WEBVTT 1 00:00:00.040 --> 00:00:00.160 Hi. 2 00:00:00.240 --> 00:00:05.080 I'm doctor Maria Meyer, anthropologists, primatologist, wildlife correspondent and part 3 00:00:05.080 --> 00:00:08.880 of the team on Expedition Bigfoot. I've spent my entire 4 00:00:09.000 --> 00:00:13.519 life exploring the planet's wildest, most remote places in search 5 00:00:13.560 --> 00:00:17.280 of the extraordinary, and now I'm inviting you to join me. 6 00:00:18.000 --> 00:00:22.960 Introducing the Explorer Society, a global community of curious minds, 7 00:00:23.320 --> 00:00:26.760 truth seekers, and adventures where we dive into the unknown, 8 00:00:27.199 --> 00:00:31.160 from elusive creatures like Bigfoot, to the frontiers of science, 9 00:00:31.359 --> 00:00:35.679 nature and unexplained phenomena. Live q and as and roundtable discussions, 10 00:00:36.119 --> 00:00:40.840 especial guest interviews including the Expedition Bigfoot team, Dave Schrader, 11 00:00:40.960 --> 00:00:45.079 Cliff Berrickman plus Josh Gates, Jack Osborne and many more. 12 00:00:45.679 --> 00:00:50.520 On demand streaming content, invites to exclusive events and conferences 13 00:00:50.600 --> 00:00:54.719 around the world, Explore Society swag, and even the chance 14 00:00:54.799 --> 00:00:57.920 to join us on a real life expedition. Come explore 15 00:00:57.920 --> 00:01:01.640 with me. Let's discover what's out there. Joint Explorer Society 16 00:01:01.880 --> 00:01:04.920 at Maria Mayor dot com and one what are your reporting? 17 00:01:05.719 --> 00:01:08.120 I got a screen going on here. Something just kid 18 00:01:08.280 --> 00:01:11.719 my dog, something killed your dog? My dog? We're flying 19 00:01:11.760 --> 00:01:13.599 through the or over the tree. I don't know how 20 00:01:13.599 --> 00:01:18.560 it did it? Okay, damn it. I'm really confused. All 21 00:01:18.719 --> 00:01:20.359 I saw was my dog coming over the fence and 22 00:01:20.439 --> 00:01:22.280 they was dead. And once you hit the grill, I 23 00:01:22.319 --> 00:01:24.200 didn't see any cars. All I saw was my dog 24 00:01:24.239 --> 00:01:43.799 coming over the fence. One. What are you reporting? We 25 00:01:43.920 --> 00:01:54.680 got some wond or something crawling around out here? Did 26 00:01:54.680 --> 00:01:55.719 you see what it was? 27 00:01:55.719 --> 00:01:55.799 Was? 28 00:01:55.840 --> 00:01:58.040 It was stand enough. I'm out here looking through the 29 00:01:58.079 --> 00:01:59.879 window now and I don't see anything. I don't want 30 00:01:59.879 --> 00:02:09.319 to go fight. Hello, hit the boddy out here, pquin 31 00:02:09.360 --> 00:02:12.280 on out there. I've thought of a mention about technine. 32 00:02:12.360 --> 00:02:15.039 I don't know. Easy annount there. Yeah, I'm right. 33 00:02:15.120 --> 00:02:15.400 Hey. 34 00:02:16.199 --> 00:02:19.039 There are places in this country where civilization ends and 35 00:02:19.080 --> 00:02:23.560 something else begins. Deep forests where cell phones don't work, 36 00:02:24.039 --> 00:02:26.719 where the nearest road might as well be on another planet, 37 00:02:27.240 --> 00:02:30.599 where the only sounds are wind through ancient trees and 38 00:02:30.639 --> 00:02:34.280 your own heartbeat echoing in your ears. Most people who 39 00:02:34.360 --> 00:02:37.599 venture into these places come back with stories of scenic vistas, 40 00:02:38.000 --> 00:02:41.240 wildlife sightings, and the kind of peace that only true 41 00:02:41.240 --> 00:02:45.639 wilderness can provide, But some come back changed. What you're 42 00:02:45.680 --> 00:02:48.400 about to hear are six accounts from people who encountered 43 00:02:48.439 --> 00:02:52.639 something in America's most remote forests, something that science says 44 00:02:52.759 --> 00:02:57.960 doesn't exist. These aren't campfire tales or Internet legends, their 45 00:02:58.000 --> 00:03:03.439 first hand testimonies from experience outdoorsmen and women, hunters, park rangers, 46 00:03:03.680 --> 00:03:08.639 wilderness guides, search and rescue volunteers, people whose livelihoods depend 47 00:03:08.680 --> 00:03:12.360 on understanding the natural world and the creatures that inhabit it. 48 00:03:13.120 --> 00:03:16.360 Each story comes from a different decade, a different region, 49 00:03:16.840 --> 00:03:20.719 a different set of circumstances, but they share common threads 50 00:03:20.719 --> 00:03:25.039 that run deeper than coincidence. Massive footprints in places where 51 00:03:25.039 --> 00:03:28.759 no human should be, glimpses of something that walks upright 52 00:03:28.840 --> 00:03:32.719 but isn't quite human, The unsettling feeling of being watched 53 00:03:32.759 --> 00:03:36.560 by eyes that reflect in intelligence both ancient and alien. 