For seven years. I had a small ranch in the foothills of Temecula, California. The area is pretty much avocado groves and hillsides and it is beautiful. My property, however, had ruby red grapefruit trees, lemons, a prolific red apple tree, and one huge lime tree. We were set for margaritas. I had two eighty pound dogs, one a Shepherd Akita mix and the other a Shepherd coyote mix, a Koi dog. Coi dogs are either smarter than a teenager or dumber than a rock, and I had a smart one and
she was a great dog. I have to say I love your videos with your hounds all running around and tails wagging as they explore everything. It makes me miss my dogs leading every walk or trip to the barn on my quad. I hadn't given big Foot any thought since nineteen sixty nine and the release of the Patterson Gimlin film because one, I figured they were up north in the woods, and two because I would never encounter them in southern California at least that was my mindset
so much for that. When I started watching your channel, I couldn't get enough of the videos. Any channels videos I spent hours and hours watching them after my accident. Did you ever have a real epiphany in your life? I mean one of those stop you in your tracks, hit you in the face moments where you realize something that was right there in front of you all along
and you had missed it. As I watched a video one day, the story about two marines stationed at Camp Pendleton who had come face to face with a twelve foot tall sosquatch and a mock city at the back of the base, and it was ducking to get through a ten foot high doorway. Their guns were loaded with blanks. They were between the back of the town and the
squatch's path to the canyon behind it. It began to growl, and one marine told the other to lay his gun on the ground, and when they did, as they backed out of the sasquatch's path, he strode by them in huge steps and then took off at a speed they
were awed by. My ranch was nine miles up the canyon from that base, and then right in the face, I had an epiphany that lasted ten minutes, as suddenly everything that I had encountered on my ranch was replayed in my mind with an overlay of all the sasquatch stories I had heard. I shook when I thought of the times I must have been within feet of them trying to find who was around my barn at midnight.
My dogs were no lap dogs and guarded the property like lions, afraid of no animal, and no person had to shoot at the feet of a mountain lion one day as they were backing it in to my barn, about to get themselves killed. They never ran from anything, and they charged everything, and they were imposing as a pair. As I was running the pass through my mind, I recalled that they had on several occasions come running like the wind up to the house, with the Akida even
jumping up in my lap, which he never did. And the Koi dog loved to sit in the love seat with me while I smoked cigars in the evening, but he wasn't a tough guy. I had put the dog door on the back door to the garage where they had beds under the stairs, and on those nights they would get into their beds and not come out. Now I remembered how the night was dead silent on those nights. Delu's Creek had a zillion frogs a singing, but not on those nights. And the more I thought about it,
the stupider I felt. I never harvested the lime tree, which easily produced a thousand lines, and there was never more than ten limes on the ground. I had a gated ranch, so nobody was picking them, especially from the top of a thirty foot round and fifteen foot high tree. I did give away grape fruits to people because I didn't have time for the business, but the trees were always picked clean above six feet as soon as the fruit was right. Most of the trees were fifteen plus
feet high and large diameter. Man I was feeling stupid at this moment. The apple tree was always picked clean above six feet and it was bigger than the lime tree. I shot a coyote one night as it came way too close to the house, which I could not have as my two year old granddaughter and her mother were living with us at the time. I figured I would get it in the morning and bury it with my tractor. I woke up at five am with my dog standing on the driveway looking to where the dead coyote was.
I say, that's where it was, because it was gone. Something had dragged it a ten feet down the slope, and that's where the marks stopped. The more I thought, the more I realized I had inadvertently flown my plane too close to Camp Pilton while circling my ranch one day, I was shocked when a voice came over the radio telling me it was an Apache something and if I didn't turn to a three hundred and forty degree heading,
I would be shot down. My plane was starting to vibrate as I looked out my passenger window to see an Apache chopper with a pilot pointing to three hundred and forty degrees. I rocked my wings and headed that way, noting my position. My ranch was only nine miles up the canyon from the back of the base and thirteen
miles from the Pacific Ocean. I pondered this incident during my epiphany, and I thought of how many times the county sheriff in our area had asked me if I knew anything about people disappearing along Deluge Road, which ran along the creek for miles, starting five miles from the back of Camp Pendleton Marine Base. It was also a back route to coyote smugglers who used to run illegals into Orange County. In the last few months, several of
the illegals had disappeared under mysterious circumstances. The sergeant wanted to know if I knew where the holes were dug around the area. I'm afraid stripping avocado crops can be a capital offence in some ranchers eyes. There were holes with bags of lime in waiting around the hills in several places. However, I had never heard of anyone actually using one. I thought they were more of a deterrent story for the local thieves. Since I was out of
ways from town. I had a refrigerator in my barn that I kept stock with sodas and water for the police and Border patrol guys in the area. I liked them being on the property, knowing my dogs and just shooting the breeze about what was going on in the area. Sergeant knew I had previous police experience. I was included on several things. I came home one afternoon to find a black chopper sitting in front of my barn with
