Speaker 1: Hey, Cam, I have a pretty unbelievable story for you.
Speaker 1: Even I find it hard to believe. And it's my story.
Speaker 1: In nineteen seventy four, my family moved from Missouri to
Speaker 1: a small town in Kansas. Sometime that summer, the movie
Speaker 1: Legend of the Boggy Creek finally came to our town,
Speaker 1: and my father took my two older brothers and me
Speaker 1: to see it. I was close to eight years old,
Speaker 1: and it scared me so much that I remember curling
Speaker 1: up with my face pressed into the back of the
Speaker 1: seat so I wouldn't have to look at the monster.
Speaker 1: A few weeks later, I had a flashback from when
Speaker 1: I was a toddler, back when we were still in Missouri,
Speaker 1: and I remember sitting up and talking to three little men.
Speaker 1: I could see them clearly, even though it was dark
Speaker 1: in my bedroom, and I could hear them even though
Speaker 1: they weren't moving their mind they talked right into my head,
Speaker 1: and that's how I answered them too. They were gray,
Speaker 1: they had large, elongated tear drop eyes, and they were
Speaker 1: only as tall as the front rail of the bed,
Speaker 1: which made them just a few inches taller than I
Speaker 1: was at that time. I remember looking from one to
Speaker 1: the other as they spoke to me and not being
Speaker 1: afraid of them. They visited me a lot, and I
Speaker 1: liked them because I knew they were happy to see me.
Speaker 1: I didn't like the tall ones. Though they rarely came
Speaker 1: into the house anyway, they always came out of the
Speaker 1: kitchen right next to my bedroom door. I didn't mind
Speaker 1: them coming in, but I hated when I had to
Speaker 1: go into the kitchen and out the back door with
Speaker 1: them because it went by the basement door, and that
Speaker 1: door terrified me. My mother was an alcoholic and was
Speaker 1: cata tonic for most of my childhood. One day I
Speaker 1: was left on my own wandering around the house looking
Speaker 1: for my brothers and sisters. I couldn't find anyone in
Speaker 1: the house, so I decided to look in the basement
Speaker 1: and I opened the basement door and I leaned on
Speaker 1: the wall beside the stairs. It was a long way
Speaker 1: to the bottom for such a small child. There was
Speaker 1: a window to the left that let them light into
Speaker 1: the room, but an inky darkness covered the far end
Speaker 1: of the space. There were two large barn doors that
Speaker 1: opened out into the backyard to the far right, and
Speaker 1: in the darkness was a work bench. I slowly went
Speaker 1: down those stairs, scooting down each one on my bottom
Speaker 1: because I was so small. The dim light from the
Speaker 1: window reflected off the big crank washer that was a
Speaker 1: few feet from the bottom of the stairs, but otherwise
Speaker 1: it was too dark to see much of anything. I
Speaker 1: realized that no one was down there, and that they
Speaker 1: must have been outside playing. But I would have to
Speaker 1: get my little legs all the way back up those
Speaker 1: stairs and out the back door through the kitchen to
Speaker 1: get to them. I sat on the bottom stairs, making
Speaker 1: up my mind about what I would do. Something by
Speaker 1: the work bench, and the darkness caught my attention. I
Speaker 1: was too young to have been afraid of much, even
Speaker 1: in the darkness, so I got up and walked over
Speaker 1: to the bench, and that's when I saw the feet.
Speaker 1: There were big feet, maybe bigger than I was at
Speaker 1: the time if I had laid down next to them.
Speaker 1: And then I saw the brown, hairy legs that went
Speaker 1: up and up, and I had to lean my head
Speaker 1: back as far as it would go to see the
Speaker 1: top of this thing. It was a fuzzy man who
Speaker 1: was so tall that his shoulders hit the ceiling and
Speaker 1: his head was bent down looking at me. I remember
Speaker 1: his huge hands coming at me, and then everything went blank.