54 00:03:37.520 --> 00:03:40.400 These witnesses didn't ask to become part of this mystery. 55 00:03:40.919 --> 00:03:43.520 They were simply in the wrong place at the right time, 56 00:03:44.159 --> 00:03:47.280 or perhaps the right place at the wrong time, depending 57 00:03:47.319 --> 00:03:51.879 on your perspective. Most have never spoken publicly about their experiences. 58 00:03:52.400 --> 00:03:55.719 Some have never told anyone at all until now. The 59 00:03:55.800 --> 00:04:01.919 forests they describe still exist, largely unchanged our increasingly connected world, 60 00:04:02.800 --> 00:04:05.960 millions of acres of wilderness where something large and intelligent 61 00:04:06.199 --> 00:04:09.479 could live its entire existence without ever appearing in a 62 00:04:09.560 --> 00:04:13.840 scientific journal or government database. Places where the old rules 63 00:04:13.919 --> 00:04:18.160 still apply, where humans are visitors at best and trespassers 64 00:04:18.199 --> 00:04:21.879 at worst. Listen carefully to what these people have to say. 65 00:04:22.519 --> 00:04:25.079 They have nothing to gain from sharing their stories and 66 00:04:25.199 --> 00:04:28.759 everything to lose, but they've chosen to speak because they 67 00:04:28.800 --> 00:04:31.759 believe you deserve to know that there are still mysteries 68 00:04:31.800 --> 00:04:35.439 in this world, still boundaries between the known and unknown 69 00:04:35.480 --> 00:04:38.879 that we cross at our own peril. The truth, as 70 00:04:38.920 --> 00:04:42.680 they say, is out there. Sometimes it's closer than we think. 71 00:04:43.720 --> 00:04:46.800 The Roosevelt elk hunting season had been disappointing that year. 72 00:04:47.439 --> 00:04:49.399 Three days into what was supposed to be a week 73 00:04:49.439 --> 00:04:52.279 long trip, and I hadn't seen so much as fresh sign. 74 00:04:53.279 --> 00:04:56.639 The Olympic Peninsula's dense rainforest can swallow a man whole 75 00:04:56.639 --> 00:04:59.399 if he's not careful, and after twenty three years of 76 00:04:59.480 --> 00:05:02.600 hunting these woods, I thought I knew every game, trail 77 00:05:02.639 --> 00:05:05.439 and creek crossing from the whole River to Lake Crescent. 78 00:05:06.360 --> 00:05:09.360 That fourth morning started like any other. I'd set up 79 00:05:09.360 --> 00:05:11.800 camp near a small clearing about eight miles from the 80 00:05:11.839 --> 00:05:15.439 nearest logging road, far enough back that most weekend warriors 81 00:05:15.480 --> 00:05:19.000 wouldn't bother making the track. The mist hung thick between 82 00:05:19.040 --> 00:05:22.759 the massive Douglas firs and western hemlocks, creating a green 83 00:05:22.839 --> 00:05:26.199 cathedral that seemed to muffle every sound except the distant 84 00:05:26.279 --> 00:05:30.399 drip of condensation from branches high above. I was working 85 00:05:30.399 --> 00:05:33.120 my way along a ridge that overlooked a marshy bottom 86 00:05:33.399 --> 00:05:36.439 where elk sometimes came to feed in the early morning hours. 87 00:05:37.240 --> 00:05:40.879 The ground was soft beneath my boots, carpeted with decades 88 00:05:40.920 --> 00:05:43.439 of fallen needles and moss that grew thick as shag 89 00:05:43.519 --> 00:05:48.040 carpet on every fallen log and rock. Visibility was maybe 90 00:05:48.079 --> 00:05:51.560 thirty yards in any direction through the fog. That's when 91 00:05:51.600 --> 00:05:55.160 I first noticed the tracks. At first glance, they looked human, 92 00:05:55.759 --> 00:05:58.519 but no human foot measures eighteen inches long and eight 93 00:05:58.519 --> 00:06:02.199 inches wide. The impressions were pressed deep into the soft 94 00:06:02.279 --> 00:06:05.319 earth near a small creek, deeper than my own two 95 00:06:05.399 --> 00:06:07.839 hundred pound frame would have made in the same spot. 96 00:06:08.560 --> 00:06:11.680 Each toe was clearly defined, with what looked like claw 97 00:06:11.720 --> 00:06:15.720 marks extending from the tips. The stride length between prints 98 00:06:15.759 --> 00:06:19.160 measured close to five feet. I knelt down and studied 99 00:06:19.199 --> 00:06:22.800 them more carefully. The tracks were fresh, maybe an hour 100 00:06:22.879 --> 00:06:26.399 old at most. Water was still seeping into the deepest 101 00:06:26.439 --> 