Bigfoot and Boogaladamoosh

hunt from. We had hunted the property for almost half of the season with no luck. One day after school, I decided to drive to the property and hunt until dark. I was alone, but that never bothered me. The fact is I always felt comfortable in a deer stand. I drove on to the property through two different fields to reach the old logging road that led to my deer stand.

It overlooked the river on my right. After I got situated in my stand, I realized I had forgotten my flashlight and walking out was going to be tricky in the dark. While I was in the stand, I noticed that no wildlife was moving about. No birds singing, no squirrels hopping. Nothing. When it started to get dark, I headed back to my truck because I didn't have my flashlight with me. I started my journey out and I

heard something walking to my right. I couldn't see anything moving, but when I walked, it walked, and when I stopped to listen, it stopped too. I was halfway to my truck when I noticed a horrible smell, like a wet dog had been sprayed by a skunk. Now I hunted with a semi automatic three to eight. I dropped the gun to my waist and I was in the ready position, safety off, the finger on the trigger, pointing the barrel

where the noise and smell were coming from. Whatever was escorting me out of the woods accompanied me all the way to the field where my truck was parked. As I was getting into the driver's seat, I heard a horrific screen that sounded like a terodactyl from the old Godzilla movies of the nineteen seventies. I still hunt and I fish every chance I get, but I have never gone back to that property. Years later, there was a man who worked in our county jail as a correctional officer.

He lived on the property adjacent to where my encounter happened. I asked him one night if he had ever experienced anything weird or inexplainable there. His response was, I have no comment, and he changed the subject. In the early nineteen eighties, my family and I lived in a big, old house in a little town of Saint Leonard, New Brunswick, Canada. It was a two story home built in the early nineteen hundreds. My father bought it from a man who

was reluctant to sell it, but had no choice. My father had done some renovations on the house, but mainly on the first floor. The second floor he had left it as it was. At the top of the stairs there was a full bathroom, and left of that bathroom was my parents' room, and down the hall was my bedroom, and beyond that was my little brother's room. I was a bit of a scaredy cat. I was young and I was unable to sleep in the dark, so my mother would leave the bathroom light on and my bedroom

door open. One night, I had awakened from a deep sleep. I wasn't prone to waking up in the middle of the night. At that age, it was more like something woke me up. I looked down at my feet, and sitting on the foot board of my bed was a hideous creature. It had white horns and large, yellow, bulging eyes. It had long things that protruded from its mouth, and its small hand had claws that seemed to be digging into my footboard. Well, I screamed and jumped out of

my bed, and I ran to my parents' room, completely hysterical. Now, my father was a man's man and didn't care for this sort of behavior from his son, but when I described what I had seen, he seemed concerned. My parents turned on the light in my room and looked around. My mother checked on my little brother, who was fine, and I got to sleep with my parents that night, something my father didn't usually permit. I was wary of going to bed for a little while, but I never

saw it again. Years later, my parents told me they were concerned when I described my nocturnal visitor because one of my father's uncles described seeing the exact same thing out in the woods. So it's a couple of months earlier. Apparently there was a group of these sorts of creatures that chased my great uncle out of the woods. They terrified him and he died not long after that incident. In nineteen ninety four, I was attending the University of Maine at Fort Kent, and I had the honor of

knowing a man named Guy Freegan. He was a shaman of the local First Nation tribe of the Malaseatsma l I se t s mallaseats I believe I pronounced that correctly. I'm always cautious about trying to pronounce people's names properly because it's sometimes it hurts their feelings. I don't mean to hurt anybody's feelings. It's just a phonetic thing with me, and probably an accent and an area where I've been raised where it's hard to even we don't even understand

each other. But mallaseats is I believe the word. Considering that some members of my family are of First Nation's descent, I decided to ask him about what my great uncle and I saw. Mister Freegan listened to my story as we sat in the student lounge at the UMFK. He said, well, you saw I can't pronounce this bo love boogla demuche boogola de mouche. Mister Fregan went on to tell me that my great uncle had somehow offended them and that's

