Speaker 1: Imagine dining in a restaurant and overhearing someone's waitress say
to their table, my nickname since I was a little
girl has been Little Yetty. Her table had apparently been
talking bigfoot when she walked by. Wait What, one of
her customers asked as she was headed down the drink station.
Their waitress turned back at them and smiled, I'll be
right back. After a few minutes of which probably seemed
like an eternity to those people, Little Yetti returned to
their table. What did you mean, asked one of the
men at the table. Have you ever seen a bigfoot
around here? I sure have, she said many times, in
part that's how I got my nickname. I've sort of
grown up with them. The three people at the table
just looked at each other with puzzled looks on their faces,
she continued. One morning, when I was younger, I looked
out the window of our family cabin as my uncle
was outside playing with his two dogs. It was about
then that he noticed they were nowhere in sight. After
repeatedly calling their names and also looking behind the cabin,
he spotted them cowering under his pickup truck in the driveway.
He called to them, but they wouldn't even look at him.
What's going on, he wondered out loud, and then he
noticed the direction they were looking was to the trees
less than fifty yards directly behind him. At this point,
everyone at my table continued to eavesdrop on the conversation
as their waitress paused for a moment and just looked
at each other. For her customers, Everyone at my table
continued to eavesdrop on this conversation as their waitress paused
for a moment and just looked at each of her customers.
The man in a green hat asked, Okay, what happened next? Well,
before my uncle even turned turned around, the hair on
his neck stood straight up. He was almost too afraid
to turn around as he slowly gazed down at the
dogs again to see if they were still looking behind him.
He slowly reached inside the truck and grabbed a Savage
thirty six hunting rifle. Once more, he checked with the
dogs before he finally began to turn around. Little Yetti
stopped her story to add that the woods around their
family cabin has a long history of visitations from coyotes,
black bear, elk, mule, deer, Bobcat, mountain lion, and if
you believe some people, wolves and grizzly bear, whatever was
behind her uncle was scary enough to spoop those dogs,
Little Yettie continued. My uncle cautiously swiveled his upper body
towards the woods, holding the gun close to his chest,
and then he saw it. Just outside of the trees
stood a seven to eight foot hairyman watching him and
his dogs. He was covered in brown hair and he
stood motionless. I watched through the window as my uncle
slowly lifted the rifle to his shoulder so he could
look at this man through a high powered scope. Just
as he put his eye to the scope, the creature
turned and ran into the woods. Wow, said one of
the men at the table. Yeah. It took a couple
of minutes before his dogs felt safe enough to leave
the shelter of the truck. Okay, can I get you
folks anything else? Each of the three men at the
table looked at each other, and then one ask, so
why is your nickname, little Yetti? Oh yeah, that's another story,
well sort of, she said. They all laughed and chimed
in together. Well we're not going anywhere, so carry on, okay,
but let me check on my other tables first. Are
you sure you don't need anything else while I'm here?
We're sure? How about another round of that delicious root beer?
And she replied, coming right up. While she was away,
the three of them just sort of looked off out
the windows, probably imagining what it could have been like
to experience a sasquatch up in those mountains, especially when
your two dogs are apparently unable to confront it. Seriously,
many people go hiking with their dogs hoping it will
protect them. Maybe they would, but against a close encounter
with a sasquatch. My friends and I looked at each
other and we smiled, Yeah, we're not going anywhere either.
This is too good. It wasn't long before their waitress
returned with three large root beers and little YETI said, okay,
so where were we? One of the men said, we're
wondering where you got your nickname? Laughing, She said, oh, yeah,
that the encounter I just told you wasn't my first
time seeing one of these creatures while growing up at
my parents' cabin. In fact, I've seen that particular sasquatch
many times before, so I'm not afraid of him. My
uncle though that was his first time. He'd heard some
of my stories over the years, but never had a
personal experience before that. He didn't want to shoot it,
just get a closer look. This will probably sound a
bit unusual and maybe unbelievable, but when I was seven
years old, my parents and I were sitting in the
living room of the cabin with the windows and the
front door open. It was about the same time of
year as now, so having the windows and door open
allowed cool air to circulate through the house. Suddenly, my
mother said, listen, do you hear that? And we all
stopped moving and tuned our ears towards the outdoors. There
that did you guys hear it? We all jumped up
and we ran outside to get a better listen, and
my dad said, that sounds like an elk calf calling
out to its mother. And we all looked at each
other and began moving towards the sound. It didn't seem
that far away, possibly just inside the trees where my
uncle saw the hairy man. When we arrived to where
we thought the sound was coming from, my mother said,
it now sounds like it's over there, pointing to our left.
