The Bear was a BIGFOOT

bigfoot calls? I thought, And then I smiled. What idiot would be here fishing at four am to hear it, I thought, chuckling out myself. Another afternoon, on the same lake, I heard a scream from the woods, coming from a young deer in pain, and not long after I heard the deer running full blast toward me, and I watched it launch itself off the bluff at full speed from eight feet above the water level and hit the water

with a big splash. It swam to a thick growth of reeds along the bank, squeezed into them, and it laid down to hide. I never did see what was after the deer, but it spooked me just the same. My son loves archery deer hunting. He got a stand set up in a brand new area, and arrived preed on for his very first hunt. A few mornings later. He was there all alone and excited to hopefully get close to one of the monster bucks that had been gracing his trail cans. After a good track from his pickup,

he reached the stand. The forest was totally silent, but when he raised his foot to take the first step up, that silence was broken by a sudden, shocking scream from something close by. It caught him so off guard that he nearly wet himself and briefly considered running back to his truck, but he realized it was too far, and he quickly climbed the fifteen feet up to the seat

of his stand. Instead, he sat there with his heart pounding so hard that he thought it would rip out of his chest, all the while worried about the next ninety minutes, where he would have to sit in complete darkness until the sun came up. In the mercy of whatever beast was lurking nearby, he described the scream as that of a desperate woman being murdered. It only lasted a few seconds, but it was so intense that the sound of it reverberated through his whole body and shook

him to his core. Well nothing happened after that, but that sort of experience makes a guy think twice about wanting to go hunting out there again. One evening, I was with a group of bass fishermen sitting around the fire pit at a fishing lodge. At gatherings like that, topics of conversation could range from UFOs to sports to solving the world's problems, but that evening the topic was bigfoot.

About a dozen guys were there, and each of them was open minded enough that, even though none of them had encountered one, they each believed in the possibility of these creatures existing. After a while of listening but not saying a word on the subject, I finally decided to tell my story. So I cleared my throat and I leaned forward. In response. The group of men went quiet, the way you do when the silent reserve type speak up, knowing that if they're going to open their mouths, it's

for a good reason. I should have taken that as a compliment by their demeanor, but I didn't. I felt sick remembering what happened, but I wanted these men to know what I saw. I wanted them to be prepared. I have been a lifelong outdoorsman, hunting and fishing all over the country. I had never seen or heard anything remotely like a bigfoot, and I was one hundred percent sure there was no such thing. One morning I arrived at my stand in the Midwest for an archery deer hunt.

My stand was set up within range of a game trail that emptied out into the open meadow. I sat there in total silence, and, as hunting sometimes goes, this morning had no activity at all. The sun rose on that crisp, clear fall day, and though it took all my patients, I stayed there till nine thirty am. I was five seconds from packing up and heading back to the truck when my ears picked up a twig snap from up the trail. Okay, I thought, maybe my patience

is about to pay off. I settled back into my stand ready to watch what must have been a monster buck coming my way, judging by the heavy thudding of its feet, And a few minutes later my quarry finally came into view. What in the world I thought it wasn't a deer. It was the biggest, hairiest musclebound son of a bitch I had ever seen, walking on two legs,

and he was coming my way. The creature that I was one hundred percent sure did not exist was coming right at me, and there was no denying its existence. At that point. I imagine the thousands of painful things it was capable of doing to me, and I thought about what a blessing, a quick, miserable death would be if this thing caught me. I sat as silent and as unmoving as I could, grasping my shaking hands together

and praying it would not look my way. And when it turned away from me, I realized I had been holding my breath, and I gasped for air. Then I watched in horror as this thing stopped in its tracks and turned its head slightly in my direction. I put my hands over my mouth, and I felt my stomach sink, and by an act of God, it lost interest, and it walked into the open meadow ahead of me. It sat down on the ground and began digging up roots

and eating them. And it did that for about an hour, with me helplessly watching on, afraid to move, afraid to breathe, and afraid to make the slightest sound. Finally it got up and continued walking away from me, never giving any indication that it knew I was there. And when it finally disappeared from sight, I climbed out of that stand and set an Olympic record in the quarter mile back to my truck. I never went back, not even to

get my dear stand. When I finished my story, the men around the campfire stared at me in silence for a long minute, trying to process what I had told them. It must have been the look of fear on my face as I told the story, because the demeanor of the group had changed, and I could tell they believed me. It took a few more minutes before someone was brave enough to break that silence and carry on with a lighter topic. But their like banter turned to white noise.

