Speaker 1: Okay. Sometimes we get little short, one paragraph stories, and
I try to include all the stories I get in
this podcast. So this is really short, but it has
a lot of impact. Here's the story. I'm a hiker
and a birdwatcher, and I'm a friend to animals. In fact,
I usually like them more than people. I was hiking
once in Washington State, near Darrington when I stopped to
retime my boot drink some water. Off to my right,
I heard something stomping through the brush. I turned to
look at it, and I saw plainly that it was
a bigfoot. It was unmistakable, over seven feet tall, with
light brown, shaggy hair, and it smelled like a wet dog.
I didn't know what else to do but put my
hand up and wave at it, and to my surprise,
it waved right back and then just kept on going
where it had to be. I didn't feel scared for
a second. It was a brief encounter, but it was
a friendly one. The writer titles this story the P. D. Booger.
This is a true story that took place in a
remote area of south central North Carolina along the Great
Pade River Valley country. My father lived in a little
house along one of the few lonely backroads that went
into this rural section of our county. Although I didn't
live with him, I spent a lot of time with
him when he didn't have to work. I lived in town,
fifteen miles away to the south with my grandparents at
the time. I was a young boy around the age
of twelve when I first started visiting with Dad. In
the country. Between Dad's house in about three or four others.
Clustered around him were an expanse of four forest hills, creeks,
and valleys that ran along with the river. It's a
beautiful area with its thickly covered rolling hills with plenty
of wildlife. I made friends with two other boys about
my age, and the three of us became inseparable. They
were brothers, one named Steve and the other was Heath.
Although they fought like cats and dogs with each other,
they were always good friends to me. Now bear in
mind that this was around nineteen eighty and in those
days we didn't even have cell phones and even video
games at home. Arcades had just started showing up, and
the nearest one was miles away. So we did what
young country boys do. We kept ourselves entertained by chomping
the hills and the forests. We did a lot of
fishing in the creeks and ponds. We'd catch a lot
of crappie and bass and take them home for Dad
to cook up for a big fish fry. Tree stands
and forts back in the woods, we'd camp out too.
We never lacked for something to do, and now, as
a much older man, I treasure those memories. To the
northwest of Dad's house, the woods were thicker and took
on an almost spooky feel at times. The area was
known to have been the home of the Creek Indians
many years ago, and there were the remnants of some
of their burial mounds and settlements said to be scattered
along the river valley. There was one patch of woods
that we never camped in, and an elderly older man
always warned us to be careful if we ventured in there.
He claimed that the woods were haunted and that folks
had been seeing a wild man over the years in there.
He called it the pd Booger. To us boys, that
was like an imitation. Because we were always looking for
something to do and weren't afraid of much. We had
walked in trails and deer paths before in the area
and heard some strange sounds like hoots and grunts and
what they now call tree knocks, but we never really
thought much of it. And then one evening, my friend
from school rode with me and we stayed the night.
We decided to walk up a path that we had
never been before. A mile in we began to have
a feeling that we were being watched. You always got
that feeling up there. We rounded a bend in the
path and caught sight of something big running upright down
the hill ahead of us. We took off running as
fast as possible, and we could hear this thing running
down the hill in our direction. We made it back
to within sight of the road and we stopped to listen.
This thing also stopped, and we could hear it running away.
We told Steve and Heath about it, and the next
day me and my friend had to return home, but
Steve went up to the area to check it out.
He found a series of footprints in an exposed clay
patch that he later showed me. A few weeks later,
my dad took Steve and myself fishing at that spot
not too far away, but closer to the river. Dad
told us not to venture too far from the boat
landing where he had parked the truck. Steve knew of
a specific spot up along the creek that he was
told was good to fish, so we walked about an
eighth of a mile up a footpath. We came up
on the spot and noticed a foul smell in the air.
Steve noticed footprints similar to what we had seen days earlier,
only these were eighteen inches long and had three toes
on each foot. It looked like whatever left the Prince
came down the hill and went into the water, and
then climbed back out and walked north along the same
path that we were on. I went down to the
creek's edge to get a closer look, and I fell in.