Speaker 1: I can't tell you what happened next, because fear either
Speaker 1: erased that memory or buried it so far down that
Speaker 1: I wouldn't have to relive it. I had always wondered
Speaker 1: where my fear of heights came from, and now I
Speaker 1: think I know it came from the beast in the
Speaker 1: basement picking me up. My oldest brother came back from
Speaker 1: Germany right as the Vietnam War stopped, just before he
Speaker 1: was to ship out. He had always thrown me up
Speaker 1: in the air and caught me before he left on
Speaker 1: the tour. But when he came back that time, he
Speaker 1: tossed me up like he always did. But that time
Speaker 1: I screamed and I begged him to stop. I was
Speaker 1: terrified of being even a few feet off the ground.
Speaker 1: We had a ladder with three steps on it that
Speaker 1: we used to climb into a pear tree in the backyard,
Speaker 1: but I couldn't use that anymore. Even on the first step,
Speaker 1: I would freeze in terror. In retrospect, I don't think
Speaker 1: the beast in the basement meant to hurt me or
Speaker 1: anyone else. But I was a little kid, and he
Speaker 1: was so huge that it frightened me. All of us
Speaker 1: knew about him, but that is a story for another time.
Speaker 1: One night after my encounter in the basement, the three
Speaker 1: little men told me that I didn't have to be
Speaker 1: afraid because the big men wouldn't come around and scare
Speaker 1: me anymore. And try as I might, I never could
Speaker 1: remember everything that they talked to me about on all
Speaker 1: their visits to my room while the rest of my
Speaker 1: family slept. Looking back now, though, it's difficult to say
Speaker 1: which memory is more disturbing, the beast in the basement
Speaker 1: or the three men who visited me in the middle
Speaker 1: of the night. Thank you for reading my story. It
Speaker 1: took me a while to find the courage to write it. Well.
Speaker 1: Thank you, ma'am. She wants to be anonymous, so I
Speaker 1: won't thank her by name, but she'll hear this. This
Speaker 1: is an older email that I got. What an experience
Speaker 1: for a little bitty kid through It's like aliens talking
Speaker 1: to her at the foot of her bed, big aliens
Speaker 1: coming in, possibly a bigfoot in the basement. That's really
Speaker 1: a crazy story. And some of you may think it's
Speaker 1: just a bunch of wahoo, but maybe it's not. You know,
Speaker 1: the name of my podcast is what if It's true?
Speaker 1: What if this story's true? What was this young what
Speaker 1: was this little girl dealing with in that house? Her
Speaker 1: mother was a drunk, catatonic all the time. Maybe she
Speaker 1: was in a Maybe she was in a Maybe she
Speaker 1: was a vulnerable kid. And that's who these alien type
Speaker 1: beings pray on. I don't know, but it's a very
Speaker 1: interesting story. I hope you're doing okay now and those
Speaker 1: memories don't come back and scare you too bad. It's
Speaker 1: a great story. I appreciate you sharing it with us.
Speaker 1: All right, all right, how about a new podcast, not
Speaker 1: an archive. I know some people may be a little
Speaker 1: frustrated that I'm putting let me get my mic here,
Speaker 1: here we go. Mike was like a foot two feet
Speaker 1: from my mouth. Some people get a little annoyed at
Speaker 1: the archived videos. But there's a lot of people who
Speaker 1: haven't heard those stories. And I've been away from the podcast.
Speaker 1: I've been working on Steve Lilly Night and Day. People
Speaker 1: hounded me for a year to get another one out. Well,
Speaker 1: I put three out in the span of about seven days.
Speaker 1: If you haven't heard eighteen, it'll be available tonight. I
Speaker 1: think around six Central times, so you can listen to
Speaker 1: that tonight. We listen to this one first because it's
Speaker 1: full of really good stories, and thank you for clicking
Speaker 1: on the video. Certainly do appreciate you. It was late
Speaker 1: summer of twenty nineteen and the peak camping season had passed.
Speaker 1: My wife and two kids had reserved a primo campsite
Speaker 1: at a fairly remote campground in Kern County, California. Oh
Speaker 1: that's a mouthful. Kern County, California. Kern County, California, Kern County, California.
