Archive 190 Bigfoot

I wasn't sure until twenty fifteen. That is. We moved from Houston to Central Texas, and the way best to describe it was it was a neighborhood, but it was a country version of a neighborhood, where each property was at least an acre, give or take. We had wildlife out there, and I was quite excited to see wild deer in our front yard. And of course we would hear a bobcat and hear codes occasionally. I am a single mom of two beautiful adult children. My youngest girl

has a disability. It's like dealing with a giant four year old. I'm very close to my mother, and we all decided that we wanted to live together. We moved into a huge four bedroom manufactured home, and let's just say that we could meet in the kitchen and would be halfway through the house, and basically each side of the home had the privacy of a two bedroom apartment. One night, I was outside with my son walking one

of our German shepherds. I adore German shepherds, and we have three of them and a pit bull puppy, and they're all rescues. We spend a lot of time outside. One of the gentlemen that used to live around the neighborhood stopped in the road and he told us that we shouldn't be out there in the night. In his words,

there's a big animal that roams around here. We assumed that he was either messing with us or he was talking about a big coyote or even a mountain lion that had been seen in the town next to us. My son and I said, thank you, but I think we'll be okay. He said, trust me, you won't be if this thing comes out. At that point we knew he was being over dramatic. Maybe he was even drunk. One night, my son was out and I was in the kitchen having a cup of coffee with my mother

and talking about some plans we had. The following day, my daughter came in and announced that she saw a big man looking in her window. We assumed that she had been dreaming, and we treated it like that. She said, no, Mom, it was a big man outside he was looking in. It's a monster man. My mother mentioned that my son had been allowing her to watch scary mo movies while he was supposed to be watching her, and now she

was having nightmares. So I asked what did the monster look like, and she said that he had red eyes that glowed in long hair on his face, that he looked really scary. Well, none of that made sense, but she slept with her grandmother that night and all was quiet. My daughter attends the school for adults with disabilities. My mother had taken her there the next morning, and I asked my son if he had allowed his sister to watch a scary movie. He said, no, Mom, I would

never do that. I told him what she said, and my son became concerned and looked around the house and under the window, but we found no evidence of anything being there. Four nights later, while my son was out walking our shepherd, he caught a horrible odor in the area. We assumed it was a septic tank, but my son said the odor was much worse than that. Suddenly, the dogs began to growl and pace around at the front door.

They wanted out. They did this when they knew deer were in the yard, and I was afraid they were going to start barking and annoy us for the next hour. But they never did bark. They acted different than when a deer was close. Their hackles were raised and they were all growling, a really strange growl. I had never heard them do this. I pushed past the dogs to look out the window, fully expecting to see deer in the yard, but instead I saw what looked like a

giant man. It took a step forward, and it triggered the motion lights on the front of the house, and there it was fully illuminated in the glow of the security light. I could not speak or move. I think my mouth was hanging open trying to speak, but I couldn't form the words. My son was beside me, looking out the adjacent window. He immediately reached for me and pulled me away from the door and closed everything up, and then he checked all the locks. My mom yelled

and said to call the police. And my response was, so, what are we gonna say? What do I say, mom? That a monster was in my front yard. My son had left the room, and soon he returned loading his grandfather's deer rifle, and then we heard a gunshot in the distance and everything got quiet. We never went out to investigate, and that night was a fitful night of sleep. Not much of us got any sleep at all. And I don't know what got into the dogs, but for the rest of the night they stayed away from the

front door. Maybe they recognized the odor, or maybe they knew what this thing was, but they were not interested in going out. Still today they will not go out into the front yard, only out back, where they are inside a fence. The following day we ran into that strange neighbor. My son and I had seen that one night and had stopped by and he said, I told you that thing was big, didn't I? And I asked, what was that thing? And he said, you saw it, didn't you? You know what it was? And then he

drove away. It was really weird. After that night, we never saw it again. There are times when I think it was near, though. The dogs always let us know when something was not right. News reports were on TV about bigfoot sightings in central Texas soon after this happened, and they continued sporadically for a year. Even after seeing the creature that night and then backed up by the strange man and the news reports, I still had a hard time believing that it was a bigfoot. I rationalized

that it was a prank. We live in a college town, and maybe I thought some local kids were just playing a joe. But I remember how big this thing was, every bit of eight to nine feet tall, and it was very broad in the shoulders, and there were those red eyes. They were not fake, they were real. I don't know any college kids that are eight or nine feet tall, so I rule that out. The reports I saw on the local news and on the internet began to concern me, and I began to believe that it

