This is a story from Butch, and Butch has had several run ins with
Bigfoot, and this is a series of encounters he had in an area where
he likes to hike. He doesn't tell me where this is, and that's
fine. It's the experience that we're interested in, so let's hear what he
says. My first encounter with the creature known as Bigfoot was a lackluster and
quite odd at first, but at least I understood what was going on enough
to leave quickly. I was hiking a back trail some miles up in a
national state park in New England, and I was quite some distance away from
anything or anyone. I approached a pond after a long hike up a logging
road that had a beaver hut in the middle of it, and I decided
to take a rest. I sat on the side of the bank, watching
the water and looking at the wind in the trees. It was a sunny,
beautiful day, and I was happy to be up there hiking. Just
as quickly as I got situated to rest and take in the view, I
heard some crackling in the brush behind me in the forest across the road.
I got up and walked out to the middle of the road and tried to
see what it was, but I couldn't see anything. Just then I heard
a loud grunt, as if a human was clearing its throat, but it
was very deep. So I looked in that direction again, but I still
saw nothing. Over and over, the grunt came from a short distance in
front of me, and I yelled out, who's there and what do you
want? The tree shook and I was now feeling uneasy about what was taking
place. I would love to tell you I had the courage to go find
out what was making the noise, but something told me to leave quickly,
and so I did. Two weeks later, I got up the courage to
go back to that place, so I did, but by another route below
the large down that had the roadway to the dirt rail that led to the
area. While I was hiking in that direction, I felt as if I
was being watched the entire time. I was uneasy the whole time. I
shrugged it off and continued to hike. As I got near the same ground
as I was on at the first encounter, I called out again and even
decided to make a very loud call in the woods as loud as I could
to see if I got any kind of response. This was a big mistake.
Suddenly I heard a boulder come crashing off that hill, started hitting other
rocks and shaking trees as it violently came down the hill. I heard trees
being shaken and snapped. No human could do this. A loud screech came
from the woods west of me, toward the lake. I realized my mistake,
and I was now the focus of the attention of this very large creature.
I decided again to get out of there, and I left at a
quick pace. It was a three mile hike back to the lower dam,
and I was followed the entire way. I made it safely back to my
vehicle and I left. Three weeks later, I went back on my trek
up the backside of the dam. I heard yet again the cracking of branches
off to the right side in the woods a short distance away. I stopped
dead in my tracks and looked in that direction with a focus I had never
had before. I didn't see anything, but the branches breaking continued. I
started walking slowly down the road and peering into the trees to find what was
making the racket, and there it was. A black, hairy creature stood
up from a crouch in the middle of a pine thicket and was staring right
at me, and then it whistled at me. I was so shocked that
I was seeing it, I literally had to go down to one knee to
get my breath. I called out to the creature, and it whistled back.
I was also greeted by another call from the woods to the rear and
the left of this first creature. I could only see the lower half of
the second creature. Then a third creature further back in the woods, out
of my line of sight, began what I can only describe as chest thumping.
I realized I had stumbled onto a family unit of bigfoot. I didn't
understand what they were trying to get across to me. I made the assumption
they wanted me to leave in fear of being attacked. I once again exited
the woods quickly and quietly. I was changed forever. I realized I was
not at the top of the food chain. Seeing one is a spectacular experience.
Just the appearance of one of these things creates great respect. It seemed
to me they were being aggressive to give me a warning, maybe to just
warn me to stay away. I got the message loud and clear, and
I quickly left. This was eight years ago, and I've been looking for
them ever since. I have one dull, blurry picture of one and have
also had to run in with them in another part of the park some twenty
miles away to the north. I believe they are human. I wanted to
submit this story to show people that their aggressive behavior is, for the most
part, to get you to leave the area. I now know that they
are there, and I have a sense of their strength and power. This
creature has put me in all of their very existence. I will continue to
hike the forest and I hope to see one again some day soon. Here's
a cool story from Daniel, and here's what he writes. It was a
summer of nineteen eighty nine. My name is Daniel, and you were welcome
to use my name. I am now disabled and I live in the state
of Georgia. This occurred right on the Pacific Crest Trail in Oregon, in
the Three Sisters Wilderness area at the foot of these three volcanoes. I'm a
retired mechanical engineer. At the time, I lived in Hood River, Oregon.
I've never had a psychological issue, nor have I ever knew needed any
related help. I was an avid hunter and had hunted this area numerous times
in the previous ten years. My camp was approximately six hours on horseback.
This is an awe inspiring mountain area with a very large timber yet open meadows.
On this trip, my son, along with two ten age friends of
his, and I decided to backpack in. We started at the crack of
dawn and arrived at the camp around noon. This trip was just to explore
for the upcoming hunting season, so my only firearm was a forty four mag
revolver that I would always carry into the woods. We finally arrived, we
cooked, we ate lunch, and proceeded to scout the area. The day
went without any unusual event, and we were excited to see abundant game.
After it got dark, we went to sleep around ten PM, all four
of us in a light nile one tent with semi transparent material. I'm a
very light sleeper because of my Vietnam experience, and at about two or three
AM was woken up by very heavy bipedal steps approaching the tent. There was
a full moon. The person stopped and I could see a very large shadow,
and I assumed it was just his proximity to the tent blocking the moonlight.
But along with that, there was a very loud breathing, which I
could only associate with a large animal. By that time, I became alarmed.
I was sure that it was not a bear, because I heard the
steps from quite a ways off, perhaps thirty yards, and they were definitely
bipedal, and bears do not walk like that for any extended distance. At
this moment, I believe there were humans trying to scare us or rob us,
so I grabbed my revolver and out loud, I said, don't come
any closer. I've got a gun and I will shoot the Breathe continued for
perhaps thirty more seconds. He could not have been any further than three feet
from our tent. By this time, all four of us were very awake.
But then all of a sudden we could hear steps again, this time
walking away. I immediately unzipped the tent door and looked into the direction of
the steps, and with the full moon and no more than fifteen yards,
we saw this incredibly large, hairy animal at least eight feet tall, probably
more in using my hunting experience, I judged his weight at no less than
eight hundred pounds. He heard us moving around and turned around and we could
see his human like face. The moonlight illuminated him clearly. He let out
a blood curling, hair raising scream or growl combination that echoed throughout the mountains.
We were all terrified. I knew that my revolver could not stop a
beast out size before it reached us if he chose to charge. But he
turned away and walked very fast and occasionally looking back, and we never heard
it again. I know there's a lot of skepticism, but I have no
doubt that these species exist. There were four of us and we all saw
it clearly. We talk about the experience to this day, thirty years later,
and when I asked the then teenagers if they remember, and they all
say as though it happened yesterday. Yeah. These boys are now grown men
which pursue the hunting sport, including my son, and they all have had
additional less dramatic signs and noises, small rock throwing at the tent at night,
etc. For many years we did not talk with anyone other than amongst
ourselves, but nowadays there are many sightings. Please remember, we lived for
more than a century with Mountain guerrillas, and it was only relatively recent that
we discovered them. All right, here's an email from Kathy. This is
fantastic. I love reading this story and I hope you guys like it as
much as I did. Kathy Rides. My father was the second youngest of
ten kids. He and his twin sister were born in nineteen forty five at
their family home in Clay, West Virginia. He grew up being called Buckshot,
and until I was nine or ten years old, I thought that was
his Christian name. Although he passed away in two thousand and seventeen, he
told a story many times before he died. My brother was with him when
it happened, and he has never discredited a word of my dad's story,
so I have no doubt that this story is true. In nineteen seventy eight,
when my brother Phil was eleven, Dad said, come on, boy,
it's time you're going to go on your first raccoon hunt. Our father's
love for raccoon hunting was infectious, so Phil was tickled to death to be
joining him for the first time. They put on their coal miners light helmets
and strapped the battery packs to their waists, and they headed out. The
only one more excited for the hunt that night than my brother was was my
dad's favorite dog. He was a walker named pretty Boy. Whenever he saw
Dad getting ready, he always started panting and barking and dancing around his legs.
