Archive 156 Bigfoot and Other Strange Stories

their table. What did you mean, asked one of the men at the table. Have you ever seen a bigfoot around here? I sure have, she said many times, in part that's how I got my nickname. I've sort of grown up with them. The three people at the table just looked at each other with puzzled looks on their faces, she continued. One morning, when I was younger, I looked out the window of our family cabin as my uncle was outside playing with his two dogs. It was about

then that he noticed they were nowhere in sight. After repeatedly calling their names and also looking behind the cabin, he spotted them cowering under his pickup truck in the driveway. He called to them, but they wouldn't even look at him. What's going on, he wondered out loud, and then he noticed the direction they were looking was to the trees

less than fifty yards directly behind him. At this point, everyone at my table continued to eavesdrop on the conversation as their waitress paused for a moment and just looked at each other. For her customers, Everyone at my table continued to eavesdrop on this conversation as their waitress paused for a moment and just looked at each of her customers. The man in a green hat asked, Okay, what happened next? Well, before my uncle even turned turned around, the hair on

his neck stood straight up. He was almost too afraid to turn around as he slowly gazed down at the dogs again to see if they were still looking behind him. He slowly reached inside the truck and grabbed a Savage thirty six hunting rifle. Once more, he checked with the

dogs before he finally began to turn around. Little Yetti stopped her story to add that the woods around their family cabin has a long history of visitations from coyotes, black bear, elk, mule, deer, Bobcat, mountain lion, and if you believe some people, wolves and grizzly bear, whatever was behind her uncle was scary enough to spoop those dogs, Little Yettie continued. My uncle cautiously swiveled his upper body towards the woods, holding the gun close to his chest,

and then he saw it. Just outside of the trees stood a seven to eight foot hairyman watching him and his dogs. He was covered in brown hair and he stood motionless. I watched through the window as my uncle slowly lifted the rifle to his shoulder so he could look at this man through a high powered scope. Just as he put his eye to the scope, the creature turned and ran into the woods. Wow, said one of the men at the table. Yeah. It took a couple of minutes before his dogs felt safe enough to leave

the shelter of the truck. Okay, can I get you folks anything else? Each of the three men at the table looked at each other, and then one ask, so why is your nickname, little Yetti? Oh yeah, that's another story, well sort of, she said. They all laughed and chimed in together. Well we're not going anywhere, so carry on, okay, but let me check on my other tables first. Are you sure you don't need anything else while I'm here? We're sure? How about another round of that delicious root beer?

And she replied, coming right up. While she was away, the three of them just sort of looked off out the windows, probably imagining what it could have been like to experience a sasquatch up in those mountains, especially when your two dogs are apparently unable to confront it. Seriously, many people go hiking with their dogs hoping it will protect them. Maybe they would, but against a close encounter

with a sasquatch. My friends and I looked at each other and we smiled, Yeah, we're not going anywhere either. This is too good. It wasn't long before their waitress returned with three large root beers and little YETI said, okay, so where were we? One of the men said, we're wondering where you got your nickname? Laughing, She said, oh, yeah, that the encounter I just told you wasn't my first time seeing one of these creatures while growing up at

my parents' cabin. In fact, I've seen that particular sasquatch many times before, so I'm not afraid of him. My uncle though that was his first time. He'd heard some of my stories over the years, but never had a personal experience before that. He didn't want to shoot it, just get a closer look. This will probably sound a bit unusual and maybe unbelievable, but when I was seven years old, my parents and I were sitting in the living room of the cabin with the windows and the

front door open. It was about the same time of year as now, so having the windows and door open allowed cool air to circulate through the house. Suddenly, my mother said, listen, do you hear that? And we all stopped moving and tuned our ears towards the outdoors. There that did you guys hear it? We all jumped up and we ran outside to get a better listen, and my dad said, that sounds like an elk calf calling out to its mother. And we all looked at each

other and began moving towards the sound. It didn't seem that far away, possibly just inside the trees where my uncle saw the hairy man. When we arrived to where we thought the sound was coming from, my mother said, it now sounds like it's over there, pointing to our left. Another thirty or forty yards away. Once more, we stopped where we thought the sound was coming from, but we didn't see anything there. It is again, my mother said, as she pointed back in another direction, What is going on?

