Speaker 1: This is a story about a bigfoot in England. How
many stories have you heard about bigfoot in England. Some
people would say, well, they don't have enough forested land,
or they don't have enough wilderness to host a bigfoot
or a family of bigfoots, or a whole population of bigfoots.
But if they're here, they might be there, so let's
listen to this story. My encounter had a massive impact
on how I view the world and it's wonder In
the early fall of twenty and thirteen, I was out
on my property with my little jack Russell named Scoot.
I live on thirteen acres of pines, of cedars and
locust trees. It was around seven am, and I noticed
that it was quiet, oddly quiet. Normally, Scoot acted like
a Doberman in a small dog's body, wasn't afraid of anything.
But as we were walking, he stopped dead in front
of me. His ears were back and his tail was tucked,
and he began to shake violently. He had heard what
I heard. It was a long, deep, menacing growl. Just
off the trail to our right, I saw a large
figure standing behind a tree. Now I began to feel
sweat gathered down my back and Scoot started quietly backing
up to my boots. It was not a large man,
but I could tell he wasn't human, so my eyes
focused more and I knew instantly what I was looking at.
I couldn't tell if it was facing me or not
at first, but I decided to act as though I
hadn't seen him, in the hopes of it moving on.
I've been down slowly to Scoot, and I held him
on his sides to comfort him. He was shaking so
bad it felt like holding onto a washing machine. His
eyes were down for all of five seconds. I could
hear a slight leaf rustle, and I looked up quickly again.
This creature had moved halfway between me and the tree
that stood behind. He was slightly bent over and rocking
side to side. He was so close I could hear
his deep, heavy breaths, almost like snoring. He had a huge, penetrating,
dark brown eyes that were moving up and down from
me to Scoot, who was shaking even worse than before.
He had enormous arms and dinner plate hands, and his
fingers were kind of wiggling. His thighs were as white
as my waist. He had black hair all over apart
from some places on his face and his mouth, which
was tightly shut as though he was upset. He had
scars on his face and lines all over his chest, arms,
and shoulders which were like basketballs. Though his hair looked
matted and filthy. The smell wasn't what I heard. It
was bad, like righting, but not overpowering. He raised his
enormous right arm and grunted and motioned with his hand
as if to say go not of nowhere. From the
left came a gunshot that scared the hell out of
me in Scoot. It didn't seem to be in our direction,
but it was close. The big guy looked in that
direction with massive, bared yellow teeth and clenched hands like boulders.
He motioned again, telling us to leave. I slowly picked
up Scoot under my arms, and I stood up, and
I turned around and gently walked away. I didn't look back,
but I knew he was getting out of there too.
He sounded like a tank crashing through the woods. Moments later,
there was six or seven more shots, but I knew
that this creature was gone, which was a massive relief.
I don't remember getting back to my truck, nor the
feeling of being peed on by Scoot. I was sitting
in my seat, staring out of the window, thinking about
what just happened, and this was not real. It couldn't
have been. It had to be a hoax. It had
to be a big lie, a trick someone was playing
on me. It was a weirdly confusing emotional experience. I
drove back to my home without any thoughts of anything.
The next morning, there were reports of poachers in the area.
They had been shooting at people, and one person had
been shot in the leg by these poachers. A sudden
wave of shock and realization came over me. The Big
Guy was protecting me and my dog. I couldn't hold
back my silent tears, and I lost the ability to speak.
I had never felt so much emotion in my life.
These poachers were eventually caught. It seemed my acres hadn't
been walked by anyone in years, so maybe they thought
it was safe. Now I know differently. Since the day
I met the Big Guy, I have left pink Lady apples,
an interesting shaped rock, and I place two sticks on
a cross in the place that we met. I know
he appreciates the gifts because I have been gifted in
returned with dead birds, squirrels and other interesting rocks and
more sticks in different patterns. This encounter, which I cannot
completely wrap my head around, has changed me. Now I
question everything, I recycle everything I can. If I'm out
in the wooded areas, I take a bag and I
pick up any garbage. I become more rational and I
try to do my best for conservation. I encourage anyone
to go out and enjoy the outdoors, and I have
a whole new respect for the gift of life. Honestly,
I thank God or evolution for putting me in scar,
a fitting name for my woodland friend on this planet.
But I do hope they are never scientifically discovered, because
they will be put through hell in the name of research.
He and the rest of his kind need to be
left at peace to enjoy what's left of this crumbling world.
He does not need humans taking over his way of
life and destroying his species. Amazing, incredible, and devastatingly beautiful.
