Bigfoot Stalks American Indian

of strangers. Native Americans are like that. You once made a comment indicating your interest in how interactions with Bigfoot have a life changing effect on people, and I would like to shed some light on that for you and your listeners. When I was a high school senior, I had an encounter. I lived in the woods. Everyone in this area lives along the stretch of road that runs through it for about three miles on either side of the road. After that, it has opened wilderness and pine

tree plantations for miles and miles. The brush is thick everywhere and it's not kept down. As late as the nineteen eighties, some of the natives still had living habits from the past. Grandpa used to burn the brush down about half an acre around us home, creating a visual perimeter. The old women used to cover their windows at night, and there was a leftover saying from earlier times for children who would not go to sleep and who were loud at night, be quiet, or something is going to

mock you. Once upon a time, we natives had to implement practical strategies for living amongst our hairy neighbors, which mainly was not to instigate any reason for any interaction whatsoever. Move along, nothing to see here, that sort of thing. But even now, well, if a Native sees a bigfoot, they will look away and pretend that they didn't see it. We know that if we leave them alone, they will leave us alone. It is as if sometime in the

past we achieve some kind of unspoken cohabitation agreement. Natives very rarely talk openly about bigfoot amongst other people. Personally, I suspect that a little vanity with natives in that they are knowing something most other people do not. Back in high school, I was comfortable walking home late at night in all weather. I knew the sounds that animals make at night, and I could tell the difference between each and every one of them moving through the brush.

I knew the difference between a coyote and a cat. Cats are hard to hear, more like a breeze when there is no wind. Animals will pace you as you walk along the road at night, and I know how to hear them. One night, I became aware of bipedal steps pacing me off to the right about fifty feet. It had happened twice before with no consequences, but it was unnerving nonetheless, and the sooner it stopped, the better. I was walking on a paved road approaching a creek

with a bridge crossing a quarter a mile away. The road was going to turn left and run alongside the creek. It sloped down, and it turned back to the right for the bridge crossing. On the first curve, there was a house that had a dog that always barked at me every time I walked by. Now this house area had lights, and I was looking forward to walking by, as I thought it might shake loose my stalker. As I walked by, I approached their garden and the steps

became more pronounced. It was announcing its presence by walking louder. Up until that point, I had not let on that I knew it was there. It takes a certain amount of disasan to keep your walking pace casual and to appear oblivious to your surroundings while at the same time all of your senses are perking up and you are beginning to get an adrenaline trickle. But this was not

my first rodeo. I began to scuff my feet a little on the loose rocks on the road, just to create more noise, a possible reason for me not hearing the steps. I heard a vehicle coming from the other side of the creek, about a half mile away. Then I considered my options. I could just keep walking along and hope everything would be okay. I could bolt over to the house and hope I didn't get shot or torn up by their dog. Or I could try to use the vehicle as an opportunity to make a break

for it. But I had to be at the curve. Just as the vehicle came around, I chose to run for it. I quickened my walk and heard the car cross the bridge and make its left turn toward me. I still a quarter mile away. I was walking on the left side of the road, and we met right at the curve, and as soon as the headlights went past, I bolted. I sprinted that quarter of a mile down to the next curve and onto the bridge. Halfway across, I slowed to a fast walk to catch my breath.

I wanted my body ready in case I still needed to run one hundred feet past the bridge. I thought about looking back to check my rear, but I was not brave enough to do that. If I saw something coming across that bridge after me, I don't think I could handle it. I walked a little ways more with thick brush on both sides of the road, and I didn't hear any crashing or tearing through the brush, so I gathered the courage to look behind me. I saw

nothing but empty road. And then it happened. The moment I thought I might be in the clear, I heard a tree limb break off to my right. It was a loud, sharp crack, bigger than anything I could crack with both legs. It had gotten ahead of me and waited until I came into its position in the brush about fifty feet from me, and then it made its statement. We humans are energetic beings. We send out and receive

energy to and from each other. For example, you could be in another room and if your mother or father or spouse come home, you could know what kind of mood they were in through your sense of perception before you ever spoke to them. Now, this is to say that you are receiving the energy that they are putting out, and you can identify what kind of energy they have. Also, you can look at a stranger and that stranger will sense that and look right at you, and they will

