During the nineteen nineties. I was a wildlife agent and I was dealing primarily
with problem wild animals that were causing problems in residential areas, on farms,
or wherever there was an issue. I prefer not to name the state because
at the time I was well known for the job that I did, and
this story might refresh a memory and bring it back to me. But I
can tell you that this took place in the rural mountain area in the northeastern
United States. We were having a rabies epidemic, primarily in raccoons. Fur
prices were down for two years and the raccoon population exploded. The virus was
spreading like wildfire. I was one of a handful of people that were given
pre exposure vaccines for rabies and were trained on handling and having animals tested for
the disease. I was overwhelmed with calls and working seven days a week,
and I was on call twenty four to seven. When local citizens weren't calling
me for help, the state police and other officials were calling me out.
It seemed like this would never end. One fall evening, I believe it
was mid September, my wife and I had just sat down for dinner.
In the phone rang, My wife answered, it's for you again. I
remember thinking, I hope it's not an emergency, because I'm hungry. I
could tell by the sound of the man's voice that he was irritated and anxious.
I couldn't understand a word he said. I interrupted him and said that
he needed to calm down because I couldn't understand him. Or do you speak
English? He said. I answered yes, sir, but I am a
little slow. He chuckled. That seemed to break the ice. He went
on to tell me that he had either coyotes, a big cat, or
maybe a bear taking his calves. The predator was walking right into the barn
and taking the animals. This had been happening for two weeks. He started
shutting the barn door, but the next day he would find it open and
sometimes broken. I was eager to get back to my food, and I
agreed to meet with him at his farm first thing. The next morning.
I arrived at the farm at eight o'clock and the farmer was still milking his
cows. He told me that there was no incident last night, that he
would be finished in an hour. I was welcome to have a look around
the outside of the barn to see if I could find evidence from a predator,
and he pointed out the damaged door that seemed to be the entry point.
The calf pins were right next to it. It was hard to find
prints around the barn. Any track that would have been left had been trodden
down by cow hooves. The damage to the door looked a bit more like
a bear had done it than a ca or a cat, and it lacked
the claw imprints or scratches that I would normally find. The bent metal rail
across the top of the door looked like damage from a tractor. I couldn't
see how a cow or an animal would do that. The farmer finished up
his chores and caught up with me outside the barn, and he asked me
what I had found. Well, I told him the cattle had trampled any
evidence that I could use, and he asked what I thought about the door.
Well, something big did that, I said, but I refrained from
saying that one of his farm hands probably hit it with the tractor. He
went on to tell me that some nights the coyotes were so loud that he
couldn't sleep, and other nights he could hear a big cat screaming on the
hill. I followed him through the pastures, across two shallow streams, and
through a gate, and then up the hill to a woodline where a clear
pasture met the forest. From there we walked into the woods one hundred yards
or so. He pointed to four dead calves that had been taken from his
barn. The most recent had been taken yesterday. It laid in the leaves,
gutted, and something had consumed the organs but left the meat. That's
not the way any wild animal that I know of would eat its kill.
Domestic or wild dogs would usually eat the hind quarters first and then leave the
rest if they had had enough. Nothing was adding up, and there were
no tracks to give me any indication of what this was. We kept walking,
and one hundred and fifty yards away I found two more older kills that
had been picked. Clean tracks covered the area, but they weren't from a
coyote, cat or a bear. It was what we and the Wildlife Division
recognized as the brush wolf. Contrary to public belief, wild coyotes and domestic
dogs do not enter breed. You have coyote packs and wild dog packs,
and then you have the brush wolf. The brush wolf is believed to be
an offshoot of the gray wolf in Coyote. Before the gray wolf was extinct
in the Northeast, the populations were low. Nature finds a way, and
scientists at the time believe that possibly the two natural enemies mate it, creating
a much larger coyote or a smaller wolf. We had these brush wolves come
in weighing one hundred and forty pounds or better. That sized dog would definitely
be strong enough to haul a calf that distance before eating it, But that
still didn't make sense as to why they ate the older kills down to the
bone and then scattered the bones, while with the fresh kill only guts and
organs were eaten. But whatever the reason, it looked like a large,
healthy pack and they needed to be dealt with. At this time, were
not allowed to use the word brush wolf to a civilian kyote, koy dog,
or some other name was fine. That was primarily to keep people from
panicking and killing them off with the big bad wolf stereo type. When the
packs got this big and brazen enough to start stealing cattle, we would go
out and cut the numbers back I told the farmer that it looked to be
a large coyote pack in the area, and I would do some tracking to
find their habits and find the best place to set traps. I would be
back in a day or two, and we shook hands and he headed to
the barn and I stayed in the woods. I was looking for the main
highway they used to get around. I found several excellent locations to place my
sets. Brush wolves are smart and it wasn't going to be a one day
project. I could see this taking a month to catch even five. And
it was forecasts of rain the next day and that was the best time to
set traps. I stopped by the farm on the way back and got permission
to leave my spare coveralls that I had in my jeep in the barn for
the night. The smell of the cattle soaking into the material would help me
cover my human scent with a scent that they were obviously not afraid of.