Steve said, dang boy, your daddy's going to be mad
at you. After he got through laughing, he grabbed a
stick and he helped me pull myself up the bank.
The clay was like walking on butter, and you could
barely stand up on it. I brushed myself off, and
I talked Steve into following those tracks to see if
we could find it. So off we headed north along
the creek, Wherever the creature stepped in the clay, it
left a distinct track, and there were limbs and brush
pulled back well above our heads, which indicated to us
that this thing was greater than six feet tall. We
walked another four hundred yards until Steve stopped and said, listen,
do you hear anything? I said no, He said, that's
my point. It's dead quiet. It's kind of eerie. The
four sounds around us all went silent. As we stood there,
we began to hear heavy breathing and crunch sounds of
leaves that foul odor was back. Also, something let out
a growl that rattled our bones. That it was so close,
we did what anyone would do. We ran like hell.
Steve was so scared that he dropped his new tackle
box with a fifty dollars worth of tackle in it.
He was scared to stop, and we just left it.
By the time we made it back to the road,
it was almost dark and we heard Dad calling our
names from the other side of the bridge. He was
upset and worried, but he was relieved to see us.
After a good lecture from Dad, we told him what
had happened. He didn't believe us we could tell that,
but he asked Steve where his tackle box was. Steve
told him that it was back up the trail. Dad,
not really being scared of much and believing that there
was a rational explanation for all of this, grabbed his
flashlight from the glovebox and said, well, come, come on,
let's go get it. Dad had given Steve some of
the tackle and knew that Steve's folks would be upset
if he lost it, so after a little bit of
convincing us to go with him, we reluctantly followed Dad
back up the trail. As we approached the fishing spot,
we showed Dad the footprints. He agreed that they were odd,
but that didn't amuse him, so we pushed on once again.
The forest sounds ceased, and I could tell that Dad
was getting an uneasy feeling. Then we all smelled that odor.
We soon came upon the tackle box and hitting the ground,
it had popped open, spilling much of the contents. Steve
and I squatted down to pick up the stuff and
put it back in the box while Dad held the
flashlight on it. Then again, a low growl came from
the trees off to our right, it was real close
this time. For the first time in my life, I
saw fear in my dad's He said, hurry up, boys,
grab what you can and let's get out of here.
So we scrambled to get all the lures and lead
sinkers and corks and hooks, etc. Along with the leaves
and dirt Scooped up as much as possible, and threw
it in the box and grabbed it and walked very
fast away. Dad told us not to run, because he
couldn't keep up with us if we did, and he
didn't want that thing to give chase, so he walked
behind us, keeping ourn eye out for the creature. By
the time we reached the truck, we heard the creature
screaming at us from the other side of the creek. Well,
my father's almost eighty now, and he told me that
he went back there without us one day many years
ago and had his own experience with this same creature.
Although he didn't see it, it watched him from the
hill above and tossed rocks into the water near him. Now,
a grown man in my fifties, I went back there
myself one night, and I parked the car and I
sat out on the boat ramp and I just listened.
I was the only one out there that cool fall night.
I thought I heard a faint howl way up in
the creek, so I got up, found a large stick,
and started hitting the side of a fence post. It
wasn't long before I got three distinct knocks from reply
way off in the distance. Sat there for another hour
and I heard nothing. And in the following years I've
heard tales from hunters and fishermen talking about hearing this
creature and its lonely cry in the night. One fellow
that I heard even said he saw it on the
river bank a few miles away while he drifted on
the water at night fishing. Stephen Heath moved on. I
don't know where they are today. Dad's old home places gone.
It burned down years ago after he moved back into town.
Just a patch of holly bushes where the old house
used to sit. Or Do I miss those days? We
heard and saw a lot of strange things in those hills.
And I could go on and on about my experiences.