know in what manner you were looking at them. Bigfoot does the same thing. When Bigfoot is looking at you, you can sense it, and you can sense in what manner the attention is given to you. Perception is a skill, and the more you consciously use it, the better you become at it. Now, we humans communicate with each other constantly, combining thoughts with actions. We can slam things around, letting

everyone know to leave us alone right now. Or we can smile and radiate friendliness that will cause a stranger to nod and smile back. And Bigfoot does this too. When the tree limb was broken, it was a statement I was being informed that it was only by its grace that I was allowed to go freely on their turf. I was being told that within their element, they are superior to me in every way. I was being told that it would be the same as a worm fighting

an eagle. Whenever I talk about Bigfoot to people, I use a gang turf analogy. Imagine that you were in the inner city gang zone and you have to walk through it. You may walk through just fine with no incidents at all, but it was not because they did not see you. Well, they saw you. They just decided not to mess with you that day. When you go into the woods, Bigfoot sees you. When you were on

their turf. You may not see them, and you may not even know that they are there, but understand that they are choosing not to mess with you every single time you were within their territory. After the tree lamb break, I walked home without incident. I had to turn off the paved road onto the single lane dirt road which ran through the woods to the house with thick brush and trees on both sides and a dark canopy overhead. Bigfoot just wanted to make a point, that was all,

and was probably smiling as I walked away. It was the most intimidating thing to ever happen to me. I remember an older Indian speaking out at a party about how in the those moments you would actually prefer to have an encounter with a bear or a wolf or a cat. That is absolutely the truth. At least that way, the odds are considerably better. I want to thank the native person who wrote this and sent it. I've had

it for a long time. I don't shove these to the side for a long length of time on purpose. I get to them when I come to them. And a lot of these stories that I read that are old, I wonder if the people are still even listening and know that I read their story on the channel. But it's just the way things have turned out. I told you all the other day. I have over a thousand, probably closer to twelve fifteen hundred emails that I haven't even looked at yet. I got so many at one time.

I've got enough material to do this for years, and so you don't think about that stuff when you announce, Hey, send me your story. I'll read your story on the podcast. I'm not really sure what I'm saying, but I think people think that I've forgotten them or not done their story. But I'm going to get to it. If it's legible

at all, I'm going to get to your story. It's just that there's so many, so many hours in the day, so many stories to do, and I can only do one at a time, and I put two or three or four in a podcast, putting one in this podcast. But I just want to let you know that I've got them all. They're all in my inbox, they're safe, it's on it's a Gmail account, so those accounts just stay current. And I'm really lucky to have all this

material to read to you guys. I'm thanking you, and I'm letting you know that I am getting to your story if I haven't gotten to it yet. So I appreciate you and hope you enjoy. Let's jump over to an older story I released probably four years ago. I think you guys will enjoy this. Thanks for joining me

on this podcast. Now for an archive story. It was an early spring Saturday morning in Vicksburg, Mississippi, and I was living in the Pleasant Valley subdivision east of Highway sixty one south, roughly a mile from the Mississippi River. They have since built two schools west of the location of my first incident. This part of the state is mostly rolling hills hollows, and it's covered with many trees

plus greenery as far as the eye can see. I was looking forward to taking each child out for a go kart ride that day because it was spring break for them. My two sons from my first marriage had come to live with us last summer, and I also have two step daughters that are also close to them in their ages, plus a newborn son. My plan was to start out with my oldest son, since he had

missed out on a few years with me. On this day, instead of just going down to the end of the cul de sac like I would normally do, with them to the edge of the woods, where I would spend a few donuts in the dirt, and then let them drive back to the yard for the next driver, I decided to take my son out of the subdivision a

few hundred yards back down the main road. I had seen a gated path overgrown with weeds and shrubbery leading into the thick forest, and I figured this would be a nice place to check it out with him, allowing us an extended ride together, and from there we could drive all the way back. I headed out on to Dana Road, driving west along the gravel shoulder to go around this locked gate giving us access to this closed road.