That's the only way I can describe him. Let's keep
him mysterious and leave him alone to be who he
is now. I've never told this to anyone and I
do not intend to after this. This was my en counter,
and it was mine alone. He came to me, and
I to him, and it is for us to remember
and treasure. Keep up with the good stories. Friend. And
he signs off, and he wants to be anonymous, and
I could almost hear him telling it in his British accent.
This guy really made a pack with Bigfoot, a bigfoot
in the UK, and apparently he owns some lie. I've
never heard a poacher shooting at people, but I guess
you know, sometimes the things you read about in fiction
are something someone's done. Not saying this is fiction, I'm
just saying some of the weird things that you read
about in fictional novels and short stories are things that
the writers have heard people do. And so this kind
of gave me an idea for a Steve Lily story.
Poacher shooting at people. I don't know how could I
twist that into a really good Steve Lily story. Anyway,
I'm just rambling. Thank you for the story, sir, I
certainly do appreciate it. I can tell you it's a man.
It's not a woman. It's a man. All right, Let's
go to another story. Thank you sir for the story.
Hey y'all, thanks for clicking on the video. I appreciate it.
Happy Fourth of July. I hope you're having a good day,
eating some good food, some good ribs, hamburgers, barbecue, whatever
y'all like to eat on the fourth. I hope you
get plenty of liquids, beer, water. Beer doesn't hydrate you,
but water does. Gatorade kind of does. Those are my
health tips for the day. You're welcome, But I hope
you're getting plenty of liquids because it is kind of hot.
But we've got beautiful weather, looks like across the whole country.
I just hope you guys are having a great day.
Here is a podcast for the fourth of July. Nothing
in it relates to the fourth of July. Just happens
to be when I'm posting this video. All right, here
we go. This is a story of a woman's granddad.
It's titled The Ghost of Granddad, and I'm reading it cold.
Let's see what goes on with the ghost of Grandad.
It looks good. Our granddad died the day the Space
Shuttle Challenger blew up January twenty eighth, nineteen eighty six.
I remember, I remember that day. He died at home
on his way out to feed his hogs, just a
few minutes after the spaceship exploded, and I've always thought
of him leading the astronauts home. Over one hundred people
showed up to my grandma's house the evening of the viewing,
which was held in town, and over three hundred showed
up to his funeral two hours before the funeral home
closed for the evening. Our parents left to stand in
the family line and listen to stories from people who
had known Granddad for years. Before they left, they asked
my brother and me to stay at Grandma's to answer
the phone and give directions if anyone needed them. Grandma
had a gunshot house. We call him shotgun houses. A
gunshot house, I know exactly what she's talking about, meaning
you could stand at the back door and she'd a
gone down the hall and the lead would pass through
the front door. The bedrooms are on the side in
the bathroom, which was only added in nineteen sixty three,
was added onto what was the laundry room at the
back of the house. Well, my brother and I had
never stayed in that house by ourselves. It had dark walls,
and a dark ceiling and a dark floor. Even the
kitchen was dark. The ceiling lights were dim too. We
started wandering from room to room and talking about Granddad
and Grandma, and then we settled into the living room
and we turned on the TV with the volume on
low because the house was so dark. We had every
light on inside from the back porch all the way
up to the front porch. And as we were sitting there,
a light flickered and went out. Well, I got up
and replaced it, and when another light flickered and went out,
I replaced it too. A strong breeze swept through the
house all the way from the back to the front,
and then one after the other, every light started to
go out. My brother was terrified of the dark, even
at twenty one years old. Now we're fifty nine and
sixty now, and he still got a night light on
the side of his bed and a lamp in the
living room where he goes to sleep at night. My
brother Baba yelled, and I fumbled my way through the
dark to find him until he grabbed onto my arm
and we stumbled out the back door and jumped into
Dad's truck. There was no moon that night, and it
was blacker than black, and I wanted to cry, but
I couldn't. I was the big sister, and big girls
don't cry. I drove us to the funeral home, and
as soon as we got there, my brother bolted into
the building and I found him stuck to my mother's side,
still shaking. Meanwhile, I went to look at Grandad one
last time. Cam you aren't supposed to swear, but right
in front of me, with my own eyes, plain as day,
I saw my Granddaddy it rise up out of his
body in that casket, and that old man was laughing
like he had just played the biggest prank on me.
And I told him that I loved him, and I
ran outside and I spent the remaining time on the
side porch of the funeral home. Old men and their pranks.
What can you do? Oh, that was a good story.
It's kind of scary, you know. Grandpa probably his if
his spirit did that, he probably shouldn't have done that.