00:06:30.079 parts of the impressions. Whatever had made them was massive 102 00:06:30.120 --> 00:06:33.360 and had passed through this area just after dawn. My 103 00:06:33.399 --> 00:06:37.439 first instinct was to follow them. Curiosity has always been 104 00:06:37.480 --> 00:06:40.720 my weakness, and in all my years in these woods, 105 00:06:41.000 --> 00:06:44.680 I'd never seen anything like this. The trail led away 106 00:06:44.680 --> 00:06:47.360 from the creek and up a steep embankment covered in 107 00:06:47.399 --> 00:06:51.439 thick salmon berry and Devil's club. The underbrush showed clear 108 00:06:51.480 --> 00:06:56.000 signs of something large pushing through broken branches and crushed vegetation, 109 00:06:56.160 --> 00:07:00.439 creating an obvious path. As I climbed, the four seemed 110 00:07:00.439 --> 00:07:03.600 to grow quieter. The usual chatter of squirrels and the 111 00:07:03.639 --> 00:07:07.040 distant calls of ravens faded away, until the only sound 112 00:07:07.160 --> 00:07:10.160 was my own labored breathing and the soft squelch of 113 00:07:10.199 --> 00:07:14.040 my boots in the muddy earth. The fog was lifting slightly, 114 00:07:14.399 --> 00:07:17.040 but the canopy above was so thick that very little 115 00:07:17.120 --> 00:07:20.560 light reached the forest floor. It felt like walking through 116 00:07:20.600 --> 00:07:23.920 a living cave. The tracks led me along the ridge 117 00:07:23.920 --> 00:07:26.639 for nearly half a mile before they turned sharply and 118 00:07:26.680 --> 00:07:30.240 headed down into a ravine i'd never explored before. The 119 00:07:30.319 --> 00:07:32.959 sides were steep, and covered with loose shale that made 120 00:07:32.959 --> 00:07:37.399 footing treacherous. About halfway down, I stopped to catch my breath, 121 00:07:37.600 --> 00:07:40.759 and that's when I realized I was being watched. The 122 00:07:40.800 --> 00:07:43.160 feeling hit me like a physical blow to the chest. 123 00:07:44.000 --> 00:07:47.839 Every hunter knows that sensation, the primitive awareness that you've 124 00:07:47.879 --> 00:07:50.560 become the hunted. The hair on the back of my 125 00:07:50.639 --> 00:07:54.439 neck stood up, and my mouth went dry. I turned slowly, 126 00:07:54.800 --> 00:07:57.879 scanning the forest around me, but saw nothing except the 127 00:07:58.000 --> 00:08:01.480 endless maze of tree trunks and shadows. But the smell 128 00:08:01.560 --> 00:08:05.040 hit me then, Not the sweet decay of rotting vegetation 129 00:08:05.480 --> 00:08:09.560 or the musty scent of damp earth. This was something else, entirely, 130 00:08:10.079 --> 00:08:13.720 something organic and alive. It reminded me of a wet 131 00:08:13.759 --> 00:08:16.639 dog that had been rolling in mud. But underneath that 132 00:08:16.759 --> 00:08:20.959 was something sharper, more acrid, like the smell of fierce sweat, 133 00:08:21.360 --> 00:08:25.839 but magnified one hundredfold. I continued down the ravine, moving 134 00:08:25.839 --> 00:08:29.279 more slowly now, my rifle ready but feeling inadequate in 135 00:08:29.319 --> 00:08:32.600 my hands. The thirty six that had dropped dozens of 136 00:08:32.639 --> 00:08:36.320 elk over the years suddenly seemed like a toy. At 137 00:08:36.320 --> 00:08:39.159 the bottom of the ravine was a small stream, maybe 138 00:08:39.159 --> 00:08:43.840 three feet wide, running crystal clear over rounded stones. The 139 00:08:43.919 --> 00:08:47.679 tracks continued across it and up the opposite bank. That's 140 00:08:47.720 --> 00:08:51.000 where I found the tree. It was a western red cedar, 141 00:08:51.440 --> 00:08:54.639 probably eight feet in diameter and ancient even by old 142 00:08:54.679 --> 00:08:58.600 growth standards. But about twelve feet up the trunk, someone 143 00:08:58.720 --> 00:09:01.240 or something had twisted of off branches as thick as 144 00:09:01.240 --> 00:09:03.960 my arm and woven them together in a crude but 145 00:09:04.080 --> 00:09:08.320 deliberate pattern. The fresh sap was still bleeding from the wounds, 146 00:09:08.639 --> 00:09:11.080 and some of the branches were still green and flexible. 147 00:09:11.840 --> 00:09:15.240 Whatever had done this possessed incredible strength and had been 148 00:09:15.279 --> 00:09:18.480 here very recently. I was studying the tree when I 149 00:09:18.480 --> 00:09:22.440 heard the sound. It started low, almost below the range 150 00:09:22.440 --> 00:09:25.480 of human hearing, a rumbling that seemed to come from 151 00:09:25.559 --> 00:09:29.159 the earth itself. Then it rose in pitch and volume 152 00:09:29.399 --> 00:09:32.679 until it became a vocalization unlike anything I'd ever heard. 