why they chased him out of the woods. He went on to explain that they were similar to what Europeans called elves or gnomes. He was uncertain as to why one would have visited me, since I had nothing to do with the offense my uncle committed. Mister Fregan guessed that it may have since that I had shamanic abilities. He went on to invite me to a sweat lodge and that I would possibly get the chance to see

them again. Well, I shared mister Fregan that though his invitation was generous, my faith wouldn't allow such a thing, and I thanked him for the invitation though, and for the wisdom that he imparted me, and I nor anyone else in the family has ever encountered this sort of being ever again. I was raised in a small farming community in eastern Canada, and I lost my father in my early teens, and was lucky enough that one of his closest friends took it upon himself to be a

role model. He was a logger and would often take me into the woods with him to repair his equipment or just hang out in his shop on weekends in summer holidays. Somewhere along the way, I mentioned to him that I wasn't sure what I wanted to do after high school, and he suggested that I become a forest technician. In nineteen ninety one, I received a fresh off the press forest technician diploma and took the first job offered to me in Prince George, British Columbia. As forest texts.

It was our job to lay out cut blocks, cruise the blocks checked for volume, health, tree heights, in species composition. We also performed beetle probes, looking for spruce and pine bark beetles that could decimate vast tracts of forests, and silviculture surveys when the areas were replanted. My first incident was when I was doing a beetle probe. I was climbing a long slope upward to a lodge pole pine stand when I crested a rocky knoll and I noticed

an odd structure off to my left. It was ten or twelve small diameter pine trees, bent and curved and intertwined with one another. By this time I'd been in the woods for over a decade and had never before seen this occur. Naturally, the trees were fifteen feet tall and five inches in diameter. They weren't uprooted, but bent and interlocked in such a way that it was permanent and intentional. Whatever had done this had a massive arm span.

It must have been able to reason, and it possessed enough intelligence to know that this feat could only be accomplished in the spring of the year, when the sap was running and the trees hadn't hardened off. There was another time, in a different area of the forest, I found a second one of these weird configurations. A while later, I was performing a beetle probe again when I got

the distinct impression that I was being watched. It soon escalated to animosity, as if I were trespassing on someone's land and they didn't want me there. I took the hint and got out of there as quickly as possible. There was another time when I was working with my co oh walker J. I was busy taking notes while he was performing my compassman. We had just finished our plot and he was heading out on our bearing, dragging our distance, measuring chain. When I heard him stop, I

looked up and saw that he was frozen. He was shaking in fright. He slowly turned to my direction, and his eyes were so wide I could see them bulging out from twenty yards away. I got the same feeling i'd felt before, only fifty times worse. The entire forest around us had become dead, silent. There were no birds, insects, nothing was making a peat. Even Jay and I were

holding our breath. I carefully made my way as silently as I could to Jay, and I got him to calm down, and I got us sight of that area as fast as we could. This time was different, though, as whatever was inducing the unnatural feel moved with us, silent, bllantly stalking us. It took four hundred yards before the feeling faded and the thing stalking us apparently satisfied that we were actually leaving. The next incident I had was

when I was working with another coworker, Ka. We'd been sent out to collect some extra tree heights from an area that had already been worked. An hour into our workday, K informed me that he'd forgotten his water bottle in the truck, and since it was hot out and we weren't far from the truck. He decided to scoop down and get it. Fifteen minutes later, he came back in a rush and abruptly informed me that we had to get out of the woods, that a bear was stalking us.