I knew they were talking, but I couldn't hear the words. The sounds of twigs snapping in the heat of the flames took me back to my deer stand, and there I was again, looking at that impossible creature with my own two eyes, knowing the experience had changed me for the worse, Knowing that my life of hunting would never be the same. I live up in British Columbia, Canada. When my youngest granddaughter was seven, she wanted a pet,

of all things. Her parents let her get a pot bellied pig, but the pig became quickly a handful for my daughter, and when she and her husband started talking about surrendering the pig to a petting farm, I decided it was time for a little Piggy to move in with me. On a clear and cold Canadian night, when the temperature outside was a blistering minus thirty five degrees celsius, which means minus thirty one degrees fahrenheit, Piggy and I were inside enjoying the warmth of the house when a

terrible racket sounded in my backyard. The pig was so startled that he started screaming and grunting like he was afraid for his life. Nothing I did could calm him down, and the thought of something being in the woods and

the deadly cold temperatures was unsettling. My backyard backs up to a thick stand of trees, mostly pines and cottonwood, but also birch, which has a very hard trunk, and in the middle of that pig's commotion came a loud slap like a giant hit his hand against the birch's trunk. It was far too loud to be a human, and because of the pig's reaction, I was certain it was

something I wanted nothing to do with. When I told my daughter about it, she laughed it off and said it was a bigfoot coming to get the pig for dinner. Based on that pig's reaction that night, she may have been right. Years before I had a sighting, people tried to convince me that it was a bear crossing the road. But I know what I saw and it was no bear. Now, after listening to your podcast and hearing about others' experiences, I am sure that is what I saw. Thank you

for the stories. I loved listening to your channel. Cheers, Granny Linda. I grew up in the suburbs of Columbia, South Carolina. Since both of my parents worked full time, my days were spent with my grandparents, mainly my grandfather. He was not a blood relative, but a stepfather to my dad, and he was the only grandfather I ever knew, and he was my world. He was a World War two Korean War Vietnam War veteran and a full blooded

Native Cadoan. He grew up in the Cato Indian Reservation in Oklahoma and passed along many of his stories to me. Now I'm not sure if my connection with him brought this on, but I had been sensitive to spirits and being since my first encounter at five years old. When I was five, my granddad got ill and was bedridden for a month. I was walking through the house and headed into his room when I almost ran into someone. I looked up and there stood a being taller than

anyone I had ever seen before. He had the body of a man, but the head of a wolf. He was covered in fur from the waist down and had a broad chest with dark copper colored skin. He was a wolf man. He wasn't trying to hurt me, but as a small child, I instantly panicked, and when I started backing up, he stepped toward me and duck to pass through the doorway into the next room. I returned and ran crying to my grandmother. I don't think I ever explained to her what I saw. It's not that

I could have at five years old anyway. My grandfather recovered, but fell ill again two years later. His health was up and down for a few years, and he was ultimately moved to assisted living about a year before his death. While at the assisted living facility, I would sometimes be dropped off for a few hours to visit with him. I was an exceptionally well behaved kid, and the management

allowed me to be there unsupervised. One time, days before my eleventh birthday, I was dropped off to visit my grandfather and I stepped off the elevator onto his floor and I made my way down the hall to his room, and at the end of the hallway I saw that wolf man again. He was peering around the corner watching me, and the nurses and staff were passing right by him. That's when I realized that I was the only one who could see him. I tried to stay calm, ignored

his presence, and went on to see my grandfather. When it was time for me to go home, I looked out for the wolf man at the end of the hall where I had seen him before, but he wasn't there. But as the elevator doors opened up, there he stood, so tall that his head was touching the ceiling. I gathered up all the courage I had, and I walked into the elevator, and I swear to you time slowed down.

