When I was nine, our family lived in Plumber, Idaho, a small logging town in the Panhandle. We actually lived on ten acres of land in the hills several miles outside of town. My two older brothers were avid hunters who would go on extended hunting trips, and they'd leave from our house and head out to the middle of nowhere, pick a spot where they wanted to hunt, and then build a shelter out of fallen timber where they'd stay for
the duration of their hunt. One year, they asked me if I wanted to go, I would get to stay in one of their timber shelters. They would cook for me over the campfire, and they'd even let me shoot one of their rifles. They promised it would be a lot of fun, and I asked my dad if it'd be okay, and after they assured him that they would take good care of me, he agreed to let me go.
We had it out on a Friday evening, and I remember of the day because it meant I would be missing Saturday morning cartoons the next morning. Oh man, that, oh anything that interrupted Saturday morning cartoons was horrible for me to brother. I agree with that, but I digress. For a kid, that was a big deal, but this sounded like more fun. Besides, I really wanted to fire my brother's thirty thirty rifle, even if it would probably knock me on my butt. We crammed into the front seat
of my brother's regular cab pickup and headed further into the mountains. It seemed like it took forever, so I think we must have been up there quite away. Of course, I was still a kid, and so the distance may have been exaggerated in my mind, but it seemed like it took a really long time. We finally parked in a clearing outside of the main tree
line, and we hiked the rest of the way in. We went far enough in that one of my brothers had to carry me on his back for the last half of the walk to the campsite, and by the time we got there it was getting late, at least it was for me. So I sat on a log and watched as my brother set up the camp and started a fire. Then we went into the shelter, crawled into our sleeping bags, and we fell asleep. The next morning, we got up at the start of the day, but our food supply was gone. My brothers
had hung it in a large pine tree the night before. I remember it looking impossibly high to my juvenile mind. There were broken branches all over the ground around that tree. These were big branches, not just little branches, and they were broken off way up the trunk. My older brother, who was six foot five inches tall, remarked that he would have had to use a ten foot ladder to get up there. My oldest brother was sure it wasn't a bear because he chosen a branch that stuck out from the tree,
and black bears would be too small to reach it. He figured even a grizzly wouldn't have been able to get up to that bag. They both looked pretty confused and angry. Now we would have to leave the next day, which meant that they would only have one day to hunt. It was just sad, really, and I was looking forward to having bacon and eggs cooked on the campfire. They brought just enough jerky and snacks to get us through the next morning. So my oldest brother went hunting, while my other brother
decided to stay in camp teach me how to fire the rifle. He really only stayed because my legs were so sore from the long hike in, even though he'd carried me halfway. That evening, my oldest brother returned to camp empty handed. He told us that it had been a very strange day while he was out there. He didn't see any signs of anything. He didn't see any of the usual small forest animals. He didn't even see any birds. He couldn't find any deer tracks when they were usually tons of them,
and plus there was a strange, horrible smell. My older brother mentioned that he'd smell something weird the night before too well. Disappointed that the trip had been a bus we crawled into our sleeping bags that night with plans to pack up and leave the next morning. But it wasn't long before we heard branches breaking and knocking sounds just outside camp. Then something started grunting, and we
all sat up to listen. At first, my brothers thought it was other hunters, but the grunting got louder and it was accompanied by something really big stomping around. My oldest brother grabbed his rifle and stuck his head out to look around. He popped right back in and yelled, grab the guns, we're leaving now. My other brother started to pack, but my oldest brother told him to leave everything else and to carry me on his back the whole way. At this point, I was really scared, and I had started
crying. The last thing I remember was a strange howling sound. It wasn't like a dog or a coyote or a wolf. This was deeper and louder. The height back to the truck took what felt like hours. When we got there, my brother threw me into the cab and we were gone.
I don't know what it was out there that night. I never saw it, but neither of my brothers ever hunted that area again, and over the years, I've tried to get my oldest brother to tell me what he saw, and after all this time, he still won't talk about it.