Speaker 1: Hello. My name is Kathy and I live in Charleston,
West Virginia. I too have an encounter with a creature
I could not explain. It was here in the mountains
of West Virginia back in nineteen eighty when I was
fifteen years old. Back then, I would go Jensen hunting
with my dad my grandpa out on my grandfather's homestead
near the Clay and Nichols county line. The place was
called Wilson Ridge, near the mining town of Wide And,
West Virginia. On the day in question, we started early,
but it was already hot and muggy. My dad had
ventured off the ridge, and my grandfather and I went
in the opposite direction on a trailhead going downhill towards
the creek where we would be in the shade. Papaul
had trained me to be a good woodsman, and I
had been to the area we were in many times,
so when he decided to venture out further on the mountaintop,
he felt comfortable instructing me to go on down towards
the water. I'd been walking along this path for about
thirty minutes looking for Jensen when I came across some
golden thread. It was also in season, so I stopped
to pick some. I was down on my knees digging
out the roots when I heard someone or something walking
in the woods above me. I looked up, but I
couldn't see anyone through the scrub brush. I called out, hey,
who's up there. The walking stopped, but there was no response.
I listened for what was probably just a minute, but
it felt like an hour. The woods were so quiet,
not even a bird was chirping. I finally shrugged it
off and got back to digging. I carried a little
transistor radio with me, so I pulled it out of
my bag and I turned it on as I finished
clearing out that patch, and then I moved to another one.
As I worked, I sang along with the country music
that cracked and popped out of the speaker of the
little radio. I had turned it up loud, so I
guess that's why I didn't hear anything walking up on me.
All of a sudden, the hair began to stand up
on the back of my neck, and I was overwhelmed
by the feeling of being watched. No one was supposed
to be out there on that property except me, my dad,
and Paul. Paul, that's not funny, Dad, I yelled, and
from somewhere to my right, a five pound rock flew
out of the underbrush and landed about two feet from me.
That got my attention. I stood straight up, and I
whistled really loud for Dad or Paupa to hear me.
As an answer, a growling scream erupted from the underbrush
from where the rock had been thrown. I burst into action,
running down the hill as fast as I could. I
left everything behind me, my tools, my bag of golden
thread and ginseng, even my radio. I didn't stop until
I got down to the creek where my dad had
parked the truck. I reached under the back tire, where
a key was hidden and kept in a magnetic box.
I grabbed it and I got inside, and I locked
the doors. As I did, I started tapping out sos
on the truck's horn until I heard three shots from
my dad's twenty two pistol. We didn't have cell phones
back then, so we had other more creative ways of communicating.
A few minutes later, Dad came flying down the ridge,
having fully understood that his little girl was either in
trouble or injured. He found me crying and screaming and
making very little sense. It took him a good half
hour to calm me down enough to get the story
out of me, and by then Paul Paul had joined us.
Once I was able to make it clear what had happened,
Paul Paul jumped into the driver's eat and drove us
out of there without another word. We across the river
and we're a half mile from home, which put us
a good ten miles from whatever this thing was. When
Grandpa finally spoke and he said, I guess the old
man of the mountain doesn't want us back up there.
I guess we won't be going back. But my dad
did go back the very next day. He went to
get my tools, my bag, and my radio. He found
them in the place where we'd parked the truck the
day before. My radio was still turned on and playing
John Denver's Country Roads Take Me Home. Of all things.
I'm not afraid to go back in the woods, but
I do have a respect for all the sentient beings
living there. After that encounter, my dad, Paul Paul, taught
me to look for signs of the old Mountain people,
as they called them. I know now to recognize their
territory and steer clear of it. Knowledge I've since passed
on to my two sons. They're both good, strong mountain
men who also respect the law of the mountains. Thank
you for your time and God bless you. Signed Kathy.
Oh wow, that was a great story. Let's see that
was in nineteen eighty. That's the year I graduated high school,
so Kathy and I are about the same age. That's
a scary story, but it's good that you guys kind
of learned what was going on, and you know what
to do, and you know to look for signs, and
you know to get out when it's time to get out. Kathy,
that was so good. Thank you, ma'am. See my name
is Rod and I'm from Des Moines, Iowa. I want
to start by saying I did not see a bigfoot,
but I think my dad may have. The encounter happened
in the summer of two thousand on the Des Moines River.
I was eleven or twelve years old. My father, his cousin,
and me were night fishing for catfish. It was late
or possibly early morning, and we had taken the boat
several miles up the river shut off the motor and
were drifting back down with the current. When we got
about a mile from the Birdland Marina, we started hearing
some branches and sticks breaking on the bank, like someone
was walking alongside us. My dad and his cousin periodically
checked the bank with their large spotlights, but they didn't
see anything. After about ten minutes, a small rock was
thrown at us and it landed in the water five
feet from the boat. It was dark out, but there
was enough moonlight to see the ripples in the water.
