Speaker 1: At the onset of autumn, man's ancient instincts to leave
the cave and to hunt begin to stir. That inherent
genetic code produces a beckoning from our ancestors to kill
and gather our food. Today we enjoy venison, elk, and
moose steaks, not too much different than early North American
tribes enjoyed a good mammoth or giant sloth tenderloin over
a fire built at the site of the kill. Hunting
is part of who we are. Sporting good sales skyrocket
as men of this era spend absurd amounts of money
on anything from a bottle of dough urine to a
ninety thousand dollars pickup truck to be able to get
to the woods and hunt on a ten thousand dollars
per year lease in a few restless and freezing hours
in a tree stand to finally utter the words to
their wives upon their return, I got one. She rolls
her eyes but remains silent as her husband tracks mud
onto their kitchen floor while holding several pieces of an
unprofessionally butchered deer that leaves a blood trail from the
garage door to the sink At which point the man states,
in his best Clint Eastwood impersonation, I'm feeding my family.
The wife rolls her eyes, looks at the refrigerator full
of food that she had just returned from the grocery store,
and walks into the living room to watch American Idol.
She knows to let Tarzan have his moment. This story
is about one of those men. His name is Frank Tucker,
Frank the Tank. Tucker. Frank played football for a small
Mississippi town high school, and he was good at it.
Frank was an offensive lineman. He was and is six
foot five inches tall, and in high school he weighed
just under three hundred pounds. No one made a tackle
on Frank's side of the line. The coach installed a
play that called for Frank to pull from the right
of the line to clear the way for a left
end suite inside the ten yard line. The play was
a great success, and Frank was fast and he plowed
down anyone who was unlucky enough to be between him
and the ball carrier. The coach named Frank the Tank
the first time they ran the play and scored, and
thirty years later the name stix. Frank is a big
and powerful man. Still you know it when he walks
into a room. Now you might think Frank is a
macho type, but he's not. Frank is one of the
most general souls you will meet, and somewhat of an introvert.
He doesn't talk much. Frank is married and he has
raised three lovely daughters, and he loves his wife. Frank
is actually a great guy, and everybody loves him. But
Frank has some quirks that you might find strange, even funny,
but don't mention it if you ever meet him, you
might embarrass the man. First, Frank is afraid of bugs,
any kind of bug. House Flies even make him shiver.
He told me once that he goes through a case
of insect repellent every spring. In summer, you can always
smell the substance on him. If he leaves the house.
He covers every inch of his body with the spray,
and then he tops it off with a repellent lotion
on his hands and ankles and face. There's a name
for this phobia, but I can't think of what it is.
The second, Frank is afraid of the dark. His mother
says that even as an infant, he could not sleep
without a light in the room, and to this day
his wife has never slept in a dark room because
Frank needs four night lights glowing to fall asleep. I've
never asked him what he's afraid of. I suppose we
will never know unless one of you good people has
the brass to ask the giant man that question. There's
a name for this phobia as well, and again I
don't know what that is either. Frank's last quirk is
that he's terrified of bigfoot. Frank has never seen a bigfoot,
but he knows they are there. One of his friends
loaned him a book on the subject in middle school
and he became obsessed. And since then, Frank has read
everything he can find on bigfoot. He's watched every movie
and probably read all the social media stuff on the Internet.
To state that Frank is a hardcore believer is to
underscore the point. But he never talks about bigfoot. So
how do I know that he's afraid of bigfoot? Since
he never talks about got it? You might ask that question, Well,
I'm about to tell you Frank also loves to deer hunt.
It is his other passion, and in the fall he
gets the itch just like all the other hunters in
the southern region, but Frank goes about it a bit differently.
For example, most hunters will set up a stand or
blind at the edge of a field so they can
see everything moving as it comes into the open areas
a Frank places his shooting platform in the middle of
the field, which isn't the worst thing to do, mind you,
but his reasons are different than those of you who
hunt this way. The thought of bigfoot sneaking up behind
him from the woods gives him the willies, so he
sits a shooting house in the middle of the field
so he can see bigfoot coming from whatever direction. Frank
is a planner. Being afraid of the dark also causes
him to do things differently. Most of us walk into
the woods with a single headlamp or flashlight, and there
are times that I never turned mine on when the
moon is out. But Frank takes several lights and he
uses every one of them. He has two lights he
wears on his head. Their bicycle lights he bought off
an eBay that have four hundred lumen or whatever you
call that. These were the brightest that he could find,
and they came with head straps again. One of these
is the brightest bicycle light you can buy, and he
uses two of them. Frank figured out a way to
get both lights on one headstrap, and he lights the
woods in front of him like a Chevy pickup truck.
