Speaker 1: In the fall of nineteen ninety three near Columbiana, Ohio. Ray,
an engineer from northeast Ohio, was raccoon hunting on a
cool fall night with a friend. At that time in
nineteen ninety three, the men were nineteen years old. Each
man carried a flashlight and a twenty two rifle. They
had no dogs. They were creep hunting. It was a
beautiful night and the moon was full. They could see
everything around them, so they turned their lights off while
they walked to the place. They knew the raccoons had
been active and to save their batteries. As they approached
the woods they wanted to hunt, the men split up
to cover more ground and soon were out of sight
of each other. Ray sat down after climbing a steep
hill to catch his breath. Steam from his jacket rose
off his shoulders in a weird wave as he regained
his strength. The longer he sat on that log, the
more comfortable he got, and soon he laid his head
over against a tree and fell off into a deep sleep.
Ray woke up, thinking he had only been asleep for
a few minutes, but he looked at his watch and
saw that he had been out for three long hours.
All sorts of thoughts went through his mind. One, how
the hell and why had he slept so long out
in the coal like that? He knew better last he
figured his hunting partner would be worried about him by now.
He was pretty hard on himself for sleeping that long.
He never took naps that long, even at the house,
and this made no sense, but whatever, it was done,
and now he had to find his buddy. Ray got
up and started walking. The woods were beautiful in the
light of the full moon, and his anxious mood changed
to a peaceful one. The forest floor was open and clear,
and he was able to make good time. His blood
was pumping now and he picked up his pace. The
nap had had good effect on him, and Ray climbed
a hill, one like the hill that had put in
to sleep earlier, But this time he was not winded
when he got to the top, so he bailed off
the other side in a trot down to the bottom,
where he crossed a running crete. And then he looked
up the next hill to pick a path to the top,
and he froze at what he saw outlined against the
moonlit sky at the top of the ridge was a
silhouette of a massive animal standing on two legs. It
swayed back and forth, not even attempting to be still
so that it would not be seen. Ray thought for
a second that the body of movement was unmistakable agitation.
This thing was piste, but it just stood there, three
quarters of its body visible against the moonlight. He described
the head and shoulders as massive and well overwhelming, like
there was no way he was going to get away
from this thing if it came at him. It just
stood there, swaying. Several thoughts went through Rai's mind. Should
he turn on his flashlight finally and get a good
look at it. The creature was a good forty yards way,
and he doubted he would even see it with the
weak light from his light. He started to raise his rifle.
He knew he had sixteen rim fire twenty two bullets
in the tube of his little auto loading rifle. That
should be enough to take it down if it attacked.
It's a small bullet, but with enough of them in
the animal, almost anything would back off, if not drop
out wounded. Something in the back of his mind told
him not to do that, no matter how many times
he hit the creature. This thing was enormous, so he
just stood there, both the creature and Ray in a
stare down, nobody moving forward, and Ray damn sure wasn't
going to run. For five or ten minutes, the two
just stared at each other until Ray decided to move
down the creek that he had crossed parallel to the creature.
He did that, and the creature kept pace with him.
At the top of the ridge, Ray couldn't keep his footing.
He kept falling and tripping on rocks and roots because
his eyes were focused at the top of the ridge,
not at what was in front of him. Ray walked
at least a mile along this winding creek, taking him
east and then north and then back east again, and
by the time he thought about it, he didn't know
where the hell he was. And when he looked up
at the creature for reference, he could see that the
silhouette had almost vanished. But what he didn't know was
on which side of the ridge had the thing walked.
Was it going away on the other side of the hill,
or was it coming toward him? He didn't know. He
broke out in a cold sweat, and he tried to
be quiet and listened for the sounds of an approaching attacker.
The minutes ticked off, there were no sounds. It was
safe to keep moving. He thought the monster at the
top of the hill had gone away. Ray had walked
no less than ten paces when he heard a rumble
like that from something very close, and he felt the
rough palm of a leathered hand wipe across his face
and neck. It was right on him, and he panicked
and he ran until he could not run another step,
and he collapsed in a ditch beside a gravel road
that was lit by that fabulous moon. But he knew
the thing was on him, and Ray gave up and
prepared for a horrible death. But that death never came.