If you ever find yourself along the back roads of
pe d River Hill country, along about dark, keeping eye
out for deer and bobcats and turkey and other wild animals,
and who knows, you might just catch sight of the
PD booger. I've been hunting on my own since I
was twelve years old. Today I'm forty three, and after
years of working as a large animal vettec there are
mornings when I feel like a hard and abused ninety
year old. For the last five years, I've hunted the
same spot on our land in Breckinridge, Texas. It's a
good place to escape the world and work. Their two
main trails, and at their intersection stands a large oak tree,
and that's where I I've had game that I passed
on stand within feet of me and never know I
was there, And boy was that fun watching a young
doe and her fawn jumping and spinning like a bucking
bull on the frosty ground. Or the ridiculously fat squirrel
who came by and got within inches and stared at
me for several minutes before barking once and waddling off.
I like to get to my spot well before legal light.
My walk to the tree is only about three hundred yards,
but it takes me quite a while to get there
because I go slow because I don't want to make
any noise and spook any game that might be bedded
down close by. Now, this first story happened not long
after I got to my spot, climbed into the tree,
and I settled in. I took off my night vision
goggles and I hung them from a branch. Dawn was
still an hour and a half off, so I laid
back and I got comfortable. The insects and the night
birds weren't all that chatty yet. I stayed still and
I listened to the quiet, and then came a tapping sound.
Something was hitting the rough bark of an oak tree
close by. I moved my eyes left and right, keeping
my head still. I didn't see anything, so I let
it go. Then it happened again, this time on another tree,
and still it was too close. I was getting ready
to grab my nods to see what the hell was
causing that damn tapping sound. When I saw it. It
landed on a broken branch, perfectly silhouetted against the starry sky.
It was a small owl, about eight inches tall. I
nearly laughed out loud. He had been going on from
spot to spot trying to get a look at me.
He was only four feet away. He was bobbing his
head up and down. I knew owls made little to
no noise when they flew, but this little guy was
flying and landing around within fi of me for twenty minutes.
It was too cool. A few weeks later, I was
enjoying a beautiful afternoon sitting in a tree. There was
little wind, and there was lots of sun, and the
temperature was in the forties. Out of the corner of
my eye caught movement. It was coming toward me from
the east. I turned my head slowly and looked at
what I thought was the biggest coyote I'd ever seen
in my life. Sweet buttery, Jesus, I realized that is
not a coyote. It was twenty five yards away when
it froze and sniffed the air, and it turned away
northward at a trot, all the while looking for whatever
spook did. It was a wolf. Now that's a big deal,
because wolves have been extinct in Texas for fifty years.
I'm sure what I saw that day was a Mexican
red wolf, a fairly contented species, with some scientists arguing
it's a separate species entirely goes on to say thanks
for your channel, please keep up your off topic rants
and bad pronunciation. We're Southern rednecks and we said the
way we want to say it. You damn right about
that if most people won't that We're not scared to
mispronounce a word. So I'm not unique among people in
my area. But this is a cool story, and it
sounds like a story that I read a couple of
years ago about a guy who and this could be
the same story, and that maybe maybe I didn't file
it right, but any at any rate, it was still
worth reading again because I do a lot of reading
on coyotes. For some reason, I'm fascinated with that animal.
And I'm not going to bore you with all the
things that I've learned about coyotes, but I have read
us by some really reputable biologists that the coyotes are
breeding with you know, kydies will breed with domestic dogs.
And I can't remember exactly how the article went, but
you know, the red wolf was prominent even where I live,
all the way south in Louisiana and Texas and South Alabama,
South Mississippi and even northern Florida, and I think on
down the Peninsula of Florida, and it's pretty much considered
extinct now, but there's a gene somewhere in the coyote
line that keeps coming back. It seems like that was
the gist of the article. If anybody knows anything about that,
make a comment about it. But they're saying that the
red wolf could come back in a different form, and
wouldn't that be cool? But I do not doubt for
a minute this man saw a red wolf in Texas.