was a bigfoot. We have become believers since then. We didn't stay there much longer. Within a year, we moved away, not because of the bigfoot. We made the decision to get closer to the city for my daughter and my mother. I have not discussed this with anyone outside the family. This is the first time that I have made the event known. It feels good to get it off my chest, but I will admit that as I type this, the memories and panic of that night are flooding back. My

hands are shaking here on the keyboard. It was all so shocking, and then when I saw my son walking in the room loading that rifle, I knew things were serious. After careful thoult though I do not think the creature meant us any harm. It made no aggressive gestures towards us. I think it may have been passing through or just wandering, and our yard provoked its curiosity. Thanks for allowing me

to share my story, Signed Angela. I spent my teenage years growing up in the nineteen seventies outside of New York City and the cement covered suburbs. As teenagers, me and my buddies were fascinated with anything to do with Bigfoot. The legend of Boggy Creek and the Leonard Knemoy Bigfoot documentaries with Patterson. Film was about all we had to learn about these creatures, and most of the time we had to go to Saturday Nay's to see a re

release of these films. We didn't have YouTube in those days. From everything we knew Bigfoots inhabited the woods, mountains and forests that stretched from northern California to British Columbia, and that was their territory. Even Boggy Creek, a story from the swamps of Texas Counta, Arkansas, was told as a weird folk tale of a three toed creature, and it was never identified as a bigfoot. It was only when I started college that I would learn this was incorrect.

Bigfoots live a lot closer to my New York home, something that haunts me to this day. My encounter took place in nineteen eighty and I need to provide some background to the encounter. The group of us that grew up together were what you would call city slicker, good old boys. We lived in the city, but were all born with a longing for the the country in the woods. We were commuter and community college brethren. We all had

CBE radios in our cars with handles and everything. This was during the Burt Reynolds phase of male bonding, and it kept the group of four of us pretty much tight together during our college years. One of our group, NICKI, was a seasoned deer hunter and had been hunting his family's upstate property since he was twelve. His parents owned a two bedroom hunter's cabin set on thirty five acres in the Catskill Mountains, one hundred and twenty miles north

of New York City. We would visit Nicky's cabin on occasion when deer season had ended and get away from civilization. We had fun initiating other New York friends to nature by taking tough talking city folk up there and seeing if we could scare them enough so the tough guys would wet their pants. One easy way that we would scare the tough guys and see what they were made of.

We would hike up the mountain just behind the cabin, and on the way down, one of us at the end of the line would tossh rock sideways into the woods adjacent to the trail, giving the impression that we were being stalked by a mountain lion. We lost a lot of city slickers that way. Most would never make a return trip, and we had many lives over this. Imagine Rocky Balboa in a leather jacket walking the woods, imagining he's about to be attacked by a mountain lion,

and then asking to go home. You get the picture. In nineteen eighty, right after college midterms, it was just Nicky and I. We made the rounds of the local convenience stores and stocked the snow bank with some beer, coal cuts, and provisions. We lit up the Franklin stove and then had more than a few adult beverages before turning in. We each took a bedroom. I had the bedroom with the window facing the stream. I loved this room In the summer when I was lucky enough to

get it. The sounds of the stream flowing came through the open window and would put me to sleep, like watching golf on TV. But April was still too chilly for open windows in the Catskulls. In the middle of the night, I felt myself being woken up by NICKI. He was saying that he was hearing some noise rustling on the cabin's porch. I didn't pay it any mine. I thought he was messing with me, which made him get a bit angry. When he finally had my attention,

I listened, and I thought it was just raccoons. It wasn't unusual for raccoons to overlook the mothball snow bank and smell the food inside the cabin and look for a way to get in. So we clang two cast iron pots together and everything quieted down, and that was that. The next day we woke up together and found some

raccoon tracks on the porch, proving my point. We ate breakfast and practiced our shooting skills in the pasture, knocking cans and bottles off the fence, and then joking how a raccoon didn't have a chance against us, But in reality I must say that the raccoon did have a

great chance. And though we were familiar with firearms, where we lived didn't provide much opportunity for practice, and it showed because at the beginning of each gun outing I could not hit the side of a barn with a dead cat, and only improved to nicking a bottle at twenty yards with a twenty two after a few hours of practice. However, a twelve gage shotgun on improved cylinder