It is amazing. I walked in with him one morning
a few years ago, and I could see all the
way into Tennessee. He also straps two regular four hundred
Loomen headlights to the back of his head so that
the light shines behind him, and on his pack he
uses four lights of some sort that shine to his
left and to his right, on each side, hung from
the chest straps. A hunter we all know that hunts
with Frank said that one day he had settled into
his stand early and he saw Frank coming into the
field from several counties over. He was sure it was
an alien invasion of the third kind. He was actually
a bit concerned until Frank stopped and coughed and then farted.
Then he knew it was Frank. Yes, he heard both
of these from several hundred yards away, and once he
knew it was Frank, he settled in and finished his coffee.
Frank's theory is that Bigfoot will never know which direction
he is walking and will not attack him. I think
I agree with that theory. Who would ever know which
way Frank is facing, even Bigfoot with all those lights.
Now I'm not an expert on rifles. I know my rifle,
but that's about it. But Frank has an assortment of rifles.
He carries two into the woods when he hunts. It
has been discussed between some of us whether this is
legal or not, but no one wants to broach the
subject with Frank. He's a bit touchy about the whole thing.
I think he carries a bolt rifle chambered in three
eight for the deer, and an additional rifle that shoots
a fifty caliber bullet for the bigfoot. It's a McMillan
rifle of some variety that marines use to shoot people
through concrete walls and blow holes in engine blocks of tanks.
The fifty is Frank's bigfoot rifle. He says, if he
sees one coming, he can hit it from a distance
and stay out of danger, or he can drop mister
foot before he gets to him. Neither you or I
could carry two rifles of that size a mile to
a deer stand, But Frank has no issues with that. Again,
Frank is a big and powerful man, and I must
say he looks awesome walking into the woods with a
fifty cow bolt rifle strapped to his back, with all
those lights making night into daytime. It is a sight
to see. Last year season, Frank called me on a
Friday night and asked if I wanted to go hunting
with him on his place. He didn't invite me, he
asked me to please go with him, almost like he
was begging. I remember the phone call. I picked up
and Frank said, Jimmy, what are you doing this weekend? Well, nothing,
I guess I might try to hunt a little Sunday morning.
I said, okay, you come hunt with me tomorrow. Can
you make it? I need you there. I mean, I
would love to see you, buddy. Frank had invited me
to hunt his place before, but something was different about
his tone. Yeah, sure, Frank, I'd love to. Are you
needing help with something on your place? I just need
to make sure Karen doesn't need me for anything in
the morning. Can I call you back in an hour? Yeah, yeah, Jimmy,
call me back as soon as you can. And Frank
hung up. That was weird, I thought. I cleared it
with my wife and called Frank back to tell him
that I would meet him at the gate at five
point thirty the next morning. Frank's demeanor changed, almost like
he was relieved, saying, okay, Jimmy, that sounds great. I
see you in the morning. I rolled up to the
gate the next morning. It's going to be a glorious
day because the weather was forecast to be perfect, and
I was excited. Frank had already parked at the gate
when I arrived. I got out and we shook hands
and we talked him in it, and then he asked
me where I wanted to hunt. So I told him
I was thinking I would hunt that ridge on the
east side of the property, you know the place you
put me last time. I said, there's always bucks chasing
does on that ridge. Maybe I'll get lucky. His reply
was quick, Now, now, you don't want to hunt way
up there. Those bucks are running close to the field.
You should be on that little rise above my field
and catch him coming in there. Frank like he was
thinking hard about what to say next, and then he
spit it out. Look, Jimmy, I was in here Wednesday late.
I heard the most god awful scream come from the
lower end of my field. I think the bigfoots have
migrated to my place, Jimmy, and I'm sure he's looking
for a mate. That's the truth. I don't want you
up there on that ridge by yourself. Plus I've got
this big gun, and if he shows up, I can
handle him and keep us both safe. Well, I wasn't
sure what to say. I'd never heard anyone say things
like this to me. You need to know that Bigfoot
was never a topic of discussion between Frank and other people.