I was swerving back and forth on the narrow path, all the while enjoying watching the excitement in my son's eyes as he was scanning the surrounding trees. We were heading deeper into the dense forest, and after several minutes I could see a clearing up ahead which looked like wide enough for me to do a doughnut, and this was where I could let him drive. As I performed a three sixty, the go cart stalled out, as it would do sometimes when I would turn too fast, causing

the motor to flood. Once the sound of the cart engine stopped, I noticed in airy quiet stillness as the dust was settling in the slight breeze that was blowing into our faces. I didn't think much about quietness because we're all about a half mile southwest of my subdivision. I got off the cart, instructing my son to take the driver's seat while I prepared to start the engine back up and head home. The wind shifted and coming

at us from the south. Oh my god, this wind is carrying an awful odor, funky wet dog smell that is mixed with a hog pen scent. I'm sorry, these smells, just the description of these smells just gets me. The wind shifted coming at us from the south. Oh my god, this wind is carrying an awful sour, funky wet dog smell that is mixed with a hog pens scent you will get on a human summer day, which will burn

your nostrils. Do you smell that? I ask? I asked my son, while turning to see if he was getting into the driver's seat, But he was not moved, and his eyes were transfixed on something in the general direction of where the smell was coming from. He was looking at the thick tree line where it was hard to make out anything. Now shouted to him, do you smell that? Mess?

I glanced in the direction of his gaze, but I saw nothing, And he turned to me, and I can see his eyes were glossed over and he has a look of fear, as if if he has seen a ghost or something. Yeah, I smell it, he said. Instantly, A chill overtook my body, making every single strand of hair stand on in I was feeling a real sense of dread. Now I don't know why. My heart started pounding uncontrollably fast, as if it was trying to escape

the cavity walls of my chest. There was immediate fear upon us, both, with my concern being my son's safety. Yet my mind was racing, with many questions flashing through my head. Within a millisecond, it was as if I was frozen in a state of temporary shock. Why the hell did I bring him all the way back here in these damn woods, is what I was asking myself. And what in the world is causing this rotten smell? Are we in some type of danger? Do we need

to get out of here now? My next thought was the same as my last, and I quickly pulled the string on the go cart so hard that I was surprised it didn't snap, but the engine luckily fired back to life. I jumped in the driver's seat without putting on my seat belt, and I jerked the steering wheel in the direction from which we had come. Before I knew it, I was throwing dirt grass behind the brigs and Stratton engine was blowing smoke, straining hard to move

this cart. I never looked back. I was desperately hoping to see that yellow locked gate come back into my view so we could go back around it. I turned on to Pleasant Valley Drive and I pulled to the shoulder. I was still shaking, but my adrenaline was starting to subside, allowing me to feel a little safer by being back

on the street near the houses of my neighborhood. I took this time to ask my son if he had seen anything, and his reply was, Dad, there were big, dark, scary looking eyes staring right at us from in the tree branches, but I couldn't see anything else but the eyes. I thought something had moved when I first started smelling that, so I was trying to see what it was, but only saw those eyes, and they just disappeared while I

was looking at them. That's what scared me. My son assured me that the eyes just vanished into the shadows of the branches. I made sure he was calm, and then had him promised me that he would not tell my wife, nor his brother or sisters, because I knew I would not hear the end of it. I can't honestly say what was in the trees because I didn't really see anything. I did get a sense of imminent danger though, But my son, on the other hand, saw a set of eyes, and I had no reason not

to believe him. The fear on his face was enough for me to know that we needed to get out of the woods. My second account was with an uncle, and it would happen late in the summer of the same year. We had decided to go pick berries. My uncle said they probably still grew wild everywhere out there near this Soul farm where we lived back in the sixties. I was all excited to hear this, knowing that it had been years since I set eyes on this place.

