Archive 158 Bigfoot

the closest town was ten miles down the road. It's in the middle of farmland and it's mostly woods. They had lived in this house since my mother was a child. A general store served the people in the area. It was a two mile walk from my grandmother's place. An old lady ran the store. Her and her husband had the store on the front of their house. They lived in the back. My grandmother asked me if I wanted to walk to the general store and get her a few things. She gave me some money and I headed

that way. It was early in the day and I had plenty of time to get back before dark, which I always made sure to do when I was out roaming about. Things can get creepy out in the backwoods of Arkansas after nightfall. It's a darkness unlike most people who have lived primarily in the cities or towns have

ever experienced. I was easily distracted at that age, and I stopped at a creek on the way, and I stayed too long, catching crawdads and throwing rocks in the water, and then I piddled all the way to the store. It was getting late and I picked up my pace. By the time I left the store, it was getting dark. I didn't want to be walking those lonely secluded roads through the woods alone in the dark, so I heard as fast as I could. I would jog a while,

and then I would sprint. I was doing anything in my power to get back as quickly as possible, but it wasn't enough. By the time I made it back to the bottom of the hill near the bridge where I had wasted all that time earlier, it was dark. I could see the road in the woods all around me because of a glowing moon that was coming over the horizon. It shined an eerie glow across the land and one way, I was glad that I could see, but in another the moonlight made it all very creepy.

At the top of the hill, the road was perfectly straight and flat, with woods on the left side and a large field on the right. Another half mile and I would be home. I could see the porch lights way off in the distance, and I felt relieved. My eyes were fully adjusted to the dark at this point, and the light from the moon allowed me to see all the way across the field on my right. I was getting closer and had actually slowed down a bit. I was tired from the run. I heard something in

the woods on my left. Leaves were crunching. Something was walking in there. Keeping my eyes on the woods, I kept moving. There was no way for me to see anything clearly inside the woods, even though the moonlight was shining. But in the ditch closest to the trees, I could make out a dark figure. I stopped and focused on that spot for a few seconds, and it was something,

and now it was moving towards me. I thought it was a dog, but then I realized it was much too large to be a dog, and then I realized it wasn't really actually walking on four legs. It was crawling or creeping like a person wood. I couldn't take my eyes off this thing. A jolt of fear shot through me when I realized this thing was trying to sneak up on me. It was stalking me. I started walking again and I kept my eyes on it only a few yards behind me. Now. A few steps into

my walk, the thing stood upright. It was big. I'm guessing it was seven feet tall, and it looked like it was covered in dark hair. But it wasn't a bear. Bears aren't that tall. I had never seen anything like this. I dropped the bag of stuff that I had been carrying, and I ran as fast as my legs could take me towards my grandparents' house. I heard a heavy breathing and a growling sound behind me. It was up on the road with me now, and I could hear its

feet crunching the gravel. I never turned around. It was going to catch me at any second. I couldn't make my legs go fast enough. It was so close to me that I closed my eyes in anticipation of it grabbing me. But at that moment I heard it crash off into the woods to my left. For whatever reason, it had let me go. It was right on me, and it could have taken me down if it wanted to, but it let me go. It was a short distance

away into the woods. I heard a scream. I don't think I could replicate that scream now, but I'm telling you, I'm never going to forget that scream. By the time I reached the house, my heart felt like it would explode from the run and the adrenaline pumping through my body. I flew into the house and in an incoherent mess of hyperactive gibberish, trying to explain to my grandparents what had just happened. My grandmother didn't really seem to believe me,

but she knew something had scared me. She acted weird about the whole thing the rest of that night. She said it must have been a dog, but that wasn't a dog I saw on the road. The next morning, I woke up and I found my grandpa sitting outside whittling wood underneath the shade tree in the front yard, as he often liked to do. I went and sat down beside him in one of the old metal lawn chairs. He was a rational man down to earth and had grown up and hunted that area his entire life. He

knew every square inch of that place. It was mapped into his mind. He knew every type of critterian creature that lived in those woods, what noises they made, where to find them, and how to catch them, etc. I had only been hunting with him for a couple of years, but I'd been going out into those woods with him since pretty young age on walks. He had passed a lot of his knowledge down to me during those adventures.

I spoke to him about what had happened to me the night before, and I told him that I knew what I saw. It wasn't my overactive imagination. I wasn't making it up, and it definitely was not a dog. He knew that I wasn't just some dumb thirteen year old kid, and he knew that I knew the things he'd taught me. He stopped whittling, looked at me right in the eye, and he said, I know what you saw.