153 00:09:33.399 --> 00:09:36.759 Not quite a roar, not quite a scream, but something 154 00:09:36.759 --> 00:09:40.440 that combined the worst elements of both. The sound echoed 155 00:09:40.440 --> 00:09:42.360 off the walls of the ravine and seemed to go 156 00:09:42.440 --> 00:09:46.320 on forever. Every instinct I had screamed at me to run, 157 00:09:47.000 --> 00:09:50.080 but my legs felt like they were filled with concrete. 158 00:09:50.120 --> 00:09:53.240 I stood there, rifle raised but shaking in my hands, 159 00:09:53.559 --> 00:09:56.960 scanning the forest around me. The sound had come from 160 00:09:56.960 --> 00:10:00.799 somewhere ahead, deeper in the ravine, but the acoustics made 161 00:10:00.799 --> 00:10:05.440 it impossible to pinpoint exactly where. About sixty yards away, 162 00:10:05.799 --> 00:10:09.799 standing motionless between two massive Douglas firs, was a shape 163 00:10:09.799 --> 00:10:13.080 that didn't belong. At first, my brain tried to make 164 00:10:13.120 --> 00:10:15.799 sense of it, to categorize it as a stump or 165 00:10:15.879 --> 00:10:18.399 a boulder, or anything else that would fit into the 166 00:10:18.480 --> 00:10:22.600 natural order of things. But as my eyes adjusted and focused, 167 00:10:22.919 --> 00:10:25.720 there was no denying what I was looking at. It 168 00:10:25.759 --> 00:10:29.120 stood nearly eight feet tall, covered in dark brown hair 169 00:10:29.159 --> 00:10:32.279 that seemed to ripple and flow as it breathed. The 170 00:10:32.320 --> 00:10:36.200 shoulders were impossibly broad, at least four feet across, and 171 00:10:36.240 --> 00:10:38.840 the arms hung down past where the knees should be. 172 00:10:39.600 --> 00:10:42.600 But it was the face that froze my blood. Even 173 00:10:42.600 --> 00:10:45.960 at that distance, I could see the eyes, dark and intelligent, 174 00:10:46.320 --> 00:10:49.679 watching me with the same calculating stare a wolf gives 175 00:10:49.679 --> 00:10:52.399 a deer before it decides whether to attack or move on. 176 00:10:53.440 --> 00:10:55.600 We stared at each other for what felt like hours 177 00:10:55.639 --> 00:11:00.240 but was probably only seconds. Then, without any warning or sundund. 178 00:11:00.559 --> 00:11:03.879 It simply melted back into the forest. One moment it 179 00:11:03.919 --> 00:11:08.320 was there, solid and undeniably real, the next it had vanished, 180 00:11:08.360 --> 00:11:11.360 as if it had never existed at all. I stood 181 00:11:11.360 --> 00:11:14.440 there for several more minutes, waiting for something else to happen, 182 00:11:15.159 --> 00:11:18.039 but the forest had returned to its previous quiet, and 183 00:11:18.120 --> 00:11:21.639 gradually the normal sounds of birds and small animals began again. 184 00:11:22.600 --> 00:11:25.200 When I finally worked up the courage to move, I 185 00:11:25.279 --> 00:11:28.559 backed away, slowly, never taking my eyes off the spot 186 00:11:28.559 --> 00:11:31.720 where the creature had stood. I didn't follow the tracks 187 00:11:31.759 --> 00:11:35.000 any further. Instead, I made my way back to camp 188 00:11:35.039 --> 00:11:38.159 as quickly as the terrain would allow, broke down my gear, 189 00:11:38.399 --> 00:11:41.679 and hiked out to my truck. The entire eight mile 190 00:11:41.759 --> 00:11:44.759 trek back to the logging road was accomplished in record time, 191 00:11:45.320 --> 00:11:48.039 fueled by adrenaline and the constant feeling that I was 192 00:11:48.080 --> 00:11:52.240 being followed. I never saw anything directly behind me, but 193 00:11:52.360 --> 00:11:55.279 several times I heard branches breaking in the forest parallel 194 00:11:55.320 --> 00:11:58.559 to the trail I was following. Whatever was back there 195 00:11:58.679 --> 00:12:01.440 was keeping pace with me, staying just out of sight, 196 00:12:01.559 --> 00:12:04.519 but making sure I knew it was there. The message 197 00:12:04.559 --> 00:12:07.519 was clear, I was being escorted out of its territory. 198 00:12:08.279 --> 00:12:10.679 That was thirty five years ago, and I've never been 199 00:12:10.720 --> 00:12:14.519 back to that particular area of the Olympics. I still hunt, 200 00:12:14.799 --> 00:12:18.320 but I stick to areas closer to civilization now, places 201 00:12:18.320 --> 00:12:21.480 where the sound of logging trucks and chainsaws reminds you 202 00:12:21.559 --> 00:12:24.639 that humanity hasn't been completely swallowed up by the wilderness. 