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[Culton sounds]

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My name is Colton.

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Folks just call me Colt, which I guess is fitting as I've spent most of my life around horses.

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But you know, I'm not the only one that knows horses.

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I'm pretty sure Bigfoot knows them pretty well too.

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Maybe too well.

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I'm writing this email to tell you about the time at Bigfoot was eyeing my horses one night,

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and I didn't like it one bit, no sir.

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I know horses and their behaviors well.

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They will spook its snakes curled up on a warm road on a summer's evening.

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They blow inside step at the gator slides off the bank.

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They dance sideways when a hog goes running through the brush like a freight train.

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But what they don't do is stop dead.

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Lock up as if someone drove a post right through their hooves, and they refuse to move the

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way my mare did that evening.

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Unless there's something close enough and wrong enough that every instinct in my mare's

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body starts screaming, "Predator."

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And when I finally got wind of what she did, I understood why.

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It was early spring, March, one of those Louisiana Mississippi line kind of evenings where

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the air is just plain wet feeling.

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Now March down here is sometimes already very warm, humid, and sticky.

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The bugs are already out, and even if you don't see them, you're hearing them everywhere.

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Now the trail I'm going to be talking about is one that I've ridden more times than I

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can count.

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It goes along the back of my property and about eight or nine more, running between two

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and a half to three miles if you put it all together, and it runs through some deep swamp

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areas.

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If you're out there, and if you stay still, you can still hear the highway in the distance,

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or you might hear someone's mom at their back door yelling for the kids to come in for dinner.

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No one would go out there and think that they're in a remote place.

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But the swamp back there doesn't care what people think.

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It behaves like it's the most remote place on the continent.

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Now once you're there under those bottom land hardwoods, oaks and gums and cypress knees

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in the low spots, the whole world changes.

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The light everywhere goes more green.

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The air feels heavy, and sound it will do funny things to you back there.

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A frog can sound like it's right behind your ear when it's really more than fifty yards

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away.

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A stick snapping can be a squirrel or a man or nothing at all, and it might be right by you,

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and it might not.

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It can be hard to tell.

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And the understory there, the palmetto and the briar and the black water and pockets.

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You can be ten feet from something, and you can't see it if it doesn't want to be seen.

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Now I had meant to be in and out that evening, just a quick ride.

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A neighbor was in Hawaii for his daughter's wedding, and while he was gone, I was taking care

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of his place and his two goats.

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I was going that night to do a routine check on a fence line and drop some feed.

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I was going to make sure nothing was torn up, and I'd planned to be back well before dark.

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But I got off work late, then got home, did a few things, lost track of time, and I told

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myself that's okay.

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I knew that trail well enough to cut it close, but I'd be home before dark.

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But I was just lazy.

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That's what it really was.

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I was complacent and overconfident.

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You know, that overconfidence?

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That's the death of many a good man, I suspect.

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I had my mare under me, and a pack horse and tow behind.

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A good, steady animal, but he always sped off my mare's mood.

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I was carrying feed for the goats, because where the feed was normally stored wasn't somewhere

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that I would have access to.

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I was also carrying some tools and a small roll of fence wire and some staples and a puller,

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just in case.

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He had been having trouble with something tearing up the fences all around there, seemed every

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couple of days something was torn up, he said.

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And just like the feed, where all those tools and things would be on his property, I wouldn't

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have access to.

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I knew that going into it, and we discussed it, and I was okay with it.

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He's a really good neighbor.

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But other than that, all I had was a flashlight I tossed at the last minute in a saddlebag.

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No need though, right?

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I was going to be home before dark, I thought.

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I had no rifle, no long gun with me, and that day I didn't even have my sidearm, mostly

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because again it was supposed to be just a quick check and to drop some feed.

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I didn't want to carry the weight, I didn't want the hassle, and besides, I had never ran

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into anything out there that would need a gun anyway.

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Otherwise all I had was a small, dicks blade on my belt out of habit, and that was it.

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We rode in around 640 that evening.

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The sun was already low enough that the shadows had teeth to them, and they were gobbling

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up everything around.