Lights came around the corner, and tires cracked in the gravel,
and with the headlights of a truck in his face,
he stood up from the water that stood in the ditch,
heaving from exhaustion. A car door opened and his friend
called out that he had been looking for him for hours,
and did he know what time it was. Ray looked
at his watch. It was three forty five am. Ray
got in the truck and he shivered. His buddy asked
him all the way home. What had happened. Ray was
acting weird and the guy knew it, but Ray never
said a word. And finally, in Ray's driveway, he told
his friend he had fallen asleep and had laid there
for hours and when he woke up he was lost.
Ray told him thanks for looking for him, and he
got out of the truck and walked inside. Ray says,
those guys never hunted together again, and he has not
been in the woods in thirty three years. Everybody, welcome
to the podcast. My name's Cam Buckner. This is the
what If It's True? Podcast. I'm so glad you clicked
on this podcast when I got to waste him more time.
Let's get right into the stories, all right, here we go.
In nineteen forty a reporter came through West Virginia looking
for odd stories to write in a magazine. She stopped
at a place called Sawmill Holler in Willcoe, West Virginia,
and it is spelled holler Sawmill h O l l
e Er. She ran across a woman named Rosa Morgan,
and this is her story. Mountain people are primitive lovers
of nature, like the primitive beauty of the mountains. They
live in there is a peaceful tranquility about living among
the tall trees of the forest, with crystal clear, rushing streams,
the distant call of birds, and the cool, crisp, clean
mountain air. Our homes set far back in the Appalachian
Mountains of West Virginia, four or five miles from the
nearest neighbor. It was late in the summer of nineteen forty.
People everywhere were still feeling the pain of poverty from
the depression. Times were hard about The only way we
mountain folks had of making a few dollars to buy flour, sugar, coffee,
and other staples was by selling moonshine or cutting timber
and selling the props to the coal mines. Some of
the larger trees were cut and taken to the sawmills
for lumber. The coal company owned all of the land.
We could lease it for ninety nine years, but we
could not buy it. People sold a lot of while
gen sing route. The Chinese bought it for some kind
of medicine, and the mountains were full of it. My
husband and I had gone out in the early afternoon
to dig for gensing and had gathered three one hundred
pound chopsacks. Full chopsacks were made of hemp chopped that
we feed to livestock, mainly the hogs. We were two
miles from the house. It was almost dark. One could
see the ring of the moon beginning to rise over
the hilltops. We sat down on a log under a
thick clump of bushes to rest. Just beyond there was
a clearing. The timberman had been through the area of
the forest and cut away most of the bigger trees.
A lot of the young saplings had sprung up. The
stumps had sprouts growing all around them. My husband nudged
my arm, which meant for me to be quiet, and
he pointed toward the sky. I madey three years old.
It was a long time ago, but I can still
recall what we saw as if it were yesterday. It
was a strange looking thing, all right. It looked like
a big ball inside of a ring, kind of like
a bicycle wheel. The whole thing looked as bright as
new silver or polished new aluminum. We sat ever so
still and watched it. It was pretty high up, but
it kept floating closer toward the clearing. We could see
it real good. By now, the big ball was turning
around slowly. We were frozen to the log with freight,
because it was now one hundred feet above us. But
strange looking feelers came out all around it, that bobbed
this way, and that we eased ever so quietly back
into the thicker bushes. Some other odd looking legs unfolded
from the sides, and another bigger leg unfolded from the
bottom with a wheel on it. It glided right down
over the treetops into the meadow. It was big, bigger
than anything I had ever seen in the sky or
on the ground, except for an airplane, of course, we
hadn't seen many airplanes. It floated right over into the clearing,
about twenty feet from where we were sitting, and we
never moved a muscle and almost stopped breathing. Leggs folded
all the way out, and the ball stopped turning and
began to spread out inside the ring until it was
almost flat, and the top pushed out upward in layers.
It reached the height of twenty feet maybe fifteen feet
in diameter. There was not a sound of any kind
coming from it, just the odd looking feelers bobbing all
over it. It had become full dark by now, but
the moon was well up. We left our gin sing
and we moved slow and quiet for some distance, and
then we ran all the way back to the house.
Whatever this was, it stayed there for a week, maybe more.
We crept back every day or so on the ridge
above it, never getting too close. One afternoon we went
up on the ridge to look, and it was gone.
