Speaker 1: My encounter isn't a bigfoot story. It's a dog man's story.
It happened here in my hometown of San Angelo, Texas.
It was about twenty four or twenty five years ago,
and my oldest daughter was about a year old at
the time. Her dad and I weren't together, and on
Sunday afternoons he'd come pick her up. A friend of
mine and I would usually hang out and go to movies, swimming,
and sometimes we'd go to a nature path outside of town.
On this Sunday, we decided to go to the nature path.
It was a really nice day. It was sunny but
not too hot. The path would go straight through a
clearing from the parking area towards some big bushes and
trees on either side. It would go up and incline slightly,
and then through a clearing again. Then it would head
into the woods for quite a while. On warm days,
when the bushes and wildflowers were bloomed out, there would
be tons of butterflies everywhere. It was a beautiful place
to relax and enjoy nature. It was all so very
quiet and peaceful. We rarely saw other people when we
were there. When you walk down the path, it would
go for about twenty or so minutes through the trees.
To the left would be another path that went over
a small bridge and a dried up river bed. We
always went over the bridge and would hang out there
for a while in the shade of the trees. We'd
usually see some animals, rabbits, maybe a skunk, a deer,
and I think one time we even saw a mountain
lion in the distance. This particular day, we were standing
on the bridge, my friend towards the middle and me
by the opposite side from the path. The bridge wasn't big,
about twenty or so feet. We were standing there, talking
and enjoying the day, and I started to hear what
sounded like someone walking through the trees. I could hear
the leaves and twigs on the ground crunching under something's
feet as they walked towards where we were. I looked
over and saw what looked like a very large person
wearing all black, just a short distance from us. I
said to my friend, do you see that. She glanced
over and said, yeah, I see them. They just stood
there for a while, and I started to think maybe
it was a crazy person or a murderer coming for us.
Then suddenly the head turned towards us, and I saw
what looked like long hair on the head and body
blowing in the wind, and a long dog looking snout
turn our way with pointed ears, similar to a German shepherd.
I saw what looked like bright yellow eyes staring towards us.
I honestly thought I was losing my marbles. I'd never
heard of a dog man at the time. My first
thought was a werewolf, and I thought that didn't exist
except in movies. Suddenly it turned its head the opposite
direction again to look the other way. I grabbed the
back of my friend's shirt and duck down behind her.
My friend is over six feet tall and around three
hundred pounds at the time. I then saw its head
swing towards us again as it looked at us another time.
I just kept thinking that this cannot be real. Those
things don't exist. I started to cry, and I thought
I'm going to die right here and never see my
daughter again. Will anyone even find our bodies? It then
swung its head the other way to look over its
other shoulder. It was standing kind of sundays towards us,
and it looked from side to side over and over.
It kept doing that for what seemed like an eternity.
After looking the opposite way again and then back at us,
it walked back the way it came. We could hear
the same crunching sound again, and it slowly faded, and
then we didn't hear it. I really didn't know what
to do. My friend suggested we go, but I was
afraid to move, like it might be waiting for us
to do some We stood there for a little while
longer and slowly made our way off the bridge down
the path towards the car. As we got to the
part of the path with the big bushes on either side,
I was afraid to go by them because you can't
see the other side of the bushes. We slowly went
to them and then quickly around, and we're relieved that
there was nothing there. After that, we hurried to my car.
Somewhere along the way, I picked up a really long
tree branch. She made me drop it. I got the
car keys out of my pocket, unlocked the doors, and
we jumped in and tore off out of there. I
don't think I ever drove so fast in my life,
and we never went back to that place again. I
considered us lucky to get away because something else must
have been on the other side that was more interesting
that led it away from us. I never told anyone
until just a few years ago when I heard of
the dog Man, and I thought that that must be
what I saw that day. Thank you for letting me
share my story. It actually feels good to get it
out there and not have it on my mind so much.