I don't know what else to say about this, but
oh my gosh, i'd rather you know him, come talk
to me and tell me he loved me and thought
I was a good kid. But instead he's scared. He
scared his grandkids. Wow, that was a good story. It
was kind of heartwarming in a way, kind of scary
in a way, but I enjoyed it. Thank you Denise
for the email. That was such a good story. Thanks
all right, here's a Bigfoot story. Bigfoot story from Butch.
Although I have not knowingly seen a Bigfoot, I have
been near them. I'm in my mid sixties and I've
always lived in Washington State. This is like Bigfoot Central Station.
And I've always been more curious about the unknown than
fearful of it. In the mid nineteen sixties, I overheard
my dad talking to his brother about Bigfoot. After he
hung up the phone, I asked about the subject. He
picked up the latest or Argasy magazine and he told
me to read it, and there was an article reprinted
in it about some gold miners. In the nineteen thirties,
some prospectors found gold in a canyon against the southern
side of Mount Saint Helen's. They found it up on
a shelf of a very steep canyon with more shelves
above them. They hit the mother load up there. They
built a sturdy cabin over the mine entrance and they
stayed for a few months. The miners noticed the apes
soon after arriving, but they were more concerned with their
gold fever, so the apes were left alone, and over
time the creatures came closer and closer as the weather
was cooling for the coming winter. One of the men
went to relieve himself one morning, and as he stepped out,
he saw a bigfoot standing a few feet away. Well.
The apes stared at him curiously, and the man reached
into the cabin door for a rifle they kept for bears.
When he swung back around, the ape was already walking
away toward the cliff. The man shot it in the
back and saw the dust fly off of it in
the impact. Later they all went out and found blood,
but they didn't find the body. They looked over the
cliff and they saw nothing. The other men were not
happy with the shooter. They told him that the bigfoot
were harmless unless they were harmed. That night was a
sleepless one. The apes threw large boulders from above all
night long. The men hid in the mind for fear
of their cabin collapsing on them. Come son up. The
bride stopped when they went outside and found large boulders
and footprints everywhere. The cabin had withstood the attack, but
just barely. They packed up the gold and got out
of Dodds and the canyon was now named Ape Canyon.
Now two of these guys were father and son, who
later moved to a small town called Cougar near Mount
Saint Helen's. Needless to say, after reading this article, I
was gong ho about these creatures. Dad was happy too.
Now he had a young, eager assistant. Dad wanted to
shoot one. He was told that the government denies their existence,
though it's against the law to kill one. Thankfully, he
never did bag one. I doubt he could have packed
it out anyway. Dad bought a camping tree and the
family started camping around the area south of Mount Saint
Helen's On most warm weekends. We often heard the sounds
of tree knocking. We heard whoops and chest thumping, which
we later associated with bigfoot. At night, I often got
the sense that we were surrounded and being watched. The
family never talked about it. I believe Dad did not
want to scare my mom and my younger siblings. On
weekends when the family was not open to camping, Dad
and I would drive near the mountain for the day,
and on one of those trips we went to the
town of Cougar. At the store, he asked about any
old time gold prospectors in the area, and we were
directed to an elderly gentleman who lived nearby in a
cabin he built years before. The store clerk told us
that the old man had been in the area since
the turn of the century and he had been hunting
for gold. The cabin was built well and had obviously
been there for daydes When he answered the door and
came out, I felt like we had stepped back about
a century. The old boy looked like a character out
of an old Western but this guy was the real deal,
and he was friendly and curious about us, and he
seemed glad for our company. And when Dad asked the
man about his opinion of Bigfoot, the man lit up
like a Christmas tree. He told us that he'd seen
them often and not felt threatened by them at all.
The natives in the area had told him that before
the white man had arrived in great numbers, the natives
had traded with the creatures. He said they were very smart,
but they just wanted to be left alone. He asked
us if we had ever heard the tree knocking. Well,
we sure had, We told him, and he said that
the apes used that as a form of communication, that
if they were around and we knocked a branch against
a tree, they'd answer with the same knock pattern, which
later proved to be true. He asked us if we
knew about Ape Canyon and that incident, and we told
him that we did. He told us that two of
the men of that group were alive and they lived nearby,
and they were father and son. We got directions from him,
and we thanked him and we took our leave. He
encouraged us to stop by again. When we came back
some months later, we found that he had passed away.
I hope he's walking those streets of gold in heaven.