It was cloudy with heavy, dark gray clouds when I showed up at the
farm the next morning. I was excited, thinking that it would be a
perfect time to make my sets. I stopped by the barn and put my
cow scented coveralls on, and I walked around in calmanure with my rubber boots,
the whole time thinking that my wife was going to make me change outside.
When I got home, I placed my sets in all the places that
I had marked the day before, and I made a couple of extra sets
around the last killed calf, just in case they should come back and finish
their meal. Just as I finished up, it started raining. The rain
lasted for several hours, and I hope the rain had knocked off my scent
and maybe I would have a catch the next day. That rarely happens,
but it does happen. The next morning, I woke and got my breakfast
in coffee and headed to the farm. The farmer met me at the barn
and said he'd lost another calf that night. After apologizing and telling him that
it won't be long now, I headed through the pastures into the woods.
I walked along my sets as far away from them as I could and still
be able to see whether or not I had anything. The first line of
seven sets were untouched. It was the same with the next line of sets,
absolutely nothing. There was no sign of a fresh kill either. That
night, I thought that I must have messed up somewhere and these canines were
on to me. The next morning, I stopped by the farm and the
farmer said it was a good night. No animals had been taken. I
figured that the traps would likely be empty as well. The first trap I
walked up on was dangling high up in a thick water brush, and I
looked closer and I could see something had tripped it and been caught. There
was animal hair scattered around the area. Whatever I caught had been ripped from
the trap, though, and from the way the trap hung up in the
brush, I was thinking it was a big cat that had taken advantage of
the trapped animal. The other traps were empty. I kept smelling a strong,
rotted flesh septic smell in the area. I figured it was likely from
the dead calves after the rain, and possibly the farmers spread manure in that
upper pasture. I looked around a bit, but I couldn't find anything to
be the lone source of the smell, so I forgot it. On day
three, I headed back to the farm and right to the sets, without
stopping to talk to the landowner. Two traps hung high up in the brush
again, just like yesterday. Something wanted my catch more than I did.
No sign of what was stealing my trapped animals or where it was taking them,
and it didn't make sense for a big cat to do the exact same
thing three times in a row. I suppose if a pack is big enough
and hungry enough, they would attack their own. That does happen, but
typically only during a hard freeze, and it was only September. On this
day, the smell was back, but it was much stronger, so much
so that it made my stomach a bit queasy. I saw a good spot
for some sets on my way up the hillside, just above the stream.
Now, I figured I would put some fresh sets there tomorrow to give me
a bit of a break from the overwhelming smell of rotting flesh and manure.
On day four, the traps were empty and undisturbed. The smell was still
overwhelming, but it seemed to come and go. It was windy and I
could hear branches breaking in the distance. I didn't think much about that,
and I set off to put out the traps in the new location. I
found a spot where I was sure coyotes were hanging out. It was across
the stream and up a steep bank that was twenty five to thirty feet tall.
So, with my one hundred pound backpack on and a twelve gage shotgun
loaded with buckshot in my hand, I waded across a twelve inch deep stream
and I started up that bank. The roots that dangle from the bank wall
were what I used to lift myself to the top, and halfway up there,
that smell hit me again. It was coming from above me. I
wasn't able to see anything but dirt wall, and I assumed one of the
dead calves was left at the top of the bank, so I kept climbing.
Finally, at the top, I rance myself to a standing position,
ready to go to work. I was brushing the trash off my clothes when
I looked around, expecting to see that dead calf laying close by, but
instead, standing a few feet away was a giant, black colored ssquatch.
It growled at me, and I felt that growl through my body and into
my toes. The edge of the bank was just behind me, and when
I took a step back, I fell back into the ravine and I landed
on the rocks of the stream bank, flat on my back. That fall
crushed my wicker backpack, and the content saved me from breaking anything. Without
that pack, I'm sure I would have smacked my head on those rocks and
been injured. In addition, I was lucky that nothing pushed through the pack
that would impale me. The shotgun had survived the fall, too, and
it lay a few feet away. And after I moved past the what the
hell phase, I shimmied out of the backpack straps and I took up the
shotgun. The creature stood looking over the ledge at me. He was hacked
off, and he continued to growl. There was no doubt this was a
male. Immediately, I knew my twelve gage wouldn't hurt this thing, so
I fired a shot over his head and he just stood there looking at me.
After two more shots, he looked around like he could have cared less,
and then he walked out of my sight. My heart was racing,
and all that I could think was that I only had three shots left.