I realized I had heard nothing, but I could smell something. It was intense and musky with a hint of skunk. Whatever had stunk up the air had deliberately moved up when from our locations so that we could smell it. It wasn't until much later that I remembered that I had been around bears, both in captivity and in the wild, and they smelled nothing like what I smell. That day, I had a final encounter, and it happened on the

outskirts of Prince George. My friend T and I ended up living in the same city for a while, and one night neither of us could sleep. We decided to head to the nearest twenty four hour gas station for a couple of twenty ounce coffees and head out for a late night drive. Both of us were stone cold, sober, and were just attempting to kill some time. I was driving my old F one fifty pickup puntering down a

secondary road well north of the city. The sky was crystal clear, and we were about half an hour into our drive, just talking and stargazing. It was then that I caught an odd movement. Out of the corner of my eye. There was a strange bright light off to my left. T noticed that I was distracted and bent over to peer through the truck's back window at whatever had caught my attention. The bright light started performing impossible

aerial maneuvers. It was starting about making perfect ninety degree turns, accelerating and stopping at random intervals. By this time, Ta had his body half out of the truck's cab, his butt perched on the window sill, watching this impossible aerial acrobatic show, and then he started pounding on the roof of the truck, shouting, go, go go. I looked to my left just in time to see the bright light

start rapidly accelerating toward us. Te lowered himself back into the cab and I boost off the gas pedal as hard as I could. T shouted at me to shut off the lights, and without thinking that's what I did. We were tearing down an empty road. Go one hundred miles an hour with the lights shut off. The only thought I had was that we had to shake this thing off. Our tail t gave me the all clear finally,

and I slowly let up on the gas. Thankfully, that night there was a good moon out, but when I finally turned the lights back on, we still took the long way around to get back home. There was no way in help we were going to chance running into whatever that was. Again. I hope you enjoyed a few pages of my life story. Sincerely, d all Right. I'm going to drop a couple of archive podcasts from about five years ago right here, So if you've heard them,

just go ahead and click away. But if you would like to hear them again or you haven't heard them, stick around. These are really good stories, and I hope you enjoy it. I'm from Central Texas and they'll have somehow always believed in bigfoot. I've never had any experience is here that I was aware of. However, as I get older, I think there were times when I may have had experiences and didn't realize it. I want to share with you what happened north of Nashville a few

years ago when I was working there. I went up one summer for a big job and was fortunate to have friends from my hometown who lived about thirty miles from where I was working. They live on a big hill way out in the country near the Kentucky border. The driveway leading to their house ran along the creek that ran through the holler, with a ridge line on both sides. It was absolutely beautiful, surrounded by lush green trees and the sight and sound of the babbling creek

over its rocky bed. I often went for walks or a jog in the evenings when I wasn't too tired. I had done so many times. When one evening, about an hour before sunset, as I was walking on the far ridge, I heard a woo. I thought I was hearing things, And shortly after that, on the hillside next to me, only a few hundred yards away, I heard a clear and loud tree knock. I really started to think, now was I hearing things? Was it some locals or

meth heads messing with me? I kept walking, my friend's dog at my side as I tried to reason out what I had heard. I'd gone another one hundred yards when I heard another wool. What the hell, I thought, and it was followed shortly by another wood knock, this time on the fore hill. The dog had disappeared so much for Man's best friend, I decided then it was time to head back. I heard a few more knocks and wolves before I got back to the house, but none of them were closer than the others. I don't

know if they knew I was there. I don't think so. It was an extremely secluded, rough terrain covered in dick woods. The one thing I'm absolutely certain of is that it was not people I was hearing. I was staying in my RV at my friend's place. From that night forward, I always used my spot like to check before I went outside. I never saw anything, but I did occasionally feel like something was watching me or was close by.

I know this wasn't an actual sighting, but it was enough to change me from being just a believer to a knower. A few years ago, my wife and I were invited to a dinner by old friends. The family are Lds and have the tradition of inviting local Mormon elders to their home on Tuesday nights for dinner. It is a special treat for these young men who have chosen to leave home for two years to spread their faith. Upon arriving, we were introduced to the two young elders.