Another thirty or forty yards away. Once more, we stopped
where we thought the sound was coming from, but we
didn't see anything there. It is again, my mother said,
as she pointed back in another direction, What is going on?
My father said, it's like moving us around, but we
can't see it. And this continued for quite a while,
and before we knew it, we were quite a distance
from the cabin, and then we heard the crying sound
coming from the edge of a cliff. That cliff was
nearly a mile from the cabin, and my mother said,
I don't get it. Where is this baby elk? My
father walked to the ledge and he looked down. What
the heck he blurted out, come look at this. My
mother and I ran over to the edge of the
cliff and looked down to see what he had seen.
There on a small ledge was an elk calf. Somehow
it became trapped about twenty five feet down on a
really small outcropping. And then my dad asked, okay, how
would this selk get all the way down there without
going over the edge. He didn't wait for an answer.
I'll be right back. I'm going for a rope. You
two stay here and keep an eye on it. My
father disappeared back into the woods. Our cabin was now
a mile away, so it would take a while before
he returned. My mother and I sat down on a
fallen tree and just looked down at the baby. Mom,
how do you get down there? And how could we
hear it all the way through the woods to our house? Well,
I don't know, honey. It didn't take my father as
long to return as I thought it would. He appeared
on the ranger with ropes in the back. He said,
you'll never guess what I found on the way to
the cabin. The baby's mother is dead and her carcass
has already been chewed on by coyotes. She's not far
from here, just over that way. Dad tied a rope
up to his harness into a nearby tree and then
lowered himself down to the elk. My mom and I
stood above him and asked, can we do anything to help.
I'm going to lift the elk above my shoulders and
try to climb back up. I need you guys to
keep the rope to the side of the tree root
so it doesn't get hung up. Okay, can you do that? Sure? Honey?
My mother replied, It took my dad about five minutes
to get the baby up to safety. He was exhausted
and sat down to catch his breath. The three of
us just sat there looking at the calf. It was
probably relieved too, but it didn't run off. It just
laid down in the shade of my father. The waitress
stopped there, and she looked at her watch and said
she'd be back for the rest of the story. One
of her orders had appeared to be up, so she
needed to take someone's food to the table. While she
was gone. One of the customers said, poor baby. Yeah,
I wonder how this story ends, said another guy. It
was about fifteen minutes before she returned to finish the story. Okay,
we have to hurry with the rest of the story.
I have more tables coming in, she said. We all
piled into our UTV and took the baby elk back
to the cabin. I was the lucky one who got
to hold it. During the ride. My dad slowed the
UTV down at one point and pointed up ahead, that's
the mother carcass right there. My mother then suggested that
maybe the baby ran for safety but ended up trapped
over the edge. Maybe, said my dad, but there's no
way it should have landed on that small outcropping and
not fallen into the ravine below. Dad, do you know
how we could hear it crying from way out there?
I asked, I sure don't. A lot of this doesn't
make any sense at all, he continued. For now, we
need to figure out what to do with this self.
We all remained silent the rest of the way back
to the cabin. Bring the elk inside with you, my
dad said, as he took the machine out back and
he parked it, and then little YETI said, Okay, guys,
to make a longer story shorter. The elk stayed with
us until it was older, much older. In fact, it
was too large to stay indoors. Can you imagine a
long legged elk walking around inside your house. One thing
became clear over time. The more and more we talked
about the details of what happened, the more the only
thing that really made sense didn't make any sense at all.
The cow elk was killed and the baby needed shelter.