If the first three shots didn't scare it off, I would put the next
three right into its face. My thought was if I could blind him,
there was a chance that I could get away. There is no way to
know, but I would say this thing was eight feet tall and three and
a half feet wide. Away the shoulders, of course, at the bottom
of the river bank, looking up thirty feet, it looked like King Kong
with a human face. Teeth, from what I could see, were two
large fangs or eye teeth. The eyes were dark and bone chilling evil.
I got my stuff together and I had it out of there, leaving equipment
I couldn't grab where it lay. The only form of communication that I had
in my g was a cellular bag phone that I hadn't had a signal for
for miles. So I stopped by the farm on the way out, and
I told the farmer that I had to get going and that i'd be back
to him. I didn't dare mention the encounter I had just experienced. Well.
I went straight home. My back was hurting, and I needed to
make a phone call to my superior. I was trying to figure out a
way to tell him what had happened without sounding like I needed mental help.
I couldn't think of a way other than just straight up truth, and I
left the chip fall where they made I told him that I needed to meet
with him. He knew it was important, and he agreed. It's the
first time in several years that I asked for a meeting. Later that evening,
at his house, I told him the story. My superior said that
he would meet me at the farm the next day and we would go from
there. The next morning, we met at the farm, and here's what
my superior told me. Here's the plan. I called my boss and told
them the details that you told me. He called me back this morning and
he said that you and I are going together and get your equipment, and
that we were to pull out of this job. Well. I immediately asked
if I was fired, and he reassured me that I was not being fired,
and they were sending a team out here to finish up where I left
off. A team, I asked, He said, yeah, you're not
crazy. They have a team trained to deal with this situation and going to
take over. I gathered my equipment. My boss stood guard with a rifle.
There was no incident, but we both caught a whiff of that horrible
odor. On the way out. We stopped by the farm and I introduced
my boss. He told the farmer I was needed on another job and that
a team would replace me and I never did find out what happened on that
farm. I worked that same job for three more years, and I never
ran into anything like that while working for them again. Now let me tell
you about my second encounter. I'm going to try to make this one a
little shorter than my long winded first encounter. After the first encounter in the
Northeast, I didn't have another encounter like that while I worked in that region.
It wasn't until years later when I moved to the central Gulf Coast of
Florida. I moved to Florida in two thousand and eight, and I set
up my own business. Through a good customer, I was given permission to
hog hunt some swampy land in the spring Hill west of US nineteen, only
a few miles from the Gulf. My wife and two sons came along.
They thought they might enjoy experiencing hunting at night for wild hogs. The property
where we had permission to hunt had a small pond bordering the woods that connected
to state land. The property already had two tree stands, and one of
them was a two ceedar That would be where my wife and I would sit.
One hundred yards south of that stand was another stand. It needed work,
but with a few nails and some scrap wood, we had it fixed
up. And my oldest son claimed that one my youngest son had a climbing
stand and he found a spot near a pine that was full of tracks and
rutted up ground. We were all set. We put feeders near each stand
and kept them filled with corn for three weeks. Before we went home.
I set three SkyPoint cameras out that sent pictures directly to my cellular phone.
We had pigs coming in heavy almost every night, and a bear that would
stop by just before dawn. We hunted there with success once a week.
For two months. I was showing my sons the pictures that were coming in,
and there was still plenty of pigs, deer, in coyote, and
of course my bear. In the mornings. We were looking forward to our
Saturday hunt. Thursday came around and there was nothing on the cameras. Friday
it was the same. I thought for sure, with all the activity we
had been seeing, the batteries and the cameras must have been dead. So
I went to the store Saturday morning to get some snacks and supplies for our
Saturday hunt, and I picked up double A batteries for the cameras. We
arrived at the hunting location just before dark. My wife and I were in
the stand furthest from our truck. I replaced the batteries in my cameras before
we got situated in the stand, and I gave each of my sons eight
batteries to do the same. From our stand, we could hear something walking
in the swamp, but we couldn't see what it was. It was either
that bear or Norsey hog walking around. It went just out of our sight
around us where my son was sitting, and I sent my son a text
telling him that I heard something go by and it was heading right for him,
but I wasn't sure what it was. I copied my other son on
the text and he said he just heard something large heading my way, but
it was coming in from the back of my stand, opposite the feeder.