My dad could tell that I was getting scared, and
he told me that it was just a fish jumping
so that I would quit asking him questions. I kept fishing,
and so did they, but we were all a little
on edge. After a few minutes, we were greeted by
a basketball sized boulder being thrown at us. My dad
and his cousin quickly started scanning the bank with their lights.
I didn't get to see see what he saw, but
as fast as my dad dropped his light, he started
the motor and we were moving. My father has flaws,
but fear is not one of them. I know my
dad believes in Bigfoot, and although he would never tell
me so, I believe that is what he saw on
the bank that night. It would be several years before
I got interested in bigfoot and would learn that rock
throwing is one of their habits. I know this is
not an exciting or action packed story, but that's my
story as I remember it almost twenty years ago. Okay,
an anonymous writer, and this is about a bigfoot and
he says this is true, absolutely true. I hail from
the deep southern Pines of Mississippi, where I grew up
in the small community of steep Hollow. After my parents
separated when I was ten, my sister and I would
spend weekends with our dad. He was living on his
sister's land at the time. We enjoyed going there because
my aunt's kids were around our age, which meant plenty
of playmates. My oldest cousin and I were of an
age to wheel pellet rifles and had therefore deemed ourselves
skilled hunters. Early one winter morning, we got up and
dressed without waking anyone else, and then headed out on
a hunting excursion. We left my aunt's house at the
top of the Big Hill and followed a gravel road
down toward the family fish pond At the midway point.
We passed the pond and kept going until the hill
leveled out into a large field. On the other side
of that field was a tree line where Crane Creek
ran through the property, and beyond that, my aunt's land
continued for several more acres into the woods. We went
into the tree line and followed the creek, plinking at
old coke cans and whatever little birds we thought we
could hit, but we never did. We both knowed a
rancid smell in the air. It was nauseating. It was
a combination of rotting, death and earth. Nevertheless, we carried
on exploring and plinking. We were surrounded by the natural
sounds of the woods. Birds were singing, and the creek
gently babbled alongside of us as we explored. A short
while later, we set up two pine cones for target practice,
and I was taking aim when a bone chilling, blood
curdling scream like nothing we had ever heard before split
the air. Petrified, we froze in place. Growing up in
the southern countryside, we knew the sounds of bobcats and
wild hogs and pretty much every animal known to exist
in those woods, But this one we couldn't identify. It
was somewhere between a large cat and a woman screaming,
but louder and angrier. It was almost as if it
were raging at us, and from our estimate, it was
doing this from not more than fifty yards away on
the other side of the creek, a distance that any
predator big enough to make that sound would have no
trouble closing in seconds. We didn't know what to do,
and fear kept us frozen in place. Our eyes were
like saucers as we stared at each other and then
in the direction of the scream, and then back at
each other. I don't know exactly how long we stood there,
It felt like several minutes, and then through the trees
we saw my father's truck flying down the hill toward us,
with my aunt in the passenger seat. They were at
the bottom of the hill in no time, but that
was the part that felt like the longest. To me
get in the truck, my dad yelled, we didn't have
to be told twice. We jumped into the bed just
as quick as he'd driven down the hill, and he
drove us back up to the house. We didn't know it,
but my dad and My aunt had been sitting on
the front porch watching us that morning. We thought we'd
slipped out of the house undetected. They were sitting there
keeping a watchful eye on us when they heard that
same scream that terrified us. But they saw something that
we didn't. Shortly after the scream, they saw a monstrous
black figure careening across the field in our direction. It
was running on all fours and moving faster than anything
they'd ever seen. Well, we never saw it soon because
of the trees, but we smelled it and we absolutely
heard it. It was a long time before we ventured
off into the woods again, and to this day I
can still hear that scream. I'll likely never forget it.
Oh man, you ever miss a tragedy like There was
one time I remember when I was a kid. It
was dark. We were all out playing at night. It
was summertime, and you know those kind of nights whereas
kids you could just go and go and go and
go and run full speed and your energy never ran out.
We were playing some game I don't know, but I
was running. You know. It was one of the games
where you're it, you're at you try not to get
caught I can't remember the game, but I was running
toward this magnolia tree. I was going to jump up
in this magnolia tree. Of course, it was dark and
I couldn't see anything, but I ran at that tree
full speed and I leaped. It's like I never slowed down.
