WEBVTT

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During the nineteen nineties. I was
a wildlife agent and I was dealing primarily

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with problem wild animals that were causing
problems in residential areas, on farms,

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or wherever there was an issue.
I prefer not to name the state because

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at the time I was well known
for the job that I did, and

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this story might refresh a memory and
bring it back to me. But I

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can tell you that this took place
in the rural mountain area in the northeastern

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United States. We were having a
rabies epidemic, primarily in raccoons. Fur

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prices were down for two years and
the raccoon population exploded. The virus was

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spreading like wildfire. I was one
of a handful of people that were given

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pre exposure vaccines for rabies and were
trained on handling and having animals tested for

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the disease. I was overwhelmed with
calls and working seven days a week,

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and I was on call twenty four
to seven. When local citizens weren't calling

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me for help, the state police
and other officials were calling me out.

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It seemed like this would never end. One fall evening, I believe it

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was mid September, my wife and
I had just sat down for dinner.

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In the phone rang, My wife
answered, it's for you again. I

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remember thinking, I hope it's not
an emergency, because I'm hungry. I

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could tell by the sound of the
man's voice that he was irritated and anxious.

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I couldn't understand a word he said. I interrupted him and said that

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he needed to calm down because I
couldn't understand him. Or do you speak

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English? He said. I answered
yes, sir, but I am a

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little slow. He chuckled. That
seemed to break the ice. He went

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on to tell me that he had
either coyotes, a big cat, or

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maybe a bear taking his calves.
The predator was walking right into the barn

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and taking the animals. This had
been happening for two weeks. He started

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shutting the barn door, but the
next day he would find it open and

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sometimes broken. I was eager to
get back to my food, and I

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agreed to meet with him at his
farm first thing. The next morning.

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I arrived at the farm at eight
o'clock and the farmer was still milking his

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cows. He told me that there
was no incident last night, that he

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would be finished in an hour.
I was welcome to have a look around

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the outside of the barn to see
if I could find evidence from a predator,

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and he pointed out the damaged door
that seemed to be the entry point.

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The calf pins were right next to
it. It was hard to find

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prints around the barn. Any track
that would have been left had been trodden

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down by cow hooves. The damage
to the door looked a bit more like

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a bear had done it than a
ca or a cat, and it lacked

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the claw imprints or scratches that I
would normally find. The bent metal rail

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across the top of the door looked
like damage from a tractor. I couldn't

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see how a cow or an animal
would do that. The farmer finished up

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his chores and caught up with me
outside the barn, and he asked me

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what I had found. Well,
I told him the cattle had trampled any

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evidence that I could use, and
he asked what I thought about the door.

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Well, something big did that,
I said, but I refrained from

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saying that one of his farm hands
probably hit it with the tractor. He

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went on to tell me that some
nights the coyotes were so loud that he

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couldn't sleep, and other nights he
could hear a big cat screaming on the

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hill. I followed him through the
pastures, across two shallow streams, and

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through a gate, and then up
the hill to a woodline where a clear

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pasture met the forest. From there
we walked into the woods one hundred yards

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or so. He pointed to four
dead calves that had been taken from his

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barn. The most recent had been
taken yesterday. It laid in the leaves,

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gutted, and something had consumed the
organs but left the meat. That's

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not the way any wild animal that
I know of would eat its kill.

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Domestic or wild dogs would usually eat
the hind quarters first and then leave the

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rest if they had had enough.
Nothing was adding up, and there were

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no tracks to give me any indication
of what this was. We kept walking,

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and one hundred and fifty yards away
I found two more older kills that

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had been picked. Clean tracks covered
the area, but they weren't from a

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coyote, cat or a bear.
It was what we and the Wildlife Division

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recognized as the brush wolf. Contrary
to public belief, wild coyotes and domestic

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dogs do not enter breed. You
have coyote packs and wild dog packs,

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and then you have the brush wolf. The brush wolf is believed to be

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an offshoot of the gray wolf in
Coyote. Before the gray wolf was extinct

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in the Northeast, the populations were
low. Nature finds a way, and

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scientists at the time believe that possibly
the two natural enemies mate it, creating

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a much larger coyote or a smaller
wolf. We had these brush wolves come

