Archive 96 Bigfoot

a national forest, regular housing was not allowed. We were about a mile from the actual hot springs for which the place was named, but it was mainly frequented by hippies back then, since hiking had not yet become popular. The cabin could only be reached by going up a small path on a steep old, gross timber covered mountain side. There were no roads beyond the highway below, no campers or camping, or no dwelling of any kind. No one

was hanging around the cabin during the day. It was only used by us and an occasional friend or to at night. We were hiding from the police. I had run away from home to escape my alcoholic stepfather. The hot Springs was a party place with a lot of pot smoking and drinking. It was not a family place by any means. One moonless night, as we were climbing up to the cabin at about one in the morning,

sounds erupted all around us. We were only about halfway into the woods, and being comfortable with the path, we hadn't brought a flashlight. There were multiple voices, all yelling at the same time. If you could call it yelling, it was more like singing in the sense that the sounds were controlled. They started with one octave, held the note for about a minute, and then changed to another octave. They were voices in unison, almost like a choir. It

went on for a good ten minutes. They weren't human, at least they didn't sound human, but what else could they be. It was like a Gregorian chant with all the monks chanting just one sound. All that chanting at once was terrifying. We found the little cops of tall pine trees and cowered down to the ground, hugging ourselves to a tree trunk for protection, and frantically whispering to each other, what is that? There were no lights of any kind, just voices coming from all directions, and they

surrounded us. They weren't human voices, but they weren't mechanical either. They were organic and changed in perfect unison with perfect precision. They were close enough that we should have seen something. If they'd been a human, we should have seen them. Even if they'd been a bunch of aliens, we'd have

seen something lights or figures moving about. At least if it had been a Satanist Wickens, both of which are known to use the woods for their various rights, we would have seen or heard someone or something because these sounds were right on top of us. But we saw nothing. There were no shadows, no movement, and no other sounds either. It was like we had stepped into a different world. It was nothing like we'd ever heard or experienced before.

In April of twenty nineteen, it was Easter weekend and we were camping in our RVs in Tobec Canyon, Colorado. We'd planned on boondocking, no electric or sewer hookups, just generators in the hilly canyons outside of Tobec Canyon, east of Grand Junction, not far from the Colorado River. There was a decent sized group of us, and so we circled our RVs like a wagon train, leaving a huge

place in the middle for the campfire. Ours was parked next to a ravine that was full of wash from the many commonly occurring flash floods in the canyon lands and deserts. The ground was a mix of scrub grass and red earth. All around us were ridges and slopes covered in boulders and dotted with small cave openings. The first night, we played music, we cooked dinner, We made some'mores and drank wine, and hung out in chairs around

the fire. The kids, ranging in age from three to thirteen, rode their bikes and played around the RVs when they weren't at the fire, making more s'mores. My husband went to bed early because he'd been up since four thirty that morning. He and my son in law had come up early to set up camp. My daughter is a full time nurse and I had not retired from teaching. Suddenly, my husband stuck his head out the door and asked, why is someone slamming into the RV? What I exclaimed,

We're all sitting here by the fire. No one's around the RV. Or slamming into it. And then I asked, was it many Many was a tiny men pin? No, he said, it was too heavy, like a person. Someone slammed into the RV. Many's too small. She couldn't have done that. I had a creepy feeling in my gut at that point, but I didn't say anything. The next day, everyone went to explore one of the red earth covered ridges while I took a shower. They said they were going to wait for me, but the three year old

twins got antsy, so they all went ahead. I didn't know it, but one of the women found a huge footprint on top of that ridge. She took a picture of it, but it wasn't until later, when she posted it to Facebook that I knew anything about it. In the early hours of the next morning, around four am, my husband jerked me awake and was loudly what was that? What was what? I asked, still half asleep. You didn't feel that, he said, emphatically, No, what I answered, confused.

Someone slammed into the RV hard enough to rocket, he said, and then he added, I'm not going out there to find out what it was. I knew then what was going on inside I was freaking out. My husband knew I believed in Bigfoot. Later we talked about it, he said it was a person big enough to rock the entire RV. This RV is thirty five feet long. It has a bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, living room in a second small room with two bunks. We eventually went outside to

look for footprints, but we didn't find anything. We searched down in the ravine as well, but there were no footprints there either. On a warm June day in twenty nineteen at Sequoia National Forest, my family and I were high one of the seldomly used pathways. As we entered, we'd heard woodknocks and sounds like monkeys. There were no other sounds at all, no birds or insects, and no wind. At one point, we heard something huge slamming to the ground not far from us. We thought it was an airplane.

