All right, here's another bigfoot story. My story began five years ago in Pickens County, Alabama. An older cousin of mine had told me that I could hunt its property, where he had planted fields that no one else was hunting. The field I chose was one hundred and fifty yards by one hundred yards, with a swamp on one side and a cutover in front. I went in before daylight and I climbed into his shooting house. It was large enough to sleep in if I wanted to. I stayed all day long without
seeing anything. Finally, at about four PM, a large group of does came into the field. I was waiting for a buck, but when one didn't show, I picked the largest dough and I shot her. The does that were with her I ran to cutover thickets. It was getting dark when I climbed out of the shooting house, and I took my rifle and my cheek flashlight into the backfield with me, but I left my backpack behind. No sooner had I found a blood trail than I heard a weird growl coming
from the other side of the shooting house. I couldn't place what animal it was, but that put me on edge. An own enemy is always easier to face than an unknown enemy. And then, to make matters worse, it was moving toward me. I held my rifle and my flashlight pointed in the direction of the sound, but it never came into the light. Fear was pushing my heart rate up as I continued to scan that direction to find the creature with a menacing growl. It sounded big enough that I figured I'd
only get one shot and that would be it. But whatever it was, it was probably going to eat me anyway. Suddenly, from over the hill, I heard a four wheeler coming and, to my relief, stopped. We got the deer, and we got out of the woods. When I told my story, everyone laughed at me, and they said that I'd been living in the city for too long. Well, I didn't care. The next year, my nephew and I went back to that property. He elected
to hunt from the shooting house while I went elsewhere. When I picked him up at dark, he asked if I had tried to scare him. I pointed out that he had a thirty six and I'm not that stupid. The story he then told me sent a chill down my spine. He said that it was a little before I had got there to pick him up, the entire shooting house began shaking, as if someone was trying to push it over. That's a big, sturdy house, and there's no way anyone could shake
that structure. He told me that he was screaming at the door while this thing was shaken. He was stating his name and saying that he had a right to be there. This lasted for several minutes, with him amy his gun at the door the whole time. I hate that it had to happen to him, but I couldn't help but be relieved that someone else had an experience in that swamp bottom now reminded him not to make fun of me about it anymore. Oh man, that was full on payback, wasn't it.
The writer his name is Larry. He tells his buddies the story and Pickings, Alabama about something growling at him. They laugh at him. One of the guys that laughs at him actually experiences the same thing. Told you so, told you. That's a good way to get some payback, isn't it. Larry? Hey, Larry, thanks for the story. I hope you guys are doing good in Alabama. Really interesting story. I appreciate it. All right, thank you all for clicking on the video. I really appreciate
you. I'm Cam Buckner. This is a Dixie Cryptid podcast where all we do is tell stories. So if you like good stories, you found your people, and I appreciate you hanging around and maybe you could subscribe or hit the thumbs up button, you know, all that jazz. I've gotten a few emails, maybe two or three, and a few comments about where I've been the last week. I've been working on a project I think you all
are going to really enjoy. It's going to take maybe two weeks to a month to get everything finalized, but all my work on it is done. It's an audiobook. It's not Blood Eagle. Blood Eagle is next, but it is an audiobook. It's about a three between three and four hour project. I think people of my generation are going to love this audio book. Anyway, That's what I've been working on. Before we move on with the podcast, I'm gonna tell you a little story. My wife and I were
at the we have a big baseball field here. We were down there letting the grand kids play on the playground that is in the ballpark and there were some girls out there, some teenage girls, and they were jumping around on the playground equipment and they at first I thought they were born, but then it became very obvious they were girls. And they were dressed like boys. They had used some makeup and painted on some mustaches and beards, and they
were wearing camouflages and hats, and they were just being silly. And I wasn't going to ask them what the deal is because in this culture, you know, you don't want to offend anyone. But after a few minutes I could kind of tell what they were doing. They were kind of poking fun at the dudes around here. So I asked them what was going on. They said, they have a YouTube channel. So there are some local girls
here in my town. They've started a YouTube channel, and I told them I would tell y'all about it. I can't remember the name of their channel, but they'll tell you in this little video clip. See y'all look at it, and when they're done, go to the description of this video, there'll be a link to their channel. Go over there and subscribe and show them. I was telling them one of a nice audience we have that listen to these stories and follow my channel. Se y'all going over there and just