The farm is in Yokina, Mississippi, and it's not far from the Big Black River, the exact location where Campbell Swamp Road runs into a dead end dirt road named Chirrard Drive. We made our way out to the property, arriving at nine am. It was deep in the backwoods of Warren County where there are neither street lights nor electricity lines. We arrived and I had to stop at the locked gate to look down on the property from

the road, which dead ends at the bottom. The house was long gone, but I could clearly see the old chimney still standing in the middle of what is now a small lake formed by years of the Big Black River flooding. This road has a drainage ditch, and that led to our search in the area for musky dines.

I could see from the car that this hollow was no more than fifty yards away, and I was noticing how the foliage was super thick, with these long vine straped and tangled over the oaks, dogwoods, and magnolia trees. After the nostalgia of admiring the beauty of my childhood's stomping grounds, we stepped toward the shallow ditch. I heard rustling of leaves in the forest floor, crickets chirping, plus this faint sound of a woodpecker knocking off in the distance.

Once in the ditch, we saw a large cave dug deep into the ground of the embankment, and it caused me to pause. My uncle was joking with me, telling me that it was a big black bear's den, and he said, I hope you brought a pistol with you just in case we come across one out here, and he laughed at me. Of course, I wasn't finding this to be funny at all, but I did have a twenty five pistol in my pocket. Now I was scanning the ground for bear prints more than I was looking

for musky dyes. My uncle was tickled pink, seeing me a little scared. I asked him to quit laughing at me, because he was laughing so loud it was getting me out of my comfort zone. But it would only be a few seconds later when he would become just as afraid as I was. I took a few more steps than there. It was some kind of huge animal track in the semi damp ground. Hey, check this track out. Look how big it is? And he stepped over to see with his own eyes, because he obviously was thinking

I was pulling his leg. I put my size twelfth shoe next to the track to do a comparison. What the hell, he said, This ain't no damn bear boy. Look how wide across the toe that is. I don't see any claw marks either. Looks more like a barefoot man track. But that's impossible for a man's foot to be this big. Something ain't right here. This is no swamp cat either. This can't be real. Yeah, he was

scared now. Not ten seconds after his loud reaction to seeing this weird track is when we both noticed the silence. There were no sounds at all, and then suddenly we heard it. I guess the best way to describe it was to say, a powerful, long roar. The sound resonated through my whole body, echoing twice throughout the valley. The feeling I got was similar to standing close to a train as a horn blows. Whatever made that noise seem

to be coming towards us. The vines in the trees were now beginning to swing, and we could tell something was coming at us walking upright because these sounds of heavy footfalls were hitting the ground, one powerful boom after another, and it was coming fast. I didn't have time to say let's go. My uncle had already took the first frantic step back to my car before I could even think about it. By the time he reached the car, I was there, unlocking the passenger side so he could

get in. I started the car and put it in gear and was trying to peel off, but the dirt had my car sliding side to side in slow motion. And at the same time I was looking over in the direction of a holler and there she was. Yes, I could see one of her breasts. The beast was partially hidden behind a large tree, just standing there watching us, with her top lip rolled back, and she was making a terrifyingly menacing frown, showing her large, dirty horse teeth,

which were flanked by long canines. I noticed her skin had a look of smoke gray in color, at least the part I could see through the long, black, stringy looking hair which was circled around her face. Large fingers were visible as she gripped the tree. My head was hurting because of seeing this myth, a cool boogeyman that they had been telling me about years ago when I was a little boy. I had grown to believe that it was an old tale just to make the kids

scared at night. Man, was I ever wrong. My tires caught traction, although the car was already fishtailing before I realized. My uncle was telling me to slow down. He didn't know how I knew it was a female anyway, he said, emphatically, how did you know that? He then let me a cigarette and told me to relax so I could tell him exactly what I saw. I started to settle down and was far enough from the area, and we began

laughing about the experience. We both chained smoked all the way back to civilization, vowing to tell everyone what we went through. This would be a big mistake and a waste of our breaths. Our family members thought we had been getting stoned and then made the whole story up. They laughed in our faces. It was okay, though, because I don't think I would have believed it even if I had not seen it for myself. People can think these creatures aren't real if they want to, but I

know what I saw. I will never feel alone in the deep woods ever again. Needless to say, our Musky dyne hunt lasted no more than five minutes total, and I have never been back out that way again. To Yokina, Mississippi.