We didn't see any lights or any sign of life. Now,
my husband was well educated, he was well read and
had traveled a lot. He said it didn't looked like
anything he had ever seen or read about. He thought
it might be something the revenuers had put there to
find moonshine stills. Many times before this and afterwards we
saw strange lights in the sky, and in later years,
when so much talk started coming out about UFOs, I
believe I can say with all honesty and truth that
I saw a Ufo land and stay on the ground
for over a week. We later went back to the
log where we had left our GenZ and it was
exactly where we left it. Rosa Morgan I am a
bow hunter. I live in the southern part of Iowa.
I was known for big dear and I've hunted for
many years, and I know the woods very well. But
after the experience I'm about to describe, I love it
a lot, but I don't care if I ever go again.
Several years ago, maybe ten or more, I was hunting
a heavily wooded, large timber area. I've been there many
times and I knew most of it really well. On
this particular afternoon, I devised a very clever way of
getting a shot on a deer, at least I thought
it was clever. I laid dough scent all over a
little knoll just along the timber edge. My hope was
their buck might follow the trail on the other side
of the fifty or sixty yard noll. I set up
in a ground blind just at the top of the knoll.
I put a little scent just off the trail in
a low hanging oak limb. It was about four feet high.
My plan was, should the buck follow the trail, he
just might sniff the low hanging limb and turned broadside
to me as I sat in my blind. Well, that
is exactly what happened. A big buck came up to
the top of the knoll and carefully followed the trail.
At thirty yards. He turned broadside to me to smell
the scent on the limb, and that was my shot,
and I took it. The buck took off away back
up the trail, but he was well shot. I sat
for several minutes, really silent, waiting to hear the crash,
but it never came. It was getting dark quickly as
the clouds blocked the last rays of an October day's dusk.
I decided the safest way to recover this deer would
be to wait until morning and try to follow the trail.
This would prevent the deer, hopefully from moving even further
away from where it had been hit. I went home,
and I went to sleep, and I set the alarm
for early. As I left the house the next morning,
my heart fell. It had rained in the night that
might have erased the blood trail, and more discouraging, the air
was filled with dense fog, but I went to the
spot anyway. There was nothing else I could do. I
slowly picked my way to the site where I had
a shot at the deer in the dense fog, and
then I began looking for a trail from where I
last saw him. It had rained really hard, and sa
all no blood anywhere. Well, I was downhearted, and I
slowly walked into the dense timber and fogg The deer
had gone into the very rough area of the timber
in the deep gullies, filled with all kinds of growth,
and I saw nothing on the ground that disappointed me.
I continued down the first ravine, very close vegetation and
full of thorns. In the close fog, I could only
see a few feet and chances of finding a deer
was low, so I decided to give it up and
return to my truck and hope for better conditions later
in the day. I climbed out of the ravine, which
was at least twenty feet deep, and as I got
to the top, I entered a large pine forest. I
knew this forest well, but in the fog, I couldn't
tell my direction. And then I smelled a very vile smell.
It drifted from far beyond the area I just left.
The smell was so heavy, so vilet all that I
never ever smelled something like it, something like a hundred
very wet dogs. I had no idea what this was.
And then I noticed everything was silent. It was too silent.
Nothing was moving now I said, I knew this pine forest.
It was hundreds of yards in every direction. Although I
had been through this area many times, I had never
been in them in such close fog, and I realized
I didn't know what direction to go to get back
to my truck. The fog was so thick that I
could not see more than a few yards. Well, that
was no problem. Any hunter has a compass, maybe more
than one. I had three. One was a very small
one that came with a hunting bag I bought to
carry my binoculars, and another hung on my jacket zipper.
I had a third one, a good one, in my backpack.
So I first read the one on my jacket. It
said I was facing east northeast. That didn't sound right.
So I checked the second one and it said I
was facing south almost dead on. Well, that didn't feel
right either, So I took my backpack off and I
dug out the good compass. To my surprise, this one
said that I was facing south southeast. None of them agreed,
and more important to me, none of them agreed with
the internal compass in my head. I've always had a
good sense of direction. I couldn't make sense out of
any of this, so I moved several yards off into
the eternal grave to a second reading. There were still
at more variances, and I was really confused. I've never
had such a problem. I decided to put the compasses
away and follow my mental direction. So I slowly walked
in that direction north northeast. That was the direction my
brain told me to go. I walked for forty five
minutes or more in the endless gloom, and finally I
came across a shallow depression. A step away was a
small rut, and then a few feet there was another,
and I knew where I was. This had been an
old tractor trail that led through the north side of
the pine forest. So I turned east and I followed
it another three quarters of a mile out to the road.