The father and son prospectors were also friendly, and we're
glad to retell their stories. They showed us some of
the gold nuggets they took out of Ape Canyon. They
had not gone back to their claim, but they still
lived on their portion of the gold. We were there
for a couple of hours and fascinated by the adventures
that they told us about that they had lived, and
I felt privileged to meet history well. Dad became an
avid bigfoot hunter life long before it was cool. Around
two thousand and five, one of Dad's bigfoot buddies drove
him to an area north of the Columbia River in
the Cascades where he knew a family of bigfoot lived.
The men sat on a hill above the clearing, hidden
in the shadows of the trees, and they used field
glasses to view the area below. They saw some movement
in a grassy clearing, but what they saw was something
harder to believe than a bigfoot. Now. Dad had not
told me the story until recently, and I happened to
mention that the natives of North America talk of a
breed of dog that lives in the mountains of our continent.
It is mute, and it looks just like the Hyaenas
of Africa. Dad then told me that he saw some
and related the story of that adventure. He also told
me of an earlier solo trip he made in the
nearby area where power lines go through steep and wide canyons.
The ground under the line was cleared of undergrowth. He
was under some trees about a half mile opposite the
lines when he saw a man in a brownish tan
coat climbing the hill under the power lines. It only
took this man ten minutes to climb to the top
from the bottom. As Dad watched, he realized that it
would take him more than thirty minutes to do the
same thing. He looked again at the man and he
saw that it was no jacket at all that he
had on. It was fur and by the time he
realized what he was looking at, the creature had disappeared
over the hill. My dad when he was a kid
his neighbors were firewatchers after World War II in Oregon State.
They were stationed at a lookout fire tower near the
Three Sisters. There was another mountain about three quarters of
a mile away. At the top of this mountain was
a bare rock. One day they observed movement on and
around the rocky top. It looked like bears playing grab ass,
but through them byers that became obvious they were not
bears at all. They were monkeys, large cub monkeys. Well,
they called the ranger station to report this. Later they
were called back and were told not to put this
incident in writing, nor speak of it again if they
wanted to keep their jobs and their credibility. Apparently they
let it slip because my dad overheard them talking about
it and it got him fascinated by the subject. Now,
over the many years of camping in different areas of
this state, I've often heard the strange but familiar sounds
of these creatures calling to one another, and the stillness
of the other animals that go along with that. On
multiple occasions we had pebbles thrown at our tents at
night by playful apes, but most of the time I
kept it to myself. Thirteen years ago, my brother and
I went up to the Northern Cascades near Canada to
camp near the Cascade Crest Trail. We hiked up the
trail by day and we returned to camp at night.
The campground is near the loudest waterfall I've ever been to.
We brought our gear and our goods and large plastic bins,
two of which we pushed against the inside back of
the tent. Now, during all three nights that we camped there,
in the middle of the night, a large hen pushed
those bins over onto us in the tent. Each time
this happened, I woke up quickly enough to see the
five large fingertips through the nih line tent that hen
was twice the size of my own. But what I
pictured were teenage apes out playing pranks trying to hold
back his laughter. I did not since any danger during
those episodes, but I would yell stop it each time
so it would be satisfied that it had given us
a scare. And my brother believed a raccoon was to blame,
and I just left it at that. I believe there
are many varieties of these creatures around the world and
North America in Washington State. I've not felt threatened yet.
And he goes on to say, he says, you're a
good narrator. Obviously you are not naives since you haven't
open mind and heart, So keep confusing the doubters with
the truth. We dig, We dig listening to what you
were born to do. Oh, thank you for that much.
I appreciate it, and thanks for inspiring me to write
this down. You're welcome, and I'm glad I finally got
to it. I've had this story for a long time,
maybe a couple of years, and I'm just now getting
to it. Guys, I still have I still have probably
a thousand or twelve hundred stories that I haven't even
edited opened up. I just hadn't had time to do
them all. But now that I'm doing this for a
full time, I'm going to be getting getting to them faster.
And I thought this was a great series of stories.
The man and his father had similar interests. They've both
had have had experiences, and that story about the Mount
Saint Helen's pack of Bigfoots that live there. There's all
kinds of stories around Mount Saint Helen's, but I think
this eight Canyon story. I've never read it or heard it,
but I hear people talk about it. Maybe that is
the story people are talking about. And then when Mount
Saint Helen's blue, I guess that was back in the
late seventies or eighties. Supposedly a bunch of those bigfoots
were killed in in the volcano eruption. But a lot
of cool stuff going on around Mount Saint Helen's even today.
I'd love to see that area. It's supposed to be
beautiful and beginning to grow back and looking more natural.