The surprise for me was that one Elder Lux was from Springhill, Louisiana, which is just ninety miles from my hometown of Monroe. We had a genuinely nice hour or so of visiting and talking about home. We had much in common, even though he was in his early twenties and I was in my early seventies. I asked Elder Luck if he was born in spring Hill, and was very surprised to find that he was originally from Falk, Arkansas,

which was forty one miles away. Of course, this immediately prompted me to ask if he had ever seen the Fouk Monster, which was featured in the seventies movie The Legend of Boggy Creek and other books and newspaper articles over the last many decades. Elder Lux replied that he had not seen the creature, but that his father had

on two occasions years apart. As a very young boy, he and his family, who lived alongside Boggy Creek, had on a few occasions experience some strange and frightening moments which they attributed to the creature. As our conversation was getting into more detail, Elder Lux and his partner had to leave because they had another engagement for church business that night. We reluctantly set our goodbyes. Our friend and

host promised to have them over again. As the elders left, I was wired and in full investigation and interrogation mode. I had been aware of this creature for many years, and my thirty plus years as a police officer had me compiling a list of questions so I could obtain more details at our next visit. That visit came a couple of weeks later, when Elder Lux and his partner revisited our friend's home to do some genealogy work with the help of his wife. She runs the local LDS

Family Research Center. As she helped Elder Lux's partner, he and I sat down and I got to ask more questions about this time in falk. This is the story of the first encounter of Elder Lux's father, William Bill Lux, Junior, and a little information about the area they lived in in their homes unique location. This description will help with understanding the story of the second encounter of the creature

and finally the family's experiences. Elder Luxe's grandfather, Bill, moved to Falc in the mid nineteen thirties and bought twenty acres of land about three miles south of Falk on Arkansas Highway seventy one. This was the main north south route from Louisiana to Arkansas. The property was heavily wooded, as was most of the land around Falc at the time. This thick forest area was interspersed with fields of beans, cotton, corn,

and other crops grown in that fertile area. The Lux property was fronted by Highway seventy one one on the west side. The north, east and south sides were heavily wooded. Boggy Creek ran through the Lux's property east to west. It flowed under the Highway seventy one bridge, which spanned the creek and continued west to the Sulfur River. Mister Lux built his home about three hundred feet north of

the creek and two hundred feet from the highway. It is not known if mister Lux was aware of the creek's connection to the fabled creature who used it to traverse the country. It was nineteen fifty nine and mister Lux Junior was eighteen years old and home on Thanksgiving vacation from his local high school. That day in late November. It was the day after Thanksgiving, in the first day of deer season. Bill was hoping to get a little honting in that day, but his father had other plans.

Projects around the farm kept him busy until almost noon. When he finished, He made a sandwich in s stuffed into his pocket of his hunting coat. He grabbed the World War II surplus M one garand rifle he bought from Sears and Robot for twelve dollars, and placed two eight round M one charger clips into his hunting coat pockets and grabbed a small thermos of coffee and then

threw it all into his old Ford truck. The three family dogs had seen this scenario before and were looking forward to the hunt the first of the season, but Bill could not take them on this day. He was already getting a late start, and dark came early in the late fall, especially in the thick woods, this would be a still hunt. It was chilly as he drove towards his destination, an old pipeline cut that ran north south through heavy woods about ten miles east of Bill's home.

Most of the leaves had been blown from the trees by the cold winds. The grass was brown but still high. On the pipeline. Bill had first he'd seen the cut one summer when fishing from the highway bridge that crossed it. He had noticed that several deer crossed it during the hours while he fished. He had made a note to give it a try come deer season. It was about half past one pm when Bill reached the cut. He crossed the bridge and parked his truck off the highway.

He took out his rifle, grabbed his thermos, stuck it in his hunting coat pocket, and crossed the road to the north side of the bridge and looked over the cut. It was much lower than it looked from the bridge. It was about three hundred feet wide and miles long, disappearing into the distance. He understood why the oil companies used small airplanes to inspect the cut and check for leaks. Once on the flat ground of the cut, he loaded his rifle with eight cartridges and began walking north away

from the highway. The stiff, knee high weeds and grass made quite a bit of noise as it rubbed against his thick canvas hunting trail. He moved to the south side of the cut, nearer the tree line, looking for a good place to hold up and do his hunt. About a half mile from the road, he found a place where he could see easily in both directions, and if necessary, safely fire back towards the highway. Bill could see well from his vantage point, about ten feet into

