Sasquatch Terror for Hikers

I heard something stomping through the brush. I turned to look at it, and I saw plainly that it was a bigfoot. It was unmistakable, over seven feet tall, with light brown, shaggy hair, and it smelled like a wet dog. I didn't know what else to do but put my hand up and wave at it, and to my surprise, it waved right back and then just kept on going where it had to be. I didn't feel scared for a second. It was a brief encounter, but it was

a friendly one. The writer titles this story the P. D. Booger. This is a true story that took place in a remote area of south central North Carolina along the Great Pade River Valley country. My father lived in a little house along one of the few lonely backroads that went into this rural section of our county. Although I didn't live with him, I spent a lot of time with him when he didn't have to work. I lived in town, fifteen miles away to the south with my grandparents at

the time. I was a young boy around the age of twelve when I first started visiting with Dad. In the country. Between Dad's house in about three or four others. Clustered around him were an expanse of four forest hills, creeks, and valleys that ran along with the river. It's a beautiful area with its thickly covered rolling hills with plenty of wildlife. I made friends with two other boys about

my age, and the three of us became inseparable. They were brothers, one named Steve and the other was Heath. Although they fought like cats and dogs with each other, they were always good friends to me. Now bear in mind that this was around nineteen eighty and in those days we didn't even have cell phones and even video games at home. Arcades had just started showing up, and the nearest one was miles away. So we did what young country boys do. We kept ourselves entertained by chomping

the hills and the forests. We did a lot of fishing in the creeks and ponds. We'd catch a lot of crappie and bass and take them home for Dad to cook up for a big fish fry. Tree stands and forts back in the woods, we'd camp out too. We never lacked for something to do, and now, as a much older man, I treasure those memories. To the northwest of Dad's house, the woods were thicker and took

on an almost spooky feel at times. The area was known to have been the home of the Creek Indians many years ago, and there were the remnants of some of their burial mounds and settlements said to be scattered along the river valley. There was one patch of woods that we never camped in, and an elderly older man always warned us to be careful if we ventured in there. He claimed that the woods were haunted and that folks had been seeing a wild man over the years in there.

He called it the pd Booger. To us boys, that was like an imitation. Because we were always looking for something to do and weren't afraid of much. We had walked in trails and deer paths before in the area and heard some strange sounds like hoots and grunts and what they now call tree knocks, but we never really thought much of it. And then one evening, my friend from school rode with me and we stayed the night. We decided to walk up a path that we had

never been before. A mile in we began to have a feeling that we were being watched. You always got that feeling up there. We rounded a bend in the path and caught sight of something big running upright down the hill ahead of us. We took off running as fast as possible, and we could hear this thing running down the hill in our direction. We made it back to within sight of the road and we stopped to listen. This thing also stopped, and we could hear it running away.

We told Steve and Heath about it, and the next day me and my friend had to return home, but Steve went up to the area to check it out. He found a series of footprints in an exposed clay patch that he later showed me. A few weeks later, my dad took Steve and myself fishing at that spot not too far away, but closer to the river. Dad told us not to venture too far from the boat

landing where he had parked the truck. Steve knew of a specific spot up along the creek that he was told was good to fish, so we walked about an eighth of a mile up a footpath. We came up on the spot and noticed a foul smell in the air. Steve noticed footprints similar to what we had seen days earlier, only these were eighteen inches long and had three toes

on each foot. It looked like whatever left the Prince came down the hill and went into the water, and then climbed back out and walked north along the same path that we were on. I went down to the creek's edge to get a closer look, and I fell in. Steve said, dang boy, your daddy's going to be mad at you. After he got through laughing, he grabbed a stick and he helped me pull myself up the bank. The clay was like walking on butter, and you could

barely stand up on it. I brushed myself off, and I talked Steve into following those tracks to see if we could find it. So off we headed north along the creek, Wherever the creature stepped in the clay, it left a distinct track, and there were limbs and brush pulled back well above our heads, which indicated to us that this thing was greater than six feet tall. We walked another four hundred yards until Steve stopped and said, listen, do you hear anything? I said no, He said, that's

my point. It's dead quiet. It's kind of eerie. The four sounds around us all went silent. As we stood there, we began to hear heavy breathing and crunch sounds of leaves that foul odor was back. Also, something let out a growl that rattled our bones. That it was so close, we did what anyone would do. We ran like hell. Steve was so scared that he dropped his new tackle box with a fifty dollars worth of tackle in it. He was scared to stop, and we just left it.