Speaker 1: Try to say that three times this excuse me. This
Speaker 1: campground had no electricity, running water, or sewer hookups, just
Speaker 1: pit toilets that forced you to hold your breath as
Speaker 1: long as possible, do your business and get your feed
Speaker 1: out of there. There was a mountain spring that some
Speaker 1: folks thought was safe to drink. Otherwise it was several
Speaker 1: miles down the road to fill up your jugs with
Speaker 1: good old holes water. But that's what the old folks
Speaker 1: liked roughing it. The occasion, however, was a somber one.
Speaker 1: The previously mentioned old folks had passed on and we
Speaker 1: were burdened with the task of scattering the remains of
Speaker 1: my wife's grandparents and their dog into the river, the
Speaker 1: same river to which they had already committed two of
Speaker 1: their boys in the past year. This spot was a
Speaker 1: special one, and my wife had been going there since
Speaker 1: she was an infant, and her mom's family long before that.
Speaker 1: I had always enjoyed hiking in the mountains as a
Speaker 1: boy's scout, and I went along with them when we
Speaker 1: first started dating to the spot, and we continued the
Speaker 1: tradition with them. Sadly, the tradition almost faded away. It
Speaker 1: was one last hurrah and I wanted to go tent
Speaker 1: camping for old time say. Our camp site had a
Speaker 1: good view of the other side of the river, which
Speaker 1: was miles and miles of empty land that eventually hooked
Speaker 1: up with the Sierra Nevada National Park. It would take
Speaker 1: some incredibly rough and rugged individuals to truck across such
Speaker 1: a landscape, and if a sasquatch felt like getting a
Speaker 1: view of campers, it was the perfect spot for them
Speaker 1: to do it. We stayed at the campsite for a
Speaker 1: few nights, but my hopes of squatch watching never materialized.
Speaker 1: On our last night, we had a lovely camp for
Speaker 1: our dinner, and I slept with the roar of the
Speaker 1: river lulling me to sleep, and life was good. The
Speaker 1: next morning we had to pack up and go, and
Speaker 1: as usual, we took our time, waking up, long after
Speaker 1: the chill of the night was replaced by the sun
Speaker 1: warming our tent. We made coffee on the ancient persnickerty
Speaker 1: Coleman stove, and as the deadline approached for us to
Speaker 1: clear out of the campground, we leisurely packed up and
Speaker 1: watched the early risers drive off and head to wherever
Speaker 1: home was. When we were alone in the campground and
Speaker 1: our kids were waiting for us in the car, my
Speaker 1: wife and I marveled at how cool it was to
Speaker 1: be there with no other campers at all, and that
Speaker 1: had never happened, as our traditional camping time was the
Speaker 1: peak summer right around the fourth of July. But our
Speaker 1: feeling of coolness quickly turned to a feeling of oddness.
Speaker 1: It had only been a few minutes since the departure
Speaker 1: of the rest of our neighbors when we both got
Speaker 1: the distinct impression that something wasn't quite right. Do you
Speaker 1: I started to ask my wife, not exactly sure how
Speaker 1: to phrase the strange sensation of fight or flight that
Speaker 1: had quickly come over me. Yes, she said, looking at
Speaker 1: me with a mixture of worry and confusion. I feel
Speaker 1: it too. We became consumed by the need to pack
Speaker 1: up and get out of there as quickly as possible.
Speaker 1: We never heard or saw anything, but it didn't make
Speaker 1: the experience any less disturbing. It was like we had
Speaker 1: been covered by a wet blanket of fear, and it
Speaker 1: was the strangest thing, and neither of us had ever
Speaker 1: experienced anything like this. It was weird to be in
Speaker 1: such a beloved place all along and then suddenly so
Speaker 1: put off as we hot tailed it out. If there
Speaker 1: had occurred to me that maybe I had my sosquatch
Speaker 1: watching experience. After all, I've heard about the fear other
Speaker 1: people have experienced, and how it comes out of nowhere,
Speaker 1: and how it violates your space and encompasses you in
Speaker 1: an inexplicable, terror fueled urge to run for your life. Well,
Speaker 1: that's exactly what this felt like. I haven't been back since,
Speaker 1: but not out of fear, or so I tell myself.