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in weighing one hundred and forty pounds
or better. That sized dog would definitely

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be strong enough to haul a calf
that distance before eating it, But that

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still didn't make sense as to why
they ate the older kills down to the

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bone and then scattered the bones,
while with the fresh kill only guts and

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organs were eaten. But whatever the
reason, it looked like a large,

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healthy pack and they needed to be
dealt with. At this time, were

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not allowed to use the word brush
wolf to a civilian kyote, koy dog,

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or some other name was fine.
That was primarily to keep people from

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panicking and killing them off with the
big bad wolf stereo type. When the

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packs got this big and brazen enough
to start stealing cattle, we would go

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out and cut the numbers back I
told the farmer that it looked to be

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a large coyote pack in the area, and I would do some tracking to

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find their habits and find the best
place to set traps. I would be

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back in a day or two,
and we shook hands and he headed to

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the barn and I stayed in the
woods. I was looking for the main

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highway they used to get around.
I found several excellent locations to place my

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sets. Brush wolves are smart and
it wasn't going to be a one day

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project. I could see this taking
a month to catch even five. And

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it was forecasts of rain the next
day and that was the best time to

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set traps. I stopped by the
farm on the way back and got permission

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to leave my spare coveralls that I
had in my jeep in the barn for

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the night. The smell of the
cattle soaking into the material would help me

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cover my human scent with a scent
that they were obviously not afraid of.

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It was cloudy with heavy, dark
gray clouds when I showed up at the

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farm the next morning. I was
excited, thinking that it would be a

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perfect time to make my sets.
I stopped by the barn and put my

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cow scented coveralls on, and I
walked around in calmanure with my rubber boots,

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the whole time thinking that my wife
was going to make me change outside.

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When I got home, I placed
my sets in all the places that

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I had marked the day before,
and I made a couple of extra sets

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around the last killed calf, just
in case they should come back and finish

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their meal. Just as I finished
up, it started raining. The rain

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lasted for several hours, and I
hope the rain had knocked off my scent

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and maybe I would have a catch
the next day. That rarely happens,

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but it does happen. The next
morning, I woke and got my breakfast

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in coffee and headed to the farm. The farmer met me at the barn

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and said he'd lost another calf that
night. After apologizing and telling him that

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it won't be long now, I
headed through the pastures into the woods.

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I walked along my sets as far
away from them as I could and still

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be able to see whether or not
I had anything. The first line of

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seven sets were untouched. It was
the same with the next line of sets,

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absolutely nothing. There was no sign
of a fresh kill either. That

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night, I thought that I must
have messed up somewhere and these canines were

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on to me. The next morning, I stopped by the farm and the

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farmer said it was a good night. No animals had been taken. I

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figured that the traps would likely be
empty as well. The first trap I

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walked up on was dangling high up
in a thick water brush, and I

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looked closer and I could see something
had tripped it and been caught. There

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was animal hair scattered around the area. Whatever I caught had been ripped from

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the trap, though, and from
the way the trap hung up in the

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brush, I was thinking it was
a big cat that had taken advantage of

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the trapped animal. The other traps
were empty. I kept smelling a strong,

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rotted flesh septic smell in the area. I figured it was likely from

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the dead calves after the rain,
and possibly the farmers spread manure in that

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upper pasture. I looked around a
bit, but I couldn't find anything to

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be the lone source of the smell, so I forgot it. On day

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three, I headed back to the
farm and right to the sets, without

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stopping to talk to the landowner.
Two traps hung high up in the brush

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again, just like yesterday. Something
wanted my catch more than I did.

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No sign of what was stealing my
trapped animals or where it was taking them,

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and it didn't make sense for a
big cat to do the exact same

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thing three times in a row.
I suppose if a pack is big enough

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and hungry enough, they would attack
their own. That does happen, but

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typically only during a hard freeze,
and it was only September. On this

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day, the smell was back,
but it was much stronger, so much

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so that it made my stomach a
bit queasy. I saw a good spot

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for some sets on my way up
the hillside, just above the stream.

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Now, I figured I would put
some fresh sets there tomorrow to give me

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a bit of a break from the
overwhelming smell of rotting flesh and manure.