When we witnessed a commercial airliner crash into some houses in San Diego in nineteen seventy seven, there was a mushroom cloud of smoke, so we looked up, but we didn't see any of that. We knew it wasn't an earthquake either. Later, as we headed out, we came across some park rangers in the parking area who wanted to ask us some questions, and we told them about the sound, and they told us it was a tree that had fallen.

They said nothing like that ever happened before. We thought that was odd because trees come down there every year. They didn't elaborate, so we assumed they must have been referring to the fact that it was a warm, windless day, not a snow storm or other inclement weather. On Monday, December second, twenty nineteen, in Grand Junction, Colorado, my husband

had gone to bed early. He's a chef and Tuesdays or truck Day, meaning he has to get up early and be at the restaurant to check the food delivery. He has no trouble sleeping with the television and lights on, so as always I was up much later than him. I'm retired now finally as a teacher. Our house is on the edge of town in a semi rural area known as Orchard Mesa, next to the Colorado River. To the west, it extends into the Colorado National Monument, which

is similar to a small Grand Canyon. To the south, it is the LaSalle Mountain Range, and the Arizona, New Mexico and Utah borders. East of US are fields, farms, vineyards, pastures, and small hills, all connected to the bottom of the ten thousand foot high Grand Mesa, at the top of which is a collapse volcano that forms the largest mesa platform in the country. It's dotted with alpine meadows and hundreds of lakes, past which the Colorado River winds as

it makes its way to our orchard Mesa. The river in this section is heavily wooded on both sides, and all sorts of animals frequent the river. We have a few crab avel trees in the garden section of our yard, as do our neighbors. We also have grape vines and mulberry trees, all of which are inviting for various animals. And our house sits on half an acre and closed by a tall wooden fence, except for one section that is blocked off by both a huge shed and a

small one connected by a gate. This is to keep our dogs from escaping through our neighbors short wire fence. We used to keep a garden back there, but life is sort of gotten in the way and now it's abandoned and full of tall. As my husband slept and I watched TV, our dog Daisy ran through the dog door out into the backyard and immediately started barking like

someone was out in the road. Walking by my other dog, Timmy, who generally ignores Daisy's youthful antics, perked up his ears and then jumped off the bed and ran out the door to join her. I was a bit surprised and frankly a little concerned that they might wake up my husband. It was not entirely unusual for them to bark at the fence. People walk their dogs down to the river all the time, but this time the barking was different.

Instead of the typical intermittent barking interspersed with running and pacing along the fence, they were barking on the move, as if they were hysterical. I knew immediately something was in the yard. I panicked with the thought that they may have cornered a rabbit, skunk, or a coon. I didn't want to have the break up any fights, even more so I didn't want to get bit. And furthermore, we once saw a raccoon in our garbage area, big

enough to be mistaken for a dog. If that's what they were up against, I knew they would be outmatched. With all of this running through my mind, I jumped out of bed and grabbed a flashlight from the cupboard and headed outside. I could see them all in the small shed, barking towards the abandoned garden area. I was grateful for the fence between them and whatever they were barking at, and I yelled for them to stop it

and come on. In twenty years of teaching, in thirty eight years of parenting has given my voice the kind of authoritative sound not to be ignored. But the speed with which they responded was more than just a little surprising. I figured it must have been a raccoon they were barking at. Bears were already hibernating. Dogs would have barked back or even fought back. The cat would have run

off right away. After I ushered the dogs back into the house, curiosity got the better of me, and I turned the powerful flashlight I was using back on the yard. I stepped as close to the little shed as fear and caution would allow, and I raised the light a little higher, and I caught movement behind and a little above it. The problem was I shouldn't have been able to see anything above the shed. The only thing back there to stand on was the neighbor's flimsy four foot

high wire fence. However, I could see a bulky shape moving around back there, like someone hunched over in an orange and tan coat. My mind started racing with thoughts and questions. Is that the neighbor's teens going up to no good again? Those kids had proven themselves to be trouble in the past, so anything was possible. And then I realized the person in question was coming into my yard.

I couldn't believe they weren't reacting to the light. It was all happening so quickly, though, that I didn't have time to do anything but watch while this person moved closer. He or she or it was moving in a weird gliding way. There was no head bobbing, just a smooth glide. I thought, is that a cat on top of the roof? But it was too big? Why was it so big? Was it a raccoon? How did it get up the

side of the metal shed? And then the moment hit, the exact second when my eyes revealed the truth and my mind accepted it. It had stopped gliding and turned towards me, creating a silhouette made up of an apex center and sloping shoulders. This wasn't something on top of the roof. It was something behind the shed, and if I could see it, this something had to be taller than eight feet. I knew what it was. I couldn't breathe as I stared at that classic Patty style bigfoot silhouet.