I don't know if folks are afraid to talk about
it with Frank or what, but I do know the
subject is avoided somehow. We just all knew Frank's issue
with bigfoot. Now here he was talking about it out loud.
We all knew he was terrified of Bigfoot. And now
seeing that terror with my own eyes, and I wasn't
sure how to respond to him. So I just said, Okay, Frank,
that sounds good, and I went to my truck and
I got my gear on. It took me a minute
to throw on my backpack and sling my rifle. It
took Frank twenty minutes to rig up all his lights
and spray himself with a gallon of bug spray and
strapped both rifles across his back and then buckle in
his holster, which held some sort of military style looking
black pistol. He slammed the trunk lid of his car
down and he turned to me and he grinned, you ready,
he asked, Been ready for twenty minutes, Frank, I said,
while rolling my eyes. Frank smiled a little, and he said,
I know you think I'm crazy, Jimmy. If that thing
shows up and I'm not prepared, I'd never forgive myself. Now,
I've studied this topic for years, and Bigfoot could be anywhere.
He could show up anywhere. And then it all came
together for me. Frank didn't want me there to have
a good time and try to kill a buck. He
wanted me there to walk in into the woods with him.
He was using me. He was afraid of Bigfoot getting him. Well.
I was okay with that. Wasn't worried about Bigfoot. But
I really wanted to hunt that ridge. So I don't
hold any hard feelings about the day. I looked on
the positive side, and I thought it was nice that
he thought of me. It was his place, and I
would hunt wherever he wanted me to go. And then
Frank started turning on all his lights. I felt like
I was at a rock concert. I couldn't see anything. Frank,
we don't need all those lights. Just turn on your
headlamp so we can see in front of us. Maybe
I won't get rentin of damage. Jimmy, we need these
lights in every direction. I want to blind that bigfoot
if he comes at me. You're seeing what he will
be seeing. No way he's going to jump us with
all these lights on. Frank, whatever you think, Let's get moving,
I said, and down the trail we started to an observer.
I'm sure it looked like a magical ferry light floating
down from the trail. We got to a small ridge
above his field and he told me to head to
the stand. We both knew it was just a few
yards into the woods. I would be set up within
sight of his shooting house down in the field. Chances
of either of us taking a deer that day dwindled
by the minute, and I had already written the day off.
But I was there, and stranger things have happened. Hell them.
I didn't get to see a bigfoot. It'd be nice
morning of coffee and reading my kindle, though I was
into a good novel at that time. Frank kept moving
down the trail toward the field. I watched in all
as the parade float moved through the woods. It was
still dark, but I could see everything for miles. I
could see Frank was nervous, and by how slow he
moved on the trail to his spot. He must have
always been scared out of his wits when he walked
to his stand in the dark, and I wondered why
he even continued to hunt. I guess the terror was
worth it to have a good venison on the table
or the chance at the trophy buck. None of us
will ever know. Frank continued his slow creep down the trail,
taking baby steps, his head on a swivel. There was
still no hint of light in the eastern sky, and
I wanted to yell for him to hurry the hell
up before the sun came up. I could have been
there and finished two cups of coffee by now, but
Frank kept creeping along and had finally made it to
the edge of the field. There was so much light
that I could see the leaves scattered in the field
from one hundred yards up in the woods, and it
reminded me of a night at the ballpark. And I
got a few whiffs of insect spray from that distance
as well. Frank heard something moving to his right, and
he stopped and looked into the woods. His head twitched
back and forth, looking for the source of the noise.
Apparently satisfied it was not a bigfoot sneaking up on him,
he took two more steps and a covey of birds
exploded out of the grass and into the field. I
heard it clearly. There's no mistaking that sound. We don't
have any quail left in Mississippi, but I know the
sound from my younger years hunting birds with my father.
And when the birds flushed, Frank thought it was a
bigfoot attacking him, and he passed out from sheer terror.
I heard a deep thud, as if something were hitting
the ground, but I never guessed it was his body
thumping into the dirt. Of course, I thought Frank had
gotten spooked and decided to stand where he was until
the sun came up so that he could see better. Nope,
Frank was out like a light, but I didn't know
that yet. I settled into my stand and finished my
coffee and started looking for any movement in the woods.