By the time we made it back to the road, it was almost dark and we heard Dad calling our names from the other side of the bridge. He was upset and worried, but he was relieved to see us. After a good lecture from Dad, we told him what had happened. He didn't believe us we could tell that, but he asked Steve where his tackle box was. Steve

told him that it was back up the trail. Dad, not really being scared of much and believing that there was a rational explanation for all of this, grabbed his flashlight from the glovebox and said, well, come, come on, let's go get it. Dad had given Steve some of the tackle and knew that Steve's folks would be upset if he lost it, so after a little bit of convincing us to go with him, we reluctantly followed Dad back up the trail. As we approached the fishing spot,

we showed Dad the footprints. He agreed that they were odd, but that didn't amuse him, so we pushed on once again. The forest sounds ceased, and I could tell that Dad was getting an uneasy feeling. Then we all smelled that odor. We soon came upon the tackle box and hitting the ground, it had popped open, spilling much of the contents. Steve and I squatted down to pick up the stuff and put it back in the box while Dad held the

flashlight on it. Then again, a low growl came from the trees off to our right, it was real close this time. For the first time in my life, I saw fear in my dad's He said, hurry up, boys, grab what you can and let's get out of here. So we scrambled to get all the lures and lead sinkers and corks and hooks, etc. Along with the leaves and dirt Scooped up as much as possible, and threw it in the box and grabbed it and walked very

fast away. Dad told us not to run, because he couldn't keep up with us if we did, and he didn't want that thing to give chase, so he walked behind us, keeping ourn eye out for the creature. By the time we reached the truck, we heard the creature screaming at us from the other side of the creek. Well, my father's almost eighty now, and he told me that he went back there without us one day many years ago and had his own experience with this same creature.

Although he didn't see it, it watched him from the hill above and tossed rocks into the water near him. Now, a grown man in my fifties, I went back there myself one night, and I parked the car and I sat out on the boat ramp and I just listened. I was the only one out there that cool fall night. I thought I heard a faint howl way up in the creek, so I got up, found a large stick, and started hitting the side of a fence post. It wasn't long before I got three distinct knocks from reply

way off in the distance. Sat there for another hour and I heard nothing. And in the following years I've heard tales from hunters and fishermen talking about hearing this creature and its lonely cry in the night. One fellow that I heard even said he saw it on the river bank a few miles away while he drifted on the water at night fishing. Stephen Heath moved on. I don't know where they are today. Dad's old home places gone. It burned down years ago after he moved back into town.

Just a patch of holly bushes where the old house used to sit. Or Do I miss those days? We heard and saw a lot of strange things in those hills. And I could go on and on about my experiences. If you ever find yourself along the back roads of pe d River Hill country, along about dark, keeping eye out for deer and bobcats and turkey and other wild animals, and who knows, you might just catch sight of the PD booger. I've been hunting on my own since I

was twelve years old. Today I'm forty three, and after years of working as a large animal vettec there are mornings when I feel like a hard and abused ninety year old. For the last five years, I've hunted the same spot on our land in Breckinridge, Texas. It's a

good place to escape the world and work. Their two main trails, and at their intersection stands a large oak tree, and that's where I I've had game that I passed on stand within feet of me and never know I was there, And boy was that fun watching a young doe and her fawn jumping and spinning like a bucking bull on the frosty ground. Or the ridiculously fat squirrel who came by and got within inches and stared at me for several minutes before barking once and waddling off.

I like to get to my spot well before legal light. My walk to the tree is only about three hundred yards, but it takes me quite a while to get there because I go slow because I don't want to make any noise and spook any game that might be bedded down close by. Now, this first story happened not long after I got to my spot, climbed into the tree, and I settled in. I took off my night vision goggles and I hung them from a branch. Dawn was still an hour and a half off, so I laid

back and I got comfortable. The insects and the night birds weren't all that chatty yet. I stayed still and I listened to the quiet, and then came a tapping sound. Something was hitting the rough bark of an oak tree close by. I moved my eyes left and right, keeping my head still. I didn't see anything, so I let it go. Then it happened again, this time on another tree, and still it was too close. I was getting ready to grab my nods to see what the hell was

causing that damn tapping sound. When I saw it. It landed on a broken branch, perfectly silhouetted against the starry sky. It was a small owl, about eight inches tall. I nearly laughed out loud. He had been going on from spot to spot trying to get a look at me. He was only four feet away. He was bobbing his head up and down. I knew owls made little to no noise when they flew, but this little guy was flying and landing around within fi of me for twenty minutes.