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The swamp, it was alive with noise, frogs calling, insects buzzing, and something splashing

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in a slough somewhere.

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The air sat on my skin like a heavy warm rag.

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There was low wind from time to time.

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You could smell the wet leaves in the mud, and that sweet sour rot that never leaves a place

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like that.

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The horses were fine at first.

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Ears working, heads bopping, going at a good steady pace.

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My mare stepped ever fallen limbs and walked through shallow puddles without a fuss.

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We made good time until the trail tightened up ahead.

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There's a section where the path pinches between a thick stand-up palm meadow and a line

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of older oaks.

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Tall trunks and roots like knuckles pushing up through the soil.

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It's not wide, not like a road.

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More like a single-file lane carved through green.

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Just a choke point.

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Now you don't go around it unless you get off and fight brush and briar and maybe sink

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a boot in the black water that you can't see.

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She came up on it and my mare stopped.

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I don't mean she hesitated.

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This wasn't a cautious step-and-look.

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This was a full-body stop like someone hit the pause button on her.

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Her ears went forward, stiff as boards, then flattened back against her head so hard the

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tips trembled.

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Her nostrils flared.

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She sucked air in sharp, then blew out low.

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One of those warning blows that horses do when they catch something they don't like.

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Behind her, the pack-horse started shifting his feet.

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The lead rope went taught, then slack, then taught again as he tried to decide whether to

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come up beside us or try to get away.

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I clicked my tongue.

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"Come on, girl."

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But nothing.

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I gave her a light nudge with my heel.

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She would not take a single step.

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So I nudged again a little more firmly.

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She backed up.

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That's the moment my stomach dropped.

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My mare is not timid.

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She'll push through brush, step over logs, wade into water up to her knees if I nudge her.

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She does not back off of a trail unless there's something really bad in the air.

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So my first thought, because it's the sensible thought, was there might be a snake.

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No cotton mowls, they like to lay on a warm path.

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So I swung down off of her, keeping a hand on the reins, and I scanned the ground.

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There was no snake, no movement in the dirt, no slithering of scales.

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But the smell hit me the second my boot sank into the ding-up trail.

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Thick, sour, like wet dog, mixed with swamp mud, and something rotten that had been sitting

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far too long in the heat.

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It was strong enough it made my eyes water, and my throat tighten.

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This wasn't some whiff.

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This was an occupying force on my nasal passages and my lungs.

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It was like all the air had been replaced with whatever this stink was.

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I put my palm on my mare's neck, feeling for some explanation, feeling for a trimmer maybe

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or a thorn stuck under her tack.

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Her muscles were quivering under her hide.

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Not from exertion, from fear.

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The pack-horse snorted behind us, a quick, nervous sound.

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Then he blew hard through his nose like he was trying to clear the stink out of his head,

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too.

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I let it my face, trying to place that scent.

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Bear?

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No, I'd smelled bears before.

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They're musky, oily, animal smelling.

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This was so much worse.

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This was like an animal that had lived in wet rot and rolled around in it for fun.

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Then the woods to my right suddenly went quiet.

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I don't mean the no sound kind of quiet.

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The swamp always makes some kind of noise.

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There's always something calling, buzzing or dripping.

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But this was different.

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It was like the sound was a fire and someone threw a wet blanket over it.

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It was muffled for just a second, dwindled, and then died out in the next second.

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There were still frogs out in the distance calling, but right there, right where I was,

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right beside the trail?

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There was a sudden focus stillness, the kind that makes the hair rise up on your arms.

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The Paul Meto-Fran's rustled once.

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I looked, thinking, wild hog, thinking, dear, thinking, maybe a black bear coming up too

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close.

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And then I saw something tall beside the Paul Meto's.

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At first my brain tried to see it as a man, maybe a hunter, maybe someone out there lost,

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maybe he's somebody who had stepped off the trail to let me pass and didn't want to spook

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the horses.

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Except it wasn't shaped quite like a man.

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It shifted forward just enough that the light filtering through the fronds caught a shoulder

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line, too high, too broad.

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It was upright, dark and bulky, like a big barrel wrapped in hair.