My wife turned her chair around and used a green light and a scope now
and then to see if she could get it. It wasn't long. We
could hear it coming in from behind, but we couldn't see it. The
walking sound stopped and I figured it would be a good time to check to
see if my son saw whatever was heading this way. He said that he
had heard it and it sounded like a bulldozer coming through, but he never
saw it. He said the brush was moving and small trees were waving,
but he couldn't put eyes on what caused it. The woods were dead silent
for a good hour, not even a breeze. My wife and I both
had the feeling of being watched, but we just brushed it off as a
still night and the swamp. The silence was broken an hour later by the
sound of a good sized tree falling close behind us. That startled my wife
and I, but I told her that it was likely just to rott a
tree in the swamp falling. She said, but there's no wind, not
even a breeze. Well, I shrugged my shoulders and I went back to
monitoring the feeder. We started having sticks and clumps of mud thrown at us,
and I messaged my son saying, that's real funny, and then he
replied back, what's funny? They both shined in, swearing that it wasn't
them. They both stated that they were also experiencing strange things. My oldest
son said something was circling around where he sat and was making all sorts of
growls and snorts. My son in the stand said that someone was throwing things
in the pond, and at one time a tree he was sitting in was
whacked with something. I figured it was likely someone that knew we were hunting
there and was messing with us, and I sent a message back to meet
at the truck. We were obviously wasting our time trying to hunt that night.
The next day I went to top off the feeders and I put new
SD cards in the cameras. I met with the property owner on my way
out and I told him about the night before. He said there was a
road on the north side of the pond five hundred yards out, and there
was an animal rights activist that lived there and had giving him trouble in the
past by banging pans together while he was hunting. He said, more than
likely they saw our green lights and were messing with us. There was no
animal activity at all on the cameras all week, not even a raccoon coming
in for the corn well. I thought that was odd. Usually raccoons and
possums make my cameras go crazy at night. I went to the property on
Friday to top off the feeders and check what was going on with the cameras.
The feeders were full and untouched. One camera was laying face down in
the mud. I picked it up, cleaned it off, and put it
back on the tree. The cameras were working because I was getting pictures of
me loading the feeders. We elected to let the area rest over the weekend
by not honeing and I hope the cameras would let me know when the area
became active again. So we waited. A week passed and I got no
images, not a single image. Again. I knew the cameras were working,
so I began to think the corn was bad. On Thursday, I
began to replace the corn. The corn had not been touched, and then
images of myself began popping up on my phone. Not one bit of this
made any sense. I settled on the idea that the pigs had moved and
were feeding in another area. My son and I decided to hunt the WMA
two miles away. When we checked in at the Wildlife Management Area, the
attendant gave me a map and pointed out three locations where hunters seemed to be
having good luck. My sons picked their spots and I got whatever was left.
I was good with that they were both carrying shotguns and I was carrying
a fifty Hawking muzzleloader. Rifles weren't allowed in my three was going to have
to stay home. The area I was to hunt had a large sinkhole in
the woods that was sure to hold water or at least be swampy in the
bottom. It should be a perfect spot for the hogs. I worked my
way through the woods and through some thick briers and pal meadows to a clearing.
Just above the pit. I could see a small stream in the bottom.
This spot gave me a good field of view, so I found a
comfortable spot and I settled in the stream. I was hunting over lay between
steep banks on each side, and I began to wonder how I would haul
out my kil if I took one on the other side. I hoped there
was a low spot down stream, but I'd have to wait and see.
At that moment, I wanted to get quiet and start the hunt. The
woods got real quiet. All my senses heightened, and then I caught movement
in the ravine to my right. It appeared to be a man bent over
a log. And digging around a fallen tree. I stood to see better
while wondering who in the hell would be in the swamp messing around in the
mud. He was dressed in all brown clothing, and I thought it was
stupid for him to be out here. I don't like wearing my glasses while
i'm out, honey, but I put them on to better see what he
was doing around that big tree. And that's when I saw that he wasn't
wearing brown clothes. What I was seeing was either hair or fur. I
had a small set of field binoculars in my jacket pocket, and I pulled
him out and wiped the lenses on my t shirt and I got a better
look. Sure enough, it was a Florida skunk ape. It must have
been digging for grubs around the log. He looked similar to the creature I
saw years ago, but not as tall, and its color was lighter.
I couldn't make out the eye color, but I could see a human looking
face. He had no idea that I was sitting one hundred yards away up
a bank watching him. For twenty minutes. I watched while he did his
thing. I didn't feel that I was in any danger. He would occasionally
look around and sniff the air, and then he would go back to moving
logs around and digging. I had good brush cover, and I figured my
best bet was to stay put until it either came toward me or moved off.
To my great relief, it began moving away, continuing to look and
dig around falling wood, and I took that opportunity to slowly retreat back toward
my truck. I couldn't help but think how aggressive the northern squatch was,
and I didn't want to see if this one had the same temperament. I
went home with my two sons empty handed that day. I never said a
word about what I saw. Several weeks later, games started showing up on
the cameras again, and it seemed as if everything was back to normal,
and we hunted it without incident. I'm thinking that these animals have some sort
of migrating pattern. I'm not sure, but I hope to never see one again.