It was too cool. A few weeks later, I was enjoying a beautiful afternoon sitting in a tree. There was little wind, and there was lots of sun, and the temperature was in the forties. Out of the corner of my eye caught movement. It was coming toward me from the east. I turned my head slowly and looked at what I thought was the biggest coyote I'd ever seen in my life. Sweet buttery, Jesus, I realized that is

not a coyote. It was twenty five yards away when it froze and sniffed the air, and it turned away northward at a trot, all the while looking for whatever spook did. It was a wolf. Now that's a big deal, because wolves have been extinct in Texas for fifty years. I'm sure what I saw that day was a Mexican red wolf, a fairly contented species, with some scientists arguing it's a separate species entirely goes on to say thanks for your channel, please keep up your off topic rants

and bad pronunciation. We're Southern rednecks and we said the way we want to say it. You damn right about that if most people won't that We're not scared to mispronounce a word. So I'm not unique among people in my area. But this is a cool story, and it sounds like a story that I read a couple of years ago about a guy who and this could be the same story, and that maybe maybe I didn't file it right, but any at any rate, it was still worth reading again because I do a lot of reading

on coyotes. For some reason, I'm fascinated with that animal. And I'm not going to bore you with all the things that I've learned about coyotes, but I have read us by some really reputable biologists that the coyotes are breeding with you know, kydies will breed with domestic dogs.

And I can't remember exactly how the article went, but you know, the red wolf was prominent even where I live, all the way south in Louisiana and Texas and South Alabama, South Mississippi and even northern Florida, and I think on down the Peninsula of Florida, and it's pretty much considered extinct now, but there's a gene somewhere in the coyote line that keeps coming back. It seems like that was the gist of the article. If anybody knows anything about that,

make a comment about it. But they're saying that the red wolf could come back in a different form, and wouldn't that be cool? But I do not doubt for a minute this man saw a red wolf in Texas. And when I read that article, it made me think of the story. That's how I know. I read it a couple of years ago on this channel. Anyway, I'm just running off the somebody commented on my last video. I think he was from He's either from the UK or Australia because he called me Mike. But he's like, dude,

quit running your mouth between stories. Just get to the story. And I tend to agree with that. I don't like to watch videos where people just blaber blaber blabber yack yack yack, But sometimes something just hits me and I just ramble on about it. So if you'll excuse that every once in a while and just give me some grace on that because sometimes these stories make me remember things and I just kind of, I don't know, I

feel like telling you about it. So there's that. I appreciate you listening to the story, and thank you to the writer for sending it to me. It was really good. I love the story. Appreciate it. I had an encounter with La Rona when I was eight. It was just after my mother passed away. My cousins and I were playing behind my uncle's home, where a creek ran through the village. The creek was surrounded by willowy trees, though

they were all dead despite the water. We were jumping around the creek and playing tag when a far away, ghoulish wailing cry carried down the water. Up until then we could hear all the fauna in the forest, But when the howl rose in pitch, not another sound could be heard. The atmosphere went dead, silent, and a chill crept into the warmth of the day, and we were frozen. My cousin's head slowly looked down the creek. Whatever it was they had seen it before. I felt my skin

go cold, and I followed their gaze. Sweeping slowly toward us. Over the water was a black cowl covered figure, growing in size as it approached. My cousins started shouting run before she gave but you run, They pleaded, but I didn't move. I thought they were tricking me until it got closer. It was floating above the water, a skeleton covered in a wraith like black cowl, whipping in the breeze. It had moved seventy five yards toward us in mere seconds. I didn't know a lot, but I knew enough that

no human could travel that distance that fast. And then it got closer. I wanted to run, but I couldn't. It was like I'd been placed in ice. My body was frozen still, except for the eyes fixed on this horrible creature inching closer. It was a skeleton of a woman, her bony hand raised toward me, and then her crying intensified. She was screeching and wailing. The unearthly sound of it pierced my skull. I could hear my cousins. They were