203 00:12:25.320 --> 00:12:28.320 I've told this story to exactly three people over the years, 204 00:12:28.919 --> 00:12:33.080 my brother, my son, and now you. Each time I 205 00:12:33.080 --> 00:12:36.200 see the same look in their eyes. The polite skepticism 206 00:12:36.240 --> 00:12:39.360 that says they think stress or isolation, or maybe just 207 00:12:39.440 --> 00:12:42.159 too much time alone in the woods has affected my judgment. 208 00:12:42.879 --> 00:12:45.039 But I know what I saw that day, and I 209 00:12:45.120 --> 00:12:48.120 know it was real. The locals in the small towns 210 00:12:48.159 --> 00:12:51.360 around the peninsula have stories, of course, they always have, 211 00:12:52.240 --> 00:12:54.960 but they don't talk about them much to outsiders, and 212 00:12:55.039 --> 00:12:57.720 they don't venture too far back into the old growth 213 00:12:57.759 --> 00:13:01.679 forests without good reason. They know, like I know now, 214 00:13:02.159 --> 00:13:05.159 that there are some places where humans are tolerated only 215 00:13:05.200 --> 00:13:08.159 as long as they remember their visitors in something else's home. 216 00:13:09.159 --> 00:13:11.879 That was nineteen ninety, the end of an era when 217 00:13:12.000 --> 00:13:16.879 vast stretches of American wilderness remained truly unknown, But even 218 00:13:16.919 --> 00:13:20.679 as the country became more connected, more mapped, more explored, 219 00:13:21.080 --> 00:13:25.080 the encounters continued. Three thousand miles away, in the opposite 220 00:13:25.120 --> 00:13:27.919 corner of the continent, another man in uniform would have 221 00:13:27.919 --> 00:13:32.720 his own life changing experience. Seven years earlier, twenty six 222 00:13:32.799 --> 00:13:35.639 years I worked for the main Department of Conservation, and 223 00:13:35.720 --> 00:13:38.799 the last fifteen of those were spent at Baxter State Park. 224 00:13:39.879 --> 00:13:42.879 In all that time, patrolling over two hundred thousand acres 225 00:13:42.879 --> 00:13:47.039 of wilderness, dealing with everything from lost hikers to aggressive moose. 226 00:13:47.559 --> 00:13:50.200 I thought I'd seen everything the North Woods had to offer. 227 00:13:50.879 --> 00:13:51.519 I was wrong. 228 00:13:52.679 --> 00:13:55.159 August of nineteen seventy four was one of the wettest 229 00:13:55.200 --> 00:13:58.559 on record. The Panobscot River was running high and fast, 230 00:13:58.919 --> 00:14:01.399 and several of the smaller streams that usually dried up 231 00:14:01.399 --> 00:14:04.879 to a trickle by Midsummer were flowing like spring freshets. 232 00:14:05.639 --> 00:14:08.440 The constant rain had driven most of the wildlife deeper 233 00:14:08.480 --> 00:14:11.919 into the forest, and we'd had fewer bare encounters than usual, 234 00:14:12.399 --> 00:14:15.399 which was both a blessing and a mystery. I was 235 00:14:15.440 --> 00:14:19.279 three days into a backcountry patrol, checking campsites and trail 236 00:14:19.279 --> 00:14:23.919 conditions along the Appalachian Trail Corridor near Mount Catadan. The 237 00:14:24.039 --> 00:14:27.679 rain had finally stopped, but the forest was still dripping constantly, 238 00:14:28.000 --> 00:14:30.159 and the air was thick with humidity and the smell 239 00:14:30.200 --> 00:14:34.240 of wet earth and decaying leaves. Visibility was limited by 240 00:14:34.320 --> 00:14:38.679 low hanging clouds that drifted between the peaks like ghostly fingers. 241 00:14:39.360 --> 00:14:41.600 My route that day took me along the old Tote 242 00:14:41.679 --> 00:14:44.120 road that connected several of the remote ponds on the 243 00:14:44.159 --> 00:14:47.519 eastern side of the park. It was primitive even by 244 00:14:47.559 --> 00:14:51.159 main standards, more of a game trail than an actual road, 245 00:14:51.600 --> 00:14:54.440 marked only by occasional blazes cut into the bark of 246 00:14:54.480 --> 00:14:58.440 ancient white pines and sugar maples. The footing was treacherous 247 00:14:58.480 --> 00:15:00.919 from all the rain, with hi and roots and rocks 248 00:15:00.960 --> 00:15:05.320 lurking beneath a carpet of wet leaves. And stay tuned 249 00:15:05.360 --> 00:15:07.559 for more Sasquatch oat to see. We'll be right back 250 00:15:07.600 --> 00:15:13.759 after these messages. Today, I want to tell you about 251 00:15:13.759 --> 00:15:16.039 a journey that I've been on for most of my life. 252 00:15:16.159 --> 00:15:17.879 Ever since I was a kid, I've heard tales of 253 00:15:17.879 --> 00:15:20.480 bigfoot and wild men while spending time with my friends 254 00:15:20.480 --> 00:15:23.399 and family. As I grew older and read more about 255 00:15:23.399 --> 00:15:26.519 the paranormal, my interest in encryptids and other things strange 256 00:15:26.600 --> 00:15:29.519 only deepened. That's why I'm so excited to share with 257 00:15:29.559 --> 00:15:33.519 you what I've personally become involved with The Untold Radio Network. 