Speaker 1: My grandfather was born in nineteen hundred. It was a
sad day in nineteen seventy five when the underlying issues
that had plagued him his entire life finally caught up
with him and he passed away. He was truly a
good man before he died. He told me a story
about when he and a friend of his were nine
years old, as little boys were inclined to do back then,
they had taken up a game of cowboys and Indians
out behind a field, armed with homemade sling shots that
were taking pot shots at just about anything that could
draw a bead on. There was a daisy. Pop, Now
it was a dead daisy. Oh look at that milkweed.
Bang splattered milk everywhere. They carried on in this fashion,
shooting and conquering everything in sight. They even took aim
at a rock and it just ricocheted, But they congratulated
of themselves on the fine effort. And then my grandfather
saw the bushy tail of a squirrel sticking out from
behind a tree, with eyes filled with the glint of
mischief only a nine year old can muster. He loaded
his trusty slingshot and pow, he nailed that pesky squirrel
right in the backside. But it wasn't a squirrel, roar
cried the squirrel with a deafening thunder as it stood
up to over eight feet tall and stepped from behind
the tree. What was worse is right next to the
giant two legged squirrel was an identical giant two legged
squirrel who looked just as angry. It's not a squirrel,
It's not a squirrel, stammered my grandfather's friend, as the
boy slowly began to back away, Run, screamed my grandfather,
and they both turned, grabbed hold of the wind and scattered.
My grandfather chose a route that took him straight to
an old rickety two seater outhouse that he knew was
on the property. He got inside and did his best
to both the door before the creatures caught up with
him and began to shake and rock the little building
with all their might. Inside, my grandfather held on to
the two holes as dirt and debris of the ages
rained down on his head. He could smell the pit
directly below him, but his fear of the two beings
trying to tear down his only shelter outweighed his disgust
He rattled and bounced around, losing and then regaining his grasp,
feeling like every joint in his body was being jarred loose,
until with an awful, moaning crack, the little house began
to split apart. The plank of wood with the two
holes gave way, first cracking and splitting before falling into
the pit below, taking my grandfather right with it to
eight feet into that hole, landing with a great kerkplop
into the muck below. Darkness surrounded him as he sat
quietly listening to the two bigfoot above. Suddenly he heard
a muffled call from somewhere in the woods, and then
there was silence. It felt like an eternity before he
began his long climb back to the world. He grabbed
at the roots and kicked his feet into the cold
earth to make footholes, until he was finally standing back
on the surface, surrounded by the splintered pile that was
once an old outhouse, and to his great relief, the
epe boys were gone. That was the day that my grandfather,
God rest his soul, learned a big lesson on respect
for others in the woods. I still have his smell.
He slink shi.
Speaker 2: Oh.
Speaker 1: I did pretty good. I got through that without but
it was coming up. I could feel it coming up,
and I just kept reading. I kept reading, and that
was such a good story, and I actually believe it.
I don't know why. There's just something about this story
that makes me believe it. Seventy five year old man
was telling his granddaughter of this story way before Bigfoot
was a big thing, and I think that's probably the
thing that makes me believe this story. But wasn't that great?
Could y'all love that story?
Speaker 2: Man?
Speaker 1: I did too, And thank you so much for sending this.
Speaker 2: I am forty two now I'm a disabled VET. The
area that I grew up in was a small town
called cap Housen in Washington State, just outside of Eatonville.
This area is heavily wooded and most of the industry
is logging. There's a lake that I live close to
called cap Housen Lake along an old railroad track them
we would go about a mile down the tracks and
the lake was on the left and there was a
mud flat on the right where nothing grew. My best
friend and myself decided we would go camping to go
fishing early in the morning and the mud flat is
where we set up our camp. I want you to
understand that I knew these woods and the wildlife as
I hunted and fished this area with my dad and
my uncles since I was about six. I also hunted
herbs and fruit with my mother when I was even younger.
We were not rich people, so this was used to
keep food on the table, so even at twelve, I
was a fair to great woodsman, as most kids were
that grew up in this town. Me and a friend
set up our tent and built a rock circle for
a fire and hung our cooler up in a tree.
We went fishing until it got dark and came back
to camp. We started a fire and cooked a few
of the fish we had caught. As it was early
spring mid April, just after my twelfth birthday, it got chilly,
so we went to bed shortly after dark. Some time later,
I woke up and had to get up and go pee.
