Speaker 1: My grandfather worked for the Forestry Service all his life.
He and my grandmother lived on the edge of the
Sam Houston National Forest in East Texas. I grew up
in Dallas, but often spent summers with them when I
was younger. My grandfather knew the name and benefits of
every tree, flower, plant, and critter in the forest. He
could read the soul and tell exactly what it was
made of and how long it had been there. He
knew what the weather was going to be like days
in advance, and could identify birds by their calls. I
was certain he knew almost as much as God did
about all those woods, and to my reckoning, my pap
Paul was better than Sanna, the easter Bunny, and the
tooth Fairy all rolled up into one. He was my
hero then and he still is today. The summer and
I turned ten began like many had before it. My
mother drove me from Dallas to Trinity, Texas. After school
was out. I had two suitcases stuffed with nothing but
t shirts, shorts, and flip flops. I decided that since
I was practically an adult, I should be able to
go to work with my grandfather in the woods instead
of staying inside with my grandmother all day. I nagged
her relentlessly until one day she finally agreed to let
me go to work with my grandfather. She packed us
both a lunch and issued several dire warnings from my
grandfather about what would happen to him if he brought
me back with even a single scratch. He listened to
her and promised to return me in one piece. As
we walked to the door, he winked at me and
whispered that sometimes she did enough talking for three women.
My grandmother hollered. I heard that, and we both ran
laughing to the truck before she could come after us
with her spoon. As we drove off towards the woods,
I asked him all sorts of questions about the types
of trees we were passing, what types of clouds those
were up in the sky, and anything else that came
to my curious mind. He listened to and answered all
of my questions, even though I'm sure I must have
tried his patience with my chattering. By the time we
reached the point where we would have to walk, it
was later in the morning, so we decided to take
our lunches with us and have a picnic. When we
found a good spot. My grandfather walked ahead of me
in the overgrown path, pointing out things of interest along
the way. Suddenly he stopped and turned to me as
he brought one finger to his lips. Well excitement rose
in my chest because I knew from past experience this
meant he had something he wanted me to see. It
was usually some type of animal or an insect. On
previous trips into the wood woods, I had seen deer
and raccoons, rabbits, possums, snakes, a bobcat, turkeys, and even
a sounder of feral hogs. He crouched low in the
long grass and pointed down the embankment, through an open
space in the brush, to a pond below. He was
pointing at a figure hunched over by the water. At
first I thought he was looking at a hobo washing something,
but when my grandfather handed me the binoculars, I saw
that it looked more like a bear or a gorilla.
It had shiny black fur that glittered in the sun.
Its arms were fur covered too. I could see a
white patch of fur on its left shoulder that looked
like a scar, and I stared at the creature. Searching
my mind for something I could connect it to something
I recognized, but I couldn't make it fit. Lowering the binoculars,
I looked at my grandfather for an answer, and he
mentioned that we should quietly go back to the truck.
We had walked quickly for a quarter of a mile
when he asked if I might like a hamburger for
lunch instead of the food my grandmother had prepared. He
didn't have to ask twice. I agreed immediately. My Pappaul
took our paper sack lunches and left them on the
side of the path, and then he let out a
long whistle that sounded a little like a bob white
quail call, mixed with a little warble at the end.
A few seconds later, the sound was returned from where
we had just been, and my Papa smiled and turned
and began walking back to the truck. I thought him silently,
knowing he would explain everything eventually. Later, as we enjoyed
our burgers, he told me what we had seen. He said,
what we saw today is something that not many people
have had a chance to see. Those animals live in
the forest and have probably been here much longer than
people have. We share this world with them, the same
way we share the earth with all of God's creatures. Well,
I ask what are they called? Well, some people call
them boogers, he said, boogers? What's a booger? Why didn't
that try to kill us? I don't think it would
hurt us unless it was scared or in pain, or
trying to protect its babies. It's always best to leave
them be, he said, and we sat for a while
in silence. Papa, I asked, well, what is it? June Bug?
That was his nickname for me, and I loved it.
How come you never told me about the boogers before? Well? Now,
sometimes the things you know are see are like secrets.
