I was reading through the comments the other day and some woman commented that she
didn't like my Oki accent. I wasn't sure what to think about that.
That's a I don't what is an Oakie? Is that someone from Oklahoma?
That's not me? And if you listen to accents, you would know that
I'm not a hillbilly. I'm not an Oakie. I'm a Mississippi Delta River
rat redneck. I'm just a redneck. That's this is the way we talk.
I can't change it this late in my life, and I'm not really
embarrassed of it. But we all sound normal around here when we talk to
each other. So I just thought I would say I'm not an Okie.
Whatever an Okie is. Anyway, I've got a great story. It's a
long story from miss Michigan. The writer calls it a ninety four close up
November thirteen, nineteen ninety three. I'm assuming. I'm not sure what the
ninety four close up means because the date is nineteen ninety three. Anyway,
this is a great story. I think you're going to enjoy it all Right.
Here we go. I was at the deer Hunting and Fishing cabin that
my grandfather and my great uncle Mick built after they came home from World War
Two. The cabin was in Glennie, Michigan, on the Ausable River all
Sable River. I know I pronounced that wrong, but hang with me.
I had gone up to the cabin the week before rifle season started so I
could get in a week of bow hunting and cut some firewood and do some
late season fishing and relaxed before Grandpa and Uncle Mick and Uncle Jim showed up
for opening day of rifle season. I was born and raised in Arizona,
and I had been an officer with one of the city department it's for five
years. At the time of the incident. I took three weeks off every
November to go to Michigan for deer season. I had been going to the
cabin for years when I would visit. When I was a kid, there
were black bears around, but I had only ever actually seen one, but
had seen tracks in scat a handful of times. I believe the most dangerous
critters up there were the mosquitoes. For the most part, there was nothing
up there that would ever give me the heavy gebis, and I'm not prone
to getting the creeps. I worked in a decent sized city, so I
was pretty well honed in on what real danger was, and I was pretty
well stressed and oculated by this time in my life. I was on my
third day by myself. I hadn't been able to get into the woods to
hunt because there was almost no firewood, and I spent the first two days
cutting a dead fall pine and stacking it. I kept getting the feeling that
I was being white while I worked. I couldn't put my finger on it,
but it felt or seemed like every time I turned my back to the
encroaching woods fifty feet from the cabin, the hairs on the back of my
neck would stand up. It wasn't a feeling I was unaccustomed to, but
in the context of being at the cabin, where I was always totally relaxed,
it was out of the norm. But still there was nothing identifiable out
of the ordinary, no strange sounds or smells, nothing that I could put
my finger on. But I made sure I had my pistol on my belt
when I was out and about, and this is something I just never did
at the cabin, even if there was a bear track or a pile of
scat. I never felt the need to be armed. I got the wood
cut and stacked by late morning on the third day, and I went out
to the front of the cabin, which was on the water front, and
I put up a paper target on haybells we used for verifying zero on our
rifles, and bowt o. The bales were to the left or the southeast
and nearly to the woodline. I fired five rounds from my thirty thirty rifle
at fifty yards, which was actually a long shot for this area. The
woods were so thick a twenty five yard shot on a deer was normal and
often less because you flat couldn't see any further than five to ten yards most
places, except along the power lines that serviced the area. After I verified
zero on my rifle, I heard fifteen rounds at the same target with a
ten millimeter block pistol I was actually planning on hunting with that year. My
pistol was good to go too. I reloaded the pistol and the rifle.
When I was cleaning up the brass, I heard a strange guttural umph sound
from inside the tree line behind me. The cabin was closed in by the
woods on three sides, and there was only a half an acre cleared,
so unless something was outside the tree line, you weren't going to see it.
I thought it could have been a bear, and that didn't bother me.
I'd been making plenty of noise so it wouldn't be startled or surprised that
I was there. I finished up and went in to get some food.
Halfway back to the door, I heard the oomph again, only this time
it was louder and it seemed to be closer. Well, now I was
getting a creepy feeling about the whole thing, more than I had over the
last couple of days. This was palpable, and then it hit me.
