I grew up hunting, fishing, and running triplines, so it was only natural that I get a job working for the California Fish and Game while I was in college. Later, I spent two decades working for the US Forest Service. One morning in September nineteen ninety three, while I was working for the Forestry Service, I arrived at a small clear cut located in the middle fork of Feather River at eleven thirty am. It was a wild and scenic spot above the town of Oroville, California, and very remote.
It had taken me two hours to get there. It was the last of three small clearcuts done on that ridge just before it dropped down to the scenic river. We called those cuts Mountain Lion cuts, after a lion that had been seen there several times. The last cut was nine as that headed east up the slope, and at the bottom was a twenty foot circle of brush that had no trees worth harvesting, so it had been spared.
I crawled into the brush with my lunch and decided to be quiet and hidden as I ate, so that maybe I could see the lion come through. After twenty five minutes, nothing had come by, and I was finished with lunch. As I was packing up, I heard a large limb or a small tree snap a couple hundred yards across the clear cut. I thought it must be a range cow, so I didn't even bother looking up. The clearcut had been replanted in the spring. My job that day was to take twenty four foot plots and
count how many trees survived in every third plot. I walked out a few yards into the clearing and poked my tape measure into the ground, pulled out twelve feet and started making a circle, counting each tree within the circumference as I did so. When I was done, I walked a hundred and twenty paces maybe one hundred and ten yards to the lower section and completed the second plot. And then I looked across and decided I could fit one more plot along the bottom, so I took off,
counting one hundred and twenty paces. I was thirty yards from the brush on the opposite side when I heard another large limb being snapped off a tree. This time it was done close enough that it startled me, and I snapped my head up and looked through the man's anita through a three foot hole in the brush, I saw a leg, or a back of a leg anyway from the knee down. It was forty yards away and the sun was shining on it. The sunlight lit up the two inch long red hair that covered the leg.
It was close to the color of an orangutang's hair. The calf muscle was large and lean, and I stared at it thought to myself, how well this thing was built. It took a couple of steps up the hill and I saw the muscle flexing up and down in its leg. I stopped. Until that moment, I hadn't thought much about whether or not they were real, but just then I was thinking they do exist. I started walking up the hill in a calm, no rush, manner that gave me time to observe it. At eighty yards away, I could
see all the way up the left leg. I could see the butt about halfway down the right leg. The hair was all the same light colored red, and its butt was pronounced and muscular. Seeing it from the waist down, I thought it was built very much like a professional football player, larger and taller, but not by much. At one hundred yards away, I got my first glimpse of the entire backside of the creature, from the neck down, from the waist up. It was massive. The shoulders were
seven feet off the ground and five feet across. It was a dense dark patch of tan oaks, and it stepped into the trees and it was gone. I stood there, fascinated by what had just happened. I did not take a step during this entire encounter. I just stood there in amazement. Above this dark patch of tan oaks stood a single tree that was six inches in circumference. It was cut off and bent one hundred and eighty degrees
at six feet off the ground. The creature stepped out of the oak patch and put its left arm on that tree, and as it leaned in, the tree dropped seven more inches. It turned its head and it looked at me. Now I could see the left part of the body and a little bit of its head. The only feature I could see was that it was not covered in long red hair like the rest of the body. It was too far away now to make much else out. I noticed there was no hair at the elbow of
the left arm either. It looked as if it had been scraped or worn off, and the skin was dark black. I don't know how long this lasted. It was long enough that I wondered how the creature with such red hair could have such dark skin. We stood there staring at each other for a bit, and then it straightened up and turned and took two steps before it was gone. I did not see it or hear it again. In fact, I never heard it except for the two times it broke large limbs or small trees. I never felt fear
or anxiety. It was never aggressive toward me, nor seemed threatening in any way. I didn't smell any odor, and sadly, I never got to see the front of the creature or its entire head. I don't know its sex or anything about its facial features except for the lack of hair, but I do know it was very curious. It wanted to observe me as much as I wanted to observe it.
I no longer work for the Forestry Service, but I wish I could have another encounter, and as an employee of the US Forestry Service, I did not share this story with anyone other than a few family members until twenty twelve, when I finally went online to the BFRO and submitted my first report. Since then, I've done some of my own research and watched what I could. I've met a few others willing to speak about their encounters, and I'm more than happy to meet and speak with
anyone who has had an encounter. I believe there was more than one. That day. As I sat hidden in that brush putting my lunch away, it broke a large lamb or tree. I was over two hundred and forty yards away. I don't believe it was just telling me that it was there. I think it was also telling the others that I was there. Fantastic story to the writer. Again,
I don't know the man's name. I think I know because of his email address, but I'm not going to share it because he didn't really say anything about it. But this is these guys in the forestry service or in a position and in locations to see these things, not just these things, but all the things that go on in the forest, and they're used to it. They know it. They're very observant. They know what's out of place, they know what's in place, they know what's usual, they
know what's odd. If you spend any time in the woods, even you don't have to be a forestry service employee to learn these things, just go in the woods and be quiet. Like I know this is probably a little too much commentary, but there are a lot of images out on social media Facebook and Twitter and Instagram of
blurry things in the background of a forest. And have you ever sat in the woods for Just sit there for three hours and don't move, Just sit there, relax and kind of focus in on one area of the woods.