choked could make anyone feel like Sergeant Yorke. The rest of the day was more of the same, and we settled in for a good meal, a pan of seer chicken and pasta and wine and one too many wild turkey shots for dessert. One thing Italian guys can do, even in the Sahara desert, is find a way to make some good pasta. That evening, in the middle of the night, Nikki woke me again to say the raccoon had returned. I was a bit tick, this time him being the deer hunter, suggesting he scared the raccoon off

by himself. Forget the twenty two. He knows the drill. I didn't hear the pots, and then, thinking about it, the rifle option would lead to an unwanted cleaning of a raccoon drill. Thankfully, I didn't hear the twenty two or the port sounds, and I went back to sleep on my wild turkey. The next morning, I woke early

and decided I would do one of my rituals. I would hike the trail behind the mountain alone, which I would often do in the summer to work off the pasta in the wild turkey, and then I would come back and make a mean ham and egg breakfast. This would be an apology for not helping with the raccoons. After all, that was his cabin and I wanted to

come back to this play. I grabbed my walking stick and I told half sleeping Nikki that I was going to do my hike and that i'd be back in a while and he could make coffee, but leave the breakfast to me. I headed out to the porch and I found it covered not in raccoon prints, but lumps of sandy dirt. It was like someone squashed a few ant mounds on the porch. In retrospect, there weren't any signs of footprints or anything that would give me pauls

to investigate. There were no bear tracks, though I knew enough that any black bear mama probably would not drag her cubs onto a porch with humans. Maybe a New Jersey black bear, but not one of the catskills. Still, I didn't see any bear or mountain lion tracks, and I had seen both in my travels to the cabin, So off I went on my height thirty minutes up the trail. Just over a mile up the mountain behind the cabin, I noticed a pile of wood occupying the trail.

This struck me since the trail was maybe twenty or twenty five yards wide and the wood debris pile looks like it was deliberately placed there more In fact, they looked inder woven, like a nest of the way you would see a beaver dam. At this point, I looked at the stream on my right and I found it almost dry. I thought a beaver might have built a dam on the stream, and this could be a problem. If the dam were large enough and broke, it could

reroute the stream directly toward the cabin below. So I slowly approached to investigate. I heard a water slapping sound like a beaver's tail on the water before diving. I was still walking uphill and where the beaver chose to build this dam was one of the only flat areas that the stream flows, but not typically wide enough for a dam in a pond. As I climbed, I saw a tough to fur over a mound, and then it disappeared. I climbed to investigate the level area. It was a

modest dam and lodge. The pond could only have measured one hundred feet long and maybe forty feet wide, pretty small for a beaver. And even though I hadn't been there since last summer and Nicky was there during deer season, the dam could have been there a while, but it looked like new construction. It was the only extended flat spot on this trail until you reach the mountaintop. I was excited about the prospect of seeing a beaver build his dam and lodge, so I walked quietly and was

able to walk around it. I watched it for some time while not disturbing anything, and suddenly, from deep off the side of the lodge, I heard a loud branch snap. I thought the beaver was at work and out of sight. I should let him be. After hiking further up the mountain, I visited an old abandoned cabin that I knew about, and I looked at the larger hilltop pond. It looked the same. It was two hundred feet wide, and I wondered why the beaver didn't build his lodge there, And

then I decided to head back down. I approached the part of the trail and stream that leads to where the beaver pond was, and I began humming loudly, sounding out song words to make myself heard. I didn't want to mess with a beaver, even though they're slower on land. I knew that their territorial and could have a mean streak when you approach them or when they're surprised. When I was fifty yards away. My jaw dropped when I saw the outline of a black bear sniffing around the

beaver lodge. I stopped and was gripping my walking stick, wishing I had the shotgun. I was worried. I stumbled on a mama black bear with some cubs nearby, so I looked around, but I didn't see any black bears. And mountain lions are the most dangerous things in these parts, and black bears are more violent with people than grizzlies or brown bears. I did have the small pond separating me and the bear, but the bear looked strange in

the shadows of the morning forest canopy. It acted uninterested in me and my noise, and more interested in the dam and pond. And then it stood up and it wasn't a bear. My mind drew a blank. I was looking at a seven foot broad shouldered monkey. I couldn't believe what my eyes were seeing. I am six foot one and the width of this thing was from my

toes to my chest about three feet plus. I admit that I thought for one split second that Nicky had pulled the greatest prank on me, but This was a costume no one I knew could fit inside or mate. And the way the skin and muscles moved under its silky black fur, this was no costume. Whatever it was, it was definitely a male and well over seven feet tall. It probably weighed five hundred pounds. There was only two hundred feet between me and this thing. Now I could

make out its face. It was a cross between a gorilla and a man. Its skin was gray, like a gorilla, protruding nostrils and mouth. There was a large brow ridge, and the lips were more like that of a human compared to a chimp. Well, I was half confused, since I thought bigfoots only lived in the Pacific Northwest. They weren't one hundred and twenty miles north of New York City.