I never heard a bear, a deer, a beaver, or any other
critter make a sound with a definite f sound at the end. My cop
brain went to someone has to be messing with me, so I yelled out,
okay, I hear you. This isn't a great place to be effing
around. You better show yourself or get well. I heard the oomph again,
and then definite heavy footfalls going away from where I was toward the back
of the property to a swampy area behind the cabin. It wasn't really a
swamp, but it was always wet and muddy, and if you tried to
get in there, you were likely to lose a boot. And the knee
deep mud and that sticky, black, silty soil, the footfalls were definitely
heavy and bipedal. Again, my brain that looks for logical answers thought person
in heavy hunting boots. But I also thought that whoever was messing with me
was in for a nasty surprise if they went into that wet area. I
figured it was a bow hunter or a young airman from the air base,
and a Skota screwing around with me, which wasn't unusual in our area.
I figured it was over, and I finally went inside the cabin through the
screened in porch at the front door, and put my things away. I
fixed lunch and I half dozed in a chair by the big fireplace. I
had not been dozing long when a big boom startled me right out of my
chair. I had no idea what the noise was, but I was on
my feet. I thought it had to be one or two of the little
A seven jets from the air base going low and fast over the river.
They did that once in a while, and it could really shake the windows
in our cabin because we were right on the water. I reoriented myself and
realized I had to use the restroom. There was a bathroom in the cabin,
but it had an old style chemical toilet, and that was mainly for
women when they came up. The men didn't use it because you had to
empty it after every u so we all used the outhouse out back for things
that required a seat, and a handy tree for business that could be done
standing up. The only rule was that you had to step off the back
porch. I decided I needed a seat, and I walked the thirty feet
or so to the big outhouse which faced out into the swamp, and I
sat down to take care of business. And I heard the damn umph again.
Someone was definitely screwing around with me now, and I was getting pissed.
I started back to the back porch, cussing a blue streak. I
went back inside and sat at the kitchen table, and I lit a cigarette
and I started a pot of coffee. I sat at the table drinking my
coffee, and I cleaned my rifle in my pistol. I made a fire
in the fireplace, and I put in a movie, and I had some
dinner, and then I went to bed. The inside of the cabin,
or the main part before the addition, was twenty four feet by twenty four
feet. It was built from ten to twelve foot logs, and the kitchen
bumped out off the back, and there were two bedrooms in the bathroom bumped
out on the sides, and those were two by six framing. Nothing fancy,
but it was comfortable. My bed was in the corner of the big
room, right by one of the windows, and one wall was a big
stone fireplace, and there was several comfortable chairs and four old freeby couches in
different spots. Now I usually sleep like a baby, but I tossed and
turned. I think I was bent out of shape for being messed with,
and just generally irritated. When I finally couldn't sleep, I went back to
the chair and I started another movie. And then came another boom, except
it was more of a huge slap on the side of the cabin than made
the whole wall shape. I grabbed my flashlight, my pistol, andine I
headed out the front door. I heard fast footsteps going away from me,
and I put the beam of light down that side of the cabin, but
I couldn't see anything. I could hear it, but it was full dark,
and unless you have been there at night, you don't know what dark
is. Now. I was seriously pissed. I mean, I was heated.
But there wasn't anything I could do at that point, so I went
back in and put in another movie, and at some point I fell asleep.
The next morning, everything was dead quiet. When I got up and
made coffee. I went outside of your Nate and there were no birds chirping
or chittering. It was so quiet that it was eerie. But I finished
and I went inside to have my coffee and get dressed. It was feeling
like snow in the air, and I wanted to bring in a bunch of
firewood. And I dressed and put my pistol into its holster and went out
back to the woodpile. I had made three or four trips, and when
I came back out the last time and stepped off the porch, I caught
fast movement behind the outhouse. It was fast enough that I thought it had
to be a crow or something. I got a few steps further, and
it stepped out from behind the outhouse, and I stopped dead still looking right
at a big foot. I am six foot four inches tall, and this
big bastard had at least a foot on me. It was so thick and
muscular it looked like a brownish red body builder. It was just so massive.