My father said, it's like moving us around, but we can't see it. And this continued for quite a while, and before we knew it, we were quite a distance from the cabin, and then we heard the crying sound coming from the edge of a cliff. That cliff was nearly a mile from the cabin, and my mother said, I don't get it. Where is this baby elk? My father walked to the ledge and he looked down. What

the heck he blurted out, come look at this. My mother and I ran over to the edge of the cliff and looked down to see what he had seen. There on a small ledge was an elk calf. Somehow it became trapped about twenty five feet down on a really small outcropping. And then my dad asked, okay, how would this selk get all the way down there without going over the edge. He didn't wait for an answer. I'll be right back. I'm going for a rope. You two stay here and keep an eye on it. My

father disappeared back into the woods. Our cabin was now a mile away, so it would take a while before he returned. My mother and I sat down on a fallen tree and just looked down at the baby. Mom, how do you get down there? And how could we hear it all the way through the woods to our house? Well, I don't know, honey. It didn't take my father as long to return as I thought it would. He appeared on the ranger with ropes in the back. He said, you'll never guess what I found on the way to

the cabin. The baby's mother is dead and her carcass has already been chewed on by coyotes. She's not far from here, just over that way. Dad tied a rope up to his harness into a nearby tree and then lowered himself down to the elk. My mom and I stood above him and asked, can we do anything to help. I'm going to lift the elk above my shoulders and try to climb back up. I need you guys to keep the rope to the side of the tree root so it doesn't get hung up. Okay, can you do that? Sure? Honey?

My mother replied, It took my dad about five minutes to get the baby up to safety. He was exhausted and sat down to catch his breath. The three of us just sat there looking at the calf. It was probably relieved too, but it didn't run off. It just laid down in the shade of my father. The waitress stopped there, and she looked at her watch and said she'd be back for the rest of the story. One of her orders had appeared to be up, so she needed to take someone's food to the table. While she

was gone. One of the customers said, poor baby. Yeah, I wonder how this story ends, said another guy. It was about fifteen minutes before she returned to finish the story. Okay, we have to hurry with the rest of the story. I have more tables coming in, she said. We all piled into our UTV and took the baby elk back to the cabin. I was the lucky one who got to hold it. During the ride. My dad slowed the UTV down at one point and pointed up ahead, that's

the mother carcass right there. My mother then suggested that maybe the baby ran for safety but ended up trapped over the edge. Maybe, said my dad, but there's no way it should have landed on that small outcropping and not fallen into the ravine below. Dad, do you know how we could hear it crying from way out there? I asked, I sure don't. A lot of this doesn't make any sense at all, he continued. For now, we need to figure out what to do with this self.

We all remained silent the rest of the way back to the cabin. Bring the elk inside with you, my dad said, as he took the machine out back and he parked it, and then little YETI said, Okay, guys, to make a longer story shorter. The elk stayed with us until it was older, much older. In fact, it was too large to stay indoors. Can you imagine a long legged elk walking around inside your house. One thing

became clear over time. The more and more we talked about the details of what happened, the more the only thing that really made sense didn't make any sense at all. The cow elk was killed and the baby needed shelter. There's absolutely no way we would have heard its cries for help at that distance. We even tested it by yelling and playing loud music from the ranger We couldn't

hear anything from that far out, even at night. So what are you saying, one of the guys at the table asked, I'm suggesting that the brown haired sysquatch helped us find the baby. We also found as lord footprints near the ledge when we went back to test sound traveling back to our cabin. That one bigfoot came around a few years following our return with the calf. It was as if he was checking to make sure that

we had it home safely. Additionally, there's no realistic way the baby would have survived the fall twenty five feet down to the tiny landing in which we found it on. We think that sasquatch was mimicking the baby's cries to get our attention, and from a distance we could hear it. Then it lured us closer and closer to the ledge, where we believe it placed the baby so no predators could get at it. The waitress stopped for a breather and let it sink in with her customers, who just

stared at her. Wow, that's an amazing story. But how did you get your nickname? One of them asked. The waitress just smiled at him as the baby elk needed to be taken care of and watched after. My parents started calling me little Yetti as I took care of the calf like the hairy Man looked after it. Over the years, the name just stuck. Her customer started laughing, Yeah,

that makes sense. Thanks for sharing your story with us, No problem, she said, There's more to the story, and I have other experiences up at our family cabin, but I have to get back to work. Have a great night, and thanks for coming in for lunch. My two friends and I just sunk deeper in our booth as we looked at each other and smiled. What a story. Huh yeah, I replied, you think it's true? I mean, do you think the sasquatch really led them to the baby elk?