And if you do that, you'll notice that the light has a lot to do with what you see, and the earth is spinning and the sun is shining light at different angles, and every ten or fifteen minutes that spot you're looking at will look totally different, and your mind can make out shapes and all kinds of things in that background as light penetrates through the forest and shines on things that are behind what you're looking at. And these guys know these things. I mean, I began
to notice that deer hunting many years ago. I'm not a big deer hunter. A matter of fact, I don't really even go to kill. I don't really like killing deer. I have killed several, but not many, and I've never glad. I did kill one buck anyway, it's another big deal. I'm just not that interested in killing deer, but I love to be in the woods and just watch and look at all the wildlife, and the deer is just icing on the cake. It's great meat, it's good claes
nutrition for me and my family and my friends. But the big thrill is to sit there and just watch what goes on. And you're seeing what happens in the woods when you're not there, because if you're quiet, you don't make any noise, and you just, you know, just minimize your presence in the woods. It goes right back to normal within about fifteen or twenty minutes, and you get to see what happens when you're not there, and
it's an amazing thing. Listen and look and smell, and you get to see all the things that ninety nine percent of the people on this planet do not get to see. So I don't know why I got off in that, but it kind of I know some of these forestry guys and these timber cruisers and people that work for timber companies, and they know the woods. They know what's natural, they know what's not. They're very observant
and they can tell you right away. That's kind of weird over there, and this is what happened here, and this is what happened here. Anyway, it's just an inter It's an interesting topic. I've always thought was fascinating. But me, I'm a people watcher, and I noticed what people say and do and why they say and do what they do, and it's always been really interesting to me. Thank you to the writer for sending this. I really appreciate it, and I believe the story. I one hundred percent believed
the story. The Warp Forests by Austin Mooney. Colin had known Greg long enough to trust the periloused expression of gloom on his face when he emerged from the shadowy tree line. Greg had left the safe confines of their bonfire to relieve himself somewhere away from camp about fifteen minutes earlier, and the group was beginning to worry about him. They assumed whatever was keeping him must have been his own private business. They dreaded the idea of checking in
on him, only to cause embarrassment for both parties. They thought it first that perhaps he was and he would inform them that he needed to go home. Instead, he instructed them to follow him back to the dark forest. There were four of them, Greg, Colin, Macklin, and Dane. The men, all now in their middle years, had been friends since childhood, and although they had much different lives now, they still made time to go on a camping retreat together once a year. They tried to pick a new
place to go each time. Most of the fun of the experience was hiking and surveying the new land and recapturing the wonder of exploration they felt back in their use when such feelings were easier to come by. This year, they decided on a spring visit to a small patch of woods near Lake Michigan, somewhat close to the US and Canadian border. The area existed in a strange in between place that felt oddly homeless and independent. It didn't feel like it belonged to either country. It was just there.
They had arrived later in the day than they anticipated and were deprived of that first chance to venture into the unknown. Before the necessity of shelter and warmth became paramount in their minds. They quickly unloaded their equipment and followed the short trail to the closest camping area to get as much assistance from the dying sun as it would allow before twilight turned its cold gaze to laugh At their unfinished camp. They were using a single tent
large enough to comfortably house the four men. The friends had learned to live together through the sleepovers of their childhood and various roommate living arrangements in their early adulthood. One big tent was all they needed, which made the construction process much more efficient. As soon as as it was built, the fire was lit in the pit of the charred remains of previous camping excursions. Greg announced that he needed to use the toilet and that he would
be back soon. If I'm not back in fifteen minutes, come looking for me, he said. I don't have to poop, so it shouldn't take that long. But if I do end up having to poop and then doing it and you come looking for me and that's what I'm doing, then I'm sorry, but better safe than sorry. Just go, said Colin. Yeah, stop talking, Maclan said, I'm not going to look for you. Dane laughed as he opened a beer. Greg held a playful middle finger to the group and
disappeared beyond the tree line. Fifteen minutes passed, and the men started to wonder was Greg kidding before? Was he playing a joke? Now? Did he want them to come looking for him? Luckily he showed his face before that. Feeling swelled up inside them and reached the point where they felt a knee to discuss it. They all knew the others were feeling weird? What was Greg doing out there?