I got out of the tent and went over to
a tree about twenty five feet from camp. As I
was finishing up, I noticed someone looking at me across
the mud flat about thirty feet away. It was light
enough for me to see fairly well as the moon
was up and the sky was clear, a rare thing
in that area. And what was watching me was a
female bigfoot. I know she saw me as she watched
me move and followed me with her head. She had
to be at least seven and a half foot tall.
I could tell she was not looking to cause problems.
She seemed to be interested in what I was or
who I was. I was scared out of my skin,
but my best friend was in the tent sound asleep,
and the tent was only about ten feet from her.
So I slowly went back to the tent and went
in to wake up my friend as quietly as I could.
I told him that bigfoot was outside, and he didn't
believe me until he stuck his head out and was
looking at her, and he froze. We put on our
clothes as fast as we could and ran down to
the tracks as fast as we could, leaving everything behind.
We got to my house around three am. It takes
about forty five minutes to walk there, and it was
a lot less than that to get home, and ended
up with my mom and dad away because we were
both in a panic and made a lot of noise
getting into the house. My Dad didn't believe me, but
my mom said that many of my uncles said there
were bigfoot out there, and she seemed to believe us.
The next morning, Mom went with us boys, and we
demanded that she bring a rifle just in case. We
went back to the campsite and got our gearing was around,
so we packed up fast, and then I brought Mom
over to where the female bigfoot was and we found
very clear tracks. I even tracked her a few feet
into the woods. She had taken our fish on a
liveline kept at the lake, and there were tracks there too.
This spooked my mom too, so we got out of there.
The rest of that year, I did not go into
that area on the lake to go fishing, and did
not go there actually for the next two years. This
got me to looking this stuff up, and I learned
how to make track casts, and I learned that the
area was well known for this happening often, and even
the natives talked about the big man that lived in
the forest. If you fast forward a couple of years
and going back to the lake, me and one of
my cousins decided to spend the weekend on the island
using a small canoe with fishing gear and a deer rifle.
So we made camp and we were catching fish like
crazy and made a fire and made up a few
of the fish and some beans. Before we went to bed.
We put our cooler in the canoe and tied it
off and pushed it out into the water to keep
the critters out of our food. We went to bed
and in the middle of the night we heard a
bunch of noise just outside of the tent and smelled
this horrid smell, and we stuck our heads out with
a thirty six leading the way. We didn't see anything,
but something had moved our canoe. We pushed it back
out into the water and went back to sleep. The
next morning, we went looking for tracks and didn't find much,
as it had rained hard just before daylight and the
underbrush was very thick. We decided to look further out
as there were better ground forty feet or so away
from the camp, and that's when we saw him. He
just stepped into the woods out of that clearing, so
we tracked him, Having both a high powered rifle and
my compound bow with us, we follow him to the
log bridge, just an old growth tree that fell over,
making a bridge to the mainland from the island, and
that's when we got the best view. He was on
a log just over midway past the middle heading to
the land. He jumped off and ran through the clear
cut area into the woods. My cousin just couldn't believe it,
and we watched him leave in a fast manner. We
had about fifty foot of clear area and we could
see him very well. My cousin demanded that we leave.
We were to spend the whole weekend there, and this
was Saturday morning, but we went ahead and left early.
We got home and told our parents. Mom knew I
wouldn't make this stuff up, so she called my uncle.
He was about as close to a mountain man as
you could get in modern times, and I got him
to help track this bigfoot. We were both on armed
and we tracked it from our camp across the island
to the clearcut and into the woods for about three miles.
My uncle figured that it was long gone and we
went home. After these sightings, I did not tell many people,
as my dad thought I was full of it and
I did not want to be ridiculed. My closest friends
have been told this story and of course my family.
I'm not a very good writer and English is not
my first language, but I hope you can fully understand
my email, and he signs off. A disabled US Army
ranger and Jungle Warfare specialist RLC two, I'm fifty eight
years old. I'm an Eagle Scout, a six year Army veteran,
and former park ranger of thirteen years. I've had what
I believe were several encounters with bigfoot. Some happened while
I was camping with the Boys Scouts. One of those
incidents I did not recognize as a sisquatch until last
week when I heard about a bigfoot making a tree
knock so loud it sounded like a shotgun. It brought
back along forgotten memory. The times I spent with my
former Boy Scout troop in central Florida are among the
fondest memories of my youth. Most everyone in the troop
had a nickname given by our peers. It was usually
the result of some humorous or embarrassing incident. When I
was fifteen, my nickname was sisquatch. I had gotten it
when camping in the mountains of Northeast Georgia. We were
chasing each.