And when I read that article, it made me think
of the story. That's how I know. I read it
a couple of years ago on this channel. Anyway, I'm
just running off the somebody commented on my last video.
I think he was from He's either from the UK
or Australia because he called me Mike. But he's like, dude,
quit running your mouth between stories. Just get to the story.
And I tend to agree with that. I don't like
to watch videos where people just blaber blaber blabber yack
yack yack, But sometimes something just hits me and I
just ramble on about it. So if you'll excuse that
every once in a while and just give me some
grace on that because sometimes these stories make me remember
things and I just kind of, I don't know, I
feel like telling you about it. So there's that. I
appreciate you listening to the story, and thank you to
the writer for sending it to me. It was really good.
I love the story. Appreciate it. I had an encounter
with La Rona when I was eight. It was just
after my mother passed away. My cousins and I were
playing behind my uncle's home, where a creek ran through
the village. The creek was surrounded by willowy trees, though
they were all dead despite the water. We were jumping
around the creek and playing tag when a far away,
ghoulish wailing cry carried down the water. Up until then
we could hear all the fauna in the forest, But
when the howl rose in pitch, not another sound could
be heard. The atmosphere went dead, silent, and a chill
crept into the warmth of the day, and we were frozen.
My cousin's head slowly looked down the creek. Whatever it
was they had seen it before. I felt my skin
go cold, and I followed their gaze. Sweeping slowly toward us.
Over the water was a black cowl covered figure, growing
in size as it approached. My cousins started shouting run
before she gave but you run, They pleaded, but I
didn't move. I thought they were tricking me until it
got closer. It was floating above the water, a skeleton
covered in a wraith like black cowl, whipping in the breeze.
It had moved seventy five yards toward us in mere seconds.
I didn't know a lot, but I knew enough that
no human could travel that distance that fast. And then
it got closer. I wanted to run, but I couldn't.
It was like I'd been placed in ice. My body
was frozen still, except for the eyes fixed on this
horrible creature inching closer. It was a skeleton of a woman,
her bony hand raised toward me, and then her crying intensified.
She was screeching and wailing. The unearthly sound of it
pierced my skull. I could hear my cousins. They were
shrieking just before the woman touched me. My cousin's cries
for help broke me out of the hypnotic state, and
then I could move, and we ran for our lives,
away from the creek toward the hut, screaming and crying
and asking anyone for help. The adults demanded to know
what we were running from. Creek wasn't that far from
the house, but they hadn't heard a thing. My cousins
did all the talking because I couldn't sleep. As soon
as they spat out the words La Lorona, the adults
understood what had happened. We weren't allowed to go to
the water after that. That was the first time and
the last time I saw that unholy demon, and I
have never forgotten it. My cousins later explained to me
all the other creatures their parents had warned them against.
Some of the stories made my skin crawl. What stayed
with me was the idea of all the unknown entities
roaming the earth. I never lie or downplace stories of
ghosts or creatures that go bump in the night. I
studied the Bible for explanations, those that no man can give. Okay,
here's a story from this is kind of funny because Rebecca,
she gives me notes at the beginning of these emails,
because she's read them, and she's organized them and got
them ready for me to read. And she says that
this man actually asks if I would please mention his name.
So this is an email from John in Pittsburgh. Anyway,
onto the story. I was working as a security guard
at a small children's hospital here in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, back
in twenty twelve. I hadn't had any family for some time,
so whenever a holiday came around, I volunteered to work
so others could spend time with their loved ones. That's
why I ended up doing a double shift from three
in the afternoon to seven am the next morning. That
was from Christmas Eve to Christmas Day. The hospital was
only three stories high. On the first floor were a
special needs daycare center, the security desk where all visitors
had to sign in, and the elevator to the upper floors.