the brush off the side of the pipeline. It was quiet. A wind high in the trees was rustling the leaves that had not yet fallen. An hour passed, Nothing moved except an occasional car on the highway half a mile away. He ate some of his sandwich and drank a little coffee to warm him up. He noticed the shadows of the trees above him were getting longer as they moved over and away from his side of the cut. It was now near three point thirty pm. He had been

there two hours. He thought, I cannot wait much longer. It was getting cold, and he didn't want to be getting home at dark. There would be evening chores to do and supper. He would wait another half hour and then he would leave. Something moved on the other side of the cut, which was still in the late afternoon sun. Bill didn't move. He estimated he was about two hundred yards away to the south of what attracted his attention. Now it moved again, he could see it. It was

a deer. It was a dough. She trotted out of the woods and then turned her head and looked back as if she was waiting, and in a moment another dough joined her in the cut. They moved cautiously further into the open, constantly checking behind them. Then like a shot, both turned and sprang into full run and into the woods on Bill's side of the pipeline. They were trying to get away from something, possibly a buck. Bill thought mating season for white tail deer is October through December

in the south. Bill waited and thought, oh, let it be a big buck. Shortly he saw more movement where the deer had come from. Whatever it was, it did not come out completely into view, but enough for Bill to see that it was darker and not the color of a deer. A few seconds later, it walked out into the edge of the sunlit trees, and it was not a deer. It was upright like a man. It was dark brown from head to toe. Its arms were

longer than a man's, and it was tall. Its knees were much higher in the grass which came to Bill's lower thighs, and it was not overly heavy. It looked up and down the cut slowly, like one would do before crossing a street, and Bill froze. And then it started at a fast walk and crossed the cut in a noticeably short time. It was going the same direction that the deer had gone. Bill stood there for some time, and he thought, what was that? At no time did

he ever think about shooting at it? And then he thought where did it go? Oo? Did it continue through the woods after the deer, or did it turn north away from me? Or south towards me? Suddenly the cold did not bother him. Bell listened as hard as he could, but he couldn't hear anything. It was big and fast. Surely if it were coming his way, he would hear the rustling of the dry leaves all around him. He decided he needed to get out of there. It was getting on close to dark and he didn't want to

be there. Then Bell decided to head back towards the road, but walked at the edge of the trees, thinking maybe there could be another one across the cut and it would see me if I were in the open. But the going was slow and noisy through the edge of the woods, so he decided to move into the center of the cut. At least he would have some warning if it came out, maybe have a bit of time

to defend himself. Bill moved to the center of the cut and he started walking fast, continually turning his head like it was on a swivell rifle at the ready, safety off, and around. Chambered all the way back to the truck. His heart was pounding, he was sweating from fear and exertion despite the cold air. Once he made it to the road, Bill turned back, using his higher vantage point to see if he was being followed, but

he saw nothing. He walked to the truck, threw his loaded rifle into the cab, something he never did, and then he drove home. When Bill got home, he unloaded the rifle, checked with his dad to let him know that he was back, and started on his evening chores. He said nothing to his family about what he had seen at supper. When asked if he had seen any deer at the cut, and if he thought it might be a good place to hunt. He only said that he had seen too dough and he didn't think he

would be hunting there again. According to Elder Lux, his father did not talk about his sighting until several years later when he over heard others at the Foulk General's store talking about and increased sightings of the creature. When he did talk about the incident, it was only to his family. In nineteen sixty five, Bill saw the creature again. This time it was closer to home, and this time he was not alone. Six years had passed since Bill