three Sheriffs vans and four black suburbans. I was introduced to the chopper pilot told he was a dea officer. Supposedly the whole deal was to rate a six acre pot grow they had found out by the creek. The dudes in the black windowed at berbs never came out. It was common for the pot guys to hook into grow irrigation and set up grows in the bottoms, so I didn't have any reason to doubt it, But I
should have thought it out a little better. The week prior, my sergeant friend had asked me if I had seen anyone by my barn on a specific night. I told him that I hadn't, and as he knew, my dogs would have shredded anyone on the property at night. He then told me two junkie thieves had gone missing that night. One of the wives told the police he and his power were going to steal a tractor which was sitting next to a dirt driveway at the back of a
property off my road. The sergeant said, you're the only one with a nice tractor sitting in that situation. Yep. If they had opened my barn door, they would have been right on the dirt road between the properties. Law enforcement had found their truck and trailer down on Delu's Road, where they could have coasted my tractor downhill. No trace of them was ever found other than the truck and the trailer. And then I thought of all the nights my dogs were in their beds when I was feeling
someone or something was on my property. Using my million candle power light to scour the property from my hilltop home, I could see almost all of it. After a while, I decided I was just being unnecessarily cautious. And then one morning I found my pool with a film and odor, which nearly choked me. When I cleaned the skimmers the next day, there was dark brown hair in them that nearly plugged them up. Since I had no fencing and it was a beach entry pool, I just figured the
neighbors' kids had been in again with their dogs. The coup de gras came a week after my epiphany. My excavator who dug my pools and I were discussing my epiphany at breakfast one day. He had worked for me for years and had been on my ranch since then.
I had moved to San Diego, where he lived. He laughed at me when I told him about it and how I figured that they wouldn't be in southern California, and then he told me about how he went to build a large retaining wall in Alpine, about thirty miles outside of San Diego in the foothills, for a well known doctor in San Diego. One day, while leaving the job, he met the doctor on the drive to his ranch.
The doctor waved him down and asked him to s stop, and when Paul stopped, he saw a fifty caliber stainless steel revolver in the seat next to the doctor. Paul asked him why he was carrying a hand cannon on his seat, and the doctor hesitated a minute and then said, Paul, this is why I stopped you. At the risk of sounding crazy, I need to warn you about something on this property. I have the big guys living at the back of the property. There's a whole family of them,
and so far I've had no problems with them. Paul asked what he meant by big guys, and the doctor explained that his property was so close to the border that the sasquatch roamed along his back property line in the trees. When Paul told me this, almost choked like he did when he heard it. Finally, Paul understood the doctor wasn't kidding and he better keep his eye peeled when working back there, I employed dozens of illegal aliens in my business over forty years. It's how things got
done back then. In the business. There were no gringoes or kids or adults doing the digging work my business required, and I spoke Spanish fluently, and I had heard them talking about the people going missing at the border many times. Some claimed there were monsters at the border eating them. Others told them that they were loco. And now I wonder has sasquatch been feeding on illegals coming to the
border for decades. Every year hundreds of them come to America and are never heard from again by their families. It is written off to the smugglers killing them by the authorities, supposedly, which makes no sense, and I've only heard of rare cases of that happening. Why kill someone
who was worth three thousand dollars to you? I know I never saw a sasquatch, but it makes my blood run cold to realize that I was out with a shotgun in the middle of the night searching for what I thought were people on We had silent nights where owls were all I could hear all around me in the trees. Ranchers had owl boxes to keep the rodents at bay, so I never thought a thing about it. My dogs would sit on the porch at the house and watch me patrol on those nights. I just thought
they were being lazy. Damn. I just thought of a night when the dogs were on the porch and I was searching along the treeline of a huge eucalyptus grove with trunks three foot in diameter, and I called my dogs many times and they would not budge. I suppose I was five feet from a si squatch with my back to him. Oh, it sends chills up my back now. And I finally became too curious about the supposed pot raid.
When I thought the day was over, the sheriffs went in on foot through the grove next to me, toward the creek. The black birds went out my driveway and headed toward the road on the other side of the creek. I took my quad a week later, and I thought of the path the sheriffs took to the creek. There was no evidence of any pot grow and nothing was cut down. And then I'll realize not one sheriff had
a machette. The chopper, with infrared and heat tracking capabilities went off to the north, out of sight for a short time, and when it returned, it began hovering over the creek and slowly heading toward Camp Pendleton like it was tracking someone. For all the specialized pot locating equipment on that chopper, I never saw it again in that pot rich area searching for pot. Yeah, my ass. Looking
back on the whole thing, I feel pretty stupid. But as my shrink says, you can't act on information that you don't have. Now do I believe sasquatch lives in the Cleveland National Forest, which is only six miles north of my ranch through the canyons and creeks. I absolutely do believe sasquatch lives along the border, and he does possibly feed on illegal aliens. Yes, Los Montrose de la Fonterra, the monster of the Border are real and I believe that.