say hi if you would, if you got time. It's not a big deal. It's probably not your cup of tea, but it could be. It might be your kid's cup of tea. I guarantee you it's clean, and it's teenage girls having fun, and I think you'll enjoy it. So go over there and give them a big thumbs up, a subscription and say hey, I'm sent you. And here is the little video I took of them. All right, there, you go there, you have it. Go over there and show them what great people you are. All right,
let's move on with this podcast. Again. I appreciate you clicking on this video or on this podcast. Got two more stories, they're pretty good. All right, here we go. Okay, I have an email from Australia from a I think it's a man named yet it is a man. His name is Daz Daz and he says it's okay to use all the names in
his story. So that's what I'm going to do. I'm ninety seven point five percent convinced that the Big Fella exists, not just because of what I've seen or because of the stories I've heard on your channel, but because of the indigenous folk here in Australia. They've been featuring him in their cave paintings since long before Europeans arrived here. More importantly, there are places where the Aborigines won't trespass, either out of respect or fear. Rather than go into
those areas, they'll turn and go the other way. Around Christmas of two thousand and five or two thousand and six, we had a couple of weeks off from work. Summer was in full spring and it was bloody hot outside, so we decided to head to a property that was owned by my buddy Maddie's uncle. There were four of us on this trip. Me, I'm a bow hunter and all around outdoorsman. There was Fish, another outdoorsman who bow hunts and he is almost reptilian. And Lindsey, who grew up out
this way in his country to the bone. And then there's Mattie and his uncle owned the property between Mattie's uncle's land and the three neighboring properties we had permission to hunt. We had fifteen hundred acres at our disposal, and if we got bored, we could always head to the pub that was also owned by Mattie's uncle. For the first couple of days, things went pretty well, and during the day we bow hunted fox and pig and the thicker scrub
and then spotlighted the grain paddocks with our rifles. By night, we camped out in the scrub as a base camp and took some foxes and pigs and everything was normal until it wasn't. The one thing I can assure you is that we were not drunk. We hadn't been to the pub and we don't drink alcohol before heading out with rifles. It was coming to dusk and we had cranked up the fire and cooked up some basic camp feed, canned soup and ravioli, and we're getting ready for a spotlight and a bit of gun
action on what was turning out to be a beautiful night. And that's when things turned weird. We started to hear a plane. Wasn't a normal plane, It wasn't a crop duster. We thought it sounded like a twin tailed World War Two era plane that was circling overhead. Well, we sat there for twenty minutes jabbering about how weird that plane was, and coming up with
some pretty good conspiracy theories. When the biggest, most awesome shooting star or meteor or something flew across the sky, it crossed the horizon from left to right for about a minute, and it lit up our world like search lights in a prison yard. When it comes down to it, we didn't care much for the whole airplane thing, but the meteor was awesome either way.
We were keen to head out and hopefully shoot some critters. Then we I figured we'd head back to camp and get some sleep, but on this night things did not play out that way. We headed from camp out to the main track that connected all the properties, and we went for the middle property first, which had a couple of one hundred acres of wheat sown. We didn't take anything down there, so we moved on. After another gate or
two. We were in the sheep paddocks. Lindsay and Fish were in the back of the yute with their weapons in the spotlight, and Mattie was sleeping in the passenger seat while I drove. All of a sudden, I got the customary thumping on the roof to indicate that they saw eyes shine. I didn't see it at first, but then there it was blue eyes, a good seven feet taller than the sheep. I could make out a massive,
dark brown figure, but I was in complete and utter disbelief. In front of us was a mob of three hundred sheep in full on panic, running from right to left, while this thing walked in the same direction at the edge of the flock sixty meters away. We watched it move around the edge of the paddock, and none of us said anything. Not one word was spoken for fifteen minutes. We were all too busy contemplating what we had just
witnessed. And finally we got the courage to drive in where he disappeared from sight. But we didn't find anything. Now, I wouldn't say we were freaked out, but we did spend the rest of the night building a fortress around our camp. We set up tripwires and branch fortifications until we were totally
enclosed. It was like Predator and Rambow combined. Okay, maybe we were a little freaked out, but we stayed for another week and we never got another glimpse of any hairy men, except maybe at the pub that Mattie's uncle owned, although he did get a good nap Mattie didn't see a thing. Oh that's a great story that they shine. So they were out shooting.