Why not? She even said, there's more to the story. I can't imagine what else happened. I've never run into a bigfoot head on, but indirectly, I'm pretty sure that I've had two encounters over the years. I am an old Marie. I'm eighty years old, and I've hunted and camped all my life, from California to Colorado to Kansas and back. I was born in Corpus CHRISTI in the war years. This is about the start of what we

call the Valley. And I've hunted the Gulf Coast all my life, from white winged doves on the King Ranch to whitetailed deer in East Texas to the big mule deer in West Texas. When I was younger, I mostly hunted by myself, but occasionally I would gather up my two brothers with me, more for company than hunting. They gave me maybe three chances before they decided that they had had enough. They didn't seem to like hunting in a rainstorm. How was I to know that? And then

there was the time I forgot all the groceries. They thought I was trying to starve them to death, and maybe sleeping on the ground under the pickup bed was too much for them. Well, at least I gave them a chance. One year I was getting ready to hunt. I had a great place I had found. It was out of Goodrich, Texas, off a county road which intersected

with Highway fifty nine. This was before Lake Livingston had been developed, and there was a lot of logging going on, and you could get on one of these roads and ride until you found a place you wanted to hunt, and then set up camp and enjoy the outdoors. On this one night, I was walking back to camp. I had been out all day scouting for robes and scrapes before the deer season. There was a big moon out and it was lit well, and I kept hearing something

running in front of me. There was enough light from the moon that I didn't need a flashlight to see my trail, so I kept it off until I was parallel with my camp site, and when I turned it on there was a little red fox that had been leading the way. I turned into camp and kept going, and about this time a scream like none I had ever heard before came out of the woods behind my camp.

Hunting in these woods all my life, I pretty much heard every sound that can be made, and I know when a squirrel is fussing at me as they moved through the heavy brush, to the scream of a bobcat. And this sound didn't belong to anything that I had ever heard. I couldn't get inside my pickup fast enough, and I started it up and the lights on bright, and I backed up and scanned the woods, but I never saw anything not being for sure what was out there.

That night was spent inside the truck without any supper. The next morning, I got up and fixed some coffee and breakfast, and I went back out scouting again, waiting for one of my little brothers and his new wife to show up. Around noon. They showed up and I helped them get their camp areas set up, and after a light lunch, I took them out and showed them

some good places to hunt. Later that evening, we had a nice campfire with a good supper, and it was very peaceful and with a good cup of coffee, we enjoyed each other's company until nine o'clock when we turned in. I never said anything to them about the sounds I had heard, and I hoped for the best that there were no more screams. But there were a few knocks that night, but they were in the distance. So we

had a great two day hunt with no problems. I often wondered about what I had heard that night, knowing that whatever it was had to move on, But where did it go. My next encounter was at Stubblefield Late Campgrounds, which is at the north end of Lake Conroe on Highway forty five and County Road thirteen seventy five. I always get to the campgrounds a couple of days early to get camp set up and do a little fishing before my son and grandson come up for hunting season.

I went out before it got to late one evening to get some firewood. While I was down the road gathering firewood, that sixth sense clicked in and I since something was not right, something was wrong, and I was in danger. So back inside the pickup I went, and then I took off. I left half my firewood in the middle of the road. Only twice in my life have I been spooked, and these are the two times.

Sam Houston National Forest has over one hundred and sixty three thousand acres to play in with the Lone Star Hiking Trail that runs through it, which is over one hundred miles, and this is where many sightings have been. So when that sixth sense clicked in, this is all I could think about. It must have been Bigfoot, and it must have been close watching me. The next night, I went back to the same place and gathered up my wood, and I had no bad feeling, so whatever

had been there was gone. About the most dangerous animal we have in these woods would be a rabid raccoon. I've had a friend that's hunted up there for over forty years, and he met one while he was out hunting one morning without any problems. This sighting was back in the nineteen eighties. Now, I've known Ron this many years and he's never lied to me, and I truly believe every word he said. I know exactly where he

was hunting that day. And in February, after hunting season is over and with the woods clear of guns, I have recruited a team that is going with me to the place where he had his encounter to see if we can find some evidence, or maybe I can get me a card playing Scotch drinking buddy. According to Ryan, when Bigfoot stepped out, he moved a couple of six inch pine trees to the side. He looked at him and made two light grunts, and then turned and walked away.

Ryan said that he was still sitting on his butt on the ground, leaning up against this big pine tree that he had climbed over when he had slipped down, and he never even unslung his gun to watch the creature walk away. Well, his hunting was through for that and Realizing what had just happened, he decided to hunt in one of his other places, not wanting that experience ever again, and he says, PS, this is for you. It can be read if you choose to. Well, I'm

gonna go ahead and read it. How can a person listen to you and not believe in Bigfoot? Hey, let me stop here. Don't believe in Bigfoot because of me? I am a skeptic. I'm a total skeptic. I'm not saying they don't exist, but I'm not saying they do anyway, onto his PostScript, I guess I have gotten older and I've gotten braver or maybe not too smart, and that is why I'm going out Bigfoot. Honey. I've seen so many people go out looking for Bigfoot, and when they

find him, they run away. If he throws a rock, throw one back, and if he growls that, you growl back. And if he screams, you need to scream back. You need to do these things to see what kind of response and reaction you get back. You need to try to understand what he's doing and what you're going after and trying to accomplish, but also protect yourself just in case things take a turn for the worst, and he writes, thanks again, Rick, that actually sounds like a guy in