I leaped to get on to grab onto the trunk
and shimmy up the tree. Now, magnolia branches are down low,
but these people have had cut them off, and this
thing had a trunk about head high to me. But
I ran full speed at that trunk, and just as
I bear clawed that trunk and was fixing the shemy up,
there was a branch poking out of that magnolia tree
and it hit me right at the corner of my eyebone,
the outside of my eyebone, and it elected to the
outside of my head towards my ear. It kind of
went above my ear, but it put a pretty good
cut in my eye. I mean, it wasn't didn't need
stitches or anything. But I was going so fast. If
I had been an eighth of an inch closer to
my right, that stick would have gone straight in my
head and in my brain and kill me. It's one
of those deals where you avoided a tragedy by micro
inches and you always remember it. And this is what
this story reminds me of. It's like this thing was
barreling through the field at them. I don't know how
the parents got there fast enough before whatever this was
running on all fours got to these boys. But man
that you know, you look back on things like that
and you think maybe maybe God has a plan for
my life or something, because he didn't kill me then,
but he almost did. But that that's what that reminded
me of. Oh wow, I told you all that. But
it's the first thing that popped in my head. And
you know me, if it pops in my head, I'm
gonna say it all right. Thank you to the writer
for the story. It was really good, really good. Back
in the nineteen eighties, when my uncle was living in Davy, Florida,
he was driving to my aunt's house one evening for
a family get together. It was nearing dusk, and at
the time there were parts of Davy that were still undeveloped.
Those city planners had already established traffic lights on the
outskirts ahead of the urban sprawl that was advancing towards
the outlying pastures and wooded areas that framed the town.
My uncle was stopped at one such intersection when in
the distance he thought he saw a creature covered with brown,
cinnamon colored hair stroll across the road. It was walking
upright like a man. Its gate was enormous, and it
seemed to cross the road in two strides. From my
uncle's vantage point, he estimated it to be eight feet tall,
with wide shoulders and lengthy arms, resembling a gorilla. It
had some sort of animal carcass slung over its shoulder.
The creature strode over a five foot tall barbed wire
fence that separated the pasture from the road and cleared
it effortless lee. That's a hard word for me to say,
effortless lee. It stopped briefly to lock eyes with my uncle,
staring him down as if to establish its dominance. It
let out a roar that my uncle felt at his chest,
like the low rumble of a stereo speaker blasting from
a passing car. The creature turned and disappeared into the woods.
When my uncle arrived at the get together, he pushed
past us towards the bathroom, where we could hear the
muffled sounds of him throwing up. I only heard the
story in bits and pieces. I was a boy at
the time, and the family felt the details of my
uncle's experience might be too graphic for young ears. They
sent me off to a spare bedroom. I quickly found
an ashtray and cupped it to the closed door so
I could eavesdrop on their conversation. It was obvious to
me that my uncle had seen something, but the members
of the family thought otherwise. To them, his story was
a joke, something closer to an April fool's prank. They
weren't falling for it. They mocked him until I heard
him shout, if you guys are going to keep this up,
I'm out of here, and I heard the front door
slam and the sound of tire squealing. I didn't see
my uncle until the next day. No one can hurt
you like family. Whatever he saw that night, my uncle
never brought it up again. Years went by, and the
incident was largely forgotten by all but me. When I
got him to open up about that night some twenty
years later, every detail remained, just as both of us remembered.
Whoa what a great story. This is like a I
don't even know how to describe it. It's because it's
early in the morning and I'm not thinking clear at
the moment. Although I do have a hot cup of
coffee in my hand, it hadn't kicked in yet. But
this is a good story because this man saw something.
He came back to his family. He pleaded with him
pretty much to believe him, and they just made fun
of him. They thought it was a prank and they
mocked him, and he finally just says, I'm out of here.
You know that happens a lot of times with these incidents.
I don't know why families seem to I have people
in my family that way and they make fun of
other people in the family for some kind of idea.
It doesn't have to be a story like this. It
could be just I'll give you an example. It would
be like me saying, Hey, I'm going to start a
YouTube channel and tell weird stories. I got laughed at
for that from people in my family. I don't know
what it is about family. It's funny how we do that.
And if you are not one of these people who
can break out of that and follow your passions, and follow,
you know, just live your own life and do what
you want to do. Then you're always kind of closed
up in that box that family members put you in.
You never do anything, and eventually you become like them,
and if you do, you will be the one making
fun of your kids for having an idea of doing
something unconventional or that would be unconventional to the way
they see the world. And so that's I don't know,
that's my little commentary. And maybe maybe in an encouragement
to people, I tell you what I did. I just
forgot what people in my family were telling me, and
I knew I loved doing this, and I just kept
doing it. And it's been over a little over four
years now and I'm just doing what I love. I
love sharing these stories and reading these stories and producing
some level of quality in a video so that people
can sit around the dinner table or lay in bed
at night, or truck drivers on a long haul or
people on a vacation. Those are all the people I
kind of envision listening to these stories, and it's kind
of a mind numbing thing that you actually pay attention to.