Lux Junior had his sighting on the pipeline cut. He had not gone back there since that time, and a lot had changed. His father had passed away, leaving Bill to support his mother and two sisters and run the farm alone. Bill took a part time job and foult to make ends meet, and Bill also got married. He, along with his new wife and younger sister, lived in a house that his grandfather built next to Highway seventy

one and alongside Boggy Creek. Bill's oldest sister had married a few months earlier and moved to Springhill, Louisiana with her husband. Bill's mother spent most of her time in spring Hill, which is forty miles away. Locally, there was more talk of sightings of the creature and of footprints left in beanfields, as well as strange cries back in the deep woods and along the network of creeks around Fout. There were also reports of damaged fences and buildings, as

well as missing farm animals. One Saturday afternoon in January of nineteen sixty five, Bill was working on his old truck, which was parked in the front yard just a few feet from his front door. His youngest sister and his wife were in the house. Bill had his head under the hood of the old vehicle, trying to discern its latest malady. It wasn't until his little feist dog had gotten between his feet that he noticed its shaking and whimpering.

Bill looked around and he saw nothing, thinking it was frightened by another dog, a skunk, a raccoon, or any matter of critter that passes through the farm at times, but he still didn't see anything. Bill returned to his work, but the dog continued to whine. Bill looked under the truck and he saw nothing. He walked around the truck and saw nothing. He then noticed the dog was staring off across the road, which was about two hundred feet from the front of the house. Bill looked carefully at

the tree line just on the other side of the pavement. There, next to a large oak tree, and somewhat in the shadows, was something stooping down watching Bill and the dog. He could tell it was large because of the size of the tree it was near. Bill tried not to give away the fact that he had seen it, and he scolded the dog and moved back to the front of the truck where he could look through the lower windshield and rear window to the woods on the other side

of the road. It was still there, this time, it appeared to be sitting and watching. Bill called out quietly to his wife and his sister, asking one of them to bring him his rifle, which he kept beside his bed, and to put it just inside the open front door. Bill explained what was happening, and he told them to carefully look out the window towards the large tree across

the road, and they both saw it. Bill picked up the little dog and went into the house, and he closed the front door after a delay of only a minute or so. He looked through the blinds of the window. The space next to the tree was empty. Bill picked up his rifle and went from window to window, checking all four sides of the house in case the creature came across the road onto the property, and he saw nothing. Bill estimated that the creature had been watching him for

twenty minutes. The dog had been whining for at least ten minutes before Bill checked on him and saw the shadow next to the tree. This was the last time Bill saw the creature, but not the last time it would bring fear into their home. Over the next nine years, sightings continued around Falk and reached a peak in nineteen seventy four that got to the point where Bill installed floodlights on the corners of his house that would illuminate

the yard for some one hundred feet away. He had the local power company put a light pole in his front yard with a bright light that would burn all night. He trimmed down the grass in small trees for two hundred feet around the house. For Bill and his family, there would be more occasions when they felt afraid. Each

started much like the last, always at night. The three family dogs which slept outside the house and were known to chase anything on four legs, would begin wailing and barking and bashing into the front screen door, warning to get in. One of the family would open the door and almost get knocked down by the dogs, who would go behind the couch or under a bed. The door would be locked, blinds would be drawn if they weren't already,

and all four spotlights would be turned on. Bill and one of his sons would pick up their weapons and go from window to window while the rest of the family sat quietly in the center of the dimly lit house. The progress of what was moving around outside could be tracked by watching the dogs. Their noses always pointed towards Boggy Creek, their heads slowly turned following what they were hearing and smelling. Once it was gone, they quit shivering

and they came out from their hiding places. In the year two thousand, Bill and the family decided that they had had enough of farming and of the small town, uneasy life of Falk. They followed Bill's sister and moved to spring Hill. They joined the LDS Church there, and later the elder would be born. Sightings around Falk continued into the nineties, and on occasion they had still today, the old farmhouse Bill's grandfather built is no longer there.

It's been replaced by a single wide trailer far back away from the road. The fields are there too, but most of the timber around the old lux farm is now cut and the field grows rows of soybeans. Old Highway seventy one still there, although the new highway has been built to speed along those folks going from Louisiana to Arkansas. And the creek Boggy Creek is still there just as it has been for centuries, and the creature will. Some of those who still live around Fout say he's

still out there too. Thank you for listening to the podcast. I really do appreciate you, and we will see you guys on the next one. Thank you.