258 00:15:34.240 --> 00:15:37.679 The Untold Radio Network is a live streaming podcast network 259 00:15:37.879 --> 00:15:42.039 that airs a new show every day across all podcast platforms, YouTube, 260 00:15:42.039 --> 00:15:44.840 and more. They have eight different shows on all sorts 261 00:15:44.840 --> 00:15:48.799 of exciting topics such as bigfoot, cryptids, UFOs, aliens, and 262 00:15:48.879 --> 00:15:52.159 much more. I even have my own show called Weird Encounters, 263 00:15:52.159 --> 00:15:55.120 where I talk about all things strange. This is more 264 00:15:55.159 --> 00:15:57.960 than just a podcast network. It's a community that allows 265 00:15:58.000 --> 00:16:00.440 me to meet so many amazing people who share their 266 00:16:00.480 --> 00:16:03.919 stories and experiences with the strange. If you're interested in 267 00:16:03.960 --> 00:16:05.919 hearing more of these stories and learning more about the 268 00:16:05.919 --> 00:16:09.360 paranormal encryptids, make sure you check out the Untold Radio 269 00:16:09.440 --> 00:16:13.320 Network for all kinds of exciting shows. It's free to subscribe. 270 00:16:13.320 --> 00:16:17.120 So what are you waiting for? Visit www dot untold 271 00:16:17.200 --> 00:16:21.279 radionetwork dot com. Today, I was maybe five miles from 272 00:16:21.320 --> 00:16:24.240 the nearest maintained trail when I came across the first 273 00:16:24.279 --> 00:16:28.039 sign that something was off. A large birch tree maybe 274 00:16:28.039 --> 00:16:30.799 two feet in diameter had been snapped off about eight 275 00:16:30.840 --> 00:16:34.360 feet from the ground, not cut or sawed, but twisted 276 00:16:34.399 --> 00:16:36.879 and broken, as if something had grabbed it and wrenched 277 00:16:36.919 --> 00:16:40.480 it apart with brute force. The break was fresh, with 278 00:16:40.600 --> 00:16:43.279 bright white wood showing where the trunk had been severed. 279 00:16:44.000 --> 00:16:47.000 Storm damage was always a possibility in the main woods, 280 00:16:47.440 --> 00:16:50.360 but there hadn't been any significant wind in the past week, 281 00:16:50.919 --> 00:16:53.600 just steady rain, and the way the tree had been 282 00:16:53.639 --> 00:16:57.279 broken suggested something had grabbed it from below and twisted upward, 283 00:16:57.799 --> 00:17:01.200 not the downward pressure you'd expect from wind or falling debris. 284 00:17:02.000 --> 00:17:04.680 I took some photographs from my report and continued along 285 00:17:04.720 --> 00:17:08.200 the trail. About a quarter mile further on, I found 286 00:17:08.200 --> 00:17:11.960 more evidence of disturbance. Saplings had been pushed aside or 287 00:17:12.000 --> 00:17:15.319 broken off, creating a path that diverged from the main 288 00:17:15.440 --> 00:17:19.200 trail and headed deeper into the forest. The undergrowth showed 289 00:17:19.240 --> 00:17:22.720 clear signs of something large passing through, but the tracks 290 00:17:22.720 --> 00:17:25.759 in the muddy ground were unlike anything in my field guides. 291 00:17:26.599 --> 00:17:29.319 As a ranger, I'd learned to follow my instincts, and 292 00:17:29.440 --> 00:17:32.200 every instinct I had was telling me to radio for 293 00:17:32.279 --> 00:17:36.200 backup and wait for assistance. But curiosity got the better 294 00:17:36.240 --> 00:17:38.720 of me, and I decided to follow the trail for 295 00:17:38.759 --> 00:17:42.039 a short distance to see where it led. That decision 296 00:17:42.119 --> 00:17:46.720 nearly cost me everything. The path led through increasingly dense forest, 297 00:17:47.000 --> 00:17:51.079 winding between massive granite boulders left behind by glaciers thousands 298 00:17:51.079 --> 00:17:54.359 of years ago. The canopy above was so thick that 299 00:17:54.440 --> 00:17:57.640 even in mid afternoon, the light barely penetrated to the 300 00:17:57.680 --> 00:18:01.440 forest floor. The air seemed to grow heavier with each step, 301 00:18:01.799 --> 00:18:04.480 and the normal sounds of the forest, the chirping of 302 00:18:04.519 --> 00:18:07.599 birds and the rustling of small animals in the underbrush, 303 00:18:07.920 --> 00:18:11.359 gradually faded away until the only sound was my own breathing. 