I later calculated I had walked more than three miles
in the timber and in the fog. I cannot explain
any of this, but it was the most puzzling thing
I can ever remember. I did go out after the
fog lifted, but I never found the deer. I never
had the smell experience again. Was it a bigfoot? I
really don't know, but I never go into the woods
anymore with just a bow and a knife. In the
fall of twenty eighteen, while teasing my wife about the
size of my shoes, I said something about bigfoot to
get her laughing. I had never mentioned bigfoot before, and
I was just joking around when I blurted out bigfoot
in relation to my shoe size. The comment got my
wife to laughing, which was the whole point of the conversation.
The very next day, an article popped up onto my
phone about some dude having an encounter with Bigfoot. Was
my phone listening in on my conversation at home the
previous evening. I had never done a search on my
phone or anywhere else for subjects related to bigfoot. Twilight
Zone music began playing in my head. I clicked on
the bigfoot article, and I became totally intrigued with what
I learned. The subject of Bigfoot had me hooked, and
I spent many hours over the next two months researching
and gathering as much knowledge as I could about this
fascinating creature. There came a point in my study where
I concluded that one Bigfoot does exist, and two I
hope I never meet a bigfoot close up. In personal
I was born in Guardina, California, in nineteen fifty two,
and I lived pretty much in southern California until nineteen
sixty eight, when my mom and dad moved the family
to Arizona. Mom was born and raised in Arizona, and
Dad was just ready for a change, ready to move
out of the hustle and bustle of metropolitan Los Angeles
into a more laid back lifestyle. We moved to Prescott
and a year later ended up in the Phoenix area.
My mom's brother lived in Arizona his whole life, and
by the time our family arrived from California, he was
having good success in residential construction. He enjoyed getting away
from the crowds, and he built a cabin in a
remote area called Bonita Creek. The cabin is nestled in
tall pine trees, scrub pine and manzanita just a short
hike from Bonita Creek. Artesian spring water gushes from the
base of the Mogolon rim feeding Bonita Creek, and it
flows year round with fresh, clean water. The banks of
the creek are lined with tall grass, pine trees, flowers,
sticker bushes, and wild berries. It's beautiful and it's peaceful
and it's quiet. Arizona, north of Payson is thick with wildlife.
On one drive to the cabin, I had to stop
for an entire herd of elk crossing the road. That
was a surprise for a city guy. Elk, deer, bird, squirrel, cattle,
wild horses, and even bald eagles are things I've seen
on the trek to the cabin. Little did I know
there's an even larger animal out there in the forests
of Arizona. It is a massive primate predator. It's Bigfoot.
My first encounter with Bigfoot happened on a weekend camp
out in the high country of Arizona. I was with
friends near the Moglon Rim. I hope I'm pronouncing that right.
If I'm not, just forgive me. We picked out a spot,
not a designated camping area, and circle the wagon, so
to speak. We had campers, trucks, tent starks, ice chests,
and plenty of grub to cook over an open fire,
and we built a huge one that first evening. As
the sun was slipping behind the mountains in the west,
one guy enjoying the sunset with me, decided to call
out for Bigfoot. Seriously, I had never heard of such
a thing. He cupped his hands to his face and
he let out the loudest, longest whoop that he could.
I was thinking to myself, oh my, surely this will
yield nothing. Is Bigfoot even real. Nonetheless, the guy let
out one or two more whoops. The valley before us
and the mountains in the distance remained quiet. He got
no response. I didn't really think there would be a response.
After dark, we sat around in portable campmpchairs, enjoying a
crisp mountain temperature and a star sparkled sky. Partway through
the evening, two of the gals suddenly reported seeing eye
shine at the west edge of the camp site, between
a vehicle and the tree that it was parked next to.
They said the eye shine was a neutral color, like silver,
and close enough to the ground that it could have
been a coyote or a deer or something similar. Light
from our campfire must have been enough to get a reflection.
Since the gal seemed concerned about what they had seen,
we kept a vigil for a while, but there was
no investigation. After all, we were in the forest and
one would expect to encounter some wildlife. A while later,
there was a loud, blood curdling scream maybe two hundred
yards off to the woods to the northwest, something that
sounded like a woman under attack that got my attention.