I love doing it, and I don't feel like I'm
doing anyone a favor. It's mainly for me. It's mainly
for my enjoyment and my gratification. But if other people
enjoy it, it makes it. It encourages you to keep
doing it. And I love it. And so I don't
know why this story sparked that conversation, because it's early
in the morning, and that's just the first thing that
popped in my head. So I'll quit rambling. Let's move
on to the rest of the podcast. How about that
the Bigfoot community folks are an interesting lot. They can
be just as interesting to study as the creature itself.
Bigfoot expeditions are more entertaining as a people watching event
than for what they reveal about Bigfoot. Here are my
thoughts on the diversity of the community. First, there are
the knowers. These are people who claim to have seen
a Bigfoot or had some sort of encounter they claim
proves the creature's existence. These can be people who say
they actually saw a Bigfoot, though they may or may
not have misidentified it, all the way down to people
who saw two sticks pointing in the same direction or
a tree structure. There is absolutely no reasoning with these people.
Once they get the bug, then everything is evidence. Many
people are like this. If they see a hairball in
their shower, they believe a sasquatch has been there. Next,
there are the people who have never had an encounter
but are fascinated with the subject. They are open to
the idea but remain fundamentally agnostic to it. These people
have not lost their minds yet, but they're getting close.
They walk a tight rope between rabbit hole fiction and
true skepticism. The third group are the so called skeptics.
They hide behind the moniker skeptic with a religious zeal
because they mistakenly think the term connotes a scientific mindset
when applied to them. In other words, it is an
ego thing with them. In reality, their mindset is far
removed from the meaning of skeptic in the context of academia.
These are people who use use the term blobsquatch. They
are grammar and pronunciation Nazis and repeatedly degrade and make
fun of others. In short, they are emotionally defective and
they remind me a lot of our ruling class political leaders. Fourth,
there are the hoaxers. Now, these are the assholes who
drink cheap beer. They dress up like monkeys, and they
run across the highway in front of oncoming traffic. They
trespass onto hunting leases at night, dressed in a guerrilla
suit to get their photo taken on trail cams. Not
not too hard on these folks, because they're just trying
to have a good time and sometimes they create quite
humorous moments. Fifth are the Charlatans. Now, these jackasses report
false sightings in an attempt to profit from the phenomenon
and the popular interests they're in. They take advantage of
people's curiosity and ignorance. If you follow the topic, you
know who the hoaxers are. Some of them have podcasts
and television shows. And last there are the Bigfoot hunters.
These people actively search for the monster. On one level.
This group is divided into two groups, those who want
to kill one to obtain a body for science, money,
or because they believe Bigfoot is a malignant part of
nature that ought to be removed, and two the pussies.
The latter of the two grieve over the mere thought
of killing one of these gross, inbred animals. They are
pantheistic or believe that Bigfoot is so genetically close to
humankind that to kill one would be murder. I personally
believe that no kill crowd are communists. This writer is
in the pro kill camp. Now, obviously I'm going to
monetize the hell out of it. I've always been very
open about this. But I am also of the opinion
that even if these things are genetically close to humanity,
they are so malignant to our world that they deserve
to be wiped out. There is not an adequate breeding population.
This is clear. Therefore, inbreeding is rampant, and it probably
has been this way for several generations. They are a
genetic clusterfuck, which explains why they get violent and act
like total assholes. Bigfoot do not even take care of themselves.
They stink. Plus they always have shit in their hair,
caked with leaves and dirt. Have you ever heard a
reported sighting of one where the witness does not say
the hair looked matted and that they smell the good
The only animals that do not clean themselves are the
sick and feeble, But in the reported sightings they are
not sick and feeble. They are said to move about
swiftly through the thick cover and over rugged terrain, So
why can't but they clean themselves. It's because they're screwed
up in the head. It's all the years of inbreeding. Essentially,
they are a bunch of homeless harry devians. So, as
far as I'm concerned, Sasquatch hunting season is open year
round twenty four to seven. Even if the fringe theories
are true the Nephilum aliens, etc. Then they are not
of our natural world, and therefore they need to be eradicated.
In other words, they are an invasive species. Only a sick,
godless communist wants to preserve such things. Finally, I should
note that all the groups mentioned above in the community
hate each other. Further, all the subsets in each group
hate each other as well. I've never understood this. There's
absolutely nothing less scientific than being so close minded that
you refuse to acknowledge other points of view. But to
be sure, there have been many, many instances in history
where great scientists have had rivalries with their contemporaries. This
rival hatred thing seems to be particularly acute in the
Bigfoot community. In my opinion, this is one of the
aspects of the people in the community that make them
such an interesting lot.