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On day four, the traps were
empty and undisturbed. The smell was still

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overwhelming, but it seemed to come
and go. It was windy and I

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could hear branches breaking in the distance. I didn't think much about that,

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and I set off to put out
the traps in the new location. I

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found a spot where I was sure
coyotes were hanging out. It was across

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the stream and up a steep bank
that was twenty five to thirty feet tall.

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So, with my one hundred pound
backpack on and a twelve gage shotgun

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loaded with buckshot in my hand,
I waded across a twelve inch deep stream

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and I started up that bank.
The roots that dangle from the bank wall

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were what I used to lift myself
to the top, and halfway up there,

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that smell hit me again. It
was coming from above me. I

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wasn't able to see anything but dirt
wall, and I assumed one of the

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dead calves was left at the top
of the bank, so I kept climbing.

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Finally, at the top, I
rance myself to a standing position,

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ready to go to work. I
was brushing the trash off my clothes when

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I looked around, expecting to see
that dead calf laying close by, but

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instead, standing a few feet away
was a giant, black colored ssquatch.

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It growled at me, and I
felt that growl through my body and into

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my toes. The edge of the
bank was just behind me, and when

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I took a step back, I
fell back into the ravine and I landed

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on the rocks of the stream bank, flat on my back. That fall

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crushed my wicker backpack, and the
content saved me from breaking anything. Without

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that pack, I'm sure I would
have smacked my head on those rocks and

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been injured. In addition, I
was lucky that nothing pushed through the pack

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that would impale me. The shotgun
had survived the fall, too, and

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it lay a few feet away.
And after I moved past the what the

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hell phase, I shimmied out of
the backpack straps and I took up the

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shotgun. The creature stood looking over
the ledge at me. He was hacked

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off, and he continued to growl. There was no doubt this was a

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male. Immediately, I knew my
twelve gage wouldn't hurt this thing, so

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I fired a shot over his head
and he just stood there looking at me.

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After two more shots, he looked
around like he could have cared less,

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and then he walked out of my
sight. My heart was racing,

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and all that I could think was
that I only had three shots left.

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If the first three shots didn't scare
it off, I would put the next

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three right into its face. My
thought was if I could blind him,

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there was a chance that I could
get away. There is no way to

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know, but I would say this
thing was eight feet tall and three and

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a half feet wide. Away the
shoulders, of course, at the bottom

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of the river bank, looking up
thirty feet, it looked like King Kong

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with a human face. Teeth,
from what I could see, were two

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large fangs or eye teeth. The
eyes were dark and bone chilling evil.

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I got my stuff together and I
had it out of there, leaving equipment

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I couldn't grab where it lay.
The only form of communication that I had

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in my g was a cellular bag
phone that I hadn't had a signal for

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for miles. So I stopped by
the farm on the way out, and

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I told the farmer that I had
to get going and that i'd be back

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to him. I didn't dare mention
the encounter I had just experienced. Well.

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I went straight home. My back
was hurting, and I needed to

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make a phone call to my superior. I was trying to figure out a

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way to tell him what had happened
without sounding like I needed mental help.

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I couldn't think of a way other
than just straight up truth, and I

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left the chip fall where they made
I told him that I needed to meet

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with him. He knew it was
important, and he agreed. It's the

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first time in several years that I
asked for a meeting. Later that evening,

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at his house, I told him
the story. My superior said that

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he would meet me at the farm
the next day and we would go from

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there. The next morning, we
met at the farm, and here's what

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my superior told me. Here's the
plan. I called my boss and told

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them the details that you told me. He called me back this morning and

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he said that you and I are
going together and get your equipment, and

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that we were to pull out of
this job. Well. I immediately asked

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if I was fired, and he
reassured me that I was not being fired,

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and they were sending a team out
here to finish up where I left

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off. A team, I asked, He said, yeah, you're not

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crazy. They have a team trained
to deal with this situation and going to

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take over. I gathered my equipment. My boss stood guard with a rifle.