I really wasn't sure what to make of it, and
I waited to see if the screen would happen again.
No one went into the dark to investigate, and the
scream was not repeated. The evening wound to a close
around midnight and everyone turned in. After drifting off to sleep,
there was a disturbance at our capsite that woke up
some of the lady campers, but I slept through it.
The ladies weren't sure what it was that caused them
to wake up. The next morning, I got up with
the sunrise and walked to the edge of the overlook,
just soaking in the view and inhaling the fresh pine
scented air. As I turned a walk back to camp,
I noticed a structure near the edge of the overlook.
It was rather primitive in appearance, an uprooted pine tree
leaning at an angle, with one end resting in the
fork of a second tree. Along both sides of the
pine angling to the ground, there were broken off branches
leaning against the trunk. It was sort of a crude,
lean to shelter with an interior that would be shielded
from the elements, especially if the exterior was covered with snow.
As I considered the structure, I thought maybe some boy
scouts had built this thing, But it was odd that
they had not used the saw to cut the branches.
Everything was just busted off and added on. It looked
as though it had been there quite a while. After
contemplating its construction, I headed back to the camp, having
no idea of this type of structure was sometimes seen
in Bigfoot habitat. I didn't even know Bigfoot existed. The
fuzzy clips from the Patterson film were intriguing, but I
wasn't sure if Bigfoot was the real deal or not.
All this happened about twelve years ago. It wasn't until
studying Bigfoot in the fall of twenty eighteen that I
realized Bigfoot was perhaps responsible for some of what I
had experienced on that camp out. My second encounter with
Bigfoot happened on a forest road not far from the
cabin at Bonita Creek. It was a quiet Saturday afternoon
in the fall of twenty fourteen. The sun was slipping
down in the west, and there was no one around,
no neighbors, no one. The cabins close by were vacant,
and it was just the three of us, my friend,
her daughter, and me. It was very quiet and peaceful.
We were meandering towards the driveway leading to our cabin.
The gals were selectively collecting rocks to use back home
for decorating the edge of planters, walkways, etc. While engaged
in this process, suddenly a rock flew in from somewhere
behind us and bounced to a stop at the feet
of the ladies. It wasn't very large, maybe smaller than
the size of a baseball, and it didn't really hurt anyone.
It just flew in and landed near their feet. We
stopped immediately and turned around, looking to see who might
have this rock at us, But there was no one
out there. The whole area was dead quiet, no neighbors,
no one. It was just us at that point. There
was nothing that we could do. There wasn't even anyone
out there to yell at, but somehow a rock had
just been thrown at us. After looking around a while
and seeing nothing, we turned and continued the short distance
to the cabin to settle in for the night. For
whatever reason, I never felt comfortable about leaving the security
screen and front door unlocked when staying overnight at this cabin.
Although my mind's normal reasoning said there was nothing to fear,
no danger, no undesirables anywhere close to this remote location
of Arizona, I still felt uneasy about omitting precautions. I
never left any of the windows open at night. I
never felt comfortable about leaving the blinds open either, even
though one of the windows on the south side was
about eight feet off the ground at the bottom, that
window in its blinds could have been left open with
no apparent danger, but I closed them anyway. I know
that sounds paranoid, but for whatever reason, I felt uncomfortable
until daylight in the morning. Then I would open the doors,
the blinds, and push the windows open. Looking back at
that overkilled precaution and knowing what other people have experienced
with bigfoot, I'm glad I did lock those security screens
and doors. I've learned that bigfoot will grab and turn
a doorknob, and sometimes they peer through screens and windows.
Maybe my precautions weren't unfounded. After all, Bigfoot have also
been known to throw rocks, sticks, pine cones, and other objects.
Thinking about that rock that was hurled at us, was
that thrown by a bigfoot? Maybe there wasn't anything else
out there. Perhaps this bigfoot was curious and just wanted
to see what we would do, or maybe it wanted
to let us know that it was there, or perhaps
it was just messing with us for fun. Whatever the case,
I believed that rock was most likely thrown by a
bigfoot Because of my next encounter. In June of twenty sixteen,
I married a lovely woman. My bride is full of
life and a great lover of the outdoors, hiking, biking, spring, wildflowers, fall,
colors changing, and the wild blackberries growing along Bonita Creek.