If you keep them to yourself, then it's more special
than if you were to go and tell everyone. People
don't always like learning new things. Sometimes they can get
scared or mad if they don't understand something. Do you
understand what I mean? Yeah, Papa, I think so. I
think this is going to be our secret, just you
and me and the booger. He laughed and put his
big work callust hand on top of my head, messing
my hair up. I think so too, June bug, he said,
still laughing. During the rest of that summer, we often
heard those same bird calls on our walks, and when
we did, my Papa always left our lunches on the
side of whatever path we were on, and he whistled back.
I was grateful to the booger because it meant that
we would be having burgers for lunch that day. He
said it was his way of making friends. He said,
you should never pass up a chance to share a
little good will, because it will always bring you blessings
in return. My grandfather was a wise man. Years later,
after both of my grandparents had passed away, I returned
to those same woods. I hadn't been back there in
a very long time, but it was largely unchanged from
what I remember. I still knew the names of the
plants and the trees and animals and insects my grandfather
had taught me, and soon I was lost in the
happy memories of our summer walks. Ironically, I had brought
a lunch that was very similar to the ones my
grandmother had packed so long ago. I had a thermos
of cool sweet tea, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich,
an apple, and some fig newtons for dessert. I had
inherited my grandfather's love of those cookies. I found a
nice shady spot and was about to sit down to
enjoy my food when I heard what sounded like a
Bob White call, with a little warble at the end.
I immediately froze and felt my heart skip a beat.
I was confused by my reaction at first, but then
the memory of that day so long ago came rushing back.
I could almost feel the presence of my grandfather in
those moments. Without any hesitation, I returned and the call.
I left my lunch on the ground and began to
walk back to my car. After what I thought was
about fifty yards, I turned to look back. The booker
was there in the middle of the path with my
sack lunch in its huge hand. I guess that he
must have been about eight to ten feet tall, but
he was stooped over a little bit, like an elderly man.
He had hairy arms, and his head seemed almost too
small for his shoulders and massive chest. His eyes were
the color of honey but were cloudy with age. He
had a broad, flat nose and lips that were very
human looking. The skin on his face was wrinkled and
looked like sun bleached leather. His eyebrows and the hair
around his mouth were gray, like an old dog. I
saw him move to the side, as if he were
trying to see behind me. Maybe he was looking for
my grandfather. Maybe this was the same booger we had
seen that day. I wasn't afraid. We looked at each
other for a few seconds. I saw him open the
bag and carefully remove the sleeve of fig newtons inside.
He removed the plastic and began to eat them slowly.
I swear I saw his lips curve into something like
a smile. As he turned and started to walk back
into the woods. I saw he had a white patch
of fur on his left shoulder. I returned several days
later to leave some more fig newtons for the booger
in the spot where I had left my lunch the
previous time. I saw something glittering on the crook of
an old oak tree. When I got closer, I saw
that it was a beautiful crystal quartz stone that had
been polished to a high shine. When I held it
in my hand, it felt heavy and warm, as if
it carried the memory of thousands of days in the sun.
It was a gift from the bugger. I whistled like
a Bob white Well and added a little extra warble
at the end, and then I waited, hoping for a response,
and I was not disappointed. It's true what my pau
Paul said about secrets being more special when they are kept.
I've kept our secret for over fifty years until today.
I think he would approve of my sharing it with
you now. Until August of twenty twenty, I had really
never paid attention to Bigfoot or necessarily bought into the
fact that it's real. I've always liked the totem poles
and the occasional tales, and of course the jerky commercials.
Although I was never a non believer, I hadn't really
given the subject much thought. That all changed last summer.
I didn't have a sighting, but the event and circumstances
are hard to make sense of without going down the
Bigfoot path. Owned five acres and a getaway cabin on
the sky Comish River. I'm sure I pronounced that wrong.
Sky Commish River off Highway to just outside of gold Bar, Washington.
It is a beautiful parcel of peace and quiet that's
about forty five minute dry from the sprawling suburbs of Seattle.
Last summer, my girlfriend and I were relaxing by the
campfire next to the river bed just as dusk set in.
We were watching the spawning salmon slap at the eddy
on the other side of the river. It's a perfect
holding point for the salmon and steelhead, as a huge
spawning flat is the next thing waiting for them up
the river from this pool. We were sitting there enjoying
the evening when we heard a loud crack like a
tree limb breaking about one hundred yards down stream and
across the river. We didn't pay much attention to it.