I've seen it before too. There's things in the woods that people don't understand stand, and they ought not be fooled with. Ever. I'll remember those words clearly to this day because it gave me affirmation, but at the time it made me realize that whatever I had seen was real and it was beyond my understanding. My grandpa then went on to tell me that far back in the woods there are some cliffs, and at the bottom of those cliffs is a cave. He told me that the

cave is where the creature lived. He had once stumbled upon it a long time ago when he was hunting. He was standing on the top of the cliff looking at it when the creature fitting the same description emerged and began screaming wildly at him and throwing rocks. He took a shot at it, he missed, and then this thing gave chase. But my grandpa was on the top, so in order to get to him, this thing had to go a long distance and then climb up, which he said it quickly began to do, so he high

tailed it out of there in a hurry. The whole way back home, he felt as if he were being watched, and he kept hearing twigs snap behind him, and he was certain that it was following him, stalking him. He made it home, and as he reached his front porch, he turned and looked back at the woods from where he'd come from, and he saw it peeking out at

him from behind a tree. Later that night, he said that he and my grandmother awoke in the early morning hours to large rocks being thrown at the house and howling noises from outside. It walked around on the front porch, rattling the doorknobs, banging on windows, and it sounded like it was muttering to itself in a low, garbled voice, but it didn't sound like a language, just a bunch

of gibberish. After a while, the thing went back to throwing some more rocks and howling, So my grandpa grabbed a shotgun and fired it out the front door a few times into the darkness. He heard it run back into the woods. That was the last he'd see or heard of it, but over the years he heard of other farmers cows being mutilated, or someone's haunting dog going missing, or someone would have a story about some strange creature

they had seen in the woods. He also said it scared my grandmother beyond words, and she absolutely has refused to ever talk about it or even acknowledged that it happened, which explains her acting weird about it when I told her about what happened to me. I know the story is pretty far fetched, and you can believe it or not. It makes no difference to me. I know what I saw, and my grandpa knew what he saw, and neither of us had ever felt the need to convince anyone else.

I've never spoken of it to anyone other than a few close to me and my grandfather, and he passed away over ten years ago, and now I'm sharing it with you. These things are just as real as you and I, and just like people, they come in all manner of personality and temperament. These aren't just stories. These are people's memories of a creature that lives in our woods. I'm an oil truck driver in the state of Connecticut. It's not a popular state for bigfoot sightings, at least

that's what I thought. This experience took place at a campground along Route eighty, but I prefer not to say the exact location. I drive a Trixole oil truck, which is quite large, but it's not a tractor trailer. In the fall, our workload increases, and on this day I had twelve tickets for delivery at the same location. It was a summer camp that was having a Halloween weekend event for kids. I had to fuel the outside above ground oil tanks that heated the cabins and the water heaters.

I arrived at six am on Thursday, before the weekend celebrations, and I began fueling my first cabin. Without moving the truck, I could drag the hose to three other cabins within reach. In case you aren't familiar with old delivery, the oil goes in and a vent alarm allows the pushed air out with a whistling sound. Some of these vent alarms were making piercing sounds, and some were clogged with the

bugs or other matter. The driver before me may have overloaded the tanks and there's oil on top of the vent alarm, and sometimes it makes it gurgle. It's hard to explain, but sometimes it makes the whistle sound sick. I parked the truck and dragged the hose to fuel the farthest of the three cabins first. I always dragged to the farthest first to make the next ones easier. I feel the first tank and there was nothing unusual. And then as I began feeling the next cabin's tank.

I noticed movement in the distance. There wasn't anything in the background except woods in a lake, and after the lake there was nothing but more woods. It was two days before the weekend, and I thought it odd that someone would be there so early. The second Kevin I delivered the oil too, made a funny whistling sound. While venting that gurgling sound again, I saw the movement of these three people. I'm alone in the middle of nowhere this early, and I'm thinking, who in the world is

fishing well? I finished, and I moved to the third oil tank within reach before I went on to fill the next nine tanks on the property. And then I hooked the hose up and started my job again. But I'm still looking toward the lake. The whistle on this one was blaring, and as I was waiting for the tank to fill, a figure moved. It was massive. It was not a person. Holy cow, I thought now. I stopped the delivery to quiet the vent alarm whistle. I didn't move as I watched, and this thing was still