The second floor had eight bedrooms, a communal kitchen and
a living room for the parents of the six children
to live in while their kids were being treated, and
a small room halfway down the hallway between the elevator
and the bedrooms called the boutique. This room contained all
sorts of donated personal items for families and other children
of the patients. On the third floor were the actual
hospital facilities, mostly for premature infants and small children, and
when I started my shift, I went around and I
checked the whole building, from the attic where the heating
unit was, to the basement where the plumbing and other
machinery were. After doing this, I would take up a
station by the second floor elevator. Another guard was stationed
at the security desk in the lobby, and once an
hour I would get up and do a walk through
of the three floors so I had a good sense
of who was in the building and where they were.
This was a very busy day with families coming in
and out to visit the children. Whenever visitors arrived, the
other guard would radio me to escort them to where
they wanted to go. After more than seven hours, most
of the visitors had left the building and most of
the families who lived there had returned. I had escorted
them to the living area and bedrooms and as I
had to unlock the doors for them. At eleven PM,
a different guard, Dorothy, started working, and she preferred sitting
in the lobby overdoing rounds, and I went back to
the second floor hallway. At around ten minutes before midnight,
Dorothy radioed me that the last couple staying in the
hospital had returned and needed me to escort them to
their room and unlock the door. Well. I greeted them
at the second floor elevator and we started walking down
the hallway it was maybe sixty feet long, and passed
the boutique to their room. As we passed the boutique,
I could see through the narrow window that someone was inside.
I hurried down the hallway and quickly unlocked the door
for the couple, and then turned and headed up the
hall to see who was in there. I was mad
as hell. It was Christmas Eve and here were people
stealing from a charity, or at least that's what I thought. Now.
I'm a big goon of a guy. I'm over six
feet tall, and I have plenty of muscle, and I
have quite a temper too. The only thing I could
think of was that when I was off doing rounds,
some people must have sneaked down the backstairs and we're
now helping them to the room full of toys. I
clearly saw a little girl, maybe five years old, and
she was kneeling down behind the window, and there had
to be other people with her, I thought. I reached
out and grabbed the door handle, expecting it to fly
open so I could catch the low life thieves in
the act, and I damn near broke my wrist. The
door was locked. That it's no problem. I used key
and I went in. But there was nothing to see.
There was no one to catch. This was a small room,
maybe twelve by twenty, with only one entrance and a
few racks and shelves for clothes and toys. This couldn't
be possible. I was puzzled. Saw a radio down to Dorothy,
and I asked her if anyone had just come past her.
She said no, no one had come through. I knew
I had just seen a little white girl, maybe five
years old. She was wearing a red and white checkered
cap with ear flaps tied down with the bow, and
a matching jacket. She was kneeling, but I could see
that she was wearing a red skirt with white leggings
and black leather Mary Janees. I was less than two
feet away from her when I passed the window, and
I know what I saw, So back inside I went.
There was no one inside at all. I looked into
the hall to see if somehow a reflection from the
windows there could have played a trick on me. That
wasn't the case. There had to be an explanation, So
I went back in and stood in the exact spot
where the little girl was. Well, that's when things got
really weird. As I stood there, a feeling of absolute
sadness and despair came over me. But it wasn't my
emotions I was experiencing. It was as if I were
feeling the little girl's emotions. Tears began running down my
face uncontrollably, and then when I stepped back from where
she was kneel, feeling the emotions vanished. I was feeling
completely wrecked by now, mentally and physically, drained of all energy.
And then it hit me. I looked at my watch
and I saw that it was after midnight on Christmas Day,
and right where the little girl was kneeling, hanging up
on the wall where some beautiful, smiling Barbie dolls, the
kind that any little girl would love in treasure, and
the little girl saw I was looking at them. Back
down came the tears. This time the emotions were all mine.
All I could think of was how sad it was
that this child wanted to hold and play with those dolls.
But goodn't here. She is all alone on Christmas, and
like any other little girl, she just wanted a doll
to love on. I never believed in ghosts or supernatural entities,
but right then everything I believed had gone out the window.
This hit me hard, kind of like the Twilight Zone
meet Santa Claus. I left the room and went down
to the first floor, and fortunately nobody was around except Dorothy.