304 00:18:12.279 --> 00:18:14.400 After about half a mile, the trail led to a 305 00:18:14.440 --> 00:18:17.400 small clearing beside a beaver pond that wasn't marked on 306 00:18:17.440 --> 00:18:20.559 any of my maps. The water was dark and still 307 00:18:20.880 --> 00:18:25.279 reflecting the overcast sky like a black mirror. Along the shoreline, 308 00:18:25.279 --> 00:18:27.559 the mud was churned up, as if something large had 309 00:18:27.559 --> 00:18:30.759 been waiting or drinking there recently. But what caught my 310 00:18:30.799 --> 00:18:33.559 attention were the structures on the far side of the pond. 311 00:18:34.400 --> 00:18:37.559 Three trees had been uprooted and arranged in a rough triangle, 312 00:18:38.000 --> 00:18:41.119 their root systems still clinging to clods of earth and rock. 313 00:18:41.960 --> 00:18:45.519 They hadn't fallen naturally. They'd been deliberately placed to form 314 00:18:45.559 --> 00:18:49.680 what looked like a primitive shelter or marker. Inside the triangle, 315 00:18:49.720 --> 00:18:52.599 smaller branches had been woven together to create a kind 316 00:18:52.640 --> 00:18:56.119 of nest or bed lined with fresh moss and ferns. 317 00:18:56.680 --> 00:18:59.200 I was studying this construction through my binoculars when I 318 00:18:59.240 --> 00:19:02.559 heard the sound. It started as a low, whooping call, 319 00:19:03.160 --> 00:19:06.240 unlike anything I'd heard in my years in the main woods. 320 00:19:06.759 --> 00:19:09.240 Not the territorial call of a moose or the howl 321 00:19:09.279 --> 00:19:12.640 of a coyote, but something that seemed to combine elements 322 00:19:12.640 --> 00:19:16.559 of both while being distinctly neither. The sound came from 323 00:19:16.559 --> 00:19:19.559 somewhere across the pond, echoing off the water and the 324 00:19:19.599 --> 00:19:23.640 surrounding trees. Then came an answering call from somewhere behind me. 325 00:19:24.359 --> 00:19:27.480 I spun around my hand, instinctively, going to the three 326 00:19:27.480 --> 00:19:30.839 point fifty seven revolver on my hip, though I suspected 327 00:19:30.880 --> 00:19:32.920 it would be about as effective as a pop gun 328 00:19:33.200 --> 00:19:36.960 against whatever was making those sounds. The forest around me 329 00:19:37.000 --> 00:19:39.880 looked the same as it had moments before, but something 330 00:19:39.880 --> 00:19:44.359 had changed. The quality of the silence was different, more oppressive. 331 00:19:45.279 --> 00:19:47.680 I backed toward the edge of the clearing, my eyes 332 00:19:47.759 --> 00:19:50.839 scanning the tree line for any sign of movement. That's 333 00:19:50.880 --> 00:19:54.279 when I saw them, two shapes, barely visible in the 334 00:19:54.279 --> 00:19:57.039 shadows between the trees on the opposite side of the pond. 335 00:19:57.839 --> 00:20:01.000 They stood upright like humans, but were far too large 336 00:20:01.319 --> 00:20:04.119 and covered in what appeared to be coarse, dark hair. 337 00:20:04.920 --> 00:20:07.559 Even at a distance of maybe two hundred yards, I 338 00:20:07.599 --> 00:20:11.119 could tell they were massive, probably eight feet tall or more, 339 00:20:11.519 --> 00:20:14.559 with shoulders that would have made a professional linebacker look small. 340 00:20:15.440 --> 00:20:15.960 One of them. 341 00:20:15.880 --> 00:20:19.240 Stepped slightly forward out of the deepest shadows, and for 342 00:20:19.279 --> 00:20:21.279 a moment I got a clear look at its face. 343 00:20:22.039 --> 00:20:26.799 The features were distinctly non human, but disturbingly familiar. The 344 00:20:26.799 --> 00:20:30.400 brow ridge was heavy and pronounced, the jaw jutted forward, 345 00:20:30.680 --> 00:20:34.039 and the nose was flat and wide. But the eyes 346 00:20:34.079 --> 00:20:37.400 were what struck me most. They weren't the dull, vacant 347 00:20:37.400 --> 00:20:42.079 eyes of an animal. They showed intelligence, awareness, and something 348 00:20:42.079 --> 00:20:46.000 that looked disturbingly like recognition. We stared at each other 349 00:20:46.039 --> 00:20:49.480 across the dark water for several long seconds. Then the 350 00:20:49.519 --> 00:20:52.640 creature raised one massive arm and pointed directly at me, 351 00:20:53.440 --> 00:20:55.920 not in a threatening gesture, but more like it was 