walking toward me. I'm telling you, it was enormous and I was still and I was panicking. My old truck is nine feet ten inches tall, and this thing was just as tall. It was about forty yards from me in the truck, but it was close enough for me. And then the two others that were smaller moved, and they were to the right of me. Their movement was slow, and I think they were curious, but I wasn't curious. I was terrified. The good part of this is they

were not aggressive. The vent alarms must have intrigued them. But I moved slowly and then I reeled up the hose and I got the heck out of there. At noon, I went back with a helper to fuel the rest of the cabins. I'm not a shame to admit that I was scared. I have never seen anything on two feet that huge. I can't describe their faces, but I know three creatures on two legs. Isn't a coincidence. They weren't bears, because bears are not that agile or that large.

Fuel the campground since then, but I don't go at six am. I let others open the campground before I get there. You would be interested in what happened to me a year ago and twice more recently near the Humboldt Mendocino County headwaters of the Matole River. After the encounter with the inexplicable, I have become absolutely convinced that some unknown animal exists here, and I began on the

Internet a search of similar accounts. While immersed, suddenly in this mystery, it became clear to me that these experience must be documented and conveyed to others. Last July in twenty eighteen, I was staying in an isolated region which had limited access behind three locked gates, and it was twenty miles north of Whitethorne, California, on a primitive four

by four road. This place is at the end of the road a lost world of primeval forest on the northern border of a vast green belt spreading from Shelter Cove on the Lost Coast east to Highway one oh one and south to Fort Bragg, as can be seen on Google Earth. At three am, I was awake and there was a hot, dark, and completely silent July night. Something above my tent location began knocking on wood. It would be best described as loud wax on a tree

trunk by a big club or branch. It started with one knock which got my attention with a brief hesitation, and then several more knocks, but randomly timed, some in succession and others after hesitation. The knocking was so loud that it echoed down the canyon, and the event only lasted a minute. My first thoughts were that there was no one on the mountain in who could be out here in the middle of a primitive and protected area. The knocks were from something large, and no North American

animal could have made them. Listening, while my mind tried to wrap around how the noise was made, I began to wonder about bigfoot legends. The night fell silent again, and afterward I told a few locals, and I learned that there had been many bigfoot sightings near Piercy and north to Willow Creek. And then two weeks ago, when waiting at the first lock gate to the same conservation area,

I heard two distinct vocalizations which cannot be explained. As I waited in the dusk for forty five minutes waiting to meet a party at the gate who were running late, I heard a loud wail that I've never heard before in nature, the call of this thing I located at my two o'clock facing east and up the heavily wooded area above me two three three hundred meters. I instantly

knew where I had heard such an unfamiliar call. It was three years ago when watching a Bigfoot reality show where these Sasquatch hunters were making the strange and unique call. At that time, I remember thinking how ridiculous it seemed for people to be on television trekking at night and

making strange calls in the woods. There was a delay from the first call, and then a few more, and then silence for a minute, leaving me to wonder if this whole experience was surreal, pondering what I know about the wilderness, either that was an unknown animal or some kind of implausible prank. It was loud and echoing down the mountain, as though some huge creature could belt with

its lungs like pavariety, only much louder. The chance of it being a prankster waiting in silence with me for forty five minutes in that remote location just to hang out in these impenetral woods to prank me was highly unlikely. Having only a moment to ponder this oddity, there began another call, out at three to four hundred meters to the north of the first and at my eight o'clock it was also just as loud, but it came only

three calls in succession. Well. This blew my mind because the first call might be attributed to an elk on steroids, but the response from what was clearly not an owl brought chills down my spine. I moved closer to my vehicle and I listened for another thirty minutes in the darkness. I will never forget the second vocalization. It was so unique, and this was obvious communication between two individuals, as well

as possibly a rudimentary language. I had a fourth experience, which I must mention here in context, but it happened the night before the duel of vocalizations. On Friday evening, November one, twenty nineteen. I had moved into a cabin that my brother and I rented, located along an extremely rugged canyon area of the Macholi River. It was dusk and it was dark already in the forest, and I was outside looking at the stars, taking in the newness

of the rugged surroundings above. Again, three hundred meters up into the east of the river, there was a scream so loud and so foreboding that I could only listen in amazement. It was the loudest scream I've ever heard, So loud I thought it was produced by some kind of banshee from a horror film. The screaming continued full throttle for five minutes. I know mountain lions can scream,