My story is from nineteen fifty eight, when I was
a farm kid in central Illinois. My grandfather was a
large acreage farmer. He and his brother farmed over three
thousand acres around Warrensburg, ill which had been in the
family from the seventeen hundreds. My grandfather was a larger
than life man, president of the Farm Bureau and Lions Club.
He was Illinois skeet shooting champion, a pilot, with his
own plane, boats, and all the newest farm equipment. He
bought a new pink Cadillac every two years. I think
he liked being larger than life. I was his oldest
grandson and he took me everywhere with him. When we
crash landed his Cessna in a field rolling into a creek,
he made me swear I would never tell my grandmother,
and I never did. To say he was a serious,
no nonsense man would be understating his nature. Warrensburg, Illinois,
in nineteen fifty eight was a small farm town, the
center of a farming area, Like so many Midwest farm towns,
tractor suppliers, farm supply lies, a general store, and school
or two. With a population of fifty nine, it lays
twenty nine miles northeast of Blue Mound, Illinois, with its
history of curses and mysterious doom that permeated the area
for hundreds of miles around over hundreds of years. Today,
I looked it up on the Internet to find not
a mention of that past other than the storied up
crop failures that ruined farmers for over one hundred years
in Blue Mound. Blue Mound is an ancient American Indian
burial ground. My maternal grandmother was a full blood Cherokee Indian.
She wouldn't go near Blue Mound. We were told the
Indians buried not their dead, but the bodies of their
wicked enemies, the giants they warred with for many years.
There's an oddly high ground in the middle of the
flat plains where no one was allowed to form or
excavate by law for nearly one hundred years. The ill
fated stories of those who dared to dig in Blue
Mound are many. Legend has it due to a curse
by the Indian medicine man placed on the dead buried there.
I can tell you my one trip through there as
a child, even before I knew the legends, was unsettling,
to say the least. One sunny fall day, my grandfather,
my uncle, and I were out in a field by
our creek bird hunting. I was a kid with my
eye in the sky most of the time. I loved birds, planes,
and all things that flew. I still do. It's no
wonder I ended up a private pilot. As I was
watching the crows fight and fly in and out of
the large elm tree by the creek, I noticed a
plane in the distance. I began watching it as it
approached on a path that would take it directly overhead.
It would be a video image burned in my brain
for all my life. When it was about a mile away,
judging by its proximity to the north hundred acres fence line,
I thought I was seeing things. This plane flapped its
wings like a bird. I yelled at my grandad, look
at the plane. It's flapping its wings. As he turned
and said, planes don't flap their wings, son, you know
that with you know that fading in volume as he
saw the plane flap its wings. Suddenly it dawned on
me that this was a bird. It was a huge bird.
It was probably at around five hundred feet altitude, I
realized today, Having been a pilot. My grandfather had a
Cessna and flew over the farm regularly at about the
same altitude. The wingspan of this bird was at least
double that of his cesna. The body was twice as
long and three times as wide as the cessna's fuselage.
The sun was at the perfect angle to see it
was feathered with a huge beak, almost appearing as a
huge eagle. We stood in awe as it approached, rapidly,
flapping its huge wings every now and then. Suddenly, my
dim wet uncle, known for his poor Honting etiquette, aims
his shotgun at this huge bird. My grandfather grabs his barrel,
shoving it into the dirt as it fires. My grandfather
was in a rage, I think partially because of uncle
dim went and partly from fear, because he was a
man that didn't scare. I had never seen a look
of fear on his face until that moment. I knew
well his look of anger, as he had a short
temper and little tolerance for stupidity. He yanked me under
his arm and fell to the ground, telling my uncle
to get down. The bird gave a head turn, noticed
to the gun fire, and then continued on. When the
bird had gone about a mile past, my grandfather let
me up and lit into my uncle's Are you out
of your effing mind? Do you know what that is?
I still have one hundred head of cattle and pigs
and sheep and your wife's horses. My uncle was wisely silent,
as he well knew setting off my granddad and earned
him more than one punch in the face. Grandpa's rage
was different than this. He was really upset over my
uncle's attempt to shoot this bird. Upset and scared. To
this day, I think he knew far more about the
giant bird and its actions than he ever told me.
