Speaker 1: If you enjoy strange stories from the unknown, stick around.
You have found your people. Welcome to the Dixie Cryptid Podcast.
All right, here we go. I do a lot of fishing,
and occasionally I get out there overnight for some full
moon action. One night, I was the only boat on
the lake when at four am, a long and loud
bigfoot call came from the woods quite a distance away.
What idiot would be out here at four am making
bigfoot calls? I thought, And then I smiled. What idiot
would be here fishing at four am to hear it,
I thought, chuckling out myself. Another afternoon, on the same lake,
I heard a scream from the woods, coming from a
young deer in pain, and not long after I heard
the deer running full blast toward me, and I watched
it launch itself off the bluff at full speed from
eight feet above the water level and hit the water
with a big splash. It swam to a thick growth
of reeds along the bank, squeezed into them, and it
laid down to hide. I never did see what was
after the deer, but it spooked me just the same.
My son loves archery deer hunting. He got a stand
set up in a brand new area, and arrived preed
on for his very first hunt. A few mornings later.
He was there all alone and excited to hopefully get
close to one of the monster bucks that had been
gracing his trail cans. After a good track from his pickup,
he reached the stand. The forest was totally silent, but
when he raised his foot to take the first step up,
that silence was broken by a sudden, shocking scream from
something close by. It caught him so off guard that
he nearly wet himself and briefly considered running back to
his truck, but he realized it was too far, and
he quickly climbed the fifteen feet up to the seat
of his stand. Instead, he sat there with his heart
pounding so hard that he thought it would rip out
of his chest, all the while worried about the next
ninety minutes, where he would have to sit in complete
darkness until the sun came up. In the mercy of
whatever beast was lurking nearby, he described the scream as
that of a desperate woman being murdered. It only lasted
a few seconds, but it was so intense that the
sound of it reverberated through his whole body and shook
him to his core. Well nothing happened after that, but
that sort of experience makes a guy think twice about
wanting to go hunting out there again. One evening, I
was with a group of bass fishermen sitting around the
fire pit at a fishing lodge. At gatherings like that,
topics of conversation could range from UFOs to sports to
solving the world's problems, but that evening the topic was bigfoot.
About a dozen guys were there, and each of them
was open minded enough that, even though none of them
had encountered one, they each believed in the possibility of
these creatures existing. After a while of listening but not
saying a word on the subject, I finally decided to
tell my story. So I cleared my throat and I
leaned forward. In response. The group of men went quiet,
the way you do when the silent reserve type speak up,
knowing that if they're going to open their mouths, it's
for a good reason. I should have taken that as
a compliment by their demeanor, but I didn't. I felt
sick remembering what happened, but I wanted these men to
know what I saw. I wanted them to be prepared.
I have been a lifelong outdoorsman, hunting and fishing all
over the country. I had never seen or heard anything
remotely like a bigfoot, and I was one hundred percent
sure there was no such thing. One morning I arrived
at my stand in the Midwest for an archery deer hunt.
My stand was set up within range of a game
trail that emptied out into the open meadow. I sat
there in total silence, and, as hunting sometimes goes, this
morning had no activity at all. The sun rose on
that crisp, clear fall day, and though it took all
my patients, I stayed there till nine thirty am. I
was five seconds from packing up and heading back to
the truck when my ears picked up a twig snap
from up the trail. Okay, I thought, maybe my patience
is about to pay off. I settled back into my
stand ready to watch what must have been a monster
buck coming my way, judging by the heavy thudding of
its feet, And a few minutes later my quarry finally
came into view. What in the world I thought it
wasn't a deer. It was the biggest, hairiest musclebound son
of a bitch I had ever seen, walking on two legs,
and he was coming my way. The creature that I
was one hundred percent sure did not exist was coming
right at me, and there was no denying its existence.
At that point. I imagine the thousands of painful things
it was capable of doing to me, and I thought
about what a blessing, a quick, miserable death would be
if this thing caught me. I sat as silent and
as unmoving as I could, grasping my shaking hands together
and praying it would not look my way. And when
it turned away from me, I realized I had been
holding my breath, and I gasped for air. Then I
watched in horror as this thing stopped in its tracks
and turned its head slightly in my direction. I put
my hands over my mouth, and I felt my stomach sink,
and by an act of God, it lost interest, and
it walked into the open meadow ahead of me. It
sat down on the ground and began digging up roots
and eating them. And it did that for about an hour,
with me helplessly watching on, afraid to move, afraid to breathe,
and afraid to make the slightest sound. Finally it got
up and continued walking away from me, never giving any
indication that it knew I was there. And when it
finally disappeared from sight, I climbed out of that stand
and set an Olympic record in the quarter mile back
to my truck. I never went back, not even to
get my dear stand. When I finished my story, the
men around the campfire stared at me in silence for
a long minute, trying to process what I had told them.