but nothing like this. It sounded much louder, more guttural, as if if someone had set up loud speakers and played the bloodiest screen that Hollywood could produce at the time. The night after Halloween, I wondered if someone was up on the mountain pranking me as a newcomer to the neighborhood. Now I listened for a bit, and then I went inside and told my brother about it because it was

so unnerving. Bigfoot never entered my mind. But then at dusk the very next evening, I witnessed these two calls waiting at the gate. I've since been over and over in my mind. Why have I been so lucky as to hear or experience such a mystery, much less three distinct vocalizations which cannot be explained in a twenty four hour period. I began pouring over the USGS maps in satellite imagery to ascertain what the link might be at fifteen miles distance. Were there people or neighbors or access

for individuals in the ear areas I experience? Could this explain this? I have since hiked all over these areas searching for activity, but found only empty dense woods. Could one creature in such obvious stress on one night have triggered the coincidental travel of at least two more unknown creatures the very next night. I've talked to the locals about hearing strange noises, but no one claims anything or

they don't want to be ridiculed. I would like to know if there have been recent experiences by others in my area. I'm a sixty year old man with a high degree of credibility, extensive wilderness experience in forests and jungles. I have trecked and lived in remote areas of Africa, Australia, Central and South America, many places of potential danger, and

never had an inkling of fear. I was born and raised near Yellowstone Park, and I never had a bad experience with a grizzly, a mountain lion, or wolves traveling all these years with a firm understanding of ecosystems, I never could have believed in such mysteries that anything new would ever be discovered. What happened to me has completely changed me on many levels. There is a mystery in these woods, and I have a few ideas on how

to find answers to it. If anyone else has had similar experiences who live near me, I'm eager to share and explore this phenomenon further. The Bigfoot that wasn't. As long as I can remember, I've been a hunting fanatic. I've spent many days in the field with my buddies in pursuit of the wild and wooly beasts, mostly deer

and elk, can occasionally bear. In the rocky mountains of Utah, Wyoming, Idaho, and Montana, my friends and I would spend many fall nights and we would sit around a crackling fire in the high valleys of the mountains, weaving tales of hunts gone by. Each story told would seem to top the one previously recited. Some were new adventures, while others were old ones revisited every year, but with new, slightly enhanced details.

As the night passed, and the stories progressed, they inevitably morphed into tales of mysterious and unknown, like ghosts, goblins, and bigfoot. None of us had actually seen a ghost, a goblin, or a bigfoot. In fact, none of us had ever even heard of anyone encountering any of them, especially a bigfoot, anywhere near the areas where we hunted. But for some unknown reason, each of us had experienced strange happenings that we were sure could be directly attributed

to Bigfoot. I don't know how we knew they were connected to Bigfoot. Nevertheless, we were darned sure, convincingly so when telling our tales of intrigue that Bigfoot was the culprit. I guess one could say that we were embellishing the truth slightly, maybe even a little more than slightly. But it was all in fun, and everyone had a great

time trying to outdo everyone else. Due to the convincing manner by which some could relate their stories, the lines between truth and fiction often blurred in the minds of the recipients, making it difficult to decipher between the two. This resulted in doubt and sometimes confusion in each of our minds about what really lurked in the shadows of

the forests. We hunted one particular warm autumn day, when the air was clean, fresh and filled with the fragrance of sage, and the sky was clear blue, and the golden aspen leaves shimmered as a slight breeze blue and rattled them around. I leaned against the but thin, chalky white aspen tree trunk, intently scanning the grove for movement, hoping to spot a sly old moss back buck. As

my hunting buddies pushed from the opposite direction. Just when boredom and daydreams started to creep into my mind, Larry, my hunting buddy, came thundering down the hill from right to left. His pants were partially down, one hand holding them up and the other hanging onto a roll of toilet paper that unraveled as he passed, trailing behind an

apparent white flag of surrender. Si squatch, He screamed. Larry was the kind of young buck that fancied himself a tall, tough cigar smoking beer, drinking four by four driving lumberjack of a man that could fell a tree with one swing of his axe. I started to laugh at the sight of such a man, nearly streaking past as he half mooned a mother nature, while I wondered what had rattled him. At that exact moment, however, a heart stopping roar erupted from just over the ridge top twenty yards