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The mass of it filled the space in a way that just didn't make sense with the thin cover

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that it was trying to use.

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It shouldn't have been able to hide there so completely, but yet it did.

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Maybe because it didn't need to hide its whole body.

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It only needed to stay just inside the brush line where the green broke up its outline.

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It didn't step out onto the trail.

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It stayed there in the Paul Meto's, using the fronds like a curtain.

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And then I saw a hand slide up onto a tree trunk, the way a person braces themselves when

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leaning out to look around something.

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Only it wasn't a person's hand.

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It was too big, too wide.

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The fingers looked like thick sticks, and when it gripped the bark, the palm and fingers all

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spread out, showing just how big it really was.

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It leaned slightly, like it was trying to see around my mare.

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And then I got this cold, clear realization that punched down through everything in my head.

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It was not looking at me.

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It was looking around me.

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It was looking at my animals.

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Now predators look at the vulnerable animals first, sizing up which looked like the quickest

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runners, the ones that might fight, and the ones who might be too weak or old to do either.

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My mare snorted, sharp, high, and tried to swing her hind quarters away from the chokepoint.

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The pack-horse jerked the lead rope tight, eyes rolling wide at the edges.

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Like arched, like he was ready to bolt through me if he had to.

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I kept my voice calm.

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Easy, easy girl.

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Stay easy.

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But my voice sounded then to my own ears.

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I didn't want to move forward.

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I didn't want to get any closer.

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I also didn't want to stand there frozen long enough for whatever that was to decide standing

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still meant.

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I wasn't any kind of threat, and my animals would be easy pickings.

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No sir.

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I reached into the saddlebag with one hand, keeping the reins tight in the other, and pulled

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out my flashlight.

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You know, the stupidest part of fear is that it makes you argue with yourself while something

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is happening.

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There was a part of my brain that kept saying, "Don't shine that light on it.

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Don't provoke it."

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Then the other part was saying, "Oh no, you need to see what it is."

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It is.

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You need to know if it's alone.

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You need to know what it's doing.

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So I clicked the light on low, and angled it toward the brush, keeping it down at first,

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not shining it straight into its face.

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The light beams slid over the palmettos and the wet leaves, and it caught the glint of

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hair.

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Black brown, coarse-looking, matted in spots as if it had just been in water.

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The hair wasn't like a bear's fur.

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This looked longer, stringier, hanging in clumps.

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The head turned toward the light, and through a gap in the fronds, I caught a glimpse of

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the face.

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Dick heavy brown, wide, flat nose, and skin darker than the hair, looking like wet leather.

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The eyes caught the light with a dull shine.

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Not like deer eye or gator eye, something else.

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My mare tried to bolt backward.

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Not a shy step.

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She was trying to leave.

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I grabbed the reins hard enough that the leather bit into my hand, and she hit the end of them

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and through her head, snorting and trembling.

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The thing in the brush made a low sound.

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Not a growl, but more like a rumble, some kind of a vibration in a very large chest.

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It was a warning, I think, and one that didn't need volume to be understood.

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And then it moved.

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It wasn't charging, but it stepped parallel.

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It kept to the brush, moving with us as I backed my mare out of that choke point.

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And that's when the real tear or hit, sharp and clean.

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Because this wasn't some animal being spooked by the horses, it wasn't slipping away into

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the cover as most animals do when they encounter my horses.

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00:15:28,600 --> 00:15:30,520
This thing was not retreating.

236
00:15:30,520 --> 00:15:31,600
No, sir.

237
00:15:31,600 --> 00:15:34,600
It was tracking us.

238
00:15:34,600 --> 00:15:36,280
Like it knew the trail.

239
00:15:36,280 --> 00:15:42,200
Like it knew this choke point forced us to commit, going one way or the other.

240
00:15:42,200 --> 00:15:47,400
Like it understood where we had to be to get somewhere else.

241
00:15:47,400 --> 00:15:52,920
So I started backing up, leading my mare now because she was too keyed up to stand still.

242
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I didn't want her to spin.

243
00:15:55,760 --> 00:15:58,920
If she spun, the packhorse would get tangled up.

