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 Ausabal 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 departments 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 it'd 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 watched 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 bows. The bells 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 glock 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 cock 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 need 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 in fact,
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, and 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 were 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 that 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 it 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
night 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 guest, there was no way it
could have weighed less than seven hundred fifty pounds. Three times would I weighed
it to 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 cheek bones 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 conical head,
or at least a big tuft of hair on top of its head that
made it appear 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 oomph 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 too, and a rest. 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 ben 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 basse 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. It seemed like hours, but it could only
have been a few seconds. Now. I drew my pistol to low ready
and backside step 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 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 millimeter 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. The whole incident spilled out of me.
He sat there with his hands around his coffee cup, looking into it,
and then look 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 makes 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 dusk so I would have
to make a 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 dire as well. 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.
Grandpaul and okemag 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 recognized 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