the Marine Corps. If he screams, actually screamed back. Normally it would be if he screams at you killing. I mean, Marines are killers. That's what they're trained to do, tear stuff up and kill people. This was a great story. I ran across it this morning, and I wanted to make sure that you guys heard it. I thought it was interesting. Eighty year old Marine Corps veteran, I appreciated

him sending this story to me, Thanks sir. In September or October of nineteen seventy, my battalion had been called up for deployment to Vietnam. In preparation, we were doing some intensive training in the heavily forested areas of Fort Jackson. The night was so dark underneath the canopy of old growth trees that we could barely see our faces. I was on the left side of the main body, and the orders came down for my six man squad to move ahead of the main body and scout for aggressors

and booby traps. In the darkness. We had to rely on our first generation night scopes to get our bearings. We had moved ahead three hundred yards of the main body when I spotted a really large tree. I moved to it and got into a prone position, and from there I could use my night scope to scan ahead. I laid there for five minutes, scanning the area, but I didn't see anything, so I decided to get up. I placed my left hand down to push myself up, and all hell broke loose. I had put my hand

on a bugger's toe. He screamed and roared so loud that my ears rang for ten minutes, and I stumbled backward at I screamed retreat, and I began firing my M sixteen in all directions. Thank god, they were all blanks. I was heading backwards as my company was charging toward me, and the booker took off, crashing through the woods like a t rex, leaving a path of destruction in his retreat.

Twenty minutes later, four black suburbans pulled up, and some guys dressed in black fatigues got out and they took over. They took me to the medical tent, where I was examined and then grilled about what happened. They told me never to tell anyone about what I saw. There would be a penalty of a court martial. While I was in the tent, the others were taking measurements, looking for hair casting tracks, and who knows what else I saw. Six heavily armed men had off tracking the big fella,

but I doubted they would find him. Later, my platoon sergeant told me that it had measured eight foot eleven and it weighed a thousand pounds. All in all, I don't think he was there to hurt anybody. I think he was just curious about what we were doing. So that's a story, you can that's scary. That's scary in

one way. I know this guy was. Like I mean, when when a train a soldier or marine or somebody who's got combat experience just jumps up and starts firing their weapon in all directions, they're either real jumpy and green, in other words, not trained really well, which I think this guy was trained really well, or they're startled so much and they anticipate some type of impending doom that they just start shooting out a desperation. And it looks like that's what this guy did. Now, I'm not an

expert on these things. And who knows, who knows why. But in another way, you can look at it as kind of a funny thing. I mean, if you could kind of step back and look at it like you're watching a movie, that'd be kind of funny. But at either rate, Bill, thank you for the story. Is really good. I like the way you put it together. I don't know if you meant it to be funny, but it was great. It was really great. Thanks. It was a

crisp southern Vermont morning in November of twenty nineteen. Rifle season was in swing and I was a new hunter, and I was out scouting fresh spots to hunt. I found a beautiful piece of state land off Route seven that was the perfect habitat for whitetail, so I decided to check it out. I walked slowly into the woods, eagerly stalking the whitetail I knew had to be there,

and enjoying the peaceful forest surrounding me. Not more than a few yards in, my enthusiasm disintegrated into an uncomfortable feeling of being watched. A few more steps and I began to feel as though someone was following me as well. It was unnerving unwilling to let this feeling ruin my hunt, I shook it off and I kept going. When I came to a point where the hardwoods met the massive patch of pines, though I couldn't help but think that it was the perfect place for someone to be watching me.

The rows of pines stretched on for what looked like forever. Anyone could easily slip in and out of the rows and hide behind the trees that could move closer or farther away, undetected behind the incredible shroud. I still didn't let it stop me. Though I was determined to get my first buck. I didn't think the deer would be in those pines, so I stayed on the line that separated them from the hard woods and continued at a

slow pace. The sudden crack of a few limbs breaking stopped me short as a thud shook the ground beneath me. It was as if someone had dropped a bag of concrete from the top of one of those trees, letting it free fall to the earth with a resounding smack. Startled and with my guard up, I stopped and listened. The woods had gone still at the moment of impact, crushed under a roaring silence for more than half a minute.

I looked over to where I heard the thud and saw a huge, blackish brown figure sprinting through the pines on two legs. He was leaving a trail of small, snapped and broken limbs in its wake. It was enough. I was terrified now. I abandoned my hunt and got out of the woods as fast as I could. I was pushed along by my primal fear and the need to be safe. I have been back to those woods a handful of times. I even ventured through the pines, but I've never seen or heard anything like I did

that day. You know how people react to these kinds of stories, So I kept this to myself. And this story is absolutely true, and I want you to know that I feel much better having written it all out. It's a relief to be able to share it with someone. Thank you for that. Four