244
00:15:58,920 --> 00:16:02,760
And if we went down in that narrow trail right there?

245
00:16:02,760 --> 00:16:09,600
Well, we'd be on the ground in a tight lane with palm meadows on one side and oaks on the

246
00:16:09,600 --> 00:16:10,600
other.

247
00:16:10,600 --> 00:16:15,920
And something big enough to reach us from three or four feet away.

248
00:16:15,920 --> 00:16:17,520
I kept the rain short.

249
00:16:17,520 --> 00:16:21,120
I kept my body between her head and the brush line.

250
00:16:21,120 --> 00:16:27,400
I kept backing up, boots sliding on damp leaves, feeling every second stretch out longer than

251
00:16:27,400 --> 00:16:29,560
it really should.

252
00:16:29,560 --> 00:16:33,720
The brush to my right kept moving right along with us.

253
00:16:33,720 --> 00:16:36,520
Always the same distance.

254
00:16:36,520 --> 00:16:39,160
Always just inside the greenery.

255
00:16:39,160 --> 00:16:44,000
But close enough yet that it could reach for us in a second if it took just one step toward

256
00:16:44,000 --> 00:16:45,600
us.

257
00:16:45,600 --> 00:16:48,720
I couldn't see it fully anymore.

258
00:16:48,720 --> 00:16:53,760
But I knew it was there because the Palmetto-Fran's dipped in rows as something passed behind

259
00:16:53,760 --> 00:16:54,760
them.

260
00:16:54,760 --> 00:16:59,760
I heard the soft, weighted sound of a foot sinking into wet leaves.

261
00:16:59,760 --> 00:17:08,200
Not the quick patter of deer, not the light crunch of a raccoon, but heavy and deliberate.

262
00:17:08,200 --> 00:17:12,900
Every now and then I would look over and I would see that dark shape moving above the

263
00:17:12,900 --> 00:17:13,900
fronds.

264
00:17:13,900 --> 00:17:17,160
I tried not to look at it.

265
00:17:17,160 --> 00:17:23,240
Once there was a sharp pop of wood as if a branch had snapped under heavy pressure.

266
00:17:23,240 --> 00:17:27,360
My mare flinched so hard I felt it in the rains.

267
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The pack horse let out a low, trembling kind of wicker.

268
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It's the sound that horses make when they're calling, but they're afraid to call too loud.

269
00:17:37,880 --> 00:17:42,040
With every step my mind kept trying to rationalize.

270
00:17:42,040 --> 00:17:43,040
Bear.

271
00:17:43,040 --> 00:17:44,040
Man.

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00:17:44,040 --> 00:17:45,040
Hog.

273
00:17:45,040 --> 00:17:51,320
I was trying to rationalize anything but what it looked like.

274
00:17:51,320 --> 00:17:56,480
But everything about it was wrong for any of the answers my mind came up with.

275
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It was too upright, walking too smoothly.

276
00:18:00,440 --> 00:18:04,040
It was using cover and being deliberate.

277
00:18:04,040 --> 00:18:09,480
It matched our pace without noise except when it wanted to.

278
00:18:09,480 --> 00:18:12,800
And the smell of it, oh my god, the smell.

279
00:18:12,800 --> 00:18:16,760
It rolled out to us in waves, stronger when it moved.

280
00:18:16,760 --> 00:18:19,680
Thick enough I could taste it.

281
00:18:19,680 --> 00:18:21,800
And I had no gun.

282
00:18:21,800 --> 00:18:28,120
No clean way to protect two animals and myself on such a narrow trail.

283
00:18:28,120 --> 00:18:33,640
All I had was my voice and a flashlight and a small knife.

284
00:18:33,640 --> 00:18:37,760
So I did the only thing that I knew might maybe help.

285
00:18:37,760 --> 00:18:39,840
I made myself look big.

286
00:18:39,840 --> 00:18:43,520
I mean, that's what animals do when they're threatened right?

287
00:18:43,520 --> 00:18:47,640
Well, that's what I did, or tried to do.

288
00:18:47,640 --> 00:18:54,160
I raised my arms wide, keeping the light pointed down, not flashing it in its face.