Occasionally a tree fall isn't that uncommon some of Only
ten minutes later we heard another limb or a small
tree break that was odd but not especially concerning. Somewhere
around fifteen minutes after that, we heard a couple of
heavy splashes in the Eddy that was distinctly different sounding
than the fish jumping. These were rocks. They were big ones.
I've been a competitive fisherman and outdoorsman my whole life,
and I know the difference between a fish jumping and
slapping the water and a heavy rock splash. A big
enough rock will hit the bottom of the river bed,
making a distinctive sound, and fish don't do that. They
live to tell about it. The sounds were intermittent, and
directly across the river from where we were sitting. We'd
hear fish slaut, and then a heavy rock or two
plunge in right on top of the school of salmon.
Our gaze was now fixed on that spot. We were
asking ourselves what the heck was going on. Suddenly we
saw a rock that was at least as big as
a grapefruit, but probably more like a bowling ball, fly
out of the trees and hit where the fish were jumping.
We first thought, who would be over there heaving small
boulders at salmon just before dark? And then it occurred
to me to wonder how they would have gotten there.
I could see half a mile up and down the river.
If anyone had crossed, I would have seen them, even
if I'd missed them. The terrain is next to impossible
to stand in, let alone walk through for that distance.
That side of the river is extremely steep, nor is
there any reasonable access from behind. There's just miles and
miles of mountains, evergreens and undergrowth. As this continued, my
curiosity got the better of me, so I walked out
across the dry portion of the river bed to see
what was up. You got your gun, my girlfriend asked nervously. Well,
of course I did. I'm never without it these days.
It's about one hundred yards to the edge of the
river bed from my property during the summer, and about
another twenty yards across the river to where the rocks
were flying. I got there and fixed my eyes on
a spot where the rocks were being catapulted. Everything ceased,
even the birds went quiet, total silence. There was only
the sound of running water. Well. I stood there for
a good twenty minutes or more. Nothing happened other than
the occasional salmon jumping. I walked up and down the
river bank, changing my levels and vantage point to see
if I could get a glimpse of what or who
was doing this. I never saw anything. After ten minutes
or so, I turned and walked back to the campfire.
My girlfriend and I were dumbfounded. We thought it was
weird and somewhat freaky, but we couldn't figure out what
had thrown the rocks. A few minutes later it started again.
The rocks weren't massive, but they weren't small all baseball
sized rocks either. I estimated them to be the size
of grapefruits and bowling balls, and they were being thrown
with velocity. I started thinking, how could anybody be that strong?
Earlier that year, I had been on the bank of
the river with my two sons. They're nineteen and twenty one,
and we were throwing big rocks, a sort of a
macho man competition. None of us could heave rocks like that.
My sons are six foot five and six foot eight,
the latter being a four A All Conference defensive end
and a four A All Conference offensive lineman with Division
Ie offers. Yes, he played both sides of the ball
and never took a playoff. He's been referred to as
a gorilla in a man suit. I tell you this
because even he could not throw rocks as big as
bowling balls. The rock throwing went on for a few
more minutes, and then it stopped, just like that, went
back to nothing but salmon slapping the pool. I spoke
with a couple of different people in the area about it,
and someone suggested that it was a tweaker over there
doing what tweakers do. That sounded plausible, so I just
went with it, even though my instincts told me otherwise.
Of the countless days and hours we've spent there over
the last few years, we've seen only one questionable person
on the riverbed. They were on our side and acting
as if they might be high. To get to the
other side, then maneuver to the spot where the incident
occurred would take a superhuman feet, and then to get
back in the dark, there's a slim chance of survival
doing that. And the following days it really began to
sink in just how much strength would be required to
do what we saw that night. That's when I began
to think, could this be Bigfoot? Thus my journey into
research began. Several things jumped out at me while studying
the subject. River slash, creek beds, salmon dusk, tree brakes,
and rocks thrown with velocity. These were all tail tail
signs of bigfoot. I now realize how easily things can
be rationalized and explained away, even when you know better.
That sixth sense told me that it wasn't a tweaker,
Even though I was first willing to accept that explanation.