Speaker 1: Pummeling humans with the fear is probably intended to keep
Speaker 1: us away, but it's the opposite effect on me. I
Speaker 1: actually can't wait to go back, maybe in the off season,
Speaker 1: and this time be better prepared. But next time the
Speaker 1: fear hits, I won't be so quick to run. I
Speaker 1: hope I don't regret that. Oh dude, I hope you
Speaker 1: don't regret that too. I don't know. I've never had
Speaker 1: a feeling in my life like I should just run,
Speaker 1: and that must be a strange sensation for people, because
Speaker 1: I've never felt that. There was a day in the
Speaker 1: last two weeks I was telling my wife that you
Speaker 1: all know, I ride my bike around all these woods
Speaker 1: around my house, and we were back there, riding around
Speaker 1: some ponds and across some levees, and it was so quiet.
Speaker 1: It was it's like the middle of August, it's really hot.
Speaker 1: Maybe it was right before it was either right before
Speaker 1: or right after all that rain got pushed up here
Speaker 1: by the hurricane that landed just three or four weeks ago.
Speaker 1: It was so quiet that it was weird. And normally
Speaker 1: I don't stop to listen to the noises unless I
Speaker 1: hear noises, then you kind of listen for them. But
Speaker 1: it just and then I just it just felt strange
Speaker 1: and my dogs were like looking around off at nothing.
Speaker 1: It's like they would both stop. Their heads would be
Speaker 1: turned looking in the same direction, their ears would be
Speaker 1: perked up, and they would just stand there when they're
Speaker 1: normally running around like wild hyenas. But they would eventually
Speaker 1: move on and we'd ride on and everything would be fine.
Speaker 1: But I have had those experiences in my life, very few,
Speaker 1: very few. But I didn't mean to make this about
Speaker 1: me and talk about myself. But that's how we relate
Speaker 1: to these things. We kind of compare other people's experiences
Speaker 1: to our own, and then we talk about ours, and
Speaker 1: it kind of fleshes it out a little bit. So
Speaker 1: I guess that's why I do that. I don't care
Speaker 1: that y'all know that I felt weird that day, so
Speaker 1: I'm not trying to talk about myself. I just kind
Speaker 1: of popped in my head. Squirrel. All right, Thank you
Speaker 1: to the writer for this. This was very good. I
Speaker 1: appreciate it. Greetings, my white brother. I'm sending you this
Speaker 1: story because I believe it may give me some relief
Speaker 1: and getting it off my chest will help me come
Speaker 1: out of the shadows. I'm a part of the ute nation,
Speaker 1: or at least what is left of it, as we
Speaker 1: are a nation of decreasing numbers. I'm a traditional bow
Speaker 1: hunter and have harvested more record bucks and bull elk
Speaker 1: than ninety nine percent of the hunters here in this
Speaker 1: state or neighboring states. One might say that I have
Speaker 1: a vested interest in the ancient ways of my people
Speaker 1: when it comes to hunting. I have made my own
Speaker 1: bow from a cedar tree and arrows from a choke
Speaker 1: cherry tree, and I made my own airheads by napping obsidian. WHOA,
Speaker 1: that is cool. My bow is somewhere between seventy five
Speaker 1: and ninety pounds pull and has only been pulled back
Speaker 1: to full draw by myself and my father. Nobody else
Speaker 1: that we are acquainted with has been able to pull
Speaker 1: it to full draw. As deer season approaches, I prepare
Speaker 1: for my hunt the two weeks prior to going out
Speaker 1: to the woods, and in that time I only eat
Speaker 1: fruits and vegetables, and I refrain from consuming any meat
Speaker 1: of any form. I fast for the last twenty four
Speaker 1: hours prior to going into the woods, and I spend
Speaker 1: that time in a sweat lodge to cleanse my body
Speaker 1: of the smell of a meat eater, and I bathe
Speaker 1: in a soap made from the yucca plant and other
Speaker 1: roots for the week prior, as well as wash my
Speaker 1: hunting clothes and equipment in a mixture of dried yucca
Speaker 1: and other plants native to the region. I do all
Speaker 1: this to remove any scent of a predator being in
Speaker 1: the woods, and I give myself the scent of the forest.