It must have been the look of fear on my
face as I told the story, because the demeanor of
the group had changed, and I could tell they believed me.
It took a few more minutes before someone was brave
enough to break that silence and carry on with a
lighter topic. But their like banter turned to white noise.
I knew they were talking, but I couldn't hear the words.
The sounds of twigs snapping in the heat of the
flames took me back to my deer stand, and there
I was again, looking at that impossible creature with my
own two eyes, knowing the experience had changed me for
the worse, Knowing that my life of hunting would never
be the same. I live up in British Columbia, Canada.
When my youngest granddaughter was seven, she wanted a pet,
of all things. Her parents let her get a pot
bellied pig, but the pig became quickly a handful for
my daughter, and when she and her husband started talking
about surrendering the pig to a petting farm, I decided
it was time for a little Piggy to move in
with me. On a clear and cold Canadian night, when
the temperature outside was a blistering minus thirty five degrees celsius,
which means minus thirty one degrees fahrenheit, Piggy and I
were inside enjoying the warmth of the house when a
terrible racket sounded in my backyard. The pig was so
startled that he started screaming and grunting like he was
afraid for his life. Nothing I did could calm him down,
and the thought of something being in the woods and
the deadly cold temperatures was unsettling. My backyard backs up
to a thick stand of trees, mostly pines and cottonwood,
but also birch, which has a very hard trunk, and
in the middle of that pig's commotion came a loud
slap like a giant hit his hand against the birch's trunk.
It was far too loud to be a human, and
because of the pig's reaction, I was certain it was
something I wanted nothing to do with. When I told
my daughter about it, she laughed it off and said
it was a bigfoot coming to get the pig for dinner.
Based on that pig's reaction that night, she may have
been right. Years before I had a sighting, people tried
to convince me that it was a bear crossing the road.
But I know what I saw and it was no bear. Now,
after listening to your podcast and hearing about others' experiences,
I am sure that is what I saw. Thank you
for the stories. I loved listening to your channel. Cheers,
Granny Linda. I grew up in the suburbs of Columbia,
South Carolina. Since both of my parents worked full time,
my days were spent with my grandparents, mainly my grandfather.
He was not a blood relative, but a stepfather to
my dad, and he was the only grandfather I ever knew,
and he was my world. He was a World War
two Korean War Vietnam War veteran and a full blooded
Native Cadoan. He grew up in the Cato Indian Reservation
in Oklahoma and passed along many of his stories to me.
Now I'm not sure if my connection with him brought
this on, but I had been sensitive to spirits and
being since my first encounter at five years old. When
I was five, my granddad got ill and was bedridden
for a month. I was walking through the house and
headed into his room when I almost ran into someone.
I looked up and there stood a being taller than
anyone I had ever seen before. He had the body
of a man, but the head of a wolf. He
was covered in fur from the waist down and had
a broad chest with dark copper colored skin. He was
a wolf man. He wasn't trying to hurt me, but
as a small child, I instantly panicked, and when I
started backing up, he stepped toward me and duck to
pass through the doorway into the next room. I returned
and ran crying to my grandmother. I don't think I
ever explained to her what I saw. It's not that
I could have at five years old anyway. My grandfather recovered,
but fell ill again two years later. His health was
up and down for a few years, and he was
ultimately moved to assisted living about a year before his death.
While at the assisted living facility, I would sometimes be
dropped off for a few hours to visit with him.
I was an exceptionally well behaved kid, and the management
allowed me to be there unsupervised. One time, days before
my eleventh birthday, I was dropped off to visit my
grandfather and I stepped off the elevator onto his floor
and I made my way down the hall to his room,
and at the end of the hallway I saw that
wolf man again. He was peering around the corner watching me,
and the nurses and staff were passing right by him.
That's when I realized that I was the only one
who could see him. I tried to stay calm, ignored
his presence, and went on to see my grandfather. When
it was time for me to go home, I looked
out for the wolf man at the end of the
hall where I had seen him before, but he wasn't there.
But as the elevator doors opened up, there he stood,
so tall that his head was touching the ceiling. I
gathered up all the courage I had, and I walked
into the elevator, and I swear to you time slowed down.
When the doors closed, he knelt down and placed a
scary looking, clawed hand on my shoulder, and he began
to speak to me in a native tongue that I
didn't understand. I'm not sure what he said or how
long I was there with him, but the next thing
I knew, the doors opened on the ground floor and
he was gone. The encounter gave me a safe and
peaceful feeling, but sadly, my grandfather passed the following week.