289
00:18:54,160 --> 00:18:59,200
And I shouted, deep and loud, like the way you would holler at a bull that's looking at

290
00:18:59,200 --> 00:19:01,200
you way too hard.

291
00:19:01,200 --> 00:19:04,200
"Hey," I shouted.

292
00:19:04,200 --> 00:19:07,160
The brush stopped moving.

293
00:19:07,160 --> 00:19:10,800
Being held still in quiet for a heartbeat.

294
00:19:10,800 --> 00:19:16,800
My mayor's ears flicked forward, then back, and forward again, trembling the whole time

295
00:19:16,800 --> 00:19:20,320
as tissue paper in the wind would.

296
00:19:20,320 --> 00:19:23,880
Now for three seconds, maybe less, maybe more.

297
00:19:23,880 --> 00:19:30,600
There was nothing but my own breathing and the distant drone of bugs and frogs.

298
00:19:30,600 --> 00:19:37,480
When I heard one heavy exhale from the brush, like a big lung emptying out slowly, and the

299
00:19:37,480 --> 00:19:39,840
palmettos began to move again.

300
00:19:39,840 --> 00:19:41,920
But slower now.

301
00:19:41,920 --> 00:19:46,120
Yet, they still paralleled us.

302
00:19:46,120 --> 00:19:49,360
That slower pace was somehow worse in a way.

303
00:19:49,360 --> 00:19:51,120
It was deliberate.

304
00:19:51,120 --> 00:19:55,360
That meant it was thinking and reasoning and planning.

305
00:19:55,360 --> 00:20:02,120
I knew, then, it wasn't hurried at all because it knew it didn't have to.

306
00:20:02,120 --> 00:20:06,720
I backed up until the trail widened into a section where two horses could pass without

307
00:20:06,720 --> 00:20:08,960
brushing both sides.

308
00:20:08,960 --> 00:20:14,120
I could see a turning spot ahead where the path bent and opened enough to pivot without

309
00:20:14,120 --> 00:20:16,880
tangling the pack-horse.

310
00:20:16,880 --> 00:20:18,920
My calves burned.

311
00:20:18,920 --> 00:20:23,200
My hand ached from clamping so hard on the reins.

312
00:20:23,200 --> 00:20:29,560
Squat, slipped my shirt down to my back, even though the air was beginning to cool.

313
00:20:29,560 --> 00:20:34,800
I didn't take my eyes off the right side of the brush any longer than a blink.

314
00:20:34,800 --> 00:20:40,280
Every time I looked away, I imagined it was going to step out and close the distance between

315
00:20:40,280 --> 00:20:42,080
us.

316
00:20:42,080 --> 00:20:48,240
When I hit the wider spot, I turned my mare in one careful, smooth motion, talking to her

317
00:20:48,240 --> 00:20:50,400
the whole time.

318
00:20:50,400 --> 00:20:52,160
Easy, easy girl.

319
00:20:52,160 --> 00:20:55,080
That's it.

320
00:20:55,080 --> 00:21:01,160
The pack-horse swung with us, his hooves scraping, the rope pulling, and his whole body tight

321
00:21:01,160 --> 00:21:03,560
like a drawn bow.

322
00:21:03,560 --> 00:21:08,360
I got back in my mare saddle quickly, and we left.

323
00:21:08,360 --> 00:21:09,360
Not at a gallop.

324
00:21:09,360 --> 00:21:14,360
No, no, you don't gallop on swamp trails at dusk unless you want a broken neck.

325
00:21:14,360 --> 00:21:20,880
But it was an urgent fast walk that flirted to being a trot, the kind that says, "Okay,

326
00:21:20,880 --> 00:21:24,880
we're leaving now, and nothing is going to stop us."

327
00:21:24,880 --> 00:21:30,920
My mare kept flicking her ears back as if she was listening for footsteps behind us.

328
00:21:30,920 --> 00:21:36,200
The pack-horse blew hard, and he kept crowding up close to us like he wanted to come right

329
00:21:36,200 --> 00:21:42,520
beside us, like he understood that he was the last one in line, and he knew that made

330
00:21:42,520 --> 00:21:44,720
him vulnerable.