He knew they were going hunting, and he couldn't wait to see the
tailgate drop on my dad's nineteen seventy six Chevy Love truck so he could load
up. That night, my dad and brother drove twenty miles to his friend
Rick's place. Rick had several dogs of his own, along with two teenage
sons who also hunted. They decided where they'd be going, and they set
out as it was getting dark. They knew they'd have good luck that night
because the farmer who lived there had been complaining about the raccoons getting into his
feed bins. With their good quality hunting dogs and their own skills, they
were sure to be able to relieve the farmer of at least a few of
those pests. Dad Rick and the boys walked the dogs out on leashes located
a scent trail and turned them loose. After that, it was only a
matter of time before the dogs treed. Until then, all they had to
do was settling in near their trucks waiting listen. It didn't take long.
Within fifteen minutes the dogs had treed. My dad said they were real close.
They turned on their lights and started up the mountains towards the sound of
the dogs. They had to cross a barbed wire fence, but they found
the dogs at the base of a large beech tree in West Virginia. These
trees, with their pale, almost white bark, can grow to massive proportions.
It can take three men with their arms stretched wide to reach around the
circumference of one. Because of the tree size and the fact that it still
had branches of dead leaves here and there, they thought they might have difficulty
seeing the raccoon. But once the dogs were leashed and pulled away from the
tree, however, they discovered they'd have no trouble spotting with the hounds had
treed. But it wasn't a raccoon. Sitting up on the branches of the
tree, covered in reddish brown hair, was a young sie squatch. It
was six feet tall, and Dad described it as looking like a tall,
skinny orangutang with a face like a man. It looked down on them with
glowing red eyes and bared its big, square teeth and sharp canines at them.
That's when it screamed, and it hit them in the chest like a
mic truck. Phil and the other two boys fell to the ground and began
to cry. Rick stood frozen in place and he was unable to move.
The dogs cowered in submission, but Pretty Boy managed to crawl over to where
Phil was and he laid across him. A second later, an answering scream
came from somewhere in the distance, followed by another one that sounded like it
was a mile or so away. That was what shook my dad back to
reality. He pushed Pretty Boy off of Phil and helped him to his feet,
before punching Rick in the arm and saying, let's get the hack out
of here. Yeah, let's Rick answered, as he helped the boys up
off the ground. Let's go. Their dogs led them down the mountain as
they all high tailed it back to the woods. They were only about halfway
there when they heard something behind them come crashing through the woods. It sounded
like a bulldozer following them. At that point, Dad picked up Phil like
a football and broke into a dead run. He cleared the three strand barbed
wire fence and didn't stop until he reached the truck. The dogs were there
waiting for them. Whatever had chased them down the mountain never called up with
them, but stay just close enough to keep them motivated. From the top
of the mountain came another screaming sound, and Daddy thought it had to be
a second one, but they weren't going to hang around to find out.
He loaded my brother and his dog into the front of his truck while Rick
loaded the boys and dogs into theirs, and they all sped off. Dad
headed straight for home and didn't stop till he got there. For him and
my brother, it was the end of a harrowing experience, and for Rick
and his family, however, it was just the beginning. Dad and Phil
had a twenty mile drive to make, and Rick and his boys lived a
short seven miles away. As soon as he got home, he told his
wife all about what happened that night. They'd been home about thirty minutes and
Rick was still trying to gain control of his heart rate. When the same
screams they'd heard up on the mountains started coming from the woods behind their barn,
about one hundred yards from the house. Rick's wife was furious, you
brought those things here. I've got babies in this house, and you brought
those things here, and she yelled at him get rid of them now.
Rick sent her and the kids upstairs with the warning not to come down,
no matter what she might hear. He then walked around their farmhouse and secured
all the doors and windows. As the screams got closer, rocks the size
of baseballs began landing on the tin roof. Soon, something was walking around
the house with heavy staunts that shook their antique hutch and rattled the china plates
that were a gift from his wife's granny. He'd brought the dogs inside with
him when they got home, but they were hiding under the bed and were
of no use. Every ten minutes or so, something slapped the side of
the house or tapped on the window. Rick's nerves had just about reached their
limit when he heard his wife screaming from upstairs. He ran up to find
her pointing at the window and near hysterics. I saw a face in that
window, she claimed, But that was impossible. That window was twelve feet
off the ground. Call the law, she pleaded. Do you think they're
gonna believe me when I tell them we have a twelve foot peeping tom outside
our window? Rick reasoned with her, they'll lock us up. After his
wife's screamed, there were no more sounds from outside. They were all able
to get the kids settled down and into bed, but Rick and his wife
stayed up the rest of the night. Once the sun came up, he
went outside and walked around the house. Then he went back inside and he
called buckshot. My dad got there as quickly as he could. He had
his Winchester two seventy his three fifty seven pistol, and Rick grabbed his twelve
gage Remington, and together they went around the house, the barn, and
the perimeter fence. They found rocks on the low side of the roof and
footprints all around the house. The largest of the tracks measured twenty four inches
long and ten inches across, with five toes. Where those prints stood under
the upstairs window, they sank three inches into the ground. That must have
been our peeping time you reckon said Rick. Another set of Prince measured sixteen
inches long and eight inches across, but they only had four toes. The
third set was smaller, still at twelve inches and they only had four toes
two. Rick and Dad estimated the smallest set must have been the one their
dogs had treed, while the middle size set must have been the mother and
the largest set belonged to the daddy or the alpha male. Within the week,
Rick and his wife moved to North Carolina, where her family lived,
but he and my dad remained friends over the years. And by the way,
the place they were hunting that night, it's called booger Holler. How
about another story from the UK. This email is from Jim. Here's what
Jim right. So my name is Jim and I live in Devon in the
UK. The story is one hundred percent true. I feel like I have
to say that because if I wasn't there and been the one to experience this
encounter, I would not have believed it myself. When I first moved to
Devon about five years ago, I had a seriously strange encounter. For the
record, I'm a no bullcraps but on the floor kind of guy. I'm
from London, where we say it as we see it. I've never told
anyone about this. You think you guys over the water get ripped for seeing
stuff. Try being over here where most will just call you a loony tune.
We are a nation that prides itself on our rationality, the old stiff
upper lip and all that. My larky. It may sound stereotypical, but
that's just us across the pond. This is the odd thing. I know.
We have our fair share of weirdness in the United Kingdom, but this
really took the biscuit, so to speak. I was camping out on Dartmoor
National Park. We have a couple of cryptids are down here, like alien
big cats, hellhounds, sea monsters and some really spooky ghostly stuff, as
well as a guy who's loved this stuff from a year dot. I want
to say I'm not one of those GungHo types, but I thought I'm going
to see if what they say is true. It was a quite pleasant end
of a September day when I went out over there. I'm a curious little
fellow who was also in ex Special Forces, so I kind of know what
I'm doing. So if I can, why not. Dartmoor is a funny
place to go hiking in. You need two sets of clothes. Even in
the summer. The terrain changes rapidly, and so does the temperature. That
is to say, if you go to the top of the tours in the
summer, you'll be wearing winter clothing. But I digress. I wound up
in Whitman's Forest. This is one weird place. The trees grow at angles
and rocks have moss on them. It's a real Lord of the Rings kind
of place. Some of the locals claims it was a druid holy sight.
I thought, if I wanted to see an ABC, that would be the
place to tuck myself out of sight. So I found a lovely spot where
all this stuff's about. I built my camp, and then I went and
put some trail cams about. After that came the long wait. I sat
there by a roaring fire and watched a really beautiful sunset. If only it
had stayed that mellow the rest of the night. By midnight I was ready
to go hunting. As it were, I was hoping at least to get
a cast of a footprint. But as you know, in our game,
it can be a long wait even for that much. I ventured further to
Dartmoor. It's quite a big forest for England, but it opens up to
more lands. I was over there for about an hour. Suddenly I couldn't
shake this feeling that I was being watched. The hackles on my back of
my next started to prick up, and now every instinct I had learned or
have naturally well suffice it to say that my spider senses were tingling. Straight
Away, I went to the relative safety of my accoump, knowing there were
other indigenous animals in that place already set up my alerts. I sat down
and was having a couple of beers, trying to chill out. But I
couldn't shake that feeling of being watched, tracked, or stalk It had to
be one of those, because I was at least two miles from my account
when the feeling started, and I still had it back at I was at
least two miles from my camp when that feeling started, and when I got
back to camp the feeling was still there. I was getting pretty freaked out
by now. My mind was going twenty directions at once. Was it kids
on wind up? Now? Why? Would they be here a ranger again,
No, they don't go there full stop. Then I thought it's a
serial killer. They could dump your body over there and you'd never be found.