I'm not sure what they were shooting at night. I've read that you guys can go out and just shoot kangaroos randomly spotlight them and all that stuff. Apparently, and I could be wrong about that, but apparently kangaroos are a like a pest or a maybe I don't I wouldn't consider them a predator. They're not meat eaters. I don't think. I don't know much about kangaroos, although they're cool when they're running that I love to watch them run.
They just bounce boing boing boying, and they're really fast. But anyway, I'm just rambling on. I don't know what they were shooting at. Pigs maybe, but they shine this big hairy thing that was two or three feet taller than the sheet. The sheep were in a panic, in a full on run. He said, So something was spooking. What could it have been? A yowie? This is a yowie story. I appreciate the writer. I love these stories from Australia and so glad he sent it. Thank
you. Okay, fair warning this story has a lot of places. That has a lot of places that have Spanish names and French names that I may get wrong, So get ready for a laugh. But I just can't pronounce them because I've never heard some of them before Nioma edited this, she goes, there wasn't really much to do to it because the person is a talented writer, and so this should be a good story. And I'm reading this cold. So just hang on to you weaves. All right, here we
go. It's a bigfoot story. Growing up in the nineteen seventies in the small town of Monroe, Louisiana, we heard all kinds of stories about the history of the town and that region of northeast Louisiana. For a sleepy little town nestled in the curves of the Wachita River, the Bayous, and the swamps, you would never guess that it had been a place of habitation for
several cultures going back nearly six thousand years now. I spent a lot of time sitting around and listening to my grandfather and one or two uncles as they told stories of things that they encountered on hunting trips or while working around the family farm, or the stories of what other relatives had experienced in the bayou
and swamp country around Monroe. As a kid, I enjoyed all the stories, even if I didn't quite believe them or thought there might have been a bit of leg pulling going on. This syria had been settled and lived in for thousands of years by Native Americans, with the oldest mound complex found in the Western Hemisphere and it dates back fifty four hundred years and it's found in
the northwestern part of Monroe at the Watson Breaks site. The Poverty Point World Heritage Site, which is the largest known earthworks in North America, is only a fifty minute drive to the east. Another facet of the local history was the Spanish colonial of post pastead dou watchitall that was stored. I think it was that means post watchitall. I think that was started in seventeen eighty one and renamed after the Spanish governor Estevan Miro as Fort Mirou in seventeen ninety one
when the fort was constructed. As the settlement expanded with French and Americans moving into the area, the settlement would be renamed Monroe in eighteen twenty after the arrival of the steamboat James Monroe. The town was also part of the Vicksburg Campaign as a supply depot and hospital during the Civil War. Some of the stories told to me growing up were from the Spanish and later American settlers,
and also from the earlier Native American people. There were stories of giant, hairy manlike creatures who lived in the deepest part of the swamps and who did not tolerate trespassers. There were beings who could change their shapes to look like animals, and other stories were about people who would disappear out in the swamps with never a trace to be found. Of course, there were plenty of ghost stories around the Old Garden District, and Monroe had more than its share
of haunt houses. I experienced a few of these things in some of those two hundred year old homes that I can't explain. But those are stories for another time. By the way, if you ever feel like writing those stories, brother, please send them in because I'll get them. I'll get them
on the podcast Back to the story. In nineteen seventy five, I had my own close encounter with a bigfoot out along the Watchtaw River among those ancient Spanish moss draped trees and waterways, and my mom and I had gone on one of the periodic camping trips our Baptist Church put together for our congregation in the late summer of that year. This particular camping trip was to Moon north of Monroe. This area is adjacent to the Black Bayou National Wildlife Refuse that
has a long history of strange things happening and sightings of strange creatures. If you had a canoe or a flat bottom aluminum boat, you could go out on the switchbacks of the watch Taw River and eventually you would cross over the Black Bayou itself or by you Dassard, I think I pronounced that right, Disiard. The further up the side by us you went, the thicker the curtains of moss hanging from the trees would grow until you could see only a
few yards in any direction. Now, back in the nineteen seventies, the area around Moon Lake was still fairly wild and undeveloped, and it was by you territory, with only a few scattered houses and trailers off the old State Road five point fifty three as the crow flies. It was only about five miles from my dad's house, but that short fifteen minute drive would take you from the civilized comforts of town living to another world of moss draped trees and