There was no other way to describe it. If I had to make
a guess, there was no way it could have weighed less than seven hundred
and fifty pounds. Three times would I weighed it too fifty? Hell,
it was probably more because of its sheer massive width. It had no whites
to its eyes, and the nose was really wide and flat. The face
looked like a flatter version of a gorilla, but with a human like nose
and really thick, large cheekbones and a heavy brow above its deep set black
eyes. It didn't have the pronounced muzzle of a gorilla, but rather more
like a human, but with a massive and thick lower jaw. In the
same way, the nose was more human like than gorilla, similar but still
distinct. I can see it just as clearly now as in the moment I
was looking at it. It had a head or at least a big tuft
of hair on top of its head that made it a pear conical, but
there was no length to its neck. The head sat so low it gave
the impression that it sat directly on its shoulders. I think I said,
oh shit, or I dropped the F bomb. Well, then it sniffed
the air and it looked at me and it went mph again, not threatening
per se, just almost like questioning me. I really don't know. The
impression on me was like when a dog wolfs it you. It's not barking,
like it's scared or threatening, but like, I'm here and I'm not
sure how I feel about you. Yet I was only ten yards from it.
It could just reach out and grab me with one step forward from where
it stood rocking on its thick legs. It moved just a little more to
its left side, like it was deciding which way to run. But then
it looked at me again with a change in expression, like it was deciding
what to do to me. Now instead of running, we both stood there
staring at one another. Now I've had subjects look at me that way pursue
it to an arrest. The change in its expression was a pre assault of
queue, and I recognized it for what it was. I put my right
hand under my fleece vest and I grabbed my pistol, thinking that if that
big bastard moved toward be an inch, I was going to put sixteen rounds
into its chest as fast as I could and then reload while I was making
a run for the cabin. When I put my hand on my gun,
it let out a different noise that went through my chest like a loud bass
beat. It was a muh that cracked at the end. It looked like
it grew six inches taller, and we stared at one another for a few
seconds, and then it looked off to its left and it ran into the
woods, crashing through the brush. It moved faster than I thought something that
big could move. I don't know how long I stood there. Seemed like
hours, but it could only have been a few seconds. Now. I
drew my pistol to low ready and backside stepping and scanning around me all the
way to the cabin. My heart was pounding when I got back inside,
and I was adrenaline pumping so bad that I was shaking. I locked the
door, which in retrospect seemed silly because it was just a wooden door with
a large window in it and an old dead bolt that wouldn't stop anyone who
wanted to get in. I had no idea what I should do. I
only knew what I could do. I reverted to my training and made sure
the old Remington pump shotgun we kept in the cabin was loaded with slugs.
I pulled the thirty thirty out of the rack and levered around into the chamber,
and then I loaded another round into the magazine to top it off.
I made sure the shotgun was close at hand wherever I was for the rest
of that day, and made damn sure I was back inside by dark and
had the kitchen light and back porch and front porch lights on. I tried
to sleep, but I only dozed lightly because every sound brought me to full
wakeness. I even traded my bed by the window for one of the couches
that was backed up to the solid log wall, and I even remained dressed
with my boots on. I knew it could get in, but it would
have to make a hell of a lot of noise doing it, and that
would at least give me a reactionary gap to shoot it a bunch of times
before it really got pissed off and ate me or whatever it planned to do.
Either way, if it got me, I would be surrounded by empty
shotgun shells and ten millimeters brass. I know it sounds like I'm making light
of it, but those were the thoughts that went through my head. It
was the Cops Gallows humor at work. Grandpa showed up in the morning before
Uncle Mick and the rest. I helped him unload his blazer and we went
inside for coffee. He asked me why the shotgun was on the kitchen counter,
and the whole incident spilled out of me. He sat there with his
hands around his coffee cup, looking into it, and then looked up into
my eyes and said, I know, Grandpa, and I looked all around
the cabin area for tracks. The leaf and pine needle cover was so thick,
and other than a couple of large, poorly defined impressions where it stood
facing me, there was nothing that had any detail. If I hadn't been
right there to see it, I wouldn't even know what the impressions in the
clutter were, or even pay them any mind at all. I think I
was really looking for any evidence that I hadn't totally lost my mind. I
wasn't prone to unreasonable fear at work, and I was used to dealing with
predatory humans and high stress and high threat situations and gangs and narcotics. I'd
been in critical incidents and I had handled them. I was rattled that I
was so rattled. Yes, it was a bigfoot, but it was also
just a flesh and blood animal. I was raised around animals, and I
worked around predators. It didn't make sense that this would affect me the way
it did. There was a big part of me that wanted to pack it
in and head back down to the Flint area and spend the next two weeks
with my grandma instead of staying at the cabin. It was also the part
of me that wouldn't let a big monkey chase me out of a place where
I had spent so much good time with my grandpa. You can call it
ego or self image. Wanted to be able to look at myself in the
mirror and not see a coward. And all those things made me stay and
made me go out in the woods and hunt like I always had. I
was definitely more alert to anything out of the ordinary, and most especially I
was alert to sudden, deafening silence. But nothing else happened. I even
forced myself to stay out until dust so I would have to make part of
the walk from my blind to the cabin in the dark. Now I am
not so arrogant as to say that I was scary to a bigfoot. But
thirty years of reflecting on the incident and going over it, and reading other
accounts by people whom I consider to be credible, I had become convinced that
it was when it saw me open my vest and put my hand on my
pistol that it decided to run. Yes, it had to have seen and
heard me shoot earlier. It made noise and alerted me to the presence of
what I thought was someone messing with me. But it saw and it heard
the guns. I had my pistol under my vest, so it didn't see
a gun until I put my hand on it. And that's when its demeanor
changed again and it ran. I got a nice six point on the seventeenth.