shrieking just before the woman touched me. My cousin's cries for help broke me out of the hypnotic state, and then I could move, and we ran for our lives, away from the creek toward the hut, screaming and crying and asking anyone for help. The adults demanded to know what we were running from. Creek wasn't that far from the house, but they hadn't heard a thing. My cousins did all the talking because I couldn't sleep. As soon as they spat out the words La Lorona, the adults

understood what had happened. We weren't allowed to go to the water after that. That was the first time and the last time I saw that unholy demon, and I have never forgotten it. My cousins later explained to me all the other creatures their parents had warned them against. Some of the stories made my skin crawl. What stayed with me was the idea of all the unknown entities roaming the earth. I never lie or downplace stories of ghosts or creatures that go bump in the night. I

studied the Bible for explanations, those that no man can give. Okay, here's a story from this is kind of funny because Rebecca, she gives me notes at the beginning of these emails, because she's read them, and she's organized them and got them ready for me to read. And she says that this man actually asks if I would please mention his name. So this is an email from John in Pittsburgh. Anyway,

onto the story. I was working as a security guard at a small children's hospital here in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, back in twenty twelve. I hadn't had any family for some time, so whenever a holiday came around, I volunteered to work so others could spend time with their loved ones. That's why I ended up doing a double shift from three in the afternoon to seven am the next morning. That was from Christmas Eve to Christmas Day. The hospital was

only three stories high. On the first floor were a special needs daycare center, the security desk where all visitors had to sign in, and the elevator to the upper floors. The second floor had eight bedrooms, a communal kitchen and a living room for the parents of the six children to live in while their kids were being treated, and a small room halfway down the hallway between the elevator

and the bedrooms called the boutique. This room contained all sorts of donated personal items for families and other children of the patients. On the third floor were the actual hospital facilities, mostly for premature infants and small children, and when I started my shift, I went around and I checked the whole building, from the attic where the heating unit was, to the basement where the plumbing and other machinery were. After doing this, I would take up a

station by the second floor elevator. Another guard was stationed at the security desk in the lobby, and once an hour I would get up and do a walk through of the three floors so I had a good sense of who was in the building and where they were. This was a very busy day with families coming in and out to visit the children. Whenever visitors arrived, the other guard would radio me to escort them to where

they wanted to go. After more than seven hours, most of the visitors had left the building and most of the families who lived there had returned. I had escorted them to the living area and bedrooms and as I had to unlock the doors for them. At eleven PM, a different guard, Dorothy, started working, and she preferred sitting in the lobby overdoing rounds, and I went back to

the second floor hallway. At around ten minutes before midnight, Dorothy radioed me that the last couple staying in the hospital had returned and needed me to escort them to their room and unlock the door. Well. I greeted them at the second floor elevator and we started walking down the hallway it was maybe sixty feet long, and passed the boutique to their room. As we passed the boutique, I could see through the narrow window that someone was inside.

I hurried down the hallway and quickly unlocked the door for the couple, and then turned and headed up the hall to see who was in there. I was mad as hell. It was Christmas Eve and here were people stealing from a charity, or at least that's what I thought. Now. I'm a big goon of a guy. I'm over six feet tall, and I have plenty of muscle, and I

have quite a temper too. The only thing I could think of was that when I was off doing rounds, some people must have sneaked down the backstairs and we're now helping them to the room full of toys. I clearly saw a little girl, maybe five years old, and she was kneeling down behind the window, and there had to be other people with her, I thought. I reached out and grabbed the door handle, expecting it to fly open so I could catch the low life thieves in

the act, and I damn near broke my wrist. The door was locked. That it's no problem. I used key and I went in. But there was nothing to see. There was no one to catch. This was a small room, maybe twelve by twenty, with only one entrance and a few racks and shelves for clothes and toys. This couldn't be possible. I was puzzled. Saw a radio down to Dorothy, and I asked her if anyone had just come past her. She said no, no one had come through. I knew I had just seen a little white girl, maybe five

years old. She was wearing a red and white checkered cap with ear flaps tied down with the bow, and a matching jacket. She was kneeling, but I could see that she was wearing a red skirt with white leggings and black leather Mary Janees. I was less than two feet away from her when I passed the window, and I know what I saw, So back inside I went. There was no one inside at all. I looked into the hall to see if somehow a reflection from the windows there could have played a trick on me. That