331
00:21:44,720 --> 00:21:49,520
I didn't look back until we'd cleared the worst of the understory there.

332
00:21:49,520 --> 00:21:53,160
In the trees finally thinned out enough that the air didn't feel like it was pressing

333
00:21:53,160 --> 00:21:57,880
in on my face, I got us out onto the open-toe track.

334
00:21:57,880 --> 00:22:04,320
The sky was purple by then, and the last light was stretched thin and fading fast.

335
00:22:04,320 --> 00:22:06,880
The horse's settled just a fraction.

336
00:22:06,880 --> 00:22:12,240
They weren't quite calm, but they weren't in their earlier panic, either.

337
00:22:12,240 --> 00:22:14,800
My mare's neck was still arched.

338
00:22:14,800 --> 00:22:17,760
Her nostrils still blowing wide.

339
00:22:17,760 --> 00:22:24,080
Her skin still twitching as if she expected something to grab her from the side.

340
00:22:24,080 --> 00:22:26,280
And then there was a smell.

341
00:22:26,280 --> 00:22:28,560
That smell hung with us.

342
00:22:28,560 --> 00:22:34,760
So I knew the swamp monster, meaning our version of a bigfoot, was out there hanging with

343
00:22:34,760 --> 00:22:36,720
us, too.

344
00:22:36,720 --> 00:22:39,520
It was on and off for another half-mile.

345
00:22:39,520 --> 00:22:43,400
It would come back like it was pacing us just downwind.

346
00:22:43,400 --> 00:22:45,040
It wasn't constant.

347
00:22:45,040 --> 00:22:51,600
It was like it would drift away, then roll in again in a hard way as soon as the breeze shifted.

348
00:22:51,600 --> 00:22:54,360
But I did not see it again.

349
00:22:54,360 --> 00:23:00,280
Once we got on the two-track, all I had to tell me that it was still around was the smell

350
00:23:00,280 --> 00:23:03,640
in a persistent feeling of being watched.

351
00:23:03,640 --> 00:23:08,360
I heard no screaming, no running footsteps or noise of any other kind that didn't belong

352
00:23:08,360 --> 00:23:11,440
out there in the evenings in a swamp.

353
00:23:11,440 --> 00:23:15,760
It wasn't the sighting itself that bothered me the most, though.

354
00:23:15,760 --> 00:23:21,080
I replayed that face many times through the Paul Meadow more times than I want to admit,

355
00:23:21,080 --> 00:23:25,800
but even that isn't what bothered me the most.

356
00:23:25,800 --> 00:23:27,760
It was the behavior.

357
00:23:27,760 --> 00:23:32,680
The way it used the brush line, and it was doing it right at the choke point.

358
00:23:32,680 --> 00:23:39,560
The way it stayed parallel, and the way it ignored me, and looked at my animals.

359
00:23:39,560 --> 00:23:46,120
I remember the look on its face, and it still chills me when I think about it now.

360
00:23:46,120 --> 00:23:48,720
It completely disregarded me.

361
00:23:48,720 --> 00:23:51,040
It was looking at my animals.

362
00:23:51,040 --> 00:23:53,360
It wanted my horses.

363
00:23:53,360 --> 00:23:58,520
I would lay my life on the bedding table on that one.

364
00:23:58,520 --> 00:24:04,520
But my mare, my wonderful, tough, stubborn mare, who will walk into things most other horses

365
00:24:04,520 --> 00:24:05,520
would refuse?

366
00:24:05,520 --> 00:24:13,400
Well, she was convinced from the get-go we were in danger, and I know to always trust her.

367
00:24:13,400 --> 00:24:20,000
I trust her way more than I trust my own instincts or any kind of manly pride.

368
00:24:20,000 --> 00:24:27,080
If my mare says there's trouble out there, yes, sir, I believe her, and I act accordingly.

369
00:24:27,080 --> 00:24:29,120
And so should you.

370
00:24:29,120 --> 00:24:31,600
Signed, cult.

371
00:24:31,600 --> 00:24:42,800
Keep in listening to the Buckeye Bigfoot podcast.