I know now that it wasn't. This was not Captain
Tweaker America. So what could a bigfoot have been doing
trying to bonk salmon on the head with rocks? And
how could he get them? If he did? A short
way down river it flattens and widens to an area
of thirty yards wide and only about two feet deep.
Could he have had help down stream? Waiting for the
fish to float by the current certainly lends itself to
that they are intelligent creatures? Are they not. Finally, earlier
in the summer, on two separate occasions, I checked the
trail cams I've set up around my property for security
and captured a strange and very distinctive orb of light
the size of a softball. These orbs could not have
been lens flair because the sun was behind the camera
at the time. I never gave it much thought until
I discovered that it is an occurrence possibly related to Bigfoot.
It may be nothing, or it may be something. Also,
on one of the bigfoot Facebook pages I belonged to,
someone from the town of Skykamish, which is several miles
up river from my property, posted pictures of possible footprints.
When I asked them when the photos were taken, they
answered last August. It was the exact same time of
our incident. I have a theory on the tree breaks
that we heard. Perhaps they are a warning to other
predators that they're coming to a food source. It could
make sense, and that it would be beneficial to warn
other predators such as bears, that they're coming. Even though
a black bear may be no match for a bigfoot.
In nature, it is better to avoid any fight to
risk injury. I look into the woods now with a
different wonder than I had before. I know my story
isn't exciting as many that you come across, but this
is exactly what happened to me. Thank you for taking
time to read it. Signed John Well John, this story
was very exciting, man, What are you kidding me? And
you've really thought this through and I would tend to
agree with every conclusion you come to. I say on
this channel a lot of times that I'm a skeptic
and I question some of these things. I question just
the whole theory of Bigfoot, but I believe Bigfoot exists.
I really don't. I don't know why. I don't know
unless you're like a total zealot for this topic. Some
people think you're you're a non believer and they kind
of brush you off, and you know, don't you appreciate
your audience. I don't know where people get all that stuff.
I'm just reading the stories lighting up. I mean, we
just had another story earlier in this podcast of huge
rocks being thrown in a creek where a man and
his son's were on a hike. Now here's the same thing,
that the rocks are not as big. What's fascinating to
me is that you put together, Uh, he's throwing the
rocks in the middle of a school of salmon or
where they're congregated in a pool while the water's low
and there's still a current. There's you know, the water's
still moving, and could there be another one downstream collecting
fish that he hit as they as they float down
the strap And that's a brilliant way to think about that.
I would have never come up with that. But all
in all, this was an awesome story. It's very exciting
and I love these stories, these anecdotal kind of evidence,
especially when the writer does a lot of thinking and
critical thinking and puts these things together, and now he
walks into the woods with a wonder he had never
had before. Did you guys hear that? And that's what
the woods. Being a part of this story reading project
and learning about everybody's experiences, how I look at the
woods in a different way. Now. I'm not afraid of them.
I don't ever carry a weapon unless I'm hunting, which
I don't really hunt much anymore. But I'm not really
afraid of anything out there. I just have a great
time in the woods, my dogs and I and I
don't live in the Pacific Northwest. I live in the
southeastern United States, which is you know, we just don't
have predators down here. Just car dogs or coyotes don't
get after you. There's nothing here that will really, you know,
big predators. And there's snakes, and you know, there's I
don't even think there's any spiders. I ride through spider's
nest every morning. I'm covered with spiders. When I get
back to the house, my wife has to brush them
all off of me. And some of them will bite you.
I mean, they buy it, but they're not venomous. But
there's really no big predators here, but I do when
I go on rides and I, you know, we've been
riding four wheelers on different trails and stuff and going
deep into the Holly Springs National Forest and I look
through the woods and I'm like this, man, I have
a new sense of wonder after doing this for three years.
And it's a good feeling. It's a it makes me
feel like a kid again going through some of these
woods and having those feelings. And so that's one benefit
to doing this. It's kind of it's kind of changed
the way I look at things and made things a
lot more fun for me when I'm away from this microphone.
But listen, I really appreciate you guys listening to this
few And hopefully this week work will slow up a
little bit and I can get a couple out. But
I appreciate you listening, and we'll see you on the
next podcast. Thank you.