wasn't the case. There had to be an explanation, So I went back in and stood in the exact spot where the little girl was. Well, that's when things got really weird. As I stood there, a feeling of absolute sadness and despair came over me. But it wasn't my emotions I was experiencing. It was as if I were feeling the little girl's emotions. Tears began running down my face uncontrollably, and then when I stepped back from where

she was kneel, feeling the emotions vanished. I was feeling completely wrecked by now, mentally and physically, drained of all energy. And then it hit me. I looked at my watch and I saw that it was after midnight on Christmas Day, and right where the little girl was kneeling, hanging up on the wall where some beautiful, smiling Barbie dolls, the kind that any little girl would love in treasure, and the little girl saw I was looking at them. Back

down came the tears. This time the emotions were all mine. All I could think of was how sad it was that this child wanted to hold and play with those dolls. But goodn't here. She is all alone on Christmas, and like any other little girl, she just wanted a doll to love on. I never believed in ghosts or supernatural entities, but right then everything I believed had gone out the window. This hit me hard, kind of like the Twilight Zone

meet Santa Claus. I left the room and went down to the first floor, and fortunately nobody was around except Dorothy. I guess she could see that something was wrong with me, and since I liked her a lot, I told her what happened. Also told her that there was no way I was going back up there until after dawn. I took a few days off after that, and when I returned to work, I spoke to another guard about what

I had experienced. His name was Wilburn. He was in his eighties, and he was a mean and miserable old man that no other guards wanted to work with. But Hen and I got along just fine. Wilbur liked to do what I had been doing for Christmas evenight, sat by the second floor elevator and guard the hallway. I approached him hesitantly and I told him my story. I didn't want him to think that I was a nut. I asked him if he had ever seen anything unusual

on the second floor, and his answer floored me. He said, well, nothing except those two little dead girls that hang around by the boutique. I could barely catch my breath. I told him I'd only seen one of them, and he told me that I should have looked around inside some more, because they're always together. He said this like he was telling me about what he had for lunch, not discussing

dead the spirits of children. When my story got around the hospital, different nurses and staff came up to me when no one else wanted to and told me stories of things that had happened to them too. And let me tell you that place is one big haunted house. And then he signs off yours truly, John from Pittsburgh. John,

thank you for that story. It was great. These stories from people who have worked in these institutions, hospitals of elderly retirement homes, or people who tell stories from those places always have strange, unusual, interesting stories, so I really appreciated this. Okay, here's a Bigfoot story. I got my first jeep in twenty sixteen, and I slowly learned the ropes of camping and overlanding. I joined a few off road clubs and started planning regular camping trips with my

girlfriend at the time. I quickly went from camping in a sleeping bag on the ground to an expert level setup that made camping in the woods feel like a home away from home. In twenty and sixteen, my girlfriend and I took a trip from Los Angeles to Portland, Oregon, to visit some of her friends and get some time outdoors. Along the way, we detoured now and then to go

off roading. On one of these excursions, we spent the better part of two hours taking my new jeep up mining and logging roads to some ideal mountain and valley views with to no one else in sight. At one point, we stopped to take in the view when we heard a blood curdling scream off in the distance. It sounded like a woman being murdered. Screaming repeated a few times, and I remember asking my girlfriend who the hell would be out here screaming like that. She shrugged and said,

I don't know. That was the end of that. Later, at a nearby tourist attraction, we found a big book where locals wrote about their Bigfoot experiences. That's the first time the idea of Bigfoot was planted in my head. Four years later and I had a brand new jeep, Wrangler Rubicon, a giant but sweet mastive, and a new girlfriend. My love of the outdoors was still going strong, and at every opportunity I was heading into the wild. By this time, I was a full blown believer in Bigfoot

and an avid listener of the Dixie Cryptied podcast. One day, I packed up my jeep, called my Faithful Dog, and picked up my girlfriend. We arrived at the trailhead close to ten am and hopped out for what we believed would be an extraordinary four to five hour hike into the mountains near central La County. A little way into our hike, we reached the top of the winding path that would take us into the bowl shaped valley where

the trail ended. The soft dirt was still slightly wet from rain and had fallen earlier that day, and the air was fresh and clean, giving us a good view for miles around. We continued down the trail and came to a bush blocking the narrow path. When we got to it, I saw it had been pulled out of the ground and intentionally placed there. It was an odd place for someone to put it, but we navigated around it and continued on. Well. One hundred yards later we