There's absolutely no way we would have heard its cries
for help at that distance. We even tested it by
yelling and playing loud music from the ranger We couldn't
hear anything from that far out, even at night. So
what are you saying, one of the guys at the
table asked, I'm suggesting that the brown haired sysquatch helped
us find the baby. We also found as lord footprints
near the ledge when we went back to test sound
traveling back to our cabin. That one bigfoot came around
a few years following our return with the calf. It
was as if he was checking to make sure that
we had it home safely. Additionally, there's no realistic way
the baby would have survived the fall twenty five feet
down to the tiny landing in which we found it on.
We think that sasquatch was mimicking the baby's cries to
get our attention, and from a distance we could hear it.
Then it lured us closer and closer to the ledge,
where we believe it placed the baby so no predators
could get at it. The waitress stopped for a breather
and let it sink in with her customers, who just
stared at her. Wow, that's an amazing story. But how
did you get your nickname? One of them asked. The
waitress just smiled at him as the baby elk needed
to be taken care of and watched after. My parents
started calling me little Yetti as I took care of
the calf like the hairy Man looked after it. Over
the years, the name just stuck. Her customer started laughing, Yeah,
that makes sense. Thanks for sharing your story with us,
No problem, she said, There's more to the story, and
I have other experiences up at our family cabin, but
I have to get back to work. Have a great night,
and thanks for coming in for lunch. My two friends
and I just sunk deeper in our booth as we
looked at each other and smiled. What a story. Huh yeah,
I replied, you think it's true? I mean, do you
think the sasquatch really led them to the baby elk?
Why not? She even said, there's more to the story.
I can't imagine what else happened. I've never run into
a bigfoot head on, but indirectly, I'm pretty sure that
I've had two encounters over the years. I am an
old Marie. I'm eighty years old, and I've hunted and
camped all my life, from California to Colorado to Kansas
and back. I was born in Corpus CHRISTI in the
war years. This is about the start of what we
call the Valley. And I've hunted the Gulf Coast all
my life, from white winged doves on the King Ranch
to whitetailed deer in East Texas to the big mule
deer in West Texas. When I was younger, I mostly
hunted by myself, but occasionally I would gather up my
two brothers with me, more for company than hunting. They
gave me maybe three chances before they decided that they
had had enough. They didn't seem to like hunting in
a rainstorm. How was I to know that? And then
there was the time I forgot all the groceries. They
thought I was trying to starve them to death, and
maybe sleeping on the ground under the pickup bed was
too much for them. Well, at least I gave them
a chance. One year I was getting ready to hunt.
I had a great place I had found. It was
out of Goodrich, Texas, off a county road which intersected
with Highway fifty nine. This was before Lake Livingston had
been developed, and there was a lot of logging going on,
and you could get on one of these roads and
ride until you found a place you wanted to hunt,
and then set up camp and enjoy the outdoors. On
this one night, I was walking back to camp. I
had been out all day scouting for robes and scrapes
before the deer season. There was a big moon out
and it was lit well, and I kept hearing something
running in front of me. There was enough light from
the moon that I didn't need a flashlight to see
my trail, so I kept it off until I was
parallel with my camp site, and when I turned it
on there was a little red fox that had been
leading the way. I turned into camp and kept going,
and about this time a scream like none I had
ever heard before came out of the woods behind my camp.
Hunting in these woods all my life, I pretty much
heard every sound that can be made, and I know
when a squirrel is fussing at me as they moved
through the heavy brush, to the scream of a bobcat.
And this sound didn't belong to anything that I had
ever heard. I couldn't get inside my pickup fast enough,
and I started it up and the lights on bright,
and I backed up and scanned the woods, but I
never saw anything not being for sure what was out there.
That night was spent inside the truck without any supper.
The next morning, I got up and fixed some coffee
and breakfast, and I went back out scouting again, waiting
for one of my little brothers and his new wife
to show up. Around noon. They showed up and I
helped them get their camp areas set up, and after
a light lunch, I took them out and showed them
some good places to hunt. Later that evening, we had
a nice campfire with a good supper, and it was
very peaceful and with a good cup of coffee, we
enjoyed each other's company until nine o'clock when we turned in.