A sigh of relief vented through their noses toward the ground and curved up into the sky once he appeared, but the tension was reinvigorated and evolved into a new collection of despair when they saw the look on his face. What's up? Are you okay? Colin asked, we were about to come looking for you. Michlan said I wasn't, said dame, you guys need to come with me, Greg said, his mouth barely moving. His eyes hung sourly in his dull face as his eyelids stretched toward the sky in an
act of bodily surrender and panic. The muscles and his clammy visage were communicating emotions that seemed entirely burnt out in his mind. He held both of his hands in his front pockets as though he was a teacher. About to ask a leading question that would carry him into a mind altering lecture. The chemicals coursing through him were putting on a performance or normalacy that was wholly severed from his thoughts. He looked like he could barely feel
any of it, and his body was taking over. There's something I want to show you, he said, No, Dane Wine, we just got the fire going and stuff. Let's chill. What is it? Colin asked, concerned by the confusing mixture of emotions flowing from his friend's body language. I can't describe it, he said. Muscles in his arms twitched as his hands baled into bulging fists in his pocket. But I never seen anything like it before. Is it next to where you peede? Maclan asked, because maybe it can wait.
That's when the fire grew bright enough that Colin and Machlan were able to discern that Greg had urinated in his pants. A gasp of prize and worries shook through them. His black jeens revealed a section of slightly blackered denim that soaked a vertical puddle through the material surrounding his groin. An energy of silence weighed down on the camp It's not very far, Greg said, before turning around and dissolving back into the twisting gateway of krepasole wooded kingdom before them.
Colin walked after him, and Michlan followed. Dane finished his beer and opened another beer and grabbed his high powered flashlight that he normally loved, having an excuse to use and released an annoying sign and ventured into the woods to find his friends. Colin and Macklin held their phone flashlights up to light the path, but gregg led without one. His hands stayed in his pockets. He simply knew where to go. He dodged low branches and obstacles with memorized
condition precision. Everything appeared so calm and easy, despite his tainted eyes looking back at his friends every few paces and urine soak clothing telling a drastically different story. The other two tripped and stumbled along behind him as they quietly made their way. Any questions asked to Greg were met with a soft were almost there. Then a clearing opened itself to them, and the starry night sky waterfall down onto their dusty heads. A brilliant rush of energizing
visible light flooded the area. As if the arena of distant worlds around them wished the men to see. What was there In the middle of the clearing was a small stub or stump, perhaps a collection of mushrooms, sitting three feet tall and three feet wide. It was tan pink, and the shedding of whatever comprised it littered the grass around it. As they approached the specimen, Colin felt a hollow ache in his stomach, like life threatening hunger pans, the type of empty belly ache that causes one to
vomit whenever pathetic liquid is still contained in them. In a misguided attempt to fix the problem, he worried he would be sick, but he couldn't easily find his way back to camp if he retreated, his breathing controlled in heart rates slowing, Colin continued following his friend's relentless brisk pace towards the stump. Once they reached it, they realized it wasn't a stump, or at least not won by appearance.
Perhaps an invasive fungus of some kind had claimed a stump and covered it the grave of a tree, suffocated beneath its new wormy overcoat. The dome of organic matter was rough, callous blob of an unappealing texture, reminiscent of Califlow. Every few seconds or so, it would lightly shake, as though a bubble had popped below its surface. It was alive, whatever it was. Greg walked over to it, looked back at the men with a smile, and then kicked it.