to my right and slightly behind me. I jolted to attention, darn near snapping my neck while trying to orient my head to see what could have made the startling noise, all the while trying not to move my body and reveal my stealthy position. In hindsight, I suppose Larry, having just blown by me with all the stealth of a fire truck on its way to a fore alarm fire, probably negated that need. That roar was nothing like anything I'd heard in the forest before, and it scared the

crap out of me. The top of a young aspen tree about seven feet tall, rooted just on the other side of the ridge top, shook like it had been hit by a truck. A deep moan followed in a second roar or agonizing growl erupted. Smokes. What the heck is that? I thought, as I turned to face the unidentified creature. Another sapling a six or seven foot or just over the ridge for me, rocked and fell like it had been run over by a bulldozer. Whatever the heck this thing was, it was big and powerful, and

from the sound of it, it was upset. My mind raced, trying to categorize the sound into something familiar, but nothing fit. Needless to say, by this time, I was more than a little concerned for my safety, as my only defense was a fifty pound recurved bow, not ideal for toe to toe in your face confrontation with what was Larry screaming a sisquatch? But there weren't any sasquatch in this area of the country, I reasoned, was sasquatch even real?

By this time, the unidentified creature had just crested the top of the ridge twenty yards from me, but I still couldn't I see it through the younger tree growth. Do I run or stand my ground? I asked myself. My curiosity wrestled with my common sense, and I couldn't quite decide until I knew what was confronting me. I crouched and stretched, peering and peeking through the trees, just catching glimpses, trying to get a better look at what was coming at me A moan and a growl and

a roar in sequence. One part of me screamed run, The other part said, find out what this is and then run. Another tree bent over and then snapped back into place. It was like in all the stories you hear around the campfire at night. It looked huge. It was black, It was covered in fur, and on all fours. There was still not enough visible yet to make any kind of identification. By this time, I had no time to run this thing, this big, black, hairy thing was

almost on top of me. I had daley dollied too long, and all I could do was thump it with an arrow. As soon as I could get confirmation of identification and a clear shot corridor, I drew my bow and I took a deep breath, and I let it out halfway. Tunnel vision was in full effect, and I could only see what I was looking directly at in front of me. A circus elephant could have walked right up beside me and even sat on me. I wouldn't have noticed it until I was as flat as a pancake. Sweat was

rolling down my brow and stinging my eyes. My arms were shaking with fatigue. With my bow at full draw, the seconds turned into hours. I needed to release my draw, rest my arm for a moment and wipe the sweat from my eyes, and quickly I did so, and just as I again drew my bow, the creature emerged through the thick underbrush into full view. I expected to see a siequatch, and for just a second, I did, but my mind was playing tricks on me. It was not a sasquatch or a bear. It was a huge, one

thousand pound bull, as in bovine bull. I released the tension on my bow slowly, and I took a deep breath. The bull walked painfully past me, moaning and groaning and growling as he took each step. His wide horns would push saplings down as he passed by, and they would either break off or snap back into place. I looked for the source of his pain, and I quickly discovered its calls. The bull's testicles were inflamed and swollen to

the size of a small watermelon. Every time he took a step forward, his rear leg would contact the inflamed portion of his mail anatomy and may hime grown and roar with pain. The roar he made did not in any way sound like a bovine, at least none that I had ever heard. Of course, I was no expert on the sounds such an animal made when in extreme pain. He was such a massive bull that he had a very deep, raspy, grown and roar that sounded like nothing else I had ever heard. His hair was long, shaggy,

and tangled with sticks and tree leaves and mud. He looked old and fatigued and almost lost. He could have been blind. I was relieved it wasn't a sasquatch and that I wasn't going to be torn limb from limb. I began to laugh and almost cry at the same time. When I emerged from the tree line, I met a rancher in an old, run down GMC pickup truck making his way up the dusty dirt road. He was looking for his bull. He had not seen it for a while and was concerned that it had been taken by

predators or had died of old age. I told him if he just waited a few minutes right where we were, and if it didn't deviate from its downhill course, they would be reunited. Shortly. The rancher was relieved to hear his bull was still alive and close. He used the CBE radio to call his sons in another truck to come and get the distressed animal. That night, back at camp, Larry took a brutal onslaught of jeers and laughters. As I recited the encounter, This ended up being one of

those stories told around the campfire every year. Larry didn't laugh about it the first few years, but eventually he found the humor in it and laughed right along with the rest of us about the sasquatch that wasn't