Archive 182 UFOs and Bigfoot

My grandparents' home was out in the sticks, and many sounds could be heard there. While sitting on the porch in the evenings, we often heard what was described as wildcats bobcats, screaming just like the sound of a woman. But several times we would hear unusual sounds from the mountains surrounding their home. These were just described as boogers by my uncles who lived with my grandparents. When we heard these screams or sounds, it meant it was time

to go inside the house and stay there. If a privy trip was kneaded out back, it was done by several at a time, but it was done really quickly. A few times they would speak with quiet reverence about bookers and how they had, and still at times would enter the home and eat whatever the leftovers were in the bean pot or the slot bucket for the hogs. The next day. I once heard them say that you could hear a booger scraping the bottom of a bucket

with a spoon or its nails. We were told to lay still and keep quiet if we heard anything entering the house late at night, and on a couple of nights I could hear the adults talking in whispers about seeing something outside near the window. One night, as my brother and I were laying on a couch in a sitting room just off the kitchen, I heard a no, he's at the kitchen door, and my brother said he

saw something looking in the window. I could not see the window, but I heard whatever it was slam the door open, and we could hear the heavy breathing and the smell, Oh, what a terrible smell, like all the privy had just been brought in with this thing. We heard what was later discovered as a slot bucket being scraped, slurped, and even thrown firmly against the cast iron wood stove and then subtle on the floor. After a little snooping around the kitchen, we finally heard this thing leave and

most of the smell went with it. Soon after, my grandmother came out of her in Grandpa's curtain covered bedroom doorway, and she gently closed the kitchen door. Nothing was ever said, but I could hear her praying under her breath. The next morning, I got up early and went out to the privy, passing a small shed where the big black angus bull spent his nights. I noticed the bull was

lying down and he wasn't breathing. I ran back to tell Grandpa, and when he finally believed me, he came out and discovered the big bulls and neck had been broken by being twisted three hundred and sixty degrees, which was a devastating blow to my grandfather, as his bull supplied an extra income in breeding fees. Grandpa and my uncles had to quarter the bull just to get it

loaded for burying. My father died a few days later at almost forty years of age, and we left soon after, heading back to Indiana and away from what was a strange world to us kids. Later in life, in the mid nineties, I went to Kentucky to go deer hunting with my cousin on some property adjacent to the Daniel Boone National Forest. We scattered out a good ridge that even had a couple of caves to access in bad weather.

I chose to hunt in a creek bottom while my cousin hunted the ridge, and just as day was breaking, I heard a noise that sounded like something crashing down from the ridge in my direction. I mean trees being broken repeatedly, and like a dozer without an engine was putting in a new road. When whatever it was got to the bottom near a trail, it stopped and gave a loud growl that nearly made me wet my pants.

At the same time, this thing stopped about forty or fifty yards away, and several deer were trying to step gingerly over my head while I remained in position on a tree route in a creek bank. After maybe fifteen seconds and it felt like twenty minutes, I could clearly smell the stench of this beast, and my mind went back to the mid sixties and what had happened at my grandparents' house, which was only about twenty minutes away

by the curvy country road. Then the beast chose a path leaning away from me, in a different direction from the deer that it was possibly chasing, but between my cousin and myself. I waited about twenty minutes and left to find my cousin, and I found him examining a newly built path coming down the mountain. I ask if he heard all the commotion, and he simply replied, it's

time for us to leave now. And we spoke nothing about that hunt to each other or anyone else since, perhaps not as much concerned with anyone not believing us as to worry about having the beash return to us in greater anger. Later, on a cold winter night in nineteen seventy three, my friends and I gathered our ice skates and headed for the pond. It had recently frozen, and we wanted to be the first to skate it with our thermoses full of hot chocolate and our snacks.

We walked a river track that would take us to the pond. It was a little over a mile away. The railroad was a line that ran back and forth to the coal mines. They delivered coal to the Pittsburgh Steel mills. The tracks were surrounded by forests, and after dark it was a bit creepy, but even so we enjoyed the walk. When we arrived at the pond, our group was excited to be the first to arrive. Others would arrive later, but for now, we have the whole

pond to ourselves. My friend Larry carried an old tire with us, and he used that to start a fire, adding wood to it. After it was burning, we were having a wonderful time, and then my friend Joyce yelled that something was wrong. She had seen a yellow light glowing under the ice where she skated. Everyone stopped to hear better. We looked like mannekins frozen on the ice for a minute. I skated toward the fire. I had

an uneasy feeling about this. I could see the light getting brighter until half of the pond turned from blue and white to a glowing orange. It wasn't long until everyone was near me by the fire, and we watched as the disk that I would estimate to be twenty feet around and a few feet thick, broke upward through the ice and hovered for a few seconds. The ice and water blew all over us. Thank goodness, everyone had gotten off the ice or someone could have been drowned.