A resounding thud rippled through it like a carnival strong man's abdomen. After getting punched in the gut by an audience member, a small chunk of fleshy tumor ripped off with the tip of Greg's shoe and landed next to them, and shortly afterward the spot that had been regenerated. I've been picking at this thing since I left camp. That's where all these other pieces of it came from, he said, gesturing to the mess around his feet. But it just
keeps regenerating. It's gross and it hurts. I feel like it has to be hurting the forest. It hurts when I look at it, like its existence hurts. Do you feel it? I think we shoul leave it alone. I don't know what it is. I mean, it's cool, don't get me wrong, and thank you for showing it to us. But what if it's poisonous or something, said Macklin, all the more reason we need to get rid of it. Greg said. It pulsed again and shuddered under the stress
of the damage that it had withstood. From Greg's hue, Colin could feel it. Its presence was made of pain and soreness, a future, disgusting, tight, miserable, tenderness that only more pain could destroy. He wanted desperately to rip it out of the Earth's poor body, and it needed to be removed, whatever it was, and some deep instinct within him was screaming at him to do so. Isn't it just going to keep regenerating, maclan asked. It regenerates faster
than I can pick at it. But if all of us are picking at it, then I think we can pick it all the way off before it has time to regenerate. That's a good idea, said Macklin, looked at Colin in disbelief. I think you should do this in the morning, MacLean said, no. Greg said he took his hands out of his pockets, and the others saw that
they were covered in something gloves. Maybe it looked like hundreds of smaller versions of the bump in front of them, coated the entirety of his hands up to his wrists. It was a sea of individual wartz, rubbing through and against each other, creating a long, solid skin layer of rough growth. Hard wiggling, moaning warts were cracking around his
palms and fingers and deconstructing his skin. His knuckles split open and his hands were falling apart as he reached down and grabbed two fistfuls of the excruciating life form. Soon Colin found himself digging into the mixture as well. The hard shell of it broke open upon impact with his determined claws and released a terrible chitney of porous flesh. Underneath. It was an enormous wart, threatening the very woods it was attempting to call home. A loud flashlight beam crashed
through the cracks in the trees behind them. As Dane emerged from the woods. What the hell is that thing? He said, I don't know, but they want to pick it out of the ground, said micheln Oh, my god, Greg, your hands are disgusting. What happened? Stop touching that thing? Dane hurried over to the two men. The flashlight glared an aggressive wake up called a Colin's eyes, and he was pulled from his daze. He backed away from the
lowesome wart and he threw up. He rubbed his arms and hands into the dirt to cleanse the disgusting material from his skin. Overwhelming fear obscured his consciousness, and he scratched his hands along the rocks and dry land until they were bloody and any infected layers had been removed. We did it, Greg said, as he dropped the last handful of work tissue to the ground. A crater sat staring up at them, surrounded by the dead remnants of
its former body. Hard sharp edges struggled to create new warts. It rattled and died. Now we have to burn all of this. We're not carrying that stuff back to camp, Dane said. And we're definitely not starting a fire out here without someone from the park Service being present. We could burn the whole woods down. We have to, said Greg. Your hands are messed up, Greg, and you pissed yourself. Look at you, Dane said, I'm taking you back to camp.
Let's go. Dane grabbed Greg's arm. Macklin blinked, and Dane was suddenly on his back, with Greg on top. Of him, pinning his shoulders to the forest with his knees, while a drop bottle blood of fizzled ale beside them. Greg grabbed Dane's face with his bumpy, agonizingly warp coated hands. The warts on his fingertips found their way into Dane's mouth and scraped against his front teeth. We have to burn it. Greg stood up, and Dane hopped to his feet, spitting,
I'm getting a park ranger, You're being ridiculous, dude. Dane and Macklin helped Colin to his feet and they left. At the lodge, the three men asked the lone ranger on duty for the evening if she had ever seen any kind of growth that resembled their friend's obsession. She asked them if they had taken any sort of hallucinogenic drugs, and then asked if they had taken any drugs of any kind, and then she shook her head and agreed to drive them back to camp. When they returned to
Colin was the first to start crying. In that clearing where the stars had bestowed the power of their blessing, lay a shriveled body next to a smoldering pile of ashes. The stench of burning flesh slowly venting from the area put the ranger in a fit as she covered her nose and gagged. She informed them that they weren't supposed to set fires anywhere except for the designated areas at camping sites before she called for a medical team. The
men agreed and informed her that Gregg wouldn't listen. He needed to burn it. She took a bottle of water from the glove compartment of her truck and doused the final fading memory of the fire, which released the vociferous exhale of smoke. A puff of ash choked out of the hollow wart crater, and she stomped the smoldering out with her boot and covered it in soil. Doctors later
claimed that Gregg died of smoke inhalation. They wouldn't say anything more beyond that, although they always looked like they wanted to. Gregg's parents said they saw the X rays of his lungs and thought they appeared riddled with tumors, bumps, or warts. His lungs were saturated in warts. The three men and the park ranger were given inhalers with a particular tasting medication. They were told was for smoke inhalation
and kept overnight for observation. They bandaged Colin's hands, intended to the early signs of newly emerging warts around Dane's mouth. The night was eerily quiet. The doctors had never seen warts on lungs before, they didn't know how to tell them about it. When Macklin returned with a park ranger to retrieve their camping gear the following day, they found the forest entrance blocked from public access. They ducked under the caution tape, walked a few yards and stopped shaking.
He removed his inhaler from his pocket and he ran. The park rangers soon followed behind them, slowly fading into the past. All the trees and birds, animals, fish, bushes, flowers, grass ponds, camp sites, the rangers station, everything, all of it, all the wonders of that ravishing park, even the air. It was all covered in wartz.