Speaker 1: At this point, I am one with the forest and
Speaker 1: I'm ready to hunt, and this practice helps me get
Speaker 1: close to the prey without them having any clue that
Speaker 1: a predator is only feet away. I take my old
Speaker 1: nineteen seventy four Chevy C twenty Camper Special, which is
Speaker 1: orange over white, and it's more rust and metal now,
Speaker 1: but it runs better than anything else on the roads here,
Speaker 1: and it tears down the trails in old mining and
Speaker 1: logging roads like a mule, and it eats like one
Speaker 1: two about eight gallons to the mile. I park and
Speaker 1: walk the last two miles to where I want to hunt,
Speaker 1: usually prior to the sun coming up, and I wear
Speaker 1: the traditional soft soul moccasins and buckskin pants which protect
Speaker 1: my legs from the briars and thorns, and a camouflage
Speaker 1: top of some nature. I either use a swing tight
Speaker 1: tree stand or I stalk my prey. I learned how
Speaker 1: to hunt from my elders, but mostly from my grandfather,
Speaker 1: who is one of the elders of our tribe. It's
Speaker 1: been known to be the best hunter for over two
Speaker 1: hundred years, and when hunting, I have learned to only
Speaker 1: be seen if I want to be seen. It was
Speaker 1: almost a year ago now, and I went through my
Speaker 1: normal routine and I got out to the woods before dawn.
Speaker 1: I had positioned myself just below a ridge where I
Speaker 1: knew a game trail ran. I had taken quite a
Speaker 1: few nice meal bucks from this location over the past years,
Speaker 1: and I had the expectation of taking another record breaking
Speaker 1: buck again this year. This was simply going to take
Speaker 1: patients and waiting for the right one to walk over
Speaker 1: the ridge. I knew there were going to be some
Speaker 1: younger bucks and does, and maybe a bear, maybe a
Speaker 1: mountain lion or other critters, but I would just have
Speaker 1: to sit tight and stay true to my goal. Just
Speaker 1: after dawn, I saw a large dough and her two
Speaker 1: yearlings walk down the trail at the top of the ridge.
Speaker 1: I gave them a free pass and A couple of
Speaker 1: minutes later, after she dropped over the other side of
Speaker 1: the ridge, she wailed out in pain. The two year
Speaker 1: lings ran past me in reckless abandon and I wondered
Speaker 1: what had grabbed her. I didn't know if it was
Speaker 1: a mountain lion or a bear, so I just sat
Speaker 1: tight and I kept my ears and eyes open. I
Speaker 1: didn't want to interrupt a mountain lion's breakfast or a
Speaker 1: grizzly's mid morning snack, because it would only end badly
Speaker 1: for one of us. Just a few minutes after the
Speaker 1: commotion and struggle had stopped, I heard a roar, paired
Speaker 1: with what sounded like King Kong pounding his chest. I
Speaker 1: split second later another roar answered the first. I had
Speaker 1: never heard this sound in the mountains before, but I
Speaker 1: could tell that it was two different animals by the
Speaker 1: pitch and tone of their voices. The volume was so
Speaker 1: intense that it made my stomach turn and my handshake.
Speaker 1: And then I heard a crash that sounded like two
Speaker 1: bull elephants smashing their heads together. And I could hear
Speaker 1: the rush getting torn out of the ground and being
Speaker 1: rolled over, and I could see tops of trees being
Speaker 1: shaken and knocked around, and then I heard some kind
Speaker 1: of chattering from just over the ridge, and it reminded
Speaker 1: me of a group of kids in the schoolyard encouraging
Speaker 1: and egging on a fight. And I had never heard
Speaker 1: any of these sounds in the mountains before, and the
Speaker 1: noise was unsettling, so I sat tight where I was
Speaker 1: and I listened to the battle from over the top
Speaker 1: of the ridge, and then I got to look at
Speaker 1: what was making all the noise. Two beasts that were
Speaker 1: bigger than any grizzly bear I had ever seen before,
Speaker 1: bit and punched and pulled at each other's hair. They
Speaker 1: looked like giant hairy men with huge mouths and enlarge
Speaker 1: canine teeth. Their arms were longer than a human's and
Speaker 1: move like sledgehammers as they relentlessly hit each other. The
Speaker 1: fight rolled back over the top of the ridge and
Speaker 1: out of sight, and it sounded like one had finally
Speaker 1: I managed to dominate the other, and I heard one
Speaker 1: of them being slammed into a tree, and then another,
Speaker 1: and I heard one of them moan in pain and
Speaker 1: the other growl and rage, And then came what I
Speaker 1: can only describe as a death whale. The likes I
Speaker 1: have never imagined from any living animal, and I heard
Speaker 1: some sort of cry for mercy, and then a final thud.