Or it could be Satanists maybe or Pagans. At some point in its
history, Dartmoor Forest was a sacred grove. That's when I heard the first
twig snap. I immediately picked up my bill hook. A bill hook is
a machete with a curve at the top. I also had my pocket knife
in my other hand, and then I saw a set of glittering eyes in
the light of the night. I announced my presence and I said, I
can see you there, Come out where I can see you. All I
got in reply was a low kind of whistle. I gathered that whatever was
looking at me, it was definitely not a human. The eyes alone told
me that I've lived with a few different indigenous peoples around the world, and
I felt this relative to my experience. In a stern voice, I said,
I'm not here to do anyone or anything any harm merely passing through.
You're welcome to come share my fire if you come in peace. And this
is something I learned in the Congo in Africa. In other words, if
you want what I've got, come to me and get it. I still
had my blades drawn. I sat down by my fire, my blades on
my lap, and that's when it stood to its full height. I uttered
a pretty nasty expletive as I thought, you're a big one, ain't you.
My trainee kicked in and I was working out his size and how long
he could go, And then this thing strode across my campsite. I saw
it with my own eyes. He or she was seven feet tall and built
like a brick, blank blank, Well you get the idea, mate.
It was covered in long, shaggy hair like an orangutang, except it didn't
walk on its knuckles like most apes do, and that was an intense smell
to it as well. I sat there with my blades on my lap,
king no movement at all. In fact, I pretended not to be paying
attention to it. I really couldn't tell what sex it was, and in
less than a minute he or she walked through my camp. With that,
I felt the animosity from earlier disappear. The rest of the night was perfect.
I actually think it had come to work out what my intentions were in
the forest. I never believed in the wood was that's what we call them
in medieval times. But when I hear stuff like you're wickedly awesome channel,
I have to wonder. Besides, I know what I saw. It seemed
in action indeed, not so aggressive or isolated as bigfoot are over in the
States, or as elusive as the Australia and Yaowie, although I think they
sent taggon area like most primates do other than us. I only say this
because the smell lingered. It was still reeking when I left. That's my
tale. Pleased, if you could be so bold as to give your opinion
on this, I'm a bit stump. Mate, cheers Jim, Well,
Jim, I don't have an opinion, dude, that was your story.
I'm sorry I called you dude, mate. I have to learn to call
people in other countries what they're accustomed to being called to. Mate. Anyway,
I don't have an opinion, but it's an unbelievable story. I think
you're asking my opinion because maybe you have the idea that I know a lot
about these things that I don't. I don't you know. Somebody asked me
the other day, said what all do you know about Bigfoot? And I
said, I don't know much about them, never seen one, never seen
a track. I don't know anything at all about them, and I'm not
going to pretend like I do, like some people do, and to be
honest, I'm a little curious, but I'm not really eat up with knowing
a lot about Bigfoot. To answer your question, I don't think I have
an opinion, although I will say, based on the stories that I have
narrated up until now and read so far, I think it's quite unusual for
one of these things to walk right through your camp. I don't think I've
narrated a story like that, but I have heard two stories like that from
people who are, let's just say, big storytellers in the bigfoot world.
Actually, they told me the stories face to face. I was with them.
They were telling me in a whole bunch of people around the camp fire,
and they're great stories, and I don't really doubt them. I don't
doubt them because other people saw it too, so it does happen. I
think it's quite rare for one of these creatures to just walk right through your
camp. But what an experience. I mean, my takeaway from that would
be I got to see something that very, very very few people see in
this world. That's what I think when I'm standing in waste high water in
the middle of the winter in a swamp, hunting over a spread of decoys,
and I get to see ducks a lot of times. When the ducks
come in, I won't even shoot because I'm seeing something that so few people
in the world ever get to see. Here's an email from Christopher and I
got this about a year ago, and here's what Christopher writes. This is
gonna this is gonna blow your doors off. This is pretty crazy. I've
been considering telling this story to someone for over twenty five years. The main
reason to talk after all these years is because I hear other accounts that don't
jibe with what I saw. I love your channel, and I picked you
because of two things. I live in Georgia and it sounds good to hear
someone that could be my neighbor or uncle. You're also fair and the stories
are exciting, and I like your commentary on them. Now onto my encounter.
Back in the early nineties, when I was a twenty something young buck,
two buddies and I ran a huge plant nursery, and after work we
did some landscape with the plants that we sold. All day I had a
brand new truck, an apartment, and life was good. The nursery was
owned by an old man named case Casey's brother was a distinguished attorney and had
been elected mayor. Casey, on the other hand, was a foul Mouth
school bus driver who happened to own his own nursery. These two brothers were
polar opposites that small town Georgia for you. Casey raked in the cash and
we ran the place from top to bottom. The nursery was located behind his
house on a steep grade heading down to the woods. We grew and sold
every plant that would grow in Georgia. We actually built the whole growing area
for him. We cut steps in the side of that hill, and we
built growing beds with old railroad ties. And for all our hard work,
Casey paid us well, and he gave us full run of the place.
It was a big plot land, and not all of it was used for
the nursery. We were also allowed to hunt on his property. A half
mile into the woods. I built a camo treehouse to hunt from. It
was located on a great spot where two trails converged, and I had a
large killing field when the deer showed up. The stand was four feet by
eight feet with a roof on it. It was a comfortable place to spend
a day hunting. I was in the stand before daylight on a cold Sunday
morning. A twelve point buck had come through a time or two, but
I never had a good shot at him. Shortly after daylight, I heard
movement in the distance of an animal of some weight. It was my buck,
or that is what I thought it was, coming towards me, so
I settled in to stay completely still. It was strange, though, because
the woods had gone completely silent, other than this animal coming towards me with
each step. That should have been a clue to me, but I was
young and dumb. I knew a big foot, but to me it was
something in the Pacific Northwest, if it existed at all. Two hundred yards
away, I began to see the trees parting. They were getting knocked down
pretty good and the racket. I thought this had to be one of three
things. It was either a man, a big hog, or a bear.
We had bears here, but no one ever seized them. However,
one bear made front page news in the local paper after it was found digging
in a dumpster behind a Captain D's. But that was a while back.
I kept waiting and wondering what in the world could make so much racket and
push trees around like that. My treehouse stand was well camouflaged. It was
enclosed, and it was spray painted camo. Camo net was all over it,
and plenty of limbs and piled up brush stuck to it. It had
shooting slats on all four sides. By this time I figured that whatever was
heading my way was not a deer. If it was a man, he
was about to catch an earfull from me. On three sides. It was
a pretty steep hill that opens up into a pretty good sized bare area.
It was a perfect kill zone with two game trails that ran right through it.
The thing or the guy I kept coming, and by this time the
sun was out good and I could see better. It was finally at the
bottom of the hill where I sat, and from my vantage point I could
see the top of its head. I thought he was wearing a brown sock
cap. His dark face was now visible, and I figured it was one
of the neighbors who lived close by. I looked closer, and with the
light now different on his face, I realized it was not one of our
black neighbors. He wasn't black at all. It was the tan color of
an old baseball glove. None of this made sense, and I began to
get worried. I should have raised my rifle to look through the scope,
but I never thought about that. I would have been able to see what
this thing was a few minutes earlier, But now I could see it clearly,
and it was close. It was covered with long, shaggy hair except
on its knees. In its face. There were areas on its hide where
the hair was missing. It made me think it had a disease like a
dog gets mange. It was maybe seven feet tall and three feet wide at
the shoulders. This was a monster. I have never seen anything move with
so little effort through the woods and brush. It was like he was gliding,
and he was making good time. Now he was only twenty yards in
front of me, and I could see everything now, and I was terrified.
He was almost beneath me. I thought he would hear my heart pounding.
But in the middle of all this, somehow my fear turned to amazement
and curiosity, and I thought that I might be experiencing the best sighting anyone
has ever had of a big foot, and I was getting away with it.
I was recording all of the things about his appearance in my mind,
and I would soon take notes when I got back to my truck. But
then things changed. He stopped right under me. He tilted his head back,
and he began sniffing the air. He moved around a bit below me,
and I heard something hit the bottom of the tree stand. I think
he knocked his head on it, and it annoyed him. I actually almost
laughed, but I knew better I was still well hidden in ten feet above
him. He started getting froggy on me, and he came out from under
the stand. He went down on all fours and he scanned the area slowly
and methodically. It was like he was taking in every branch and shrub.