Well I stared at it for an eternity, and the creature raised its arm and grabbed a tree to its side, and I watched how it wrapped its fingers around the trunk of that tree. I didn't smell anything, and then the creature began slowly swaying side to side, always gripping the tree trunk and pulling himself closer to the tree with its right hand and then pushing out. Its eyes were on me the whole time. If it wanted to come at me, it would either breach the pond or

move fast to get around it. So I never moved. My only defense was my three foot walking stick that I was clutching like the grim Reaper, and regretting that I didn't have my forty five or even my twelve gage. Looking at the size of this thing, I thought my forty five would have been suicide. This thing would get to me before the bullets did their final damage. I was calm, though now I began to sense that this thing didn't want to hurt me. It never growled or screamed.

It just rocked back and forth into that one tree that it was grabbing. Suddenly, it pulled itself in one swinging twirl motion to the other side of the tree it was holding, turned its back to me, and it walked off. I slowly moved down the side of the pond opposite the side where I spotted the animal. I couldn't see it, and I didn't hear it. I didn't want to see it again, but I had to watch for it. I know. The only thought I had in my mind was to get the hell out of that

place as soon as possible. Not just that trail, I had to get off that mountain and away from that cabin. I practically ran to the cabin, aided by the downhill slope. I nearly fell a few times, but I made it down in record time. When I got back, Nikki was still sleeping. I gathered my thoughts and I decided I wasn't saying anything about this, but I needed an escape plan. I cooked breakfast like nothing was wrong, but Nicky knew

something was up. After breakfast, instead of shooting, I suggested we go into town and get something that I needed for dinner. We buzzed off and I went off to a payphone, and I came back with a story of a sick relative in the hospital and that I needed to head back. Well. He was bummed, but he understood. We packed up and left right after lunch. I never mentioned the pond or the beaver dam. I didn't want

to go back and investigate. I never said anything about what I saw, and I never went back to that cabin again. A few days after getting back, Nicki and I talked and he apologized. He thought I wanted to get home because he was bugging me about the raccoons. A friend can always tell when a friend isn't right. We were good after that. During dear season, I would be asking Nicki for hunt stories, waiting to hopefully hear a story of a bigfoot sighting from a hunter. There

were none. Instead, I was invited to get my license and join their hunting party. No thanks. In hindsight, in researching the creature, we've had an aggressive bigfoot living about two hundred miles north of my sighting in Whitehall Mountain near Lake George. Also, the one I saw, his side to side moving gesture looks somewhat playful, but it's a Semian act of agitation and aggression. So the bigfoot that I saw was annoyed. He wasn't swinging back and forth

in playfulness. I think he was targeting and hunting the beaver that built the dam, and I was interfering with his hunt. I think the beaver chose that spot instead of the larger pond to avoid what was stalking him. I think the bigfoot I saw didn't growl or scream at me because it's since it was close to a meal of a beaver and its sounds might have signaled

other creatures. I really don't know about that. When I heard the crack to the side on my hike up the mountain and passing the down, I think that was the bigfoot on the side woods trying to get rid of me. Maybe he was on the cabin porch that night. I'll never know, and we'll never tell. I will never go back to the woods alone and unarmed with anything less than a forty five. On at least three occasions since being married, this sighting has impacted me with a

PTSD like night terror. I have had nightmares of a bigfoot stalking either me or my wife and kids. And this may sound insane, but it's true. I would make a growling animal attack noise, screaming at the bigfoot like an animal at the top of my lungs in a defensive posture, letting it know that I'm not choosing to flight, I'm choosing to fight, hoping that this will back the

creature off. All of this was happening in my dreams, but my snarls and growls would increase in volume and grow until I would scream like a wild man, eventually scaring the crap out of my wife and She would shake me to snap me out of the dream. She thought I was turning into a wolfman in my growling antics. The last time this happened, I woke up the entire house, my wife and our six year old son and our nine year old daughter. We gave the kids a funny

nightmare story, but my wife knows the real story. She encouraged me to share this as a form of therapy so she can sleep in peace without any wolfman dream visits. And I still live in the suburbs of the city, only now I'm the one who was scared by something that was actually very real. Thank you for the channel, and may God bless you for giving folks like me an anonymous outlet to get something off our minds.