Speaker 1: There was a brief moment of silence, and then an
Speaker 1: eruption of noise from the other side of that ridge.
Speaker 1: First came a roar from the victor, followed by the
Speaker 1: unfamiliar chatter of a strange language that I could not understand.
Speaker 1: I stayed in my stand for almost thirty minutes after
Speaker 1: that commotion settled down. Before I eased back down and
Speaker 1: snuck to the top of the ridge, and even before
Speaker 1: I looked over the side, a horrific smell of death
Speaker 1: and blood mixed with raw sewage filled my nose. And
Speaker 1: then I looked over and I saw several hairy beasts
Speaker 1: ranging in size from massive to only a few feet tall,
Speaker 1: gathered around the dough which had been torn apart, and
Speaker 1: it looked like they had ripped the internal organs out
Speaker 1: of her and torn the legs off and were sitting
Speaker 1: around eating the meat right off the bone. Another group
Speaker 1: of beasts gathered around the loser of the battle. They
Speaker 1: had torn its stomach open and they were eating its
Speaker 1: organs and sucking the marrow out of its ribs. The
Speaker 1: loser's head had been twisted backward, and its legs were
Speaker 1: contorted in a way that they were not intended to
Speaker 1: be positioned. The massive, bloodied victor was sitting off to
Speaker 1: the site, surrounded by a couple of smaller females, and
Speaker 1: they were stroking his head and back. He was at
Speaker 1: least ten feet tall and maybe a thousand pounds. The
Speaker 1: females were much smaller, but still taller and wider than
Speaker 1: any human. I backed out slowly, and I was able
Speaker 1: to drop over an adjacent ridge without being seen. And
Speaker 1: I ran most of the way back to my truck,
Speaker 1: and I drove straight to my grandfather's house. He told
Speaker 1: me that I had encountered the I can't pronounce the word.
Speaker 1: He says, here as sea sack. It's a s apostrophe s.
Speaker 1: I'm sorry, let me go back. It's se apostrophe s
Speaker 1: x ac, and then he writes, or sisquatch. And I
Speaker 1: was lucky not to have been seen. And he reminded
Speaker 1: me of the stories that had been passed from a
Speaker 1: generation to generation about the sisquatch, mostly during the spring
Speaker 1: bear dads and celebrating the coming of spring each year.
Speaker 1: Well My head was swimming with questions. Why were those
Speaker 1: two males fighting? Was it a challenge over breeding rights
Speaker 1: or an invader who ventured into another clan's territory? Was
Speaker 1: it over who got the choice of pieces of meat
Speaker 1: for the kill? Was this just a clan passing through
Speaker 1: or did they live there a year round? Do these
Speaker 1: large males kill each other often? Is it that they
Speaker 1: ether did and that's the reason we never find a
Speaker 1: skeleton or remains. I did not return to the woods
Speaker 1: last year, and I'm trying to get my nerve back
Speaker 1: to hunt this year. I've never hunted with a firearm,
Speaker 1: but if I finally get the courage up, I will
Speaker 1: be taking my Smith and Wesson five hundred with me.