Thank you for your channel cam. Without it, I would have never realized any of this. Your narration kept me interested enough to continue researching the subject and research I have. God bless you and your family and your dogs and your chickens. And he signs off, but he wants to be anonymous. But man, what a cool story. This man lives in southern California. You heard the whole story, but he never really had an experience. But he feels like they're there and that he was close to him all
this time, and he's putting two and two together. Anyway, I want to read the first part of his email. I didn't want to read it first because I thought people might click away. This man's had a remarkable journey and these epiphanies. I'm not sure whether they came before this accident I'm about to read for you or after, he probably said in his email. But anyway, I'll just read his It's three or four paragraphs. It's real interesting how he has recovered from a horrible accident. And let
me just read it to you, he says. I don't know if you remember me, but I'm the guy who introduced you to Thunderbird with my experience from nineteen fifty eight. Yes, sir, I remember that story well. I was also writing a fictional book about Sasquatch at the time. Well, as the saying goes, life can turn on a diamond, Mine surely did. Walking back from dinner one evening in Pacific Beach, California, where my wife and I lived, I tripped over a sidewalk that had been raised nearly six inches by a
huge tree route. It was pitch black, and I never knew I was falling until I was regaining consciousness with my wife frantically trying to wake me up. The fall almost killed me. Every doctor and the surgeon said the break of my humorous was the worst they had ever seen humorous. I think that's his leg. I'm not a doctor or an anatomy genius. I think he broke his leg. It looked like you took a huge sledgehammer to a wicker basket, the doctor said. I was in and out
of consciousness for over a week. With a major brain trauma too. I spent nearly a year laid up with a Swiss cheese memory. One thing that helped me in my quest to remember who I was and what I was about was reading the book I was writing about Sisquatch, which was nearly complete. Much of the book I had narrated into a recorder. As I went about daily life and work, and as I listened to it, I would struggle to remember where I was and what I was doing at the time that I had narrated that part
I was listening to. Now, this struggle to remember forced me to dig deep and use the memory portion of my brain. My neurologists was very pleased and impressed with my progress. It was his opinion that my ability to put back together the year prior to my accident through the recordings was incredibly important in my recovery. Now I'm not out of the woods yet, but I am functioning closer to normal. I did lose the ability to design the custom pools and landscapes I have created for forty
five years. I can't collate the projects in my head any longer. With that said, I want to tell everyone who might hear my experience something near and dear to my heart. In my years of having a large swimming pool construction business, I have hired vets with PTSD. Now, I always had a heart for those guys. I saw their struggle to find themselves and return to normal life, often having wives and children that they couldn't support with
their condition. And as I laid around in a daze, my mind went to those young men and what they had suffered. I knew then what it was like for them to try to live life on any normal level. And I cried when I thought about one young man who became lost for three hours on a trip to a parts supplier only ten miles away. He had even grown up in the area, and when he finally answered the phone, he was crying and distraught, and I asked
him where he was and he didn't know. I sent him to a street corner and asked him to read the signs. He was sixty miles away from the job and hopelessly lost. I tried to keep him working, but he realized that he was not able to function well enough, and he just disappeared one day and he never returned. Two months later, he committed suicide. He left a lovely wife. Oh, oh, that's hard to read. That's because my son is an Afghanistan VETT. I know he deals with this stuff. He oh,
just give me a second. He left a lovely wife and two little girls and four and six years old. Now I cry as I write this, and it's been sixteen years ago. I tell you of this to say this, I want everyone who knows a VET suffering PTSD to take a completely different advantage point on these unfortunate men whom have given up any normal life to protect yours. I know the pain of trying to remember who I was and what I was about. I know what it was like to wonder if I would ever be mentally
whole again. I also know what it is like to come to grips with the fact I won't be who I was or what I was. I'm fortunate to have come back as far as I have, and I thank God for that because I know that it was because of of Him who did this for me. You can read this story of my experience if you like. However, I do have a sosquatch experience to share with you, and here it is. And that's the end of the email. Wow, I'm sorry about that. Got kind of choked up on that.
I had not read that paragraph. I had read the first three or four paragraphs, and I thought, well, I'll put this at the end so people may get a little encouragement if they're going through something hard, and maybe catch a tip on how you know, trying to remember things, etc. And then I came up on the vet and I have a heart for those guys too. I saw my son come back from Afghanistan I don't even think he knew he had problems. He thought he was normal. I
never said a word. I just let him deal with it on his own, and he's come out pretty good. He's got a great job, beautiful family, beautiful wife, three children, and they're doing fine. He's fine. But those guys come back with some really messed up memories. I agree with the writer. We need to remember those guys. It's been years since they all came home. Those are our sons. Most of my audience is my age, give or take
ten years. Those are our sons and daughters who went to fight those wars, those happy kids who grew up in our front yards and our houses, and they went off and did some unspeakable things, saw unspeakable things, and my heart goes out to them. So I'll get off of that. I just wanted to share my feelings on that. I really appreciate this email, the bigfoot connections that he made, and the part that he wrote about his recovery. It's very inspiring. I really appreciate it.