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