He was swaying back and forth, kicking dirt and leaves, and seemingly getting
more angry by the minute. I was praying that he wasn't looking for me,
and I was praying that it wasn't me that was making him angry.
I backed away from the shooting hole and I could only hear him now.
The tree stand has a rope ladder that I had already pulled up long ago.
He wasn't going to climb up, but I still didn't feel secure.
The roar of this thing let out was something I can't begin to describe.
Is shoot. The entire hill trees seemed to sway and vibrate. It sounded
like his lungs were the size of a volkswagon, and it paralyzed me.
I felt like both ear drums were going to blow out. And I'm embarrassed
to say it, but I peeed in my pants. Make fun of me
if you want, But I dare you to hear this from fifteen feet away.
You might do the same thing. And I could hear him moving around
below. One minute he was in front, and then he was behind me.
I think he was looking for me. I know he was. I
raised up to the shooting slot and I could see him circling the stand.
Half the time he was on two legs, and then he would drop down
to all fours. It was just oh strange. Finally his head snapped around
and he looked right at me. He had found what he was looking for.
He was at the base of the tree. Now what I thought was
a unique vantage point to observe an unknown creature was now a wife or death
situation. I eased back away from the slat and I flipped the safety off
my thirty six, and then the thing started to climb. I quickly moved
back to the slat and I looked out and I saw its hand gripping one
of the trees my stand was framed to. It was only a foot or
so below me, and I was panicking. I'll be honest, but in
the middle of the terror, I remembered the forty five ACP I carried on
my hip. I pulled it from the hoster and was about to start shooting
through the floor to stop this thing. I really had no choice. It
was going to jerk me out of that stand and it was going to kill
me. Both hands on the forty five. I started to pull the trigger,
and I hesitated because I felt like it had stopped climbing. I could
still hear the noises on the other side of that ply wood, but the
thing had stopped. I released the pressure on the trigger and I waited,
clicking noises came from the woods out in front of me. The noises were
loud. Nothing in the woods sounds like that. Then a loud whistle,
and then more clicking. There was another one close by, and my fear
doubled. There was no way out of this, but the creature hanging under
me let go, and he dropped to the ground. I heard it.
I raised my head to look out, and I could see it running towards
the clicking sounds, and then it was gone. I never saw the other
one, and after that I never saw my guy again, and then the
woods went quiet. I often wonder what happened that day. Did the second
one have pity on me? Was its mate or parents scolding the big mail
that had me located? Entially stopped guessing, and I went on with my
life, and I was thankful that it worked in my favor. I didn't
tell a soul for ten years, and finally confiding in my wife and my
best friend when the bigfoot shows became popular on TV. I don't know if
they believe me. Still, these bigfoot are real, and some of these
bigfoot hunters are in for a big surprise if they ever find one. They
aren't cuddly koala bears. These things are intelligent. They're fast enough to catch
you, and they're strong enough to kill you in a split second. We're
dealing with some form of human, whether it's a relic, a hybrid,
or something never discovered, it's a part of the human family tree. I
think one day DNA will prove this. These creatures are not apes. I
believe hundreds of years ago they were probably more of them. Here is a
description of the bigfoot that I saw. It was at least ten feet tall.
It hit its head on the bottom of my shooting platform. From the
ground to the floor is nine foot eight inches. The skin on its face
was a tan color and it was leathery. Its hair was mainly deep red
and brown, with patches of hair missing. There were, however, dark
patches here and there, and it gave it an almost brindle color. The
hair on its head seemed long and appeared similar to dreadlocks. The hands looked
human, and they were tipped with black nails, but three times the size
of my hands. Its eyes were a hazel color with a tint of green.
The nose seemed flatter to its face than a human nose, but it
also had a Roman shape that ended with a pronounced tip. It was handsome
in a strange way. The lower jaw protruded a bit, and above its
eyes was a heavy protruding brow. There was virtually no neck, and the
ears looked human except for the color. And last, there was a feature
overall about this creature that looked as if his face vaguely resembled a human with
down syndrome. I cannot explain it, but I came away with that sense.
Thank you for reading my counter. It is all one hundred percent true,
Signed Christopher. Here's an email from JW. Here's what he writes.
There was a road we used to drive into the brackish swamp in eastern Harris
County, east of Houston, Texas. And in the daylight it wasn't the
least bit scary. In fact, it was beautiful. Oak trees draped in
Spanish moss and tall grass and flowers were everywhere we looked. But at night
it was a different story. Those big oak trees closed in and turned the
world to pitch. As the saying goes, you couldn't see your hand in
front of your face. We like to find people who had never been on
that road and then take them down it at night. There was a steep
drop, and just before we'd get to the bottom, we'd turn off the
headlights and scare the hell out of him. We did it many times,
never failing to scare the living crap out of teenage girls, and never once
having a problem. One night, my friend Charles decided to take our friend
Jesse down there and scare him. And Charles was a few years older than
me. He'd gone to school with my brother, but when they graduated and
my brother joined the Navy. Back then, volunteering for the military meant you
had a choice. If you waited to be drafted, you were usually sent
straight to Vietnam. That night, we were in Charles's truck and heading down
the road. It was a two lane blacktop called Wallaceville Road that no one
lived on. Charles was driving his F one hundred at fifty five miles an
hour, and Jesse was already a little freaked out by the speed we were
going on that road. And right at the drop, Charles cut the lights
and Jesse started screaming for him to turn them back on. I was laughing
inside and doing my best not to do so. Out loud, and then
Charles turned the lights back on and boom, we hit something. It happened
so fast that we never saw what it was. It was just a blur.
Charles slammed on the brakes and whatever it was went up into the hood
and over the top of the truck. And we sat there for a minute,
staring at the road, and we were all pretty shaken up. What
did we hit? Jesse asked, his voice was trembling. We were all
looking at each other, but no one answered. Finally, Charles opened his
door and he got out. I exited the passenger side, but Jesse stayed
in the truck, and we walked to the front to survey the damage.
There was a big dent in the bumper, and there was blood and hair
and scratch marks traced the path across the hood, along with more air and
blood. I could feel the silence closing in on us. At first,
I didn't know if it was my own shock or if everything had actually gone
quiet. I focused on the only sound I could hear. That was the
truck's engine running. Charles pulled a flashlight out from behind a seat and walked
to the back of the truck, and then further up the road a few
yards. He didn't see anything, so we got back in and we backed
up to where we thought we'd hit whatever this was. Charles positioned the truck
to angle the headlights into the woods. We still didn't see anything, so
we got out, but not Jesse. Though he wouldn't get out, he
begged us not to either. We could still hear Jesse as we walked down
what looked like a narrow path. We'd made it fifteen yards past the reach
of the headlight when the horns started honking repeatedly. With a click glance at
each other, we took off at a dead run, back up to the
truck. Jesse was inside and he was covered and sweat and shaking uncontrollably.
With all the windows rolled up, I grabbed the door handle, but it
was locked. Charles found the door was locked too. We pounded on the
windows and we demanded that Jesse let us in, but he wouldn't or he
couldn't respond. It was several minutes before he regained control of his senses and
unlocked the doors. We tried to get him to tell us what happened,
but he just sat there, shaking and sweating. We decided it was better
to get out of there, so we left as fast as we could.
We drove back toward the highway in lights, but Jesse never uttered a word.
We dropped him at his house on north Shore, but again he never
spoke. He climbed out of the truck and he walked slowly to the front
door with his arms down at his side, like some sort of a funeral
march, and we watched him go inside before heading to my house, where
Charles dropped me off. I didn't go in away. I sat outside and
thought over what had happened, and a million questions were going through my mind.
What had we hit? And what did Jesse see that shook him up
so badly? And why wouldn't he talk to us? The next morning,
I called Jesse, but he still wasn't talking. I had to walk through
two miles to Charles's apartment because he didn't have a phone. His truck was
sitting out front and I stopped to look it over and there were three deep
scratches about one inch apart and five inches long on the hood. Why.
I knocked on the door and Charles came out to look at the damage with
me. We decided to go over to Jesse's and talk to him. But
his mother met us at the door, and she was furious. What did
you do to Jesse last night? She demanded. He wouldn't tell her,
He wouldn't tell anybody. He wouldn't even come out of his room. I
was thirteen when that happened. Jesse was sixteen, and Charles was eighteen.