Grandpa and Uncle Mick and Uncle Jim all got a deer as well.
Oh, nothing else happened, and Grandpa and I didn't talk about it anymore
until a few years later, when he came to visit me in Arizona.
He told me that he had also been alone at the cabin in the mid
seventies when he saw something big and dark brown cross the road as he was
driving out. It turns out that that was our last trip to the cabin.
It nearly burned down in a wildfire the following summer. Grandpa and Okmak
decided to sell the land and hunt with friends in another location after that.
As of June this year, I hadn't been back to the old property for
almost thirty years. I had to go to Michigan for a family reunion and
I drove up with my wife and on a whim, I decided to go
back to the old property. It looked completely different going in. There were
a lot of newer, glamour cabins, and they had high dollar water and
trail toys and luxury SUVs parked around them. There wasn't anything left that I
reco nice on our old property. Everything including how I felt about the place,
had changed, but I was glad I had my forty five on my
belt just the same. And then the writer ads, sorry for the long
post, but there it is. And I thought this story was longer,
but looks like I copied this thing twice and pasted it in my word file.
Anyway, that's the end of it. I got about halfway through the
final I thought, is that the end of it? That is the end
of it? He said, sorry for the long post, but there it
is. First and foremost this man can write, there is I had.
I read the first paragraph when I pulled his email up, and I could
tell right away that he had written this pretty good and I would probably be
able to read it cold. And that's what I did. I had never
read this before. I just read it first time I've ever seen it.
I just read it straight off. But this is a really good, detailed
belief to me, to me a skip dick, this is a rational and
believable story. I mean, he's he's in a really secluded place in Michigan.
I think Michigan has a huge wildernesses and it's a beautiful place, especially
in the summertime. I wouldn't want to be up there in the winter,
but I'm a warm I'm a warm weather person. Anyway, Uh, he's
up there in the wilderness, and he's very secluded and he's hearing this stuff,
and just by chance, he walks out and boom, there's a bigfoot
just standing there. I mean, that's the perfect encounter. Would the bigfoot
have kept going, would it have moved off, had he not reached for
his handgun, or would it have stayed? Would it have just checked him
out? Would it have attacked him? There's no way to know. He
wasn't going to take a chance, and that makes sense to me. This
is one of the better stories that I've read in a long time, and
I really enjoyed reading it. So to the writer, you get an a
for writing a story that I was able to read. I never got hung
up on it at all. Sometimes I get hung up in these paragraphs because
some people they write like they think, and I don't think the same way.
That doesn't mean the way they wrote it is wrong. It's just that
the words that they use don't jive with the way I think, so I
get hung up on it. Not this one, man, I just blew
through this like nothing, So I'm sorry I'm just rambling, but I'm just
so happy to get this story. So thank you to the writer. That's
going to be it for this podcast. I hope you guys enjoyed it,
and we will see you soon on another podcast. We're going to be slowly
increasing the rate of uploads after my work after my work marathon, and I'm
so excited to be doing this, So thank you for listening, and we'll
see you guys on the next one. Thanks.