I guess she could see that something was wrong with me,
and since I liked her a lot, I told her
what happened. Also told her that there was no way
I was going back up there until after dawn. I
took a few days off after that, and when I
returned to work, I spoke to another guard about what
I had experienced. His name was Wilburn. He was in
his eighties, and he was a mean and miserable old
man that no other guards wanted to work with. But
Hen and I got along just fine. Wilbur liked to
do what I had been doing for Christmas evenight, sat
by the second floor elevator and guard the hallway. I
approached him hesitantly and I told him my story. I
didn't want him to think that I was a nut.
I asked him if he had ever seen anything unusual
on the second floor, and his answer floored me. He said, well,
nothing except those two little dead girls that hang around
by the boutique. I could barely catch my breath. I
told him I'd only seen one of them, and he
told me that I should have looked around inside some more,
because they're always together. He said this like he was
telling me about what he had for lunch, not discussing
dead the spirits of children. When my story got around
the hospital, different nurses and staff came up to me
when no one else wanted to and told me stories
of things that had happened to them too. And let
me tell you that place is one big haunted house.
And then he signs off yours truly, John from Pittsburgh. John,
thank you for that story. It was great. These stories
from people who have worked in these institutions, hospitals of
elderly retirement homes, or people who tell stories from those
places always have strange, unusual, interesting stories, so I really
appreciated this. Okay, here's a Bigfoot story. I got my
first jeep in twenty sixteen, and I slowly learned the
ropes of camping and overlanding. I joined a few off
road clubs and started planning regular camping trips with my
girlfriend at the time. I quickly went from camping in
a sleeping bag on the ground to an expert level
setup that made camping in the woods feel like a
home away from home. In twenty and sixteen, my girlfriend
and I took a trip from Los Angeles to Portland, Oregon,
to visit some of her friends and get some time outdoors.
Along the way, we detoured now and then to go
off roading. On one of these excursions, we spent the
better part of two hours taking my new jeep up
mining and logging roads to some ideal mountain and valley
views with to no one else in sight. At one point,
we stopped to take in the view when we heard
a blood curdling scream off in the distance. It sounded
like a woman being murdered. Screaming repeated a few times,
and I remember asking my girlfriend who the hell would
be out here screaming like that. She shrugged and said,
I don't know. That was the end of that. Later,
at a nearby tourist attraction, we found a big book
where locals wrote about their Bigfoot experiences. That's the first
time the idea of Bigfoot was planted in my head.
Four years later and I had a brand new jeep,
Wrangler Rubicon, a giant but sweet mastive, and a new girlfriend.
My love of the outdoors was still going strong, and
at every opportunity I was heading into the wild. By
this time, I was a full blown believer in Bigfoot
and an avid listener of the Dixie Cryptied podcast. One day,
I packed up my jeep, called my Faithful Dog, and
picked up my girlfriend. We arrived at the trailhead close
to ten am and hopped out for what we believed
would be an extraordinary four to five hour hike into
the mountains near central La County. A little way into
our hike, we reached the top of the winding path
that would take us into the bowl shaped valley where
the trail ended. The soft dirt was still slightly wet
from rain and had fallen earlier that day, and the
air was fresh and clean, giving us a good view
for miles around. We continued down the trail and came
to a bush blocking the narrow path. When we got
to it, I saw it had been pulled out of
the ground and intentionally placed there. It was an odd
place for someone to put it, but we navigated around
it and continued on. Well. One hundred yards later we
encountered another shrub on the trail. It was big, green
and ripped out of the ground and placed in our way. Again,
that was pretty odd, but we walked around it and
continued on. One hundred yards later sat a larger pile
of healthy shrubs, all of them uprooted and set on
the trail, and then another. One hundred yards later, we
walked to another pile bigger than the last, and then another,
and then another. We were seeing a clear pattern here,
and it didn't sit right with me. Anyone who knows
anything about shrubs growing in southern California mountains knows just
how tough it is to remove those. There isn't a
human alive who could pull these plants out of the
ground with their bare hands. They'd have a hell of
a time using a shovel. And there were no signs
of any people at all. As far as we could tell,
we were the only ones on the trail. Over the
next mile we encountered at least four more piles of
bushes blocking the trail, and with each growing pile, our
suspicion grew. The dirt covering the bush's roots was slightly damp,
indicating they had just been uprooted. We started to suspect
something was out there trying to prevent us from going
any further, but we pressed on. We got to a
little stream surrounded by small trees and stopped to let
my dog drink from the fresh water. I was looking around,
taking the area in when I noticed the branches above
our heads were twisted, not just one or two, but
all of them. Everywhere I looked, hiw off the ground,
branches twisted and braided together, some of them snapped cleanly off,
resting at peculiar angles. I'd never seen anything like this.