encountered another shrub on the trail. It was big, green and ripped out of the ground and placed in our way. Again, that was pretty odd, but we walked around it and continued on. One hundred yards later sat a larger pile of healthy shrubs, all of them uprooted and set on the trail, and then another. One hundred yards later, we walked to another pile bigger than the last, and then another, and then another. We were seeing a clear pattern here,

and it didn't sit right with me. Anyone who knows anything about shrubs growing in southern California mountains knows just how tough it is to remove those. There isn't a human alive who could pull these plants out of the ground with their bare hands. They'd have a hell of a time using a shovel. And there were no signs of any people at all. As far as we could tell,

we were the only ones on the trail. Over the next mile we encountered at least four more piles of bushes blocking the trail, and with each growing pile, our suspicion grew. The dirt covering the bush's roots was slightly damp, indicating they had just been uprooted. We started to suspect something was out there trying to prevent us from going any further, but we pressed on. We got to a little stream surrounded by small trees and stopped to let

my dog drink from the fresh water. I was looking around, taking the area in when I noticed the branches above our heads were twisted, not just one or two, but all of them. Everywhere I looked, hiw off the ground, branches twisted and braided together, some of them snapped cleanly off, resting at peculiar angles. I'd never seen anything like this.

There's a bigfoot down here, I said. My girlfriend wasn't so quick to agree, but when I pointed to the strange twists in the branches, she began to get the picture. And we moved on to our final destination, and my head was on a swivel, looking for anything that seemed out of place, any sign of bigfoot. A few minutes later, we ran into a literal wall of evidence blocking the trail. Ahead was a massive wall of freshly pulled up trees, bushes,

and dead wood. It was no less than nine feet wide and six feet tall, and there was no way around it. We were not alone down there, and something didn't want us going any further. I was beaming excited by what I was seeing, but my girlfriend wasn't. She suggested it might be time that we turned around, but the explorer in me boldly proclaimed that we would be continuing onward. My girlfriend didn't like that, but she relented and we maneuvered our way through the wall of shrub.

The end of the trail was in a bowl shaped valley covered in smooth river rocks. We made our way to appear Hidden Creek and we started taking photos when my girlfriend said that she could feel someone watching us. It was a hiking trail, after all, so I shrugged it off. A few minutes later she said it again, someone's watching us. Someone is here with us. Right then

we heard footsteps approaching. At first, we thought it was another pair of hikers and that we'd run into them when we got back to the trail, but when we left the Hidden Creek and walked back into the valley, there was no one. We decided it was time to go. We were on the trail again, heading toward a wall of bushes, when behind us we heard a loud, sprinting footfall through the valley, as if something were trying to

get out of sight before we saw it. We turned to each other, eyes wide, mouths of gaping, and we ran as fast as we could to see it before it ran off. We made it to the edge of the valley again in time to see something climb halfway up the steep cliff face and hide behind some small bushes. We could see the rocks falling down the path where it had gone up. By then I had seen enough

evidence to satisfy my appetite for adventure. My girlfriend was growing uneasy, and instead of waiting to see if this thing would climb the rest of the cliff, we left, making our way out as calmly and quickly as we could. Two years later, my jeep and I went to Yosemite to hike and go off roading. A friend of mine tagged along in his own jeep, and we camped in our cars and a sequoia tree grove in the Sierra

National Forest. While we were walking around the beautiful forest, I told my friend it would be a great place for a bigfoot to live. As luck would have it, one morning, while we were walking around exploring, we kept hearing a repetitive knocking sound. It wasn't rapid like a woodpecker, but it was slow and measured, like rock being hit against a tree. Well, listen to it for ten minutes. I had isolated the sound to the tree line on the far side of the small clearing next to our

park vehicles. My friend walked toward it, and as soon as he got within twenty five feet of the tree, the knocking stopped. As soon as he walked away, it started again. So we experimented with this for ten minutes. Each time one of us got closer to the sound, it would stop, and when we walked away it started up again. We never felt threatened or afraid. It was more like something was out there playing a game with us.

My life has changed significantly since those days. My loyal heaven sent big dog died in twenty twenty, and I moved away from southern California and I sold my jeep, something I never thought I would do. I don't height nearly as much, but Lord knows, I'll find my way back to the great outdoors soon. I've been listening to your channel for years. Thank you for creating this modern community for modern day believers.