It was pretty devastated after that volcano erupted. But anyway,
but thanks for the story. I really appreciate it. It
was so good. Good to hear from you. Thank you.
Here's a bigfoot story from Eric. I'm currently getting a
master's degree in environmental geology, and I spend a lot
of my free time camping, hiking, traveling, and spending time
in the woods. My experience happened back in the summer
of twenty eighteen. I was traveling from South Dakota to
Massachusetts by myself and was trying to camp in as
many remote areas as I could along the way. It
was my second or third night of the trip and
I was in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. I was
going to camp along the shoreline of the Great Lakes,
but the camp site that was on my Google Maps
seemed a little overcrowded and didn't have much for hiking,
so instead I decided to go further north into the
woods in search of a better spot. I was a
little lost and I had no cell phone reception, but
I came across a small campsite along a river. I
set up my hammock and I lay out in the
opening in the sun. I was the only person in
this campground, and initially I really enjoyed the solitude. After
resting in the sun, for a while, I heard what
I assumed to be a moose violently crashing through the woods.
Eighty yards away, I saw a flash of brown, and
though I wasn't yet afreight or uneasy, the noise did
startle me. I started to walk up along the river
because there were no official trails. Being someone interested in
ecology and plant life, I was moving rather slow and
spending a lot of time investigating the ground around me.
After an hour of moving up the river, I noticed
to my left an old logging road that was no
longer being used, and I stepped out into the opening,
and with the setting sun shining down, my shadow was
extended a great distance, and I decided to take a
couple of pictures. To my right were forty yards of
trees between me and the river bank, and right in
that area I heard a giant crash from the top
of the canopy to the ground, and a large stud
from an object hitting the forest floor. Then came an
odd sounding bird call. That's when I started to feel uneasy,
But being twenty five years old and considering myself in
pretty good shape, I grabbed a large stick and I
went to investigate the area for a few minutes before,
my gut told me that it was time to leave.
The sun was getting low and I didn't have a flashlight,
so I started walking back. Ten minutes later, the strange
bird call sounded again, only this time it sounded as
if whatever made the call was making it directly at me.
I rushed back to my hammit without any further incident,
and by the time I got settled in it was dark.
There was a slight breeze, but nothing too wild. But
as I lay listening to the woods, a tree right
across the river from me fell violently to the ground.
I did notice beeaver activity in the area, but I
thought it strange based on my previous experiences that a
tree would fall so close just across the water from me.
Somehow it felt intentional. I did manage to sleep, and
I left in the morning with no further incident. It
wasn't until my car ride the following day that I
really began to process my experience and just how strange
it was. I don't have an explanation, but I do
wish I had investigated it more. During my undergrad years,
I was a double major in geology and anthropology, and
I studied human evolution. If I were to take a
guess if a bigfoot like creature did exist, I would
think it would be some type of hominem creature that
diverged somewhere on the human evolutionary story, which we already
know is incredibly complex for us, or also a terrible
place for preserving fossils. And in my opinion, there is
a chance, however, slight, that an intelligent cousin of ours
has survived hidden in the remote forests of the planet.
I would love one day to actually spot Bigfoot in
my travels, but until that day, I'm going to remain
a dreamer. Oh Eric, that's my thing too. I'm a dreamer.
I've never seen a bigfoot, never really on my own
seen any evidence of bigfoot. I've been with other people
and have seen a little questionable stuff. These same people
have put up videos that is really quite convincing stuff
or very persuasive in tracks and all which wouldn't normally
be persuasive to me. But I know these people. I
know they're honest. They're just good people there. It's just
not in their DNA to makeup stuff. So I'm a
dreamer too, and I can see where these sounds and
things would make you think, make your thoughts go toward
this creature, especially probably hearing some stories and watching some
documentaries or videos on this and there are hundreds of them,
hundreds of them. I'm talking about documentaries and movies and
fictional movies for entertainment makes people think toward the Bigfoot. Answer.
I don't know. I don't know. That's kind of Do
you think we're subconsciously kind of leaning toward that when
we hear noises in the woods. I don't know, maybe,
maybe not, what do I know? But it was a
great story, buddy, appreciate you sending it. Thank you, Thank
you for listening to this podcast. If you thought it
was any good, maybe you could reach down there and
click that thumbs up button, or you could click that
subscribe button. That would help me in the algorithm. And heck,
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nice comment. If you didn't like it, you know, if
you don't have anything nice, don't say anything. But I'll
tell you this, this is the nicest group of people
we'll ever see on the internet. Just read through the comments.
People are so nice. So thanks for listening to the
podcast and we'll see on the next