It was almost two years before Jesse spoke to me again, And when he
finally did, all ever got out of him was that something came out of
the woods. After Charles and I went down the path. It started shaking
the truck, he said, and he closed his eyes and he couldn't bring
himself to open them again. He blindly groped for the horn. When he
found it, he just kept hanking it, and then the shaking stopped when
we came back. That was the first time something weird ever happened to me.
There was a second incident that happened four years later while I was fishing
near the San Jacinto River in East Harris County, Texas, but I won't
tell you that story now. I lost touch with those boys over the years,
and I wonder if either of them is still around. I'm sixty two
years old now, and this is the first time I've spoken about this.
Maybe I blocked it out somehow. And that's the end of his email that
you know, I don't know. Some of that story kind of makes me
laugh, and some of that story makes me just terribly feel sorry for Jesse.
These guys were just riding around playing tricks on each other. You know.
That happened to me one time, And actually my dad did that to
me. We were going down a dark road on the way to his cabin
and he just reached up and turned the lights out. And I was like,
holy crap, I thought I had blacked out or something, it was
so dark. But I know that's a funny thing to do to people.
Just you know, you can't hardly do it now with these new trucks and
new cars. The lights are like automatic. But something came back after this
truck. Apparently it was whatever they hit, and it was shaking the truck.
Who knows what it was, but can you imagine how scared you would
be if you were in that truck and something was standing beside it, shaking
it as if it was trying to get in. That would scare me to
death. JW. I really appreciate you sending this story. It was great.
It was different, it was a different type of encounter story, and
I think it was fantastic. So thank you, sir for sending this.
Here's an email from Danny and Danny Rights. I've been a bigfoot enthusiast since
I was a teenager and i saw the Patterson Gimmlin film. I'm almost sixty
nine years old now and still just as enthusiastic. I want to share a
few things with you that don't necessarily have to be put in your show.
I just wanted to share some things that have happened in West Virginia. Well,
Danny, these stories are so good I'm putting them in a video.
I hope you don't mind. I live in the westernmost county of West Virginia.
I left here in nineteen seventy for a career in the Navy in Norfolk,
Virginia. I spent nineteen and a half years there, and as I
always say, God wanted me back here, so he stationed me back home
for my last four years before retirement. The first encounter is from my dad.
I never thought he would admit to seeing a bigfoot because He's always said
that there's a reasonable explanation for things that you think you see. One day,
when the subject of bigfoot came up, I expected to hear him say
that he didn't believe in them. Then he shared a story of something that
happened to him either before he left for World War Two or after he came
home. He was at home on my grandfather's farm. The large field out
in front of the house had been plowed and worked up and ready to plant
corn. The field and a pasture field was separated by a creek that ran
between them. Part of the pasture was also woodland and hills. The day
this happened, he was on his way to the pasture, and as he
crossed the yard, he heard a loud roar and a scream, as if
something had attacked a woman. He wondered what it was and began to walk
the path to the creek in order to get a better look at the area
of the field where the sound was coming from. When he got to the
place where he could see the entire field, he saw this big black thing
that looked like a man crossing the field. It walked to the fence line
at the edge of the field and creek and stepped over the fence like stepping
over a doorway. It then had to step over the bank to the creek,
cross over it, and up the bank on the other side. He
said he watched it cross the pasture and walk into the woods. I was
surprised that he admitted to all this, and he never revised his story.
My first encounter was as a teenager. I grew up on a small forty
acre farm that basically sat between two hills, as we call it here in
a holler. My home was at the lower part of the farm and in
a narrow part between the hills. Dad had built a one acre pond for
fishing, as a pay lake, and as a source of water to water
our gardens. In the summer. I spent my youth roaming those hills,
hunting, camping, and just wandering around like farm boys do. One evening,
I was fishing, and just as it began to get dark, my
six cents kicked in and I realized that something wasn't right. There were no
frogs, singing, birds, or bugs or anything. Everything was silent,
just dead calm. As I realized that something was going on, I heard
up in the woods on the hill opposite from where I was something walking through
the leaves just inside the woodline. I knew it wasn't a deer because at
that time we didn't have deer in our area. And I also knew it
wasn't a bear because we didn't have them either. There was a long pause
between each step, and I could tell it was stepping flat footed on the
leaves. That sixth sense told me that it was time to leave. I
just picked up my gear and started walking home. The sound followed me until
I got to them of the lake and started walking down the road to the
house, and it just stopped. Another event happened back in two thousand and
five while I was working the evening shift at our main post office here in
Huntington, West Virginia. I usually got off at eleven or twelve, unless
I had to work over. I live in a small community again between two
hills. Almost everything here is between hills in some way. There's also a
large creek that separates the community and another hill, and along this hill there's
a train track and further up some individual homes located along a hilltop road.
It was during the summer, so the nights were warm the night this happened,
I was getting home around two in the morning. When I pulled into
the driveway and got out of the car, I noticed that every dog for
a mile was barking and creating a ruckus. I wondered what had them so
riled up. About that time. On the hill above there, I heard
a huge roar that lasted for several seconds. It echoed off the hills like
nothing I had ever heard. The instant it stopped, every dog in the
area shut up. All I could do was smile and say, there's a
bigfoot for sure. Have an email here from Eli. I got this email
several months ago, and here's what Eli writes. Hey, Cam, I
love your channel and I appreciate what you do here, giving folks a platform
without taking a stance either way, and just presenting the stories. Well,
that's what we do. That's what we're doing. I have one for you
that happened to me in the backwoods of Arkansas back in the early nineties.
I don't mind if you use my first name, but let's keep my last
name between you and I. My name is Eli, and this is my
story. In nineteen ninety four, I was thirteen years old. I used
to stay at my grandparents' house, a lot out in the very rural area
in southeastern Arkansas. It was a serious of networked dirt roads to get to
their house. The closest neighbor lived a mile and a half away, and
the closest town was ten miles down the road. It's in the middle of
farmland and it's mostly woods. They had lived in this house since my mother
was a child. A general store served the people in the area. It
was a two mile walk from my grandmother's place. An old lady ran the
store. Her and her husband had added the store on the front of their
house. They lived in the back. My grandmother asked me if I wanted
to walk to the general store and get her a few things. She gave
me some money and I headed that way. It was early in the day
and I had plenty of time to get back before dark, which I always
made sure to do when I was out roaming about. Things can get creepy
out in the backwoods of Arkansas. After nightfall. It's a darkness unlike most
people who have lived primarily in the cities or towns have ever experienced. I
was easily distracted at that age and I stopped at a creek on the way,
and I stayed too long, catching crawdads and throwing rocks in the water,
and then I piddled all the way to the store. It was getting
late and I picked up my pace. By the time I left the store,
it was getting dark. I didn't want to be walking those lonely secluded
roads through the woods alone in the dark, so I heard as fast as
I could. I would jog a while, and then I would sprint.
I was doing anything in my power to get back as quickly as possible,
but it wasn't enough. By the time I made it back to the bottom
of the hill, near the bridge where I had wasted all that time earlier,
it was dark. I could see the road in the woods all around
me because of a glowing moon that was coming over the horizon. It shined
an eerie glow across the land, and one way I was glad that I
could see, but in another the moonlight made it all very creepy. At
the top of the hill, the road was perfectly straight and flat, with
woods on the left side and a large field on the right. Another half
mile and I would be home. I could see the porch lights away off
in the distance, and I felt relieved. My eyes were fully adjusted to
the dark at this point, and the light from the moon allowed me to
see all the way across the field on my right. I was getting closer
and had actually slowed down a bit. I was tired from the run.
I heard something in the woods on my left. Leaves were crunching. Something
was walking in there. Keeping my eyes on the woods, I kept moving.
There was no way for me to see anything clearly inside the woods,
even though the moonlight was shining. But in the ditch closest to the trees,
I could make out a dark figure. I stopped and focused on that
spot for a few seconds, and it was something, And now it was
moving towards me. I thought it was a dog, but then I realized
it was much too large to be a dog. And then I realized it
wasn't really actually walking on four legs. It was crawling or creeping like a
person would. I couldn't take my eyes off this thing. A jolt of
fear shot through me when I realized this thing was trying to sneak up on
me, it was stalking me. I started walking again and I kept my
eyes on it only a few yards behind me. Now, a few steps
into my walk, the thing stood upright. It was big. I'm guessing
it was seven feet tall, and it looked like it was covered in dark
hair. But it wasn't a bear. Bears aren't that tall. I had
never seen anything like this. I dropped the bag of stuff that I had
been carrying, and I ran as fast as my legs could take me towards
my grandparents house. I heard a heavy breathing and a growling sound behind me.