I never said anything to them about the sounds I
had heard, and I hoped for the best that there
were no more screams. But there were a few knocks
that night, but they were in the distance. So we
had a great two day hunt with no problems. I
often wondered about what I had heard that night, knowing
that whatever it was had to move on, But where
did it go. My next encounter was at Stubblefield Late Campgrounds,
which is at the north end of Lake Conroe on
Highway forty five and County Road thirteen seventy five. I
always get to the campgrounds a couple of days early
to get camp set up and do a little fishing
before my son and grandson come up for hunting season.
I went out before it got to late one evening
to get some firewood. While I was down the road
gathering firewood, that sixth sense clicked in and I since
something was not right, something was wrong, and I was
in danger. So back inside the pickup I went, and
then I took off. I left half my firewood in
the middle of the road. Only twice in my life
have I been spooked, and these are the two times.
Sam Houston National Forest has over one hundred and sixty
three thousand acres to play in with the Lone Star
Hiking Trail that runs through it, which is over one
hundred miles, and this is where many sightings have been.
So when that sixth sense clicked in, this is all
I could think about. It must have been Bigfoot, and
it must have been close watching me. The next night,
I went back to the same place and gathered up
my wood, and I had no bad feeling, so whatever
had been there was gone. About the most dangerous animal
we have in these woods would be a rabid raccoon.
I've had a friend that's hunted up there for over
forty years, and he met one while he was out
hunting one morning without any problems. This sighting was back
in the nineteen eighties. Now, I've known Ron this many
years and he's never lied to me, and I truly
believe every word he said. I know exactly where he
was hunting that day. And in February, after hunting season
is over and with the woods clear of guns, I
have recruited a team that is going with me to
the place where he had his encounter to see if
we can find some evidence, or maybe I can get
me a card playing Scotch drinking buddy. According to Ryan,
when Bigfoot stepped out, he moved a couple of six
inch pine trees to the side. He looked at him
and made two light grunts, and then turned and walked away.
Ryan said that he was still sitting on his butt
on the ground, leaning up against this big pine tree
that he had climbed over when he had slipped down,
and he never even unslung his gun to watch the
creature walk away. Well, his hunting was through for that
and Realizing what had just happened, he decided to hunt
in one of his other places, not wanting that experience
ever again, and he says, PS, this is for you.
It can be read if you choose to. Well, I'm
gonna go ahead and read it. How can a person
listen to you and not believe in Bigfoot? Hey, let
me stop here. Don't believe in Bigfoot because of me?
I am a skeptic. I'm a total skeptic. I'm not
saying they don't exist, but I'm not saying they do anyway,
onto his PostScript, I guess I have gotten older and
I've gotten braver or maybe not too smart, and that
is why I'm going out Bigfoot. Honey. I've seen so
many people go out looking for Bigfoot, and when they
find him, they run away. If he throws a rock,
throw one back, and if he growls that, you growl back.
And if he screams, you need to scream back. You
need to do these things to see what kind of
response and reaction you get back. You need to try
to understand what he's doing and what you're going after
and trying to accomplish, but also protect yourself just in
case things take a turn for the worst, and he writes,
thanks again, Rick, that actually sounds like a guy in
the Marine Corps. If he screams, actually screamed back. Normally
it would be if he screams at you killing. I mean,
Marines are killers. That's what they're trained to do, tear
stuff up and kill people. This was a great story.
I ran across it this morning, and I wanted to
make sure that you guys heard it. I thought it
was interesting. Eighty year old Marine Corps veteran, I appreciated
him sending this story to me, Thanks sir. In September
or October of nineteen seventy, my battalion had been called
up for deployment to Vietnam. In preparation, we were doing
some intensive training in the heavily forested areas of Fort Jackson.
The night was so dark underneath the canopy of old
growth trees that we could barely see our faces. I
was on the left side of the main body, and
the orders came down for my six man squad to
move ahead of the main body and scout for aggressors
and booby traps. In the darkness. We had to rely
on our first generation night scopes to get our bearings.
We had moved ahead three hundred yards of the main
body when I spotted a really large tree. I moved
to it and got into a prone position, and from
there I could use my night scope to scan ahead.