The disk covered above the ice for a minute and then accelerated up into the sky until we couldn't see it well after that, we talked about it every day on the bus going to school for a long time, and then this subject grew distant until we stopped talking about it. There is no way to know what we observed, who would ever be able to explain it. But I remember it well. It feels fresh in my memory, and

I'm glad no one was hurt. In July of twenty fifteen, my son was on a seven day, fifty mile backpacking trip with his Boy Scout troop between Yosemite National Park and Mammoth Lakes, California. He has since achieved Eagle Scout and graduated high school. He was honor rolling First Lieutenant ROTC. I'm sorry I had to brag. I'm a real proud dad. Well you should be proud. That's those are great achievements.

Eagle Scout is a phenomenal achievement. I have a good friend of mine that was an Eagle Scout and he went on to be a doctor, and he was and he lives in Nashville, and I went and visited him about two months ago and stayed the night there. And he's a single guy. He's got this huge house. He's fifty nine, fifty nine or sixty years old, and he's already retired. He's done really well. So Eagle Scouts tend to be achievers. Okay, let's get moving here. His scout

troop completed the fifty mile every year. In twenty fifteen, eight boys and two adult leaders started the trip, and I was no longer able to go along because of issues with my knees. They quickly realized that one of the boys wasn't quite prepared for the journey, so they decided to alter the route to go through easier terrain. Their first day out, they ran into a group of

free range goats and cattle. My son said that of the livestock had bells around their necks and it was annoying as hell listening to them bang and clank around. They decided to make camp under some small trees there. No open fires were allowed in California outside of designated campgrounds, so they went to bed shortly after dark, which would have been around nine pm. They hung their packs in the trees to keep the wildlife out. My son settled

into as one man coffin tent. At two thirty am, he woke to the sounds of cat clanging in the livestock, mewing and bleeding as they were upset and moving quickly away from wherever they were. The sound was interrupted by what my son described as the strangest cry or scream he had ever heard. Even more disturbing, it was answered

by by another strange howl from the opposite direction. He was now fully awakened, sitting up in his tiny tent with only a four inch survival knife, and he listened to the yells or perhaps communications, and they got closer and grew louder. Then there was a terrified ball from a cow, along with a loud clanging of its bell, as if it were running away from a predator. Then it cut off suddenly, like someone had turned off a switch. Well,

that was followed by complete silence. My son spent the rest of the night holding that small knife and jumping at every sound, And the next morning he asked his friend and if he had heard anything, but he hadn't. We've listened to sasquatch cries and sounds on the web, and he says some are similar, but not exactly what he heard. I know we live in California, the land of fruits and nuts, but we have spent a lot

of time outdoors, backpacking and camping. We know what most of the wildlife in the southwestern deserts in Sierra sound like. My son won't come right out and say that it was bigfoot, but he will say that it sounded like nothing he had ever heard before or since. I just thank God that he still loves the outdoors and refuses to get spooked by this experience. He has the right attitude.

He believes these creatures do exist, and if they do, they have been out there for a long time and probably don't want anything more to do with us than we do with them. I was a college student in rural Tennessee in the mid nineteen eighties. The campus is on a plateau in the Blue Ridge Mountains and has been there since the Civil War. There are ten thousand acres of woods, with the buildings all clustered together, and we were thirty minutes from the nearest wal mart and

hours from a big city. There are lakes and caves and waterfalls and I had grown up in a congested area, so this place was a dream come true. I attended one session of summer school in nineteen eighty five. Class was over at noon most days, and it was hot at lunch. On one of those days, my friend Jane and I decided to go swimming out at a lake where we didn't have to wear bathing suits. We did it partly to cool down because it was so hot, but mostly to be wild, free and brave in our

own little way. No one ever went to this lake. Jane and I discovered why as we stepped in and sunk deep into the monkey bottle. We were standing there up to our knees in the murky water, swatting it flies, trying to pull our feet out of a suctioning mud, and laughing at the gigantic failure our swimming venture had become. When a silver craft appeared over the treeline across the lake.

It looked like the classic nineteen fifties flying saucer. It moved from right to left, neither fast nor slow, and then stopped right in the middle of my field of view. It hovered in place for what was probably only a minute, but it felt much longer. I remember it seemed to vibrate. It's hard to describe. It was just almost imperceptible vibrations, but with absolutely no other noise. Well, Jane and I were dumbstruck. We were naked and afraid, but without the

camera crew to film it. The bottom of the lake was the closest thing to quicksand I hoped to ever stand in. We snapped out of our shock and started clumsily trying to get back to the bank. I was trying to keep my eye on the saucer without falling down, while at the same time pulling each foot from the deep muck and then sinking it back in another step