Speaker 1: Oh what a this guy? This is like a story
Speaker 1: of all stories everybody, you know. We had one story
Speaker 1: where somebody was just they had a feeling of seeing
Speaker 1: a bigfoot, and then we go right to a story
Speaker 1: where a guy watches this whole clan kind of like
Speaker 1: a schoolyard fight, and these two big males beating a
Speaker 1: crap out of each other. You heard it all. There's
Speaker 1: nothing I can add to it. And he's got a
Speaker 1: thousand questions he's really inquisitive about this. I'm sure he
Speaker 1: wanted to ask his grandfather, grandfather all this stuff. But man,
Speaker 1: it's just a great story. And when I first read,
Speaker 1: when I first read the first sentence, when he said,
Speaker 1: greeting's my white brother. I got a comment from somebody
Speaker 1: maybe in the last two months, and uh, you know,
Speaker 1: I never know the race of the person who's commenting ever.
Speaker 1: I mean, there's no way to know even if there's
Speaker 1: a picture of a I don't know, maybe a person
Speaker 1: from India or a First Nation's person, or a black
Speaker 1: person or a white person. You know, they could put
Speaker 1: any kind of picture up there. But this person had
Speaker 1: had the image of a black person, so I'm assuming
Speaker 1: it was them. And they ask, why aren't there any
Speaker 1: black people into this bigfoot subject? And that's a good question.
Speaker 1: There are a few. I've actually I've actually met three
Speaker 1: or four people black folks who actually follow this topic.
Speaker 1: And I think, I think, so there are people who
Speaker 1: follow it, you just don't see them doing stuff on
Speaker 1: you like all the Bigfoot channels. Do you know anyway
Speaker 1: that's neither here nor there. It just made me think, Oh,
Speaker 1: I was so excited that I was getting an email
Speaker 1: from a from a black guy or black woman, and
Speaker 1: I was gonna be able to share it and tell
Speaker 1: this person, see, black people have experiences too. However, I'm
Speaker 1: just as excited that it was a First Nations guy
Speaker 1: from the Ute Nation. They are so in tune with nature.
Speaker 1: You read his the first part of the story where
Speaker 1: he takes great care to hunt in the ancient ways
Speaker 1: that his ancestors did, and I think that is so cool.
Speaker 1: You know, that makes hunting a lot harder. I mean,
Speaker 1: if you actually make your own weapons, you make your
Speaker 1: own clothes, you go to so much care with fasting
Speaker 1: and making sure you know, the predator smell gets off
Speaker 1: of you from eating meat. I never thought about that.
Speaker 1: Do we smell like meat eaters? And then it's just
Speaker 1: really impressive the way this any any He makes his
Speaker 1: own arrowheads out of what was the name of that
Speaker 1: of the stone they used, But it's that kind of
Speaker 1: stone you if you just crack it, it's like a
Speaker 1: razor blade that you know, a little piece of shell
Speaker 1: comes off and you could skin a mule deer out
Speaker 1: with a piece of it. I wish I could remember
Speaker 1: the name of it's in the story, but I'm not
Speaker 1: gonna look it up anyway. This wasn't from a black person.
Speaker 1: It was from a First Nation's brother, and I appreciated
Speaker 1: him sending it. It was a great story, one of
Speaker 1: the best stories I've read in a long time. Giant
Speaker 1: Bigfoot fight right in front of him. Unbelievable. Thanks for
Speaker 1: the story. Okay, that's three good stories. All three of
Speaker 1: them I thought were great. They kind of reached from
Speaker 1: one spectrum to the other aliens and Bigfoot, and then
Speaker 1: the fear of Bigfoot, and then an actual bigfoot encounter
Speaker 1: and a witness to a bigfoot fight. It was so cool.
Speaker 1: Thank you all for watching this video. I appreciate it.
Speaker 1: Jump over to the Steve Lilly channel. I'll put a
Speaker 1: link in the discretion if you haven't found the Steve
Speaker 1: Lily Stories. There a fictional set of stories that I've
Speaker 1: been writing for about three years. I think there's eighteen
Speaker 1: episodes up now, seventeen right now. There'll be eighteen tonight
Speaker 1: at six o'clock. But go check that out if you
Speaker 1: like cool, high impact, lots of action fiction. The Steve
Speaker 1: Lily Journals, or you can just search it the Steve
Speaker 1: Lily Journals that'll come up on YouTube, or on the
Speaker 1: podcast network. All right, I'm gonna quick running my mouth.
Speaker 1: Y'all have a good week. We'll see on the next one. Thanks.