I laid there for five minutes, scanning the area, but
I didn't see anything, so I decided to get up.
I placed my left hand down to push myself up,
and all hell broke loose. I had put my hand
on a bugger's toe. He screamed and roared so loud
that my ears rang for ten minutes, and I stumbled
backward at I screamed retreat, and I began firing my
M sixteen in all directions. Thank god, they were all blanks.
I was heading backwards as my company was charging toward me,
and the booker took off, crashing through the woods like
a t rex, leaving a path of destruction in his retreat.
Twenty minutes later, four black suburbans pulled up, and some
guys dressed in black fatigues got out and they took over.
They took me to the medical tent, where I was
examined and then grilled about what happened. They told me
never to tell anyone about what I saw. There would
be a penalty of a court martial. While I was
in the tent, the others were taking measurements, looking for
hair casting tracks, and who knows what else I saw.
Six heavily armed men had off tracking the big fella,
but I doubted they would find him. Later, my platoon
sergeant told me that it had measured eight foot eleven
and it weighed a thousand pounds. All in all, I
don't think he was there to hurt anybody. I think
he was just curious about what we were doing. So
that's a story, you can that's scary. That's scary in
one way. I know this guy was. Like I mean,
when when a train a soldier or marine or somebody
who's got combat experience just jumps up and starts firing
their weapon in all directions, they're either real jumpy and green,
in other words, not trained really well, which I think
this guy was trained really well, or they're startled so
much and they anticipate some type of impending doom that
they just start shooting out a desperation. And it looks
like that's what this guy did. Now, I'm not an
expert on these things. And who knows, who knows why.
But in another way, you can look at it as
kind of a funny thing. I mean, if you could
kind of step back and look at it like you're
watching a movie, that'd be kind of funny. But at
either rate, Bill, thank you for the story. Is really good.
I like the way you put it together. I don't
know if you meant it to be funny, but it
was great. It was really great. Thanks. It was a
crisp southern Vermont morning in November of twenty nineteen. Rifle
season was in swing and I was a new hunter,
and I was out scouting fresh spots to hunt. I
found a beautiful piece of state land off Route seven
that was the perfect habitat for whitetail, so I decided
to check it out. I walked slowly into the woods,
eagerly stalking the whitetail I knew had to be there,
and enjoying the peaceful forest surrounding me. Not more than
a few yards in, my enthusiasm disintegrated into an uncomfortable
feeling of being watched. A few more steps and I
began to feel as though someone was following me as well.
It was unnerving unwilling to let this feeling ruin my hunt,
I shook it off and I kept going. When I
came to a point where the hardwoods met the massive
patch of pines, though I couldn't help but think that
it was the perfect place for someone to be watching me.
The rows of pines stretched on for what looked like forever.
Anyone could easily slip in and out of the rows
and hide behind the trees that could move closer or
farther away, undetected behind the incredible shroud. I still didn't
let it stop me. Though I was determined to get
my first buck. I didn't think the deer would be
in those pines, so I stayed on the line that
separated them from the hard woods and continued at a
slow pace. The sudden crack of a few limbs breaking
stopped me short as a thud shook the ground beneath me.
It was as if someone had dropped a bag of
concrete from the top of one of those trees, letting
it free fall to the earth with a resounding smack.
Startled and with my guard up, I stopped and listened.
The woods had gone still at the moment of impact,
crushed under a roaring silence for more than half a minute.
I looked over to where I heard the thud and
saw a huge, blackish brown figure sprinting through the pines
on two legs. He was leaving a trail of small,
snapped and broken limbs in its wake. It was enough.
I was terrified now. I abandoned my hunt and got
out of the woods as fast as I could. I
was pushed along by my primal fear and the need
to be safe. I have been back to those woods
a handful of times. I even ventured through the pines,
but I've never seen or heard anything like I did
that day. You know how people react to these kinds
of stories, So I kept this to myself. And this
story is absolutely true, and I want you to know
that I feel much better having written it all out.
It's a relief to be able to share it with someone.
Thank you for that. Four