352 00:20:56.000 --> 00:21:00.440 identifying me. To its companion. The second creature stepped forward well, 353 00:21:00.839 --> 00:21:02.759 and I could see that it was even larger than 354 00:21:02.759 --> 00:21:06.839 the first. That's when my nerve finally broke. I turned 355 00:21:06.839 --> 00:21:10.079 and ran, crashing through the underbrush with all the stealth 356 00:21:10.119 --> 00:21:13.519 and dignity of a panicked deer. Branches tore at my 357 00:21:13.640 --> 00:21:16.440 uniform and pack, and I slipped several times on the 358 00:21:16.440 --> 00:21:19.279 wet leaves, but I didn't slow down until I reached 359 00:21:19.279 --> 00:21:23.039 the main trail nearly a mile away. My radio crackled 360 00:21:23.039 --> 00:21:26.400 with routine traffic from other rangers, the normal sounds of 361 00:21:26.400 --> 00:21:30.359 civilization that seemed impossibly distant from what I just experienced. 362 00:21:31.160 --> 00:21:35.599 I didn't report the encounter officially, who would have believed it. Instead, 363 00:21:35.880 --> 00:21:38.200 I marked the area on my personal maps and made 364 00:21:38.240 --> 00:21:41.400 sure that future patrols avoided that particular section of the park. 365 00:21:42.440 --> 00:21:44.799 Over the years, I've had a few occasions to return 366 00:21:44.839 --> 00:21:47.960 to the general area, but I never found that unmarked 367 00:21:47.960 --> 00:21:52.640 beaver pond again, despite having what I thought were accurate coordinates. 368 00:21:52.839 --> 00:21:55.720 But I wasn't the only one who'd had unusual experiences 369 00:21:55.759 --> 00:21:58.880 in that part of the park. Over the next few years, 370 00:21:58.920 --> 00:22:01.559 I started paying closer attention to the reports that came 371 00:22:01.599 --> 00:22:04.759 in from hikers and campers, sounds in the night that 372 00:22:04.799 --> 00:22:09.680 didn't match any known wildlife, large footprints found near camp sites, 373 00:22:10.240 --> 00:22:13.759 structures made from arranged branches, and logs that showed clear 374 00:22:13.799 --> 00:22:17.839 signs of intelligent construction. Most of these reports were dismissed 375 00:22:17.839 --> 00:22:21.240 as hoaxes or misidentifications, and I went along with the 376 00:22:21.240 --> 00:22:26.039 official explanations. But I started keeping my own files documenting 377 00:22:26.079 --> 00:22:29.480 patterns and locations. What I found was that all of 378 00:22:29.519 --> 00:22:32.799 these incidents occurred within a roughly ten square mile area 379 00:22:32.839 --> 00:22:36.440 of the park's most remote backcountry, an area that included 380 00:22:36.440 --> 00:22:39.920 the Beaver Pond where I'd had my encounter. After I 381 00:22:39.960 --> 00:22:42.599 retired in nineteen eighty nine, I turned my files over 382 00:22:42.640 --> 00:22:45.039 to a colleague who I knew had had his own 383 00:22:45.160 --> 00:22:49.279 unexplained experiences in the park. He since retired as well, 384 00:22:49.640 --> 00:22:52.640 and I don't know what became of those records. Officially, 385 00:22:52.680 --> 00:22:55.720 Baxter State Park has never had any confirmed encounters with 386 00:22:55.839 --> 00:23:00.000 unknown wildlife, but the park is huge, over three hundreds 387 00:23:00.000 --> 00:23:03.240 square miles of wilderness, and there are vast areas that 388 00:23:03.319 --> 00:23:06.759 see maybe one or two visitors per year. The north 389 00:23:06.799 --> 00:23:10.400 Woods of Maine have always harbored secrets, and the Panobscot 390 00:23:10.440 --> 00:23:14.200 and Passamaquaddie tribes have stories that go back centuries about 391 00:23:14.240 --> 00:23:17.519 creatures that walk upright like men, but live apart from 392 00:23:17.599 --> 00:23:21.640 human civilization. I've never spoken publicly about what I saw 393 00:23:21.680 --> 00:23:24.400 that day in nineteen seventy four, But now that I'm 394 00:23:24.440 --> 00:23:27.319 in my eighties and facing the reality that these stories 395 00:23:27.400 --> 00:23:30.359 die with the people who experience them, I feel an 396 00:23:30.400 --> 00:23:33.599 obligation to add my voice to the record. What I 397 00:23:33.680 --> 00:23:36.599 saw was real, and it was intelligent, and it was 398 00:23:36.640 --> 00:23:40.200 aware of my presence in its territory. Whether it was 399 00:23:40.240 --> 00:23:43.960 the last remnant of some unknown species or something else entirely, 400 00:23:44.480 --> 00:23:47.200 I can't say, but I know that the Deep Woods 401 00:23:47.200 --> 00:23:50.920