Twelve years later, I was twenty two and married, and
I had one child, still a toddler. I was out
one night on my back porch when I saw the
wolfman at the back fence line, standing in the woods,
and when I got up to greet him, he was gone.
Within a week, my son became ill and was hospitalized.
The doctors couldn't explain his condition, and they were preparing
us for the worst. I did a lot of praying
and begging to God, and my son made a recovery overnight.
His condition was never explained medically. Three years passed and
I worked as a mechanic on the second shift. Four
pm to one am were crappy hours for a family
man with two kids, but it was a government job
with good benefits and a guaranteed paycheck. I was on
my motorcycle going home from work to see my wife
and kids for supper, and as I rode the two
miles of rural road that led to my neighborhood, I
saw the Wolfman again. The Wolfman was just off the
road into the woodline, and he was pacing me at
fifty miles per hour. He was running upright like a man,
but with the stride that I couldn't explain. I paid
him no attention, though, and I continued home. The next evening,
I was on my way home again to eat with
my family when I was hit by a truck that
ran a red light. I was in bad shape, and
I came close to dying with blood loss from the lacerations.
I had two surgeries for all the broken bones, and
I spent nearly two weeks in the hospital and had
a six month recovery. I finally realized what this wolfman
was there for, or what I think he was there for.
I think this being is somehow connected to me and
there to warn me of death or danger or illness.
Twelve year years passed before I saw him again. My
grandmother was turning ninety seven, but had recently endured some
major medical setbacks. The weekend before her ninety seventh birthday,
I was at the local lake out on a pontoon
boat with the family. Late at night, I saw the
Wolfman standing at the water's edge across the cove where
we were camping. I knew what that meant, who he
was there for. Well, I tried to shrug it off.
I knew what was coming. My grandmother passed the next week,
only a day after her ninety seventh birthday. And while
the Wolfman isn't the only supernatural encounter that I've had,
it's the most prominent and most reoccurring one in my life.
Feel free to use my story if you like, just
not my name. Even in the world where the supernatural
and aliens are now accepted, the people who speak up
about them are not accepted. Many years ago, my friend
Jim was a flight engineer for Pacific Southwest Airlines. This
was the way back when a flight engineer was required
on the earlier passenger jets. Jim flew on a regular
schedule flight from San Diego to San Francisco, California, and
back again each day. He'd been flying this schedule for
many years with no difficulties. They always flew over land,
although the safety advisor always included the statement that your
seat cushion is a flotation device. Once, during one of
his daytime flights north to San Francisco, he and the
pilot had an interesting experience. Halfway through the northbound flight,
the co pilot noticed a plane on the same course
as them to the east. The problem was that it
was much closer than the allowed five miles, which was
dangerous and against regulations. The copolot informed the pilot and
contacted air traffic control. Traffic control acknowledged the other plane's
unsafe distance and tried to contact them. They received no response,
which was unusual. After several unsuccessful attempts to contact the
other aircraft, Jim's plane was directed to turn slightly to
the west, moving to a safer distance, But once his
plane did this, the other aircraft moved toward them again,
flying much too close. There were more attempts to contact
the other aircraft, but they got no response. Air traffic
control told Jim's plane that it was most likely a
private plane with radio trouble, and then instructed them to
move west again to gain that safe distance. They did this,
but once again the other aircraft moved with them, only
this time it came even closer than before. This continued
until Jim's plane was forced to fly over the ocean,
and in the meantime, the other aircraft had gotten close
enough to Jim's plane that they had a clear visual
of it. That's when they saw that it was not
an airplane at all. It was a cigar shaped object
that slowly but surely was getting closer to them. Jim's
plane received instructions to move ten miles out over the
ocean way off course. It was finally able to continue
on its way, arriving just a few minutes later than
scheduled and without further incident. Simultaneously, the US Navy scrambled
a fighter jets to try to identify and move the
UFO out of the way and hopefully force it to land.
The three Navy fighters surrounded the UFO, one on either
side and one behind it, and as they attempted to
move it in the direction they wanted it to go,
the UFO instantly sped up, reaching speeds unachievable by the fighters,
and then just as quickly it flew vertically into the
air and was out of sight and ran our detection
in seconds. That story never made the news. There's no
surprise there, and Jim never mentioned if they spoke about
it again after that. What's interesting to me is the
way Jim relaid the tone of the air traffic control.
It was all very standards. If they had dealt with
this situation countless times before. It's a good story to remember.
