. There was no moon that night. It was pitch blackout. A nearby deer gave a loud, huffing snort, and I jumped at the sound, but recognized it immediately, I just laughed at myself and I went back to eating. I was unaware of anything else that had happened that night until many years later, when I

reconnected with Bob on Facebook. By now he was a full grown man and had a family of his own. He told me that night, while he was in his tent, someone had been walking around outside in the nearby bushes. He'd always thought it was me because of my reputation for sneaking up on people to scare them, but I assured him that I had been in my tent that night, sound asleep. Bob eventually concluded that it was a bigfoot

he'd heard that night. The following night, I would have my own encounter, but it has taken me nearly thirty years to figure out what it was. The next morning, I was feeling well enough to rejoin the troop on the trail in the mountains. That night, the troop was camping on a hilltop with an obstructed view of the ridgeline. It was an open area by a power line easement, with the electrical lines buzzing all night. I've since been told that sisquatch is known to travel along power line easements,

but I was unaware of that. At the time. I was pretty sure we were at the edge of the Scout reservation property because I had seen a house earlier. I set up my tent at the edge of the power line field bordering the woods and settled in for the night. Well around midnight, I woke to the sounds of someone sneaking up to our campsite in the woods. Years of scouting in my military experience had taught me to tell the difference between four legged and two legged animals,

and this was definitely on two legs. It sounded and behaved just like I would when I was sneaking up on someone. I remembered the house I had seen earlier and decided it must be a hillbilly wandering over to check us out. I really wasn't concerned. He may have been out night hunting and stumbled on our camp by mistake.

Maybe he was trying to bag a raccoon. Regardless, I was impressed since he didn't seem to have a flashlight and I had to answer nature's call, so I figured i'd get out of the tent and I shined my flashlight around. And then he'd realized his mistake and he'd go away. It never occurred to me that it might not be a man. I was watering a nearby tree a few feet from my tent door when I heard a loud crack and the guy began running away a

lot faster than I think I could have. The crack was so loud that it sounded just like a shotgun. It got my heart pounding, but the guy ran away and it was over as soon as it started. Mainly, I was impressed that the guy moved so quickly on a moonless night without running into a tree. He must have been familiar with the area, I thought, because I knew if I'd tried that, I'd have knocked myself out cold on the first tree that got in my way. The next morning, I asked the others if they'd heard

the noises, but nobody had. It seemed odd, since I was sure it was a shotgun that should have woken up the whole camp. At that point, I still believed it was a hillbilly, but still no one else heard it nor seemed to believe me, and I dropped the subject and I forgot about it. Nearly thirty years passed before I heard the story from the guy who said the Sasquatch made a tree knock that sounded like a

shotgun blast, and the memory came flooding back. Looking back, I find it pretty amazing that my troop had two bigfoot encounters in one trip and didn't recognize either one. I know of no other bigfoot encounters at this scout camp, and there have never been any reports of missing people there that I know of. My guess is the local Sasquatch are just curious about the scouts passing through the area, playing their games and chasing each other around and doing

their usual goofy things. Probably makes for hours of entertainment for the Sosquatch. Back when I was fourteen or fifteen years old in the early seventies, we lived on State Route fifty two in what is called the Gap of the Ridge area in Macon County, Tennessee. Back then, I spent every free moment I could in the woods, especially in the summer when there was no school. It was on one of those summer days that I had been out hunting groundhogs and enjoying being in the woods more

than I was joining the actual hunting. It was getting dark, so I decided to head for home. I walked to an old logging road that wound around and up the hill to the highway, and as I turned to start up the hill, I heard something running from behind me and to my left. I spun around to see what was coming. It was dark, solid color, human like thing ran from behind a wild rose bush and crossed an

open area in a stooped or crouched position. The creature, I call it a creature because at the time I had not heard of bigfoot, ran all the way across the clearing, into the woods on the opposite side, and down into a draw where I lost sight of it. I could still hear it though, as it crashed through the wood, snapping branches and breaking saplings. As it ran,

the hair stood up all over my body. As I watched and listened to the destructive power of that thing, I wasted no time getting up on the logging road to the top of the hill. There, I turned back one more time, fired my twenty two rifle into the air before yelling and running for home. Two hundred yards away. The next day, I went back to where I had seen the creature. The wild rose bush where it had emerged was six feet tall, stooped over like it was.

The creature was the same height, so I estimated it to be seven and a half to eight feet all standing up. That was the only time I've ever seen it, but I've heard sounds at night that I am sure came from that creature. A few years after my sighting, I was walking in the same woods one night. All around me were the normal sounds of crickets, chirping, frogs, croaking, an occasional night bird, and suddenly I realized everything had gone quiet. I stopped in my tracks and I listened

for a moment. I began to hear the crunching of dried leaves. As it got louder and closer, I recognized the distinct pattern of a bipedal footstep coming from the hill above me. It kept walking, and I kept listening until the sound got fainter and I eventually couldn't hear it at all. Immediately the night woods returned, and I decided it was time for me to go home. Years later, in the nineteen nineties, I was visiting my mom and

dad one evening with my wife and kids. I smoked at the time, so I stepped out on the back porch to have a cigarette. As I stood there, I heard a sound from across the haller that was like some sort of language. It was almost like a samurai warrior talking, with the grunts and growls thrown in to break up the sentences. At the time, I had no idea what I was hearing. Then one night a few months later, I was listening to Art Bell's show on the radio. He had a guest on who was talking

about recording bigfoot languages. When he played the recording, it was the same thing I heard that night in my mom and dad's backyard. Most recently, though I didn't see or hear anything, I found evidence of them being in the area I currently live, about twelve miles from where

I had my other experiences. I was walking on an old logging road that serves as a driveway to my neighbor's summerhouse when they're up from Florida, and while walking, I observed a fifteen foot tall seedar tree that had been twisted until it broke halfway up the trunk, with the twisted part hanging down. I assume a bigfoot did this to market its territory and to send a message to me or another Bigfoot to tread lightly. I got the message loud and clear. Well, those are my experiences.

Feel free to use my name and thank you