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There was no incident, but we
both caught a whiff of that horrible

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odor. On the way out.
We stopped by the farm and I introduced

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my boss. He told the farmer
I was needed on another job and that

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a team would replace me and I
never did find out what happened on that

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farm. I worked that same job
for three more years, and I never

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ran into anything like that while working
for them again. Now let me tell

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you about my second encounter. I'm
going to try to make this one a

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little shorter than my long winded first
encounter. After the first encounter in the

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Northeast, I didn't have another encounter
like that while I worked in that region.

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It wasn't until years later when I
moved to the central Gulf Coast of

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Florida. I moved to Florida in
two thousand and eight, and I set

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up my own business. Through a
good customer, I was given permission to

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hog hunt some swampy land in the
spring Hill west of US nineteen, only

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a few miles from the Gulf.
My wife and two sons came along.

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They thought they might enjoy experiencing hunting
at night for wild hogs. The property

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where we had permission to hunt had
a small pond bordering the woods that connected

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to state land. The property already
had two tree stands, and one of

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them was a two ceedar That would
be where my wife and I would sit.

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One hundred yards south of that stand
was another stand. It needed work,

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but with a few nails and some
scrap wood, we had it fixed

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up. And my oldest son claimed
that one my youngest son had a climbing

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stand and he found a spot near
a pine that was full of tracks and

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rutted up ground. We were all
set. We put feeders near each stand

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and kept them filled with corn for
three weeks. Before we went home.

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I set three SkyPoint cameras out that
sent pictures directly to my cellular phone.

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We had pigs coming in heavy almost
every night, and a bear that would

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stop by just before dawn. We
hunted there with success once a week.

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For two months. I was showing
my sons the pictures that were coming in,

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and there was still plenty of pigs, deer, in coyote, and

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of course my bear. In the
mornings. We were looking forward to our

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Saturday hunt. Thursday came around and
there was nothing on the cameras. Friday

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it was the same. I thought
for sure, with all the activity we

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had been seeing, the batteries and
the cameras must have been dead. So

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I went to the store Saturday morning
to get some snacks and supplies for our

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Saturday hunt, and I picked up
double A batteries for the cameras. We

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arrived at the hunting location just before
dark. My wife and I were in

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the stand furthest from our truck.
I replaced the batteries in my cameras before

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we got situated in the stand,
and I gave each of my sons eight

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batteries to do the same. From
our stand, we could hear something walking

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in the swamp, but we couldn't
see what it was. It was either

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that bear or Norsey hog walking around. It went just out of our sight

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around us where my son was sitting, and I sent my son a text

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telling him that I heard something go
by and it was heading right for him,

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but I wasn't sure what it was. I copied my other son on

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the text and he said he just
heard something large heading my way, but

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it was coming in from the back
of my stand, opposite the feeder.

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My wife turned her chair around and
used a green light and a scope now

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and then to see if she could
get it. It wasn't long. We

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could hear it coming in from behind, but we couldn't see it. The

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walking sound stopped and I figured it
would be a good time to check to

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see if my son saw whatever was
heading this way. He said that he

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had heard it and it sounded like
a bulldozer coming through, but he never

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saw it. He said the brush
was moving and small trees were waving,

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but he couldn't put eyes on what
caused it. The woods were dead silent

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for a good hour, not even
a breeze. My wife and I both

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had the feeling of being watched,
but we just brushed it off as a

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still night and the swamp. The
silence was broken an hour later by the

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sound of a good sized tree falling
close behind us. That startled my wife

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and I, but I told her
that it was likely just to rott a

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tree in the swamp falling. She
said, but there's no wind, not

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even a breeze. Well, I
shrugged my shoulders and I went back to

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monitoring the feeder. We started having
sticks and clumps of mud thrown at us,

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and I messaged my son saying,
that's real funny, and then he

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replied back, what's funny? They
both shined in, swearing that it wasn't

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them. They both stated that they
were also experiencing strange things. My oldest

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son said something was circling around where
he sat and was making all sorts of

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growls and snorts. My son in
the stand said that someone was throwing things

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in the pond, and at one
time a tree he was sitting in was

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whacked with something. I figured it
was likely someone that knew we were hunting

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there and was messing with us,
and I sent a message back to meet

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at the truck. We were obviously
wasting our time trying to hunt that night.