He was truly worried about his livestock. We never discussed
it after that day. Sadly, my hero died of cancer.
Four years after this incident, just before my twelfth birthday.
But on this day, as he cooled, I waited for
a minute, and then I asked, what was that, Grandpa.
He turned and helped me my shoulders, looking me in
the eye. You can't ever tell anyone what I'm about
to tell you because they will think you're crazy. Promise
me that you want and I agreed. He began, You
know that bird was flying toward Blue Mound, right, Yes,
I replied. We have forever heard the tales of the
giant bird the Indians called the thunderbird. I thought it
was just a story about the eagle the Indians worship.
He said, today, I know the thunderbird is real. I
didn't tell him, but my maternal Jerokee grandmother had told
me about the thunderbird. According to legend, thunderbird would fly
over Blue Mound to see if someone had disturbed it.
True or not, I don't know. What I do know
is at the time Blue Mound and its lore were
much respected. I spent years looking into the sky to
hopefully see the thunderbird again, but I never did. Later,
I would read about the thunderbird and have no doubt
I have been very fortunate in life to see it.
I love the encounters about dog man and bigfoot that
you share, which I firmly believe in, as my father, uncle,
and grandfather who hunted the southern State suddenly and mysteriously
stopped going to those places after their last trip. My
dad told me stories of the big cats that would
scream and sound just like a woman, and he warned
me to never go to help out if I was
in the woods and heard those sounds, because the people
that went in to help seldom returned. He, like my grandfather,
wasn't afraid of anything, but he warned me to stay
out of the forest and run if I was ever
in them and heard the big cat screaming like a woman.
I decided long ago that he knew it wasn't big cats,
but didn't want to freak out his six year old son.
As a footnote, the only person besides my wife I
ever told his story to was my friend Watuka rock Igola,
a full blooded Navajo Indian. He mentioned Thunderbird one day
and I was just floored. He not only believed me,
he said my grandfather was a wise man to heed
the warnings that he had heard. Thank you so much
for your show, and I'd rather not be identified if
you don't mind.
Speaker 2: This bigfoot story comes from a gentleman refers to remain anonymous,
and who says it's true. I would like to share
with you and your audience a citing I had on
the Appalachian Trail a few years back. I'm fifty years
old now, but I was thirty nine when this event unfolded.
My friend and I had made plans to walk the
Appalachian Trail during summer vacation. We planned to do a
different section each vacation until we completed it. We decided
to start at Springer Mountain in Georgia. We were outfitted
with all new packs, sleeping bags, and all the things
we needed to complete our hike. We both loved the outdoors,
so we were excited about the upcoming two weeks. The
first day, we hiked five hours and not knowing if
we would have time to make it to the next one,
decided to stop at the sleeping shelter we came to
at around three that afternoon. We hung around and took
in the beauty of the place. Being outdoors in the
smoky mountains with my friend was wonderful. We talked with
other hikers and sat around and prepared our evening meal.
Everyone there was exhausted, so we all turned in for
the night. My friend and I slept like rocks that night.
The next morning, we were sore from the first day,
so we took our time packing up and getting started.
As we were going along and enjoying the sights, we
passed a couple of ladies who seemed like they were
in a hurry. It was if they were speed walking
and not interested in conversation. Later, we stopped so my
friend could use the restroom. There was a game trail
about five yards downhill from us, so we stepped down
to it so she could do her business. It was
quite a steep incline to come back up, and I
noticed the game trail ran parallel to the main trail,
so I suggested we follow it for a while and
maybe we'd find an easier place to get back up
to the main trail further down. As we walked down
the game trail, I kept hearing voices and laughing. I
thought a big group must be coming down the trail.
My friend, who was leaning abruptly stopped and I knew
she'd seen something. I asked what it was, but she
didn't say a word. She only pointed. I followed her
finger to the source and was shaken by what I saw.
I pulled her back and we both squatted down as
I whispered, is that real? Did we just see that?