I could see long tan hair streaked with brown covering its head. I don't remember its eyes. Maybe I didn't want to make eye contact. That would have made it more real and more dangerous. It froze, and my mind began to tell me I was only seeing stone where it was standing. I couldn't be seeing anything. I thought, this is my fault, and it's here they know me.

This is my fault. I kept staring at the stone image in front of me, burning the picture into my mind, proving to myself I was seeing it, and telling myself I wasn't crazy. I could feel it looking at me. Fright dissolved into flight. Run, I mentally screamed at myself. Instantly I turned and ran back inside, slamming the locked door behind me. More questions came. Should I wake my husband? What should I do? Oh? My god, I don't know

what to do. He won't believe me anyway. I know he knows now that these things exist, but he won't believe that there's one in our backyard. It's just too much of a coincidence. Not knowing what else to do, I turned to the group chat on messenger, where I had shared my other experiences. Fortunately someone was online and I was able to relate the entire event. He told me to go back out there. What heck, no, I said, there's no way, try, he said, somewhere down inside. Maybe Foolishly,

I found the courage to take his advice. At his request, I put him on live feed, and carrying my phone in the flashlight, I went back outside. I was grateful for the light behind that shed that revealed no silhouette. This time, my adrenaline was so high, so much so that I barely noticed the icy cement under my stocking feet. But standing out there and facing my fear was quickly

erasing the terror that had gripped me earlier. The next day, as instructed by my friend, I went back out and took pictures, and when my husband got home, I told him the entire ordeal, and we walked out together to look at the grass that was tamped down. There was a path leading to the neighbor's wire fence. There were spots that could be giant footprints, but all too grassy

to be sure. But it was evidence enough for me, so I examined the shit and confirmed that there was no place for a raccoon to climb on top of it. I took pictures of everything. It's been five years since this happened. Although I didn't actually see anything, I can't just explain away what happened either. I guess that's why it stays with me to this day. I bought a fifth wheel located in Henderson, Texas. It was parked in

an RV camp just outside of town. The park was surrounded by a large, fairly dense forest, and there were about fifteen other RVs park there as well, with the woods behind us. I had never stayed in an RV before I bought it to get out of the city and rest. I'm a retired nurse. I was glad to get out of the city and travel for a while. I had my dog with me, my buddy and traveling companion of thirteen years, Roscoe. Roscoe and I enjoyed going

for long walks. Sometimes we'd venture into the forest behind the fifth wheel. It was quiet back there and peaceful. It had a calming effect on me at times, though it could be a little spooky. It was almost like I could feel eyes watching me. There was one event during my stay in that area that I will never forget. Roscoe and I were off on one of our walks. We decided to take the trail leading into the forest. We took our usual walk around and then started back

up the trail. Suddenly, Roscoe whined softly. He stood alert, sniffing something beyond my senses. The hair stood up on his back as he stared deeper into the forest. I couldn't tell what he was seeing, or smelling or sensing. Not knowing what he knew only served to make me even more nervous. Then his tail went down, the hair on his back stood more rigid, and his neck rough fluffed up. He had a look that I've only seen when he doesn't like whatever he's seeing. It was a

warning look of danger. I softly said his name, and in response, He whined again and looked straightforward, as if to say, Mom, there's something out there. Roscoe will chase cats, and he's been known to be slightly protective of me around strangers, but this was more than usual. It was something different. He was truly spooked and he stood there for a few more minutes, but I couldn't see or hear anything. Eventually we moved up on the road to my trailer. That night was a little weird as well.

I like to go out on my porch and sit. There's something truly magical about the sounds of the crickets and nightbirds, and course with the tree frogs and the katie DIDs. It was a nice way to end each day. But that night there were no sounds. It was deathly quiet. There were no crickets, no birds or anything. Rather than being relaxing, it was a bit nerve racking. The next day, when Roscoe and I took our walk, we started down the trail into the woods again. This time there was

a small tree branch leaned over the trail. It wasn't like it had broken and fallen it was damaged. It was just leaned over to block the trail. I thought it was rather peculiar, and Roscoe was acting funny again. He was looking down the trail and acting like he didn't want to go into the forest, and I decided we take a different raph for the next few days and check out the camp instead. That evening, I took

my usual seat outside of my trailer. This time I heard some weird breaking noises in the forest behind me, but I didn't get up to investigate. The hair was standing up on the back of my neck and I got this really creepy feeling that I couldn't shape. I left there a week later for better camping spots. While we were there, I never actually saw anything or even really heard anything other than some breaking sounds, but that was one that stayed with me and probably always will.

Thank you for reading this. It was nice to share it with someone.