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The next day I went to top
off the feeders and I put new

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SD cards in the cameras. I
met with the property owner on my way

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out and I told him about the
night before. He said there was a

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road on the north side of the
pond five hundred yards out, and there

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was an animal rights activist that lived
there and had giving him trouble in the

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past by banging pans together while he
was hunting. He said, more than

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likely they saw our green lights and
were messing with us. There was no

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animal activity at all on the cameras
all week, not even a raccoon coming

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in for the corn well. I
thought that was odd. Usually raccoons and

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possums make my cameras go crazy at
night. I went to the property on

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Friday to top off the feeders and
check what was going on with the cameras.

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The feeders were full and untouched.
One camera was laying face down in

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the mud. I picked it up, cleaned it off, and put it

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back on the tree. The cameras
were working because I was getting pictures of

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me loading the feeders. We elected
to let the area rest over the weekend

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by not honeing and I hope the
cameras would let me know when the area

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became active again. So we waited. A week passed and I got no

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images, not a single image.
Again. I knew the cameras were working,

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so I began to think the corn
was bad. On Thursday, I

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began to replace the corn. The
corn had not been touched, and then

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images of myself began popping up on
my phone. Not one bit of this

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made any sense. I settled on
the idea that the pigs had moved and

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were feeding in another area. My
son and I decided to hunt the WMA

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two miles away. When we checked
in at the Wildlife Management Area, the

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attendant gave me a map and pointed
out three locations where hunters seemed to be

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having good luck. My sons picked
their spots and I got whatever was left.

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I was good with that they were
both carrying shotguns and I was carrying

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a fifty Hawking muzzleloader. Rifles weren't
allowed in my three was going to have

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to stay home. The area I
was to hunt had a large sinkhole in

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the woods that was sure to hold
water or at least be swampy in the

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bottom. It should be a perfect
spot for the hogs. I worked my

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way through the woods and through some
thick briers and pal meadows to a clearing.

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Just above the pit. I could
see a small stream in the bottom.

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This spot gave me a good field
of view, so I found a

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comfortable spot and I settled in the
stream. I was hunting over lay between

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steep banks on each side, and
I began to wonder how I would haul

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out my kil if I took one
on the other side. I hoped there

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was a low spot down stream,
but I'd have to wait and see.

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At that moment, I wanted to
get quiet and start the hunt. The

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woods got real quiet. All my
senses heightened, and then I caught movement

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in the ravine to my right.
It appeared to be a man bent over

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a log. And digging around a
fallen tree. I stood to see better

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while wondering who in the hell would
be in the swamp messing around in the

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mud. He was dressed in all
brown clothing, and I thought it was

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stupid for him to be out here. I don't like wearing my glasses while

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i'm out, honey, but I
put them on to better see what he

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was doing around that big tree.
And that's when I saw that he wasn't

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wearing brown clothes. What I was
seeing was either hair or fur. I

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had a small set of field binoculars
in my jacket pocket, and I pulled

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him out and wiped the lenses on
my t shirt and I got a better

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look. Sure enough, it was
a Florida skunk ape. It must have

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been digging for grubs around the log. He looked similar to the creature I

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saw years ago, but not as
tall, and its color was lighter.

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I couldn't make out the eye color, but I could see a human looking

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face. He had no idea that
I was sitting one hundred yards away up

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a bank watching him. For twenty
minutes. I watched while he did his

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thing. I didn't feel that I
was in any danger. He would occasionally

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look around and sniff the air,
and then he would go back to moving

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logs around and digging. I had
good brush cover, and I figured my

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best bet was to stay put until
it either came toward me or moved off.

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To my great relief, it began
moving away, continuing to look and

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dig around falling wood, and I
took that opportunity to slowly retreat back toward

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my truck. I couldn't help but
think how aggressive the northern squatch was,

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and I didn't want to see if
this one had the same temperament. I

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went home with my two sons empty
handed that day. I never said a

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00:26:53.160 --> 00:27:00.319
word about what I saw. Several
weeks later, games started showing up on

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the cameras again, and it seemed
as if everything was back to normal,

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and we hunted it without incident.
I'm thinking that these animals have some sort

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of migrating pattern. I'm not sure, but I hope to never see one again.