She nodded her eyes wide with shock. I pulled my
binoculars from my pack and eased forward, looking around the
bush we'd duck behind. Sitting thirty yards from us and
maybe fifteen or so yards downhill was a juvenile booger, skunkate, bigfoot,
whatever you want to call it. It was intent on
watching something, so I followed its gaze and found the
source of the laughter. A group of about six young people,
two young men and four young ladies had found a
waterfall and were having fun cooling themselves off. I leaned
back and handed the binoculars off to my friend, who
then took her turn. After a minute, she leaned back
quickly and flashed a puzzled half grin. I mouthed the
words what is it? But she just shook her head
and handed me the binoculars. I looked down the hill
at the swimmers first, then back to where the creature
was sitting. I thought it was just sitting there. Then
I realized what she'd seen. It looked like it was massing.
I lean back and tried not to laugh. We sat
there for a minute more before I suggested we backtrack,
but my friend thought we should let the young people
know they were being watched, So we went to a
spot about forty yards back down the trail where we
could easily climb down to where they were. The place
was a sort of a wash out that afforded us
some cover for quite a way before we risked being
exposed to the creature. As we were climbing down, we
heard a high pitched whistle from somewhere above us. The
juvenile jumped up and looked around, just as my friend's
foot dislodged a rock, sending it tumbling down the hill. Run,
I said, and she did. I looked over and realized
the juvenile was also running. He was heading at an
angle that was going to intersect my friend's path. Without
a second thought, I took two steps up onto a
rock and catapulted myself across the wash, which put me
on a trajectory straight for the juvenile. I thought at
that moment, I was probably a dead man, but I
was trying to give my friend a chance. This thing
stopped in midstride and stared with a mix of disbelief
and hatred at the crazy flying human. It was about
six feet tall, and from the look on its face,
there was no doubt it was going to kill me.
I'm six foot four and I weigh two hundred and
twenty five pounds, but this thing was easily three hundred
and fifty pounds of pure muscle and anger. I never stopped.
I doubt I could have, and his expression changed from
one of surprise to one of fear. At least that's
what I was telling myself. As I was barreling at
him from out of nowhere. I felt a sudden, sharp
blow to my back, and now I was tumbling down
the hill, trying to get my breath and stop my fall.
When I finally came to rest, I saw the creature
jump up and down, whooping and pounding the ground. Then
I heard a scream and chattering that sounded almost like
some kind of language. The juvenile creature looked down defeated.
It dropped all fours and bolted up the mountain at
an unbelievable speed. I watched as it disappeared up the
mountain before my eye was drawn to another sight. Not
thirty feet behind me was a massive eight foot taller
better seven to eight hundred pound female. She looked right
at me, and I swear I saw empathy in her eyes.
She seemed to communicate with me. In my head. It
was so strange, but I clearly heard her say she
was sorry that she hit me with the rock, and
that her child was chasing after us. She said that
he was getting too unruly and would be dealt with.
Then she turned and dashed up the hill with more
grace and speed than the juvenile. I knew then what
had made him afraid. It wasn't me, it was mama.
A minute later, the two young men from the waterfall
were asking me if I was okay. I said I was,
and they helped me down to the pool of water,
where I sat for what seemed like hours in total disbelief.
My friends sat with me, answering their questions. The rocks
she dislodged had alerted them, and they'd all looked up
the hill in time to see the entire event. Apparently,
my friend had screamed when I said run, but I
hadn't heard anything but silence. It felt like I was
in a time warp, with everything slowed down and out
of proportion. What seemed like hours had taken place in
a matter of seconds. The young people were students at
a nearby college who often came to this spot to
swim and hang out. They were nice and couldn't believe
what they'd seen. They kept talking about how brave I was.
The truth is I was stupid to them and my
friend though I was a hero. Now we left with
them and they gave us a ride to where our
car was parked. That ended our hiking for good. Now,
if I'm hiking, it's with a large group armed with
automatic weapons. Well that's our story, and we don't care
if anyone believes it or not. We know the truth.
Thanks very much for allowing us to share and keep
the stories coming