It was up on the road with me now, and I could hear
its feet crunching the ravel. I never turned around. It was going to
catch me at any second. I couldn't make my legs go fast enough.
It was so close to me that I closed my eyes in anticipation of it
grabbing me. But at that moment I heard it crash off into the woods
to my left. For whatever reason, it had let me go. It
was right on me, and it could have taken me down if it wanted
to, but it let me go. When it was a short distance away
into the woods, I heard a scream. I don't think I could replicate
that scream now, but I'm telling you I'm never going to forget that scream.
By the time I reached the house, my heart felt like it would
explode from the run and the adrenaline pumping through my body. I flew into
the house and in an incoherent mess of hyperactive gibberish, trying to explain to
my grandparents what had just happened. My grandmother didn't really seem to believe me,
but she knew something had scared me. She acted weird about the whole
thing the rest of that night. She said it must have been a dog,
but that wasn't a dog I saw on the road. The next morning,
I woke up and I found my grandpa sitting outside whittling wood underneath the
shade tree in the front yard, as he often liked to do. I
went and sat down beside him in one of the old metal lawn chairs.
He was a rational man, down to earth, and had grown up and
hunted that area his entire life. He knew every square inch of that place.
It was mapped into his mind. He knew every type of crittering creature
that lived in those woods, what noises they made, were to find them
and how to catch them, etc. I had only been hunting with him
for a couple of years, but I'd been going out into those woods with
him since a pretty young age. On the walks, he had passed a
lot of his knowledge down to me during those adventures. I spoke to him
about what had happened to me the night before, and I told him that
I knew what I saw. It wasn't my overactive imagination. I wasn't making
it up, and it definitely was not a dog. He knew that I
wasn't just some dumb thirteen year old kid, and he knew that I knew
the things he'd taught me. He stopped whittling, looked at me right in
the eye, and he said, I know what you saw. I've seen
it before too. There's things in the woods that people don't understand, and
they ought not be fooled with. Ever. I'll remember those words clearly to
this day because it gave me affirmation, But at the time it made me
realize that whatever I had seen was real and it was beyond my understanding.
My grandpa then went on to tell me that far back in the woods there
are some cliffs, and at the bottom of those cliffs as a cave.
He told me that the cave is where the creature lived. He had once
stumbled upon it a long time ago when he was hunting. He was standing
on the top of the cliff looking at it when the creature fitting the same
description emerged and began screaming wildly at him and throwing rocks. He took a
shot at it, he missed, and then this thing gave chase. But
my Grandpa was on the top, so in order to get to him,
this thing had to go a long distance and then climb up, which he
said it quickly began to do, so he high tailed it out of there
in a hurry. The whole way back home, he felt as if he
were being watched, and he kept hearing twigs snap behind him, and he
was certain that it was following him, stalking him. He made it home,
and as he reached his front porch, he turned and looked back at
the woods from where he'd come from, and he saw it peeking out at
him from behind a tree. Later that night, he said that he and
my grandmother awoke in the early morning hours to large rocks being thrown at the
house and howling noises from outside. It walked around sound on the front porch,
rattling the doorknobs, banging on windows, and it sounded like it was
muttering to itself in a low, garbled voice, but it didn't sound like
a language, just a bunch of gibberish. After a while, the thing
went back to throwing some more rocks and howling. So my grandpa grabbed a
shotgun and fired it out the front door a few times into the darkness.
He heard it run back into the woods. That was the last he'd seen
or heard of it, but over the years he heard of other farmers cows
being mutilated, or someone's hunting dog going missing, or someone would have a
story about some strange creature they had seen in the woods. He also said
it scared my grandmother beyond words, and she absolutely has refused to ever talk
about it or even acknowledge that it happened, which explains her acting weird about
it when I told her about what happened. To me, I know the
story is pretty far fetched, and you can believe it or not. It
makes no difference to me. I know what I saw, and my grandpa
knew what he saw, and neither of us had ever felt the need to
convince anyone else. I've never spoken of it to anyone other than a few
close to me and my grandfather, and he passed away over ten years ago,
and now I'm sharing it with you. These things are just as real
as you and I, and just like people, they come in all manner
of personality and temperament. These aren't just stories. These are people's memories of
a creature that lives in our woods. Signed to Eli, here's a story
from the United Kingdom. I thought this was really good. The writer's name
is Jay, and there's a couple of locations in here that have names I'm
going to have trouble pronouncing, so let's see how I do. He gave
me the fanatic spelling so that maybe I can get it right. Let's give
it a whirl. I live in Cluyd County in North Wales, United Ingdom.
I'm lucky to live in such a beautiful place, surrounded by hills and
woodland and an abundance of farms. We also have a lot of paved roads
that lead to the more secluded areas. There was a spot on one of
these narrow roads to nowhere that I and my friends Scott liked to go where
we could chill out and enjoy some good banter and good chap. The spot
we frequented was a lay by by a third of the way up a damaged
road with a steep incline and many hairpin turns as it snaked in an s
up the side of a small mountain. The road was edged with forty to
fifty foot conifers, some ash, and a few large oaks. Just off
the road was a large piece of woodland. I say large because on our
tiny island, three hundred acres is large. On this stretch of road,
where there are no street lights, homes were few and far between, and
we're inset back, so any lights from the didn't reach the road. It
was dark as dark can be out there at night. One fall evening,
Scott and I visited our usual spot with another friend we called Jack. We
had been there maybe an hour, paying no mind to any of the surrounding
area outside of the white ninety two Nissan Murker we had bundled into. We
were laughing and having a good time, just enjoying each other's company. We
hadn't even noticed how quiet the woods were. Suddenly the inside of the car
went silent as well. Everyone stopped talking, and Scott reached past the steering
wheel to silence the radio. We were all sure we had heard something really
close. A thud made me wind down the window on the passenger side to
listen. That was when I realized I couldn't hear anything in the woods.
We have an abundance of wildlife in this area, another reason I feel so
lucky to live here. There are rabbits and squirrels, red fox, badger,
deer owls, and other birds of prey like kite and buzzards. At
that moment, none of them were making a sound. Not even the insects
could be heard. The only noise that broke the silence was the light rustling
that was coming from a field that was situated up a steep embankment just to
our left. It was coming from the other side of the field. We
thought nothing of it until we heard another thud right next to my open window.
A rock the size of a small melon had been thrown with great power
and even more impressive accuracy towards us and landed a couple of feet short of
the vehicle. It hit the ground so violently that I was sprayed with muddy
rain water right into my face. That was it. My window came up.
Not that a window would have stood a chance against a rock that size,
but it made me feel better knowing there was something between us and whatever
had just hurled a thirty pound rock. We were considered during our options,
which in all honesty shouldn't have taken as long as it did. It was
obvious that we should have just gotten the heck out of Dodge at that very
moment, but for some reason we stalled on making our getaway. I looked
up and out of the front window, and then quickly hushed the others,
telling them to look dead ahead. Our car was pointed as though we would
drive straight up the hill to the next hairpin that was perhaps fifty feet away.
The incline put the gravel level at about ten to twelve feet higher than
we were. We all saw it, rather, we saw its eyes,
two big, round, amber colored eyes, hovered about six inches apart and
what I estimated to be some eleven feet off the ground. This thing must
have been immense and height in stature. I have always been a bit big
for my boots, with a chip on my shoulder. A naturally brave person,
it helps being five ft ten and two one hundred and thirty pounds of
muscle from manual farm work and many hours in the gym. Jack isn't a
small guy either, standing six feet tall and weighing around two hundred and fifteen
pounds, but Scott was a mere five ten and one hundred and seventy pounds.
Being the brave boy I am, I got out of the car to
get a better look. Scott and Jack were both yelling, what the hell
are you doing? Jay, come back, get back in here. We
need to leave. I gave them a soft hush and started to slowly make
my way up towards the eyeshine. Maybe I was hoping it was an owl
perched on a low branch. As I got nearer, I realized this wasn't
the case. I started to make out the creatures outline, and as I
did, I stopped dead in my tracks. This thing was enormous. I
was now maybe thirty feet away from it, and I could see that it
had short but very thick legs, a long body, and thick long arm.