The next time you fly, keep your eyes open, you
may have company. My name is Rick and I was
born and raised in Virginia Beach. Growing up, I remember
listening to the Little Caesar's commercial advertising the bigfoot sized
pizza with a bigfoot puppet. The reason I bring that
up I will get to. In nineteen ninety seven, I
was thirteen years old. Now I was visiting my cousins
at my uncle's place in Pungo, Virginia Beach. His trailer
was adjacent to some corn fields where they frequent Lee
saw deer. Directly east of his trailer was a north
Landing River Natural Area Preserve which connects to the Great
Dismal Swamp. My uncle was a marine, and being in
the country, he taught us about muzzle awareness, firearms safety,
and of course how to shoot at a young age.
One day, my cousins and I wanted to explore the
woods and swamp around his trailer and try to make
it to the river. That's all us kids ever wanted
to do. Back then, explore the swamp and woods. We
carried on through about halfway to the river, and then
stopped to look at some snakes and a couple of turkeys,
and out of nowhere I smelled something rotten. It's just
fart rocks. My cousin Charles said, well, I shook my head. No, man,
that's coming from down wind. It's way worse than a
fart rock, I said, almost dizzy from the sharp, stinging smell.
The next day I knew my other cousin, Marshall, and
our friend Mark started yelling. A bear crouched down. Look,
they shouted. We followed them closer to the bear to
see for ourselves, and sure enough, there it was, just
sitting there, hunched over behind a rock. We fell back
about thirty yards to give it some space, all the
while keeping our eyes on it. My cousin decided it
would be a good idea to shoot at it, so
he aimed his pellet rifle and he tried to take
a shot. The rest of us told him there was
no way he was going to take down that big
old bear with that little rifle. The worst thing he'd
do is provoke it, and then the rest of us
would be in a world of trouble. So we talked
him out of it and decided to go and get
some real guns instead. Nothing was stopping us from getting
to that river. We jogged back to my uncle's trailer
and got a twenty two handgun and a four to
ten shotgun. We never mentioned why we wanted them, probably
because we knew he'd rail into us for going after
a bear, and our thirteen year old selves weren't exactly
eager to piss off an old salty marine. A while later,
we made it back to the spot where we saw
the bear, but when we didn't see anything, we decided
to trek onward to the river. We made it there
without any excitement, which was disappointing. We'd been looking around
the whole time for that bear or any kind of
a critter determined to shoot something, but the opportunity never came.
After wandering around and playing with sticks, we headed home
and halfway back that rancid smell hit us again. It
was terrible. We started looking for a skunk, because at
the time that's as wild as our imaginations went, as
far as horrible stenches, though the smell of a skunk
or even a dead riding animal would have been a
sweet relief compared to this. We kept looking and there
was the bear again. Immediately we pointed our guns at it,
ready to take it down, but we never stood a chance.
It stood upright over six feet tall, and it started
charging at us on two legs, it's two long arms
swinging at its side. That thing was not a bear.
It had no ears like a bear, and its eyes
were in front of its face. Its face was beige
and its hair was shaggy and black. Basically a big, black,
furry swamp thing was coming right at us. When we
realized how big it was, we ran for our lives
and high tailed it out of there. The only other
time in my whole life that I ran that fast
was when I ran from the police once in my
later years. Well, we got back to the trailer. We
found my dad and uncle out front drinking, and when
I started yelling, they came off the porch to see
what was going on and what we were running from.
It's a foot, I shouted, well, how do you know that,
one of them asked, because it looked like a bigfoot
from the pizza commercial. That's how I yelled. They started
to brush our story off and told us it was
just a bear. But right then, in the distance behind us,
we heard a loud and deep growl. You see you
ever hear a bear sound like that? I asked them,
knowing they sure as hell hadn't, but would call us
crazy anyway, which is just what they did. They called
us crazy, and they asked if we had smoked a joint,
and they told us to stay around the house and
that they would go looking for it later. I'm not
sure if they ever did that, though. Fifteen years later,
my cousins and I were out drinking when this story
came up. Still today, we were all certain that it
was a bigfoot or a swamp ape. I was researching
bigfoot sightings the other night, and sure enough, there was
a sighting reported just north of U at this location
some years later right by my uncle's trailer. I sure
hope my uncle, here's the story. Not too crazy after all,
is it Uncle that's going to wind it up for
this podcast. Thanks for listening all the way to this end.
I'm sorry I didn't put any commentary with these stories.
They were all so good. But again, I am busy
at work and I'm in here early in the morning
trying to crank these out because these stories are just
too good not to put out there for you to hear.
I hope you enjoyed it, and we'll see you guys
on the next one. Thank you.