When the doors closed, he knelt down and placed a scary looking, clawed hand on my shoulder, and he began to speak to me in a native tongue that I didn't understand. I'm not sure what he said or how long I was there with him, but the next thing I knew, the doors opened on the ground floor and he was gone. The encounter gave me a safe and peaceful feeling, but sadly, my grandfather passed the following week. Twelve years later, I was twenty two and married, and

I had one child, still a toddler. I was out one night on my back porch when I saw the wolfman at the back fence line, standing in the woods, and when I got up to greet him, he was gone. Within a week, my son became ill and was hospitalized. The doctors couldn't explain his condition, and they were preparing us for the worst. I did a lot of praying and begging to God, and my son made a recovery overnight. His condition was never explained medically. Three years passed and

I worked as a mechanic on the second shift. Four pm to one am were crappy hours for a family man with two kids, but it was a government job with good benefits and a guaranteed paycheck. I was on my motorcycle going home from work to see my wife and kids for supper, and as I rode the two miles of rural road that led to my neighborhood, I saw the Wolfman again. The Wolfman was just off the road into the woodline, and he was pacing me at fifty miles per hour. He was running upright like a man,

but with the stride that I couldn't explain. I paid him no attention, though, and I continued home. The next evening, I was on my way home again to eat with my family when I was hit by a truck that ran a red light. I was in bad shape, and I came close to dying with blood loss from the lacerations. I had two surgeries for all the broken bones, and I spent nearly two weeks in the hospital and had

a six month recovery. I finally realized what this wolfman was there for, or what I think he was there for. I think this being is somehow connected to me and there to warn me of death or danger or illness. Twelve year years passed before I saw him again. My grandmother was turning ninety seven, but had recently endured some major medical setbacks. The weekend before her ninety seventh birthday, I was at the local lake out on a pontoon

boat with the family. Late at night, I saw the Wolfman standing at the water's edge across the cove where we were camping. I knew what that meant, who he was there for. Well, I tried to shrug it off. I knew what was coming. My grandmother passed the next week, only a day after her ninety seventh birthday. And while the Wolfman isn't the only supernatural encounter that I've had, it's the most prominent and most reoccurring one in my life. Feel free to use my story if you like, just

not my name. Even in the world where the supernatural and aliens are now accepted, the people who speak up about them are not accepted. Many years ago, my friend Jim was a flight engineer for Pacific Southwest Airlines. This was the way back when a flight engineer was required on the earlier passenger jets. Jim flew on a regular schedule flight from San Diego to San Francisco, California, and back again each day. He'd been flying this schedule for

many years with no difficulties. They always flew over land, although the safety advisor always included the statement that your seat cushion is a flotation device. Once, during one of his daytime flights north to San Francisco, he and the pilot had an interesting experience. Halfway through the northbound flight, the co pilot noticed a plane on the same course as them to the east. The problem was that it was much closer than the allowed five miles, which was

dangerous and against regulations. The copolot informed the pilot and contacted air traffic control. Traffic control acknowledged the other plane's unsafe distance and tried to contact them. They received no response, which was unusual. After several unsuccessful attempts to contact the other aircraft, Jim's plane was directed to turn slightly to the west, moving to a safer distance, But once his plane did this, the other aircraft moved toward them again,

flying much too close. There were more attempts to contact the other aircraft, but they got no response. Air traffic control told Jim's plane that it was most likely a private plane with radio trouble, and then instructed them to move west again to gain that safe distance. They did this, but once again the other aircraft moved with them, only

this time it came even closer than before. This continued until Jim's plane was forced to fly over the ocean, and in the meantime, the other aircraft had gotten close enough to Jim's plane that they had a clear visual of it. That's when they saw that it was not an airplane at all. It was a cigar shaped object that slowly but surely was getting closer to them. Jim's plane received instructions to move ten miles out over the

ocean way off course. It was finally able to continue on its way, arriving just a few minutes later than scheduled and without further incident. Simultaneously, the US Navy scrambled a fighter jets to try to identify and move the UFO out of the way and hopefully force it to land.