If it had a neck, it was half an inch long. Either
that or at shoulder muscles were the size of a grown pig. It was
easily ten or eleven feet tall and forty five feet wide at the shoulders.
I just stared as it made a low huff with every breath. That was
when I turned from a big, brave boy to a scared little girl and
started walking backwards towards the car. I got back in and quietly said drive.
There was a pause before he reacted, but before Scott could turn the
key in the ignition, we heard another thud. There was another rock,
slightly smaller than the last, and it had been thrown and fell just shy
of the vehicle. This time, I screamed at Scott, just drive,
Scott, and he did. Never before has a one thousand cc hatchback been
driven so quickly. Fair play to Scott for the previous unseen skill. Thinking
about it now, I don't think whatever this creature was wanted to hurt us.
It just wanted us to go. Mission accomplished and we got out,
Nor did we return to this spot. For several weeks. I had another
encounter with this thing, and it happened some months later in a different area
of our surrounding woodlands, but only two miles or so from the spot I
visited. Was Scott and Jack. I was hiking alone in the springtime near
a derelict castle called gerich Gerrick Castle. I'm sure I got that wrong.
It has been long abandoned, though many attempts have been made to restore the
castle. It was in the middle of the afternoon, with many hours of
daylight left. I'd heard stories of dogs going missing here, but I figured
they just ran off and never found their owners, as it is a large
area. However, I found evidence to suggest otherwise. I came across a
small black fir. At first I thought it was a local's farm sheep that
had strayed and perhaps caught its wool on the brush. As I got closer,
I realized it was fur and not wool. A little further up the
trail I found some more, a lot more, a full labrador's coat of
black fur. There were a few bones licked clean, some had been splintered,
as if bitten with great force. I started to get the feeling that
I was being watched. That's when I heard a loud wood on wood knock.
I shot to an upright stance and stared intently in the direction from which
it came. But I saw nothing. After my previous encounter several months earlier.
I wanted nothing to do with this. I turned back into the frightened
little girl again. I spun around and high tailed it back down the trail
and broke from the tree line faster than I knew I could. Lily,
hush Lily with barking Lily. Oh my gosh, this dog, it's my
little pug. She won't shut up. She barks at everything. I'm sorry
to interrupt this story. I spun around and high tailed it back down the
trail and broke from the tree line faster than I knew I could. I've
told no one about these two encounters until now. Neither Scott nor Jack have
spoken of it either. I didn't even tell them about the second encounter,
nor have I had another encounter or seen any signs of it since in my
mind, there's nothing that is going to tell me otherwise. Although I thought
bigfoot sasquatching, yet he lived in North America and Russia, I know now
that they are on UK soil as well. Bigfoot lives in my town discreetly
and quietly, without being seen or heard by the majority of people. I
hope to God that it stays that way, and he signs off. Jay.
Okay, here's another email from a woman, and she does not want
her name disclosed. She wants to be anonymous, and that is no problem
at all, she writes. I live in West Virginia. We have a
few bears that make themselves known every now and again, but my dog is
my protector. For over a month, he was barking at the entrance to
the forest every time I went outside. I just chalked it up to being
a bear. I have over two acres of law that has to be my
responsibility to keep up since my husband passed away. At the end of my
garden boxes, there's a stretch of grass next to the hemlock spruce that surrounds
the yard and separates it from the forest. I was going about my normal
mowing duty around the ends of the garden boxes when a massive black hand reached
out and touched my face, as if to just feel my face. This
hand was extremely calloused and dark even the palm. There was no way it
belonged to a man. I was scared. I was so scared that I
pushed the handles on the zero turn along more as hard as I could,
and I did not look back. I jumped off the moor at the front
porch and I ran inside the more sat there for three days because I wasn't
coming out of that house for any reason. Although I had never been one
to believe in bigfoot, I did a computer search. I'd always considered it
a fable or a way for people to get attention, But now I know.
I reasoned with myself that these things have been there always, Apparently one
just finally got curious to know what a human feels like. If I could
just convince myself that they're not going to hurt me, I think I would
feel better going back outside if I'm still not so brave. I like for
my house to look neat, and I do a lot of work myself.
I was given my garage a fresh coat of paint when I heard walking in
the woods. They were heavy footsteps with breaking twigs and rustling leaves. I
was fine until they stopped just to my write in the tree line. I
didn't know what to do, so I did what any dummy would do.
I started singing. I sang several songs and nothing happened. So I finished
the painting and I went back inside. There was another time I was washing
my car, and just as I was finishing, I heard the sound of
breaking twigs. Once again, they stopped within twenty feet of me somewhere in
the tree line. This time I heard a sound like a very big man
sitting down on something that was way too short. Boom. It was very
loud. I could see inside the tree line, but I was too afraid
to look closer. I stay inside a lot. Now. I have a
new husband, and when I told him, he laughed at me. I
think he thought I was joking. Now I've never mentioned it again to anyone
until now. If they are still there, I will leave them alone.
As long as they leave me alone. I'll listen to your stories, and
it keeps me from thinking that I'm completely insane. Okay, this last story
is the man says you can call me be And this may not be a
Bigfoot story, but let's read on and see. Back in nineteen eighty two,
I had an experience in Bullet County, Kentucky that has kept me out
of the woods until this day. I had just gotten my driver's license,
so I barred my dad's seventy seven custom van to go on a double date.
I swung by and picked up my friend Chuck and the two girls,
and we headed out into the country to go parking. Back then, the
thing to do was go parking, indulge a little underage drinking, and explore
the mysteries of the opposite sex. So that was our plan. We drove
down to the Salt River Bottoms along a one lane gravel road. It was
a pretty desolate spot with the occasional house or a farm every few miles,
but there were a few spots where we could pull off the road and be
alone with our dates. The sun had already set and we were looking for
one of those spots to pull over, so we were already traveling slow when
Chuck suddenly asked, what was that one hundred feet in front of us?
Something large and black was lying on the road. I slowed the van to
a crawl. As we got closer, I started thinking it looked like a
cow laying there with its back to us. Once we got to within ten
feet of it, I decided to get a better look, so I put
the van in park and opened the door to get out. As I did
so, it made a loud metal clanking sound. Those van doors are famous
for that thing on the road popped its head up and looked right at us.
This thing was covered in black hair. It had the head of a
dog with a large snout and ears stood upright. It felt like all the
blood rushed out of my body and my hair stood on end as I sat
there looking at it, and Chuck kept asking what is that thing? But
I couldn't register a logical explanation or give him a reasonable answer. This thing
was huge. It must have weighed seven hundred pounds or more. Dogs don't
get that big. It locked eyes on us for maybe ten seconds, and
all we could do was stare back at it. Then the impossible happened.
This monster of an animal stood up on two feet. It took a step
towards us and put what looked like a hand on the hood of the van
with enough pressure to rock it backward. My god, it had to be
at least nine feet tall. It had to bend down to look at us
through the windshield, and it glared down at us like a predator savoring its
next meal right before it strikes. And that's when we saw its teeth had
a mouthful of sharp canines, like a wolf or a werewolf. The girls
were in the back screaming and crying, and I was frozen in place,
and Chuck finally shouted, get us out of here, and that brought me
back to reality. I grabbed the shifter and dropped it into gear and pushed
the accelerator to the floorboard. We spun out, leaving a rooster tail of
gravel and dusk in our wake. The monster, that's how I think of
it, rolled off to the passenger side, and it was a good thing
he went that way. The driver's door was still open. At least he
could have torn the door off. At worst, well, I don't want
to think about the worst. I didn't slow down until we were back on
the pavement and the girls were inconsolable, so we took them home. There's
nothing like a werewolf to put a damper on teenage hormones. And Chuck and
oh man, that thing ruined your date. Chuck and I downed a few
beers before I dropped him off, just to calm our nerves. Of course,
of course you did. We must have been in shock or something.
I don't remember either one of us speaking a word about what had just happened.
Once I dropped him off, I drove home and I went straight to
bed. The next morning, I was abruptly awakened by my dad, who
made me go out to the driveway and look at the van. I expected
be yelled at for driving gravel roads and covering his black van with dust,
but that wasn't what he wanted me to see. Pointing at the hood,
he demanded, what the hell did you do to the van last night?