We decided to slip away for a weekend at the
cabin for some time alone, well almost alone, we did
have our two dogs with us. We arrived at the
cabin on Saturday afternoon. We dumped our stuff inside the
front door and headed down to the creek. It was
beautiful and serene, as always, We hiked a loop that
ended up back at the cabin for a barbecue dinner
on the deck. The table was set for two overlooking
the forest, with a gentle sound of Bonita Creek in
the distance. It was perfect. The next morning, my wife
was up and heading out with the dogs before I
could get my shoes on. She and the boys reached
the creek way ahead of me and turned east to
hike up stream. By the time I arrived, they had
disappeared into the thick trees, the brush, and the tall grass.
While hiking in their direction, I noticed an area across
the creek where the tall grass had been pushed down
somewhat like a nest. The depression was a circular and
maybe fifteen foot in diameter. It was perplexing. I wondered
what had made that flattened pattern, but I kept on moving.
A side note here, my logical mind is saying there's
no danger, and my wife is okay taking off with
the dogs on her own without me, but I still
felt uneasy. After about fifteen minutes, I caught up with them,
and as all the natural beauty was just too much
to rush past, and my wife had stopped to pick blackberries.
By noon, we were headed back down the creek towards
the cabin. We emerged from a somewhat densely forested area
into a more open, grassy location, spreading out on both
sides of the creek. It was lovely, but what was
that nasty odor? It smells something like a skunk, but
not quite like a skunk. I surveyed the grassy area,
thinking maybe I would see a skunk or something out there,
but I couldn't see anything. The grass was too tall.
There was just that smell that had suddenly arrived. I
asked my wife, you smell that. What is that? She
shrugged her shoulders and headed on towards the cabin. I
decided I'd better move on before I met whatever this
was that smells so badly. I paused in the grassy
area and turned to take a picture of that beautiful
part of the creek we had just walked through. It
was twelve forty seven pm on Sunday, September the twenty fourth,
twenty and seventeen. I looked at the photo on the
screen and it looked a bit washed out. There was
too much light. I changed the camera setting while standing
in the same spot, and I took a second picture.
It was twelve forty eight pm, and even though I
did not know it at the time, I had just
taken my first picture of a bigfoot. He was right
there across the creek from the path I had just
walked down, not more than twenty yards from where I
had been. He never made a sound. I didn't even
know he was there until fifteen months later when I
remembered the skunky smell that Sunday at Bonita Creek and
I began looking carefully at my photos. Sure enough, there
he was. He was not in the first photo, but
he was in the second photo. Head and shoulders were
visible across the top of the bushes to see what
I was doing. That was my third encounter. I wonder
how many other people have had similar experiences, having been
in such close proximity to a bigfoot and not even
know it. I'm going to jump ahead a bit to
one more experience at Bonita Creek. Candy and I made
another visit to Bonita Creek in July of twenty nineteen.
My intent was to check out the area more thoroughly
for evidence of bigfoot and see if they might respond
to a gifting. Here's what happened. I tried putting out
some apples, M and MS, peanuts, and a few other
goodies for the Bigfoot animals at Bonita Creek, and then
proceeded to knock on a wooden bench with a stick.
I did that twice and then went back up to
sit on the deck at the cabin to wait to
see what would happen. It was late in the day
and I was hoping Bigfoot would get the goodies down
at the creek, maybe come later to pick them up.
No luck on that, but something strange did happen. About
fifteen minutes after I got situated on the deck, Suddenly,
just upstream from the place where I did the knock,
I heard this very strange animal sound coming from down
there by the creek. It was some repeated garble sound.
The pattern repeated maybe three or four times, followed by
quack quack quack, and then the same sounds were repeated again,
followed by the same quacking. Mind you, these sounds were
not made by a duck, and there were no ducks
up there at Bonita Creek. I didn't hear any sounds
like that the rest of the four days that we
were there. I believe the garble sounds were made by
a bigfoot who came to check out the origin of
my double set of wood knocks made by whacking on
that bench with a stick. At least that's what I think.