closer to the bank. As we tried to run away, the saucer zipped off in the direction it was already heading, and then it accelerated to an incredibly high speed and disappeared from sight. We were in such a hurry to escape. We jumped into Jane's car, still covered in mut from our knees down. She was and still is, such a tidy person. We kept saying how weird it was and that it was a UFO, and we agreed not to tell anyone because they wouldn't believe us, and worse, they

would gossip about us being crazy or weird. I recently learned that Bigfoot has been spotted in that area. I've talked to Jane about that day. They both get white eyed thinking about it. The hovering maneuver, the silence, and the high speed at which it left convinced us that it was no normal technology. We both feel like it was going about its business when it spotted us and observed us in naked earthlings for a minute, and then

made up for lost time getting out of there. It's funny because we picked that lake hoping no one on earth would spot us, and in a way, I guess we succeeded. Twice more in my life I have seen UFOs. Both were in northern California, and both times I was sober and with a friend. The sightings were three years apart. Sadly, it's been decades since I've seen one. One UFO chased my friend and me as we sped off in our rental car. There was no Bigfoot connection there, but if

you're interested in the story, let me know. Of course, ma'am, of course we're interested. Please send him. Thanks for there were a great resource for all of us who are curious about and open to the strange possibilities of our galaxy. During the summer of nineteen seventy five, about a month before my seventeenth birthday, I was hanging out in front of my house with my friends Anne, Bob, and Wayne. They were all two or three years younger than me,

so they were like my little brothers and sister. We're all still close to this day. Bob and Wayne had to be home by eight pm, so Anne and I walked them to their house. That was when kids played outside after dark without fear of strangers, and houses were left unlocked. As we walked back to my house, we were looking up, as we often did, trying to find the big and little Dippers and any other constellations we could identify. I looked over into the southeast and noticed

something dark hovering over the park. Hey, look at that, I said to Anne, what is that thing? The object was a big dark mast that wasn't making any sound at all. It had a light under it. It was moving very slowly from side to side in a sweeping motion, and then it would go straight again before repeating the pattern over and over. We couldn't see any sky as it moved, but what freaked us out was the absence

of sound. You can hear prop planes and helicopters coming even from a distance, and this object was completely silent. We watched as it moved over the trees of the road to the east of my road, until it had traveled from the south to the north, always making that same side to side motion, followed by going straight again. I was having trouble making out the defining shape, but the size was as big as three or four baseball diamonds. The light underneath was not a spotlight, it just illuminated

the underside well. We were flabbergasted the life of us. We couldn't figure out what it could be. We got to the end of my street and kept following it north, and at one point, when it was directly east of us, I was able to make out that it was round. It wasn't a blump bow. No blimp couldn't maneuver like that. We kept watching and following until we lost it in

the trees to our north. We were frustrated and ran back to my house, and I immediately called the Jacksonville International Airport tower, nervously trying to hind the fear in my voice. I said, do you have any airplanes on your radar coming from Daytona or Orlando or maybe Saint Augustine. No, he answered, I have nothing on my radar. Why. I quickly explained everything we had seen and where, being careful to stress just how oddly silent it had been. And in turn, he asked me where I lived and if

I had family or friends in the Arlington area. Him I had an elderly aunt and uncle there, but that was it. He then told me that he had already received twenty calls from people who describe the exact same thing. But I have nothing on my radar, and I can explain it, he said. Then he asked if I could give him my phone number in case he needed to contact me. I'm not going to have any men in spacesuits show up at my door, am I? I asked? Okay. I was a sixteen year old, dorky girl, I know,

but I was genuinely afraid of what would happen. He laughed, and he said, no, sweetie, nobody in spacesuits is coming to your house. That was forty years ago, and I've never seen anything like that since. And and I still talk about it from time to time. It's just something we cannot explain. To add to this as a bonus, if you will. Back in nineteen seventy two, my grandparents were coming home from Tennessee driving down Ice seventy five to I. Their car was one of only a few

on the road. As the dusk fell across the sky. My grandfather was driving when he saw what looked like a plane flying very low in the distance. They were flying so low he was sure they were going to crash land on the interstate, and that maybe they thought I ten was the runway. My grandparents pulled over and waited for the inevitable crash. Bebop as I called him, got out of the car, and the first thing that

struck him was the absence of sound. As it got closer, he could tell it was triangular, but it never did make any noise. It passed over them at the tree top high and then took off straight up into the sky, and just like that, it was gone, no wind, no nothing, a shot straight up into the sky like a slingshot. He said. After that, whenever they went to Tennessee, they took a different route because my poor grandmother was afraid they would see it again. They took ten. Thanks for

reading my story, Cam. It has stayed with me for a long time, and it still freaks me out a bit. I wish I knew who was piloting that aircraft. I really wish I knew why we couldn't hear it, and she signs off Anita, Nita, thank you for that story. It's fascinating. I really do appreciate it. I would love to see one of those myself.