Boy? I walked over to where he was standing, and I saw five
large, deep claw marks running across the hood. Well, what could I
say? Sorry about that? Dad must have been that giant wherewolf that did
it. He would have thought I was nuts, So I just said I
don't know, and I had to pay for a new paint job. Anyway.
A few days later, Chuck finally asked me what the hell we saw
that night. I still didn't have an answer. The girls were pretty much
done with us. Bringing a werewolf to a date has a way of doing
that. This was all back in nineteen eighty two, so we didn't have
the Internet to look these things up. Heck, we didn't even have cable
until the following year. Until this day, the only thing that I have
seen that even closely resembles what we saw that night is the werewolf in the
movie Van Helsing. Watching that movie made the hair stand up on the back
of my neck. From what I've seen on the internet, I of a
guessing it was a dog man that we saw. And here's something more.
I have an uncle and three cousins who were all police officers. A few
months after this happened, I was playing Nickel and dimee poker with the family
when I overheard my cousin, a Jefferson County canine officer, saying that a
woman's body was found up in a tree and torn to shreds at tom Wallace
Park. I took him outside and told him the story of what happened to
my friends in me just a few months earlier. Although he did listen intently
at the time, albeit with a look of bewilderment on his face, we
never spoke of it again. Years later he was shot and killed in the
line of duty. I don't know exactly what I saw out there on that
gravel road that night, but I do know that it was bad, nasty,
evil and deadly. God only knows what would have happened if we'd already
been parked there and it crept up on us. I'm not afraid of the
woods, but I'm terrified of what I know is out there lurking around in
them. Just look at all the people who go missing, never to be
seen or heard from again. Here's an email from Mike, and this is
real interesting. He says. I'm sharing this with you because I recently came
across your channel on YouTube. I've noticed several similarities to what you read about
and what happened to me eight years ago. I want to start off by
saying I don't know what I saw. I can't say it was or was
not a big foot, nor will I say I don't believe anymore. I
grew up in Swiss, Missouri. At the beginning of the email, he
gives me a little bit of a description of Swiss, Missouri, and it
sounds like a really great place in the Ozarks in Missouri. It's really nice
wine country. I think sounds very appealing to me, he writes. While
growing up a hunted and fished all over the area, even swam in most
of the creeks. My family roots date back to the turn of the century
here in Swiss My great great grandfather's farm was a whopping five miles east of
where I lived today. Through the years growing up there, nothing ever happened
that I would consider odd or out of place. As the years passed,
I hit adulthood and moved away, thinking there was something better out there.
Then in two and eleven, I moved back, knowing where I wanted to
plant my roots. I ended up buying acreage connecting to our family farm,
and I built a home and a barn. I had approximately twenty chickens and
five guineas at this time. Unfortunately, ticks or rough out this way,
and both chickens and guineas enjoy eating them, so I felt this was a
decent investment. Plus the eggs were good. It was in the early spring,
April fifth to be exact, a cool evening, windows open, and
my fiance and I were sitting on the couch watching a show on TV when
I heard a fuss outside. My dogs started barking and raising cane, so
I muted the TV and got off the couch. Walking into the dining room,
I heard what I believe were Cody's trying to get at my chickens.
I walked back into the living room and into my bedroom to grab my gun.
As I walked back into the dining room, I heard my dog really
let loose because he was extremely protective of his chickens. I flipped on the
back porch lights. I walked out onto the deck, which sits approximately six
to seven feet off the ground, and I could see something in the shadows,
and my old dog had his hair standing straight up and barking and growling
like he'd gone mad. I fired several rounds into the woods that backed into
the natural fed spring Creek. I heard what sounded like a freight train crashing
through the woods. After a few minutes, I called my dog back up
to the house and we went in. I told my fiance that what had
happened, and she said maybe a cow had gotten out or something. I
thought for a minute and I said, yeah, I guess that's what it
could have been. Three days later, on Friday evening, my fiance and
I went into herman for dinner and to visit some friends. We got home
late, sometime just before midnight. We were pretty wore out, but I
always checked the barn and the chickens when I got home. As I walked
to the chicken coop, I noticed a feeder laying on the ground. I
picked it up, and, thinking my dog had somewhehow I got a hold
of it and drug it out in the yard. As I approached the chicken
coop, I noticed a hole in the chicken wire approximately six feet up and
the hole was about eighteen to twenty inches around. I opened the coop and
I noticed blood and feathers were everywhere, but only a couple of chickens were
gone. I figured somehow a coyote or a fox had to get into the
coop, but I couldn't comprehend why or who had made this hole that size
and that high up off the ground. However, this is the price to
raising any small animals out in the sticks. The chicken wire portion of my
coop is only four feet wide and six feet long. I normally let the
chickens out and run freely to eat ticks and peck the ground, so I
didn't feel I needed a large run area in the coop. However, that
night I rounded them up and fed them and kept them locked in the coop
due to the coaties and foxes in the area. This is my attempt at
making it as hard as possible for them to be dinner and the predators will
move on down the road. Later that same night, after patching the hole
with some scrap chicken wire, I showered and got into bed, wore out
and ready to sleep. I had just hit that spot where you're asleep but
still somewhat alert and extremely comfortable, when my old dog started as crazy barking,
and then I heard this how scream, growling noise I have never heard
in my life coming from the backyard. I grew up almost eighteen years in
this area and just moved back after being gone for only five years. I
hunt and I trap everything you can think of. I've heard a fox,
I've heard a bobcat scream, I've heard mountain lions in black Bear. I've
heard dear grunts and turkey's gobble, But I have never ever heard this noise
before. Now, due to our closest neighbor being approximately a quarter mile away
and that was family, I knew no one would be on my property this
late. So as I sat up trying to comprehend the noise and understand what
I had heard, I grabbed for my three hundred windmag fearing that this isn't
an average everyday animal, and then I heard what I thought to be fencing
being torn. My dog was already at the back door, begging to be
let out. He knew something wasn't right. I opened the door, stepping
onto the deck after turning on the porch lights, and all I could see
was something near the coop. My old dog took off full sprint towards it.
Now he's fought off countless codies and foxes, but tonight he wasn't ready
for this thing. He got close and I heard the screaming growl that I
can't explain, and before I knew it, my dog flew into the side
of my deck. This was a good twenty feet away from where this thing
was. Well. Now I was furious, thinking that it had killed my
dog, and I leveled my rifle and I shot everything I had in it,
five rounds total, and again I heard crashing like a freight train going
down into the woods near the creek. I rushed down and grabbed my dog,
scared to death that it was too late. He was about seventy pounds
of pure muscle. I picked him up and got him inside. I put
him on the table and I turned on the dining room light, and I
was horrified. That he was gashed down his side like a razor blade had
cut him. He was winding an in tremendous pain, he was having trouble
breathing, and he had lost a ton of blood. I know growing up
on the farm that it's not right to allow an animal to suffer. It's
not fair to the animal, in my opinion, to let it lay there
and die. I knew what I needed to do, even though it would
kill me to do it. I took him back outside in the front yard,
and I told him that he was a good boy, how much I
loved him, and that it was time for me to put him out of
his misery. I lost my best friend that night. I spent the next
hour digging a hole with my fiance holding a flashlight and a gun, just
to make sure that that thing didn't come back. As I buried my dog,
I felt anger at this animal for killing my dog. I felt fear
because I wasn't sure what it was, and then I felt empty because there
was nothing I could do. The next morning, I went out to see
the damage. This thing completely destroyed the chicken wire and the only thing that
saved the remaining eleven chickens and all the guineas was the actual wood coop.
However, it had damaged the roof on the coop too. I believe what
angered this thing when it let out that god awful sound was the fact that
it was unable to get in the coop and grab more chickens. I spent
the next two days rebuilding the coup and following the trail this thing had made
into the woods. I never saw any footprints or tracks, nor did I
find blood or hair. But I will tell you that it's now two and
nineteen, almost exactly eight years later, and other than that curious fox or
annoying coyote, I have had no issues. I have never heard that noise
again, and I still have in that same home, now married to that
same woman, and we have a new dog who will be eight in July.
I will never forget that day, and I'll never forget that sound that
that thing made, and I'll never forget the fear that that thing brought.
I'm not going to say for sure that this was a big foot, nor
will I say that it wasn't. I can tell you that I've been to
several states hunting bear, bore, elk and deer. I've spent more hours
in the woods than your average joke, and I've never felt that fear.
I've never seen or heard anything that can compare to that thing.