There's a bigfoot down here, I said. My girlfriend wasn't
so quick to agree, but when I pointed to the
strange twists in the branches, she began to get the picture.
And we moved on to our final destination, and my
head was on a swivel, looking for anything that seemed
out of place, any sign of bigfoot. A few minutes later,
we ran into a literal wall of evidence blocking the trail.
Ahead was a massive wall of freshly pulled up trees, bushes,
and dead wood. It was no less than nine feet
wide and six feet tall, and there was no way
around it. We were not alone down there, and something
didn't want us going any further. I was beaming excited
by what I was seeing, but my girlfriend wasn't. She
suggested it might be time that we turned around, but
the explorer in me boldly proclaimed that we would be
continuing onward. My girlfriend didn't like that, but she relented
and we maneuvered our way through the wall of shrub.
The end of the trail was in a bowl shaped
valley covered in smooth river rocks. We made our way
to appear Hidden Creek and we started taking photos when
my girlfriend said that she could feel someone watching us.
It was a hiking trail, after all, so I shrugged
it off. A few minutes later she said it again,
someone's watching us. Someone is here with us. Right then
we heard footsteps approaching. At first, we thought it was
another pair of hikers and that we'd run into them
when we got back to the trail, but when we
left the Hidden Creek and walked back into the valley,
there was no one. We decided it was time to go.
We were on the trail again, heading toward a wall
of bushes, when behind us we heard a loud, sprinting
footfall through the valley, as if something were trying to
get out of sight before we saw it. We turned
to each other, eyes wide, mouths of gaping, and we
ran as fast as we could to see it before
it ran off. We made it to the edge of
the valley again in time to see something climb halfway
up the steep cliff face and hide behind some small bushes.
We could see the rocks falling down the path where
it had gone up. By then I had seen enough
evidence to satisfy my appetite for adventure. My girlfriend was
growing uneasy, and instead of waiting to see if this
thing would climb the rest of the cliff, we left,
making our way out as calmly and quickly as we could.
Two years later, my jeep and I went to Yosemite
to hike and go off roading. A friend of mine
tagged along in his own jeep, and we camped in
our cars and a sequoia tree grove in the Sierra
National Forest. While we were walking around the beautiful forest,
I told my friend it would be a great place
for a bigfoot to live. As luck would have it,
one morning, while we were walking around exploring, we kept
hearing a repetitive knocking sound. It wasn't rapid like a woodpecker,
but it was slow and measured, like rock being hit
against a tree. Well, listen to it for ten minutes.
I had isolated the sound to the tree line on
the far side of the small clearing next to our
park vehicles. My friend walked toward it, and as soon
as he got within twenty five feet of the tree,
the knocking stopped. As soon as he walked away, it
started again. So we experimented with this for ten minutes.
Each time one of us got closer to the sound,
it would stop, and when we walked away it started
up again. We never felt threatened or afraid. It was
more like something was out there playing a game with us.
My life has changed significantly since those days. My loyal
heaven sent big dog died in twenty twenty, and I
moved away from southern California and I sold my jeep,
something I never thought I would do. I don't height
nearly as much, but Lord knows, I'll find my way
back to the great outdoors soon. I've been listening to
your channel for years. Thank you for creating this modern
community for modern day believers.