Speaker 1: Other around, and I was appearing on a hillside one
moment and then reappearing elsewhere the next. They were getting
only fleeting views of me as I moved quickly and
quietly around them. After that, they called me Sisquatch. I
was always good at hiding, ambushing, and sneaking up on people,
and when I joined the Army, the wargames during training
were the same. Thirty years ago, my Scout troop went
to summer camp in Virginia in the Blue Ridge Mountains.
I came along as an adult leader. I'd gotten out
of the Army a few months before, so I was
in great shape. There are a lot of Si Squat
sightings in this part of the country, but I didn't
know it at the time, and there was no internet
to research sightings back then. Although this Scout camp was
in the mountains, most of the hiking trails went through
thick patches of bushes and rhododendrons that blocked the scenery.
I caught a flu bug on the way up to camp.
Although I thought I'd be okay on the trail, after
the first day, I got so slow and dizzy on
the trail that I had to return to base camp.
We were two miles up a rocky road, so after
working out our plans with the troop, I went back
down alone with my backpack. They must have had great
faith in my ability to make make it back. Once there,
I spent the day resting in a typical big eight
foot by eight foot green canvas tent. It was the
middle of the week, so with most of the scouts
out on the trail, most of the tents were vacant.
One boy, who was too young to handle the heavy backpacking,
had stayed behind to do other activities. His name was Bob.
I was so sick that I didn't see much of Bob,
even though he was only two tenths away from me.
He was the last tint on the road, tucked into
the corner by the edge of the woods. The bushes
started at his back door. That evening, after resting, I
was eating my freeze dried supper at a picnic table
outside my tent. My fever felt like it had broken,
and I felt nearly recovered. There was no moon that night.
It was pitch blackout. A nearby deer gave a loud,
huffing snort, and I jumped at the sound, but recognized
it immediately, I just laughed at myself and I went
back to eating. I was unaware of anything else that
had happened that night until many years later, when I
reconnected with Bob on Facebook. By now he was a
full grown man and had a family of his own.
He told me that night, while he was in his tent,
someone had been walking around outside in the nearby bushes.
He'd always thought it was me because of my reputation
for sneaking up on people to scare them, but I
assured him that I had been in my tent that night,
sound asleep. Bob eventually concluded that it was a bigfoot
he'd heard that night. The following night, I would have
my own encounter, but it has taken me nearly thirty
years to figure out what it was. The next morning,
I was feeling well enough to rejoin the troop on
the trail in the mountains. That night, the troop was
camping on a hilltop with an obstructed view of the ridgeline.
It was an open area by a power line easement,
with the electrical lines buzzing all night. I've since been
told that sisquatch is known to travel along power line easements,
but I was unaware of that. At the time. I
was pretty sure we were at the edge of the
Scout reservation property because I had seen a house earlier.
I set up my tent at the edge of the
power line field bordering the woods and settled in for
the night. Well around midnight, I woke to the sounds
of someone sneaking up to our campsite in the woods.
Years of scouting in my military experience had taught me
to tell the difference between four legged and two legged animals,
and this was definitely on two legs. It sounded and
behaved just like I would when I was sneaking up
on someone. I remembered the house I had seen earlier
and decided it must be a hillbilly wandering over to
check us out. I really wasn't concerned. He may have
been out night hunting and stumbled on our camp by mistake.
Maybe he was trying to bag a raccoon. Regardless, I
was impressed since he didn't seem to have a flashlight
and I had to answer nature's call, so I figured
i'd get out of the tent and I shined my
flashlight around. And then he'd realized his mistake and he'd
go away. It never occurred to me that it might
not be a man. I was watering a nearby tree
a few feet from my tent door when I heard
a loud crack and the guy began running away a
lot faster than I think I could have. The crack
was so loud that it sounded just like a shotgun.