The next morning, Candy and I and our dog Robby
decided to hike to the east along Bonita Creek all
the way to the headwaters where Bonita Creek bubbles up
out of the ground. It's about a two and a
half mile height. After we had hiked about a mile, suddenly,
from the north side of the canyon, up in a
wooded area with a dense cover, sounds started coming from
the hillside overlooking the creek. I turned to check out
the origin of the sounds, as did Candy. Her immediate
question was what was that? To her, it sounded like
a child making noises. To me, it sounded like some
sort of very large, loud bird. The sounds were coming
from three separate areas on the side of the hill.
We could see nothing up there, We just heard the
loud sounds. On the way back, Candy and I got separated.
She hikes a lot faster than me, she said. When
she got back to the same spot, the sounds started
up again, only this time they were much louder than before.
Strangely enough, when I hiked past there, there was no
noise at all. We had one other strange noise incident
as we left the headwaters of the creek. This was
while we were still together, before she left me in
the dust with her fast hiking pace. Up on the
other side of the canyon, the south side, up on
the crest of the mountain, came another unusual sound. Once again,
I thought it sounded something like a big bird, but
Candy said that she thought it sounded like a child screaming.
We were in plain view of the mountain at that point.
I stared at the point of origin for the sound,
but I didn't see anything. My thinking was that perhaps
it was Bigfoot a century alerting the rest of the
Bigfoot animals as to our location. That's only my thinking.
One other point of interest. Bobby was hiking with both
of us on the way up, but with Candy on
the way back. Walking along quietly by by myself, I
saw too deer on my track back. They were on
the north side of the creek in some tall, dense
ferns and grass. I only saw them briefly, but it
was fun to see them. There were plenty of deer
and elk tracks along the trail leading to the spring. However,
I did not see any Bigfoot prints, even though I
made a conscious effort to find some. My analysis of
the whole habitat is that Bigfoot animals moved east away
from the populated area of Bonita Creek where our cabin is,
the area inhabited by people. I wish they could have
received the goodies I had for them, but maybe that
will happen at some point in the future. Now back
to my fourth encounter with Bigfoot. In the fall, my
wife loves to collect colorful leaves for holiday decorations. Her
favorite place to find these little treasures is ten miles
north of Sedona, at the West Fork of Oak Creek.
This part of Arizona is stunningly beautiful. The West Fork
meanders through a narrow canyon with vertical walls of multiicolored
layered stone, all capped by a crystal clear blue sky.
The trees are evergreen, splattered among the maples with changing
leaves of yellow, red, gold, brown, and fading green. It's
a leaf hunter's paradise. When the time came for the
twenty eighteen Sedona leaf collecting expedition, there was a secondary
purpose for me. While my wife was finding just the
right leaves. I planned to critically survey the West Fork
area for Bigfoot evidence and snap photos of everything I found.
As soon as we hiked into the canyon, I had
to get the camera and start taking pictures of saplings
bent over forming arches, large limbs snapped off from tree
trunks and laying on the ground. Very large diameter trees
pushed over with their root balls ripped out of the ground.
Trees wedged and threaded horizontally between other trees, tree trunks
arranged to form giant xes, tree trunk rubble piled up
to prevent passage into the area. Large sized tree trunks
that had been snapped into like popsicle sticks, tree trunks
leaning upside down against canyon walls, and way off in
the distance, way up on the side of the canyon,
an indistinct, dark brown, motionless object. In addition to bigfoot
on Bonita Creek, it looks like there might be bigfoot
on the west Fork of Oak Creek as well. Imagine
that bigfoot in Arizona. Then from way upstream, around a
bend in the canyon and way off in the distance,
came the faint sound of a five wack wood knock
who do you think did that? Thank you for all
your diligent study on behalf of Bigfoot. Thanks for sharing
my story. Best wishes to all who have seen or
hope to see someday one of these giant miracles of
the forest. The creature we know is Bigfoot. Thank you
for listening to this podcast. I really appreciate you joining
me here. If you've got a minute, make sure and
follow the podcast on whatever app you're using. If you've
got time, leave a review for me on Apple or
Spotify or whatever podcast app that you use. I would
sure appreciate that. That'll help me reach more people. I
know you hear that all the time, but I've got
you know, a lot of people don't think about it,
and about one out of a thousand will do it,
and that is fine with me. I just appreciate the
people who do, and I appreciate the people who just listen.
I don't care if you do all that stuff, but
I thought i'd remind you just in case you're so
inclined to do it. So thanks for listening, and we'll
see you guys on the next one.