The three Navy fighters surrounded the UFO, one on either side and one behind it, and as they attempted to move it in the direction they wanted it to go, the UFO instantly sped up, reaching speeds unachievable by the fighters, and then just as quickly it flew vertically into the air and was out of sight and ran our detection in seconds. That story never made the news. There's no surprise there, and Jim never mentioned if they spoke about

it again after that. What's interesting to me is the way Jim relaid the tone of the air traffic control. It was all very standards. If they had dealt with this situation countless times before. It's a good story to remember. The next time you fly, keep your eyes open, you may have company. My name is Rick and I was born and raised in Virginia Beach. Growing up, I remember listening to the Little Caesar's commercial advertising the bigfoot sized

pizza with a bigfoot puppet. The reason I bring that up I will get to. In nineteen ninety seven, I was thirteen years old. Now I was visiting my cousins at my uncle's place in Pungo, Virginia Beach. His trailer was adjacent to some corn fields where they frequent Lee saw deer. Directly east of his trailer was a north Landing River Natural Area Preserve which connects to the Great

Dismal Swamp. My uncle was a marine, and being in the country, he taught us about muzzle awareness, firearms safety, and of course how to shoot at a young age. One day, my cousins and I wanted to explore the woods and swamp around his trailer and try to make it to the river. That's all us kids ever wanted to do. Back then, explore the swamp and woods. We carried on through about halfway to the river, and then stopped to look at some snakes and a couple of turkeys,

and out of nowhere I smelled something rotten. It's just fart rocks. My cousin Charles said, well, I shook my head. No, man, that's coming from down wind. It's way worse than a fart rock, I said, almost dizzy from the sharp, stinging smell. The next day I knew my other cousin, Marshall, and our friend Mark started yelling. A bear crouched down. Look, they shouted. We followed them closer to the bear to see for ourselves, and sure enough, there it was, just

sitting there, hunched over behind a rock. We fell back about thirty yards to give it some space, all the while keeping our eyes on it. My cousin decided it would be a good idea to shoot at it, so he aimed his pellet rifle and he tried to take a shot. The rest of us told him there was no way he was going to take down that big old bear with that little rifle. The worst thing he'd do is provoke it, and then the rest of us

would be in a world of trouble. So we talked him out of it and decided to go and get some real guns instead. Nothing was stopping us from getting to that river. We jogged back to my uncle's trailer and got a twenty two handgun and a four to ten shotgun. We never mentioned why we wanted them, probably because we knew he'd rail into us for going after a bear, and our thirteen year old selves weren't exactly

eager to piss off an old salty marine. A while later, we made it back to the spot where we saw the bear, but when we didn't see anything, we decided to trek onward to the river. We made it there without any excitement, which was disappointing. We'd been looking around the whole time for that bear or any kind of a critter determined to shoot something, but the opportunity never came. After wandering around and playing with sticks, we headed home and halfway back that rancid smell hit us again. It

was terrible. We started looking for a skunk, because at the time that's as wild as our imaginations went, as far as horrible stenches, though the smell of a skunk or even a dead riding animal would have been a sweet relief compared to this. We kept looking and there was the bear again. Immediately we pointed our guns at it, ready to take it down, but we never stood a chance. It stood upright over six feet tall, and it started charging at us on two legs, it's two long arms

swinging at its side. That thing was not a bear. It had no ears like a bear, and its eyes were in front of its face. Its face was beige and its hair was shaggy and black. Basically a big, black, furry swamp thing was coming right at us. When we realized how big it was, we ran for our lives and high tailed it out of there. The only other time in my whole life that I ran that fast was when I ran from the police once in my

later years. Well, we got back to the trailer. We found my dad and uncle out front drinking, and when I started yelling, they came off the porch to see what was going on and what we were running from. It's a foot, I shouted, well, how do you know that, one of them asked, because it looked like a bigfoot from the pizza commercial. That's how I yelled. They started to brush our story off and told us it was just a bear. But right then, in the distance behind us,

we heard a loud and deep growl. You see you ever hear a bear sound like that? I asked them, knowing they sure as hell hadn't, but would call us crazy anyway, which is just what they did. They called us crazy, and they asked if we had smoked a joint, and they told us to stay around the house and that they would go looking for it later. I'm not sure if they ever did that, though. Fifteen years later, my cousins and I were out drinking when this story

came up. Still today, we were all certain that it was a bigfoot or a swamp ape. I was researching bigfoot sightings the other night, and sure enough, there was a sighting reported just north of U at this location some years later right by my uncle's trailer. I sure hope my uncle, here's the story. Not too crazy after all, is it Uncle that's going to wind it up for this podcast. Thanks for listening all the way to this end. I'm sorry I didn't put any commentary with these stories.

They were all so good. But again, I am busy at work and I'm in here early in the morning trying to crank these out because these stories are just too good not to put out there for you to hear. I hope you enjoyed it, and we'll see you guys on the next one. Thank you.