It got my heart pounding, but the guy ran away
and it was over as soon as it started. Mainly,
I was impressed that the guy moved so quickly on
a moonless night without running into a tree. He must
have been familiar with the area, I thought, because I
knew if I'd tried that, I'd have knocked myself out
cold on the first tree that got in my way.
The next morning, I asked the others if they'd heard
the noises, but nobody had. It seemed odd, since I
was sure it was a shotgun that should have woken
up the whole camp. At that point, I still believed
it was a hillbilly, but still no one else heard
it nor seemed to believe me, and I dropped the
subject and I forgot about it. Nearly thirty years passed
before I heard the story from the guy who said
the Sasquatch made a tree knock that sounded like a
shotgun blast, and the memory came flooding back. Looking back,
I find it pretty amazing that my troop had two
bigfoot encounters in one trip and didn't recognize either one.
I know of no other bigfoot encounters at this scout camp,
and there have never been any reports of missing people
there that I know of. My guess is the local
Sasquatch are just curious about the scouts passing through the area,
playing their games and chasing each other around and doing
their usual goofy things. Probably makes for hours of entertainment
for the Sosquatch. Back when I was fourteen or fifteen
years old in the early seventies, we lived on State
Route fifty two in what is called the Gap of
the Ridge area in Macon County, Tennessee. Back then, I
spent every free moment I could in the woods, especially
in the summer when there was no school. It was
on one of those summer days that I had been
out hunting groundhogs and enjoying being in the woods more
than I was joining the actual hunting. It was getting dark,
so I decided to head for home. I walked to
an old logging road that wound around and up the
hill to the highway, and as I turned to start
up the hill, I heard something running from behind me
and to my left. I spun around to see what
was coming. It was dark, solid color, human like thing
ran from behind a wild rose bush and crossed an
open area in a stooped or crouched position. The creature,
I call it a creature because at the time I
had not heard of bigfoot, ran all the way across
the clearing, into the woods on the opposite side, and
down into a draw where I lost sight of it.
I could still hear it though, as it crashed through
the wood, snapping branches and breaking saplings. As it ran,
the hair stood up all over my body. As I
watched and listened to the destructive power of that thing,
I wasted no time getting up on the logging road
to the top of the hill. There, I turned back
one more time, fired my twenty two rifle into the
air before yelling and running for home. Two hundred yards away.
The next day, I went back to where I had
seen the creature. The wild rose bush where it had
emerged was six feet tall, stooped over like it was.
The creature was the same height, so I estimated it
to be seven and a half to eight feet all
standing up. That was the only time I've ever seen it,
but I've heard sounds at night that I am sure
came from that creature. A few years after my sighting,
I was walking in the same woods one night. All
around me were the normal sounds of crickets, chirping, frogs, croaking,
an occasional night bird, and suddenly I realized everything had
gone quiet. I stopped in my tracks and I listened
for a moment. I began to hear the crunching of
dried leaves. As it got louder and closer, I recognized
the distinct pattern of a bipedal footstep coming from the
hill above me. It kept walking, and I kept listening
until the sound got fainter and I eventually couldn't hear
it at all. Immediately the night woods returned, and I
decided it was time for me to go home. Years later,
in the nineteen nineties, I was visiting my mom and
dad one evening with my wife and kids. I smoked
at the time, so I stepped out on the back
porch to have a cigarette. As I stood there, I
heard a sound from across the haller that was like
some sort of language. It was almost like a samurai
warrior talking, with the grunts and growls thrown in to
break up the sentences. At the time, I had no
idea what I was hearing. Then one night a few
months later, I was listening to Art Bell's show on
the radio. He had a guest on who was talking
about recording bigfoot languages. When he played the recording, it
was the same thing I heard that night in my
mom and dad's backyard. Most recently, though I didn't see
or hear anything, I found evidence of them being in
the area I currently live, about twelve miles from where
I had my other experiences. I was walking on an
old logging road that serves as a driveway to my
neighbor's summerhouse when they're up from Florida, and while walking,
I observed a fifteen foot tall seedar tree that had
been twisted until it broke halfway up the trunk, with
the twisted part hanging down. I assume a bigfoot did
this to market its territory and to send a message
to me or another Bigfoot to tread lightly. I got
the message loud and clear. Well, those are my experiences.
Feel free to use my name and thank you