Daylight had begun to creep into the eastern horizon, and
I panned the woods and I got my bearings. Nothing
was moving. I pulled out my kindle and started reading.
This was a really good book I had my hands on.
Frank was not even on my mind, and after an
hour or so, I put the book down and paned
the woods again. I looked at Frank's shooting house and
I didn't see anything moving, so I figured he had
made it in there and settled in. But as I
panned to my left, I noticed the lights. There were
Frank's lights. They were still motionless on the ground, out
on the edge of the field. Hard to make out
with the sun shining on the field, but even in
the full daylight of a Mississippi morning, I could see
those lights clearly now that I focused in. Huh, I wondered,
he should have turned those lights off by now. If
Bigfoot coming, surely Frank could see him by now. Another
twenty minutes creeped by, and I began to worry a
bit because the lights never moved. It was time to
go check on Big Frank. I climbed down and I
made my way to the edge of the field, and
there Frank was laying flat on his back and he
was snoring. Had Frank laid down and fallen asleep? I wondered.
I walked over to him and bent down to make
sure he was alive, and he was. I reached down
and shook him gently, saying his name a few times.
Frank's eyes flickered open and shut with a few flutters,
and then a panic set in. He was reaching for
my throat, but he got my shirt collar instead, and
he dragged me to the ground with him with those
massive hands and was reaching for his side arm. When
I saw that, I started yelling and screaming in his
face that it was me, It was me. He kept
reaching and missing the pistol until he finally slowed down
just for a second and realized he had his friend
in his grip. And when he realized it was me,
I said, what the hell's going on? Frank? Are you okay?
He rolled over and pushed himself up on all fours
and he took a few deep breaths. That thing attacked me. Jimmy,
did you see it? What thing attacked you? Frank? You
big dummy bigfoot? Did you not see it? Well? I
watched you walk all the way down this hill and
I didn't see anything. You're crazy. He said, that thing
was creeping along in the brush beside me, and then
it attacked me. Typical Bigfoot stalking tactics. Jimmy, you didn't
see it. I can't believe you didn't see it. I
didn't see anything, but if you say it was Bigfoot,
then I believe you. Frank. Well, I knew that it
was a covey of birds that set him off, but
I wasn't going to burst his bubble. Frank got up
and dusted himself off. I could never stand up that
quickly with fifty pounds of rifles strapped to me, but
he bounced uff like a little kid. And then Frank
looked up at the full blazing sun we were under,
and he asked me for the time. I told him
it was around eight thirty, and he looked at the
ground in disbelief and whispered, was I off for two hours? Apparently?
I said, I wonder why Bigfoot didn't finish me off?
He said, he had a quizzical look about his face.
I don't know, Frank. Maybe it was that smell coming
from your breeches. Oh man, Frank said, I think I
shot myself. Yeah, there ain't no doubt about that, I said,
and I moved away from the giant to get some air.
I need to get home and get cleaned up. Jimmy,
I'm sorry about all this. Thanks for coming with me.
You're welcome to stay and hunt all day if you want. Oh, Frank,
I had a great time. Thanks for inviting me. I
think I all had on home. I got stuff doing
around the house. The wind was at our back, so
I stayed behind Frank so I could breathe. Poor guy.
I helped Frank lotus gear in his car, and Frank
laid paper towels all over his seat cushions and climbed
his huge frame in the sedan and drove out ahead
of me. I stood by the truck for a while,
and I took in the woods and the smells and
the light and the fall colors. I took a deep breath,
and I just stayed in the moment. I was at
peace and loving being there, Even if the hunt had
been a disaster. I started moving to the open door
of my truck, and from down in the area of Franksfield,
I heard a series of deep moans that chilled me
to the bone. Was a Bigfoot? I started the truck
and I drove away. I have Frank's permission to tell
this story. He thinks it will be good information for
those of us who spend time in the woods. He's
hoping that some of you good people learn few defense
techniques against an attacking bigfoot. If Frank ever invites me back,
I'm bringing a pair of sunglasses and a roll of
paper towels in case Bigfoot shows up again. I don't
know for sure if Frank still thinks that Bigfoot attacked
that early morning in November. I told him what I
thought made the ruckus, but I don't think he believes me.