dabble sunlight, and foggy swamps inhabited by alligators and other creatures. Our church used a camp at the lake for family weekend getaways and for some retreats. The camp was on the east side of the lake, between the road and the main body of the lake, with the river making the northern boundary. It was an old camp, but it was well maintained, and the main
camp was clear and level, but surrounded by old trees and bushes. On this weekend, families had started arriving late Friday afternoon, with the rest coming in early Saturday morning to set up their tents and personal camp sites within the
larger camping area. As each family arrived, more of the kids I knew would be running around and playing tiger chase or hiding's And during one particular wild run through the camp, I missed seeing a tent rope that caught me right across my face, and I proudly wore that diagonal rope burn across my face
for several days and enjoyed my badge of honor. Saturday progressed and we moved to exploring the area outside of the campgrounds, which included walking aways up the shallow river banks, skipping rocks across the slow moving current, and looking for arrowheads. We didn't find anything, but we had a grand time poking around
in the soft soil, and we made a full day of it. At dusk, everyone was called in for dinner and visiting, and my friends and I group together for a dinner of hot dogs and chips and beans and potato salad. And while we were eating, we noticed the dogs that some of the families had brought with them were tracking around the campground and occasionally whining.
And since we were among the trees and there for more to the north and west, the setting sun made a long and broken shadow between the trunks and the hanging moss. It made it difficult to see what the dogs were reacting to. It did not make much of an impression on me at the time, and as soon as we finished eating, we ran back into the woods
for an evening edition of hide and seek. After about an hour, we went back and picked up some flashlights so that we could continue our game until our parents would eventually call us in for the night, and we gathered back together and we stood talking at the edge of the clearing and a small stick was thrown into our group from the area just outside the lantern light well.
We thought it was one of the other kids, so we started trying to find them, but we never saw anyone, but every couple of minutes another stick would be thrown from the trees. Eventually, we started concentrating our flashlights in one beam and swinging them back back and forth, and we tried throwing sticks and small rocks back to the trees to see if we could flush out
whoever it was, but we didn't have any success. After another ten minutes of this, we still didn't see anything, and then another stick came flying out of the trees, this time it came from higher up. We swung the flashlight beams up about ten feet and at first we didn't see anything but a curtain of Spanish moss hanging from a branch close to the tree trunk, and then a face pushed out of the moss. Our first thought was one of the kids had climbed up the trunk, but on closer inspection, though,
we realized that the face was not entirely human. After a stunned a few seconds, a body that was fully ten to eleven feet tall, covered in shaggy brown hair, stepped out from the tree trunk and moss less than twenty feet away from us. They started yelling and running back to the camp, while whatever this was disappeared at a loping run back to the north. The adults who came running at our yelling listened to our hurried description and then
took off in pursuit. They too caught a few glimpses as the bigfoot ran through the undergrowth and then dove into the river to make its escape. When the adults came back to camp, every family packed up and left that night without another word being said about the events of that night, And for several years after that event, you would hear stories of strange happenings around the Moonlake
area. Whoo, that's a There was a lot of lead up to the actual apex of that story, but it was all important because you kind of get a feel for the area and why they were there and what was going on in the mood of the kids playing, and then the this face pushes through Spanish. If you could see me. I've got my shoulders all scrunched up behind my head because it's given me the creeps. Man, what a
great story. I love that story. I appreciate the writer and regarding the houses and whatever happened in the haunted houses that you claim was a time for another story. I would appreciate getting those from you. I'll be glad to put them on the internet. I'll be glad to put them on the podcast, because, dude, you know how to tell a story anyway. Thank you for sending it. I really do appreciate it. Thank you once again for watching this podcast. Should have another one up here in a day or
two. I had fun doing this one. It's good to be back doing this after a long stint of recording an audio book, and it was fun. This is my favorite thing to do is doing these email podcasts. I love them. I absolutely love them. So thank you all for listening, and we'll see you on the next one. I appreciate y'all. A