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Tonight's encounter comes to you from long ago.

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We're pulling this one out of the vault.

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[Cow mooing]

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Hello, Nance. My name is Nathaniel.

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I live in Florida, and I'm not sure if what happened to me will interest you or not,

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but I feel I need to share it.

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So let me start this off by saying that I am sorry for the length of this email,

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and it's fine if you don't believe me.

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It is hard to explain what happened in these woods, and honestly I truly don't understand it.

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I've been having a hard time dealing with these occurrences,

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and it has put an intense fear in me that was not there before.

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I'm calling them occurrences because I did not physically see the source of them.

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Now, I've been an avid outdoorsman all my life.

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I love hiking, hunting, and fishing.

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I love nature, and spotting wildlife, and even listening to the sounds they make,

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either while hunting, fishing, or just hiking.

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It's always brought me peace, and I've always felt extremely comfortable in the woods.

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I've lived in Florida for around twenty years, but I actually grew up in Springfield, Ohio,

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and hiked a lot around the CJ Brown reservoir.

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Am Buck Creek State Park there, as well as John Bryan State Park, and Glenn Helen and

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Yellow Springs when I was growing up.

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Honestly, I remember those areas fondly, and never felt afraid or even remotely uncomfortable.

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Honestly, I feel uncomfortable in cities.

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I've traveled all over the East Coast for my previous job, and always loved being in the

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middle of nowhere, just the sight I was working at, and the two other guys on the crew I worked

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with.

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After these few occurrences, well, I can't shake them.

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I can't explain them away, and they are not anything I've ever dealt with before, and none

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of my friends or family who I've told can explain it away.

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After the last one, I'm hesitant.

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While if I'm being honest, I'm downright scared to go back into the woods to hunt or fish.

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All of these have happened in the Green Swamp Wildlife Management Area, and all were

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during the spring, turkey season over the course of a few years.

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The first occurrences happened mid-April 2016.

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I had been running a little late that morning, and I picked out a spot that I had not scouted

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off of Great Road.

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I grabbed my shotgun out of the back seat, and put my 9mm in my leg holster.

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I carried a 9mm because of the hogs and snakes.

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I started walking in on one of the minifire roads.

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It was cold that morning, I could see my breath in my headlamp beam as I walked.

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About a quarter to half a mile down this fire path, both sides were thick with trees.

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To my left, they were just a few yards away.

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To the right they were around 20 yards or so.

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I found a place that seemed perfect.

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Straight ahead is a decent field without a ton of palmetos.

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To the left, a dense stand of pine trees, and to my right all the way down this little

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field were Cypress trees.

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I was excited about this spot, hoping I'd finally bag a turkey.

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As the sun started creeping up, I noticed a familiar and very unwanted sound coming from

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my right.

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It was a wild hog.

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I had holstered my pistol and listened as it came closer.

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By the time it was in view, the sun was up enough for me to see that I was dealing with

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a large black bore.

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It was only about 30 yards away and I had nowhere to run.

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I was silently cursing myself out, and that's when I realized something else had the bore's

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attention.

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It was staring directly into the field, not moving.

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I'd never seen anything like it.

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It was frozen.

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It didn't even notice that I had raised my gun and I was aiming for it.

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Then the bore started cracking its jaws together fast and hard and scraping the ground with

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its feet.

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I was sitting with my back against an oak tree and my pistol aimed at this hog's head,

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and then this hog did what I've never seen before or since.

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It started backing up.

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It never took its eyes off the field, but backed up about twenty or so feet, and in an instant

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that hog, who was easily one of the biggest I've ever seen, turned and bolted.

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I was stunned.

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I'd been treated a few times in the past, and I know that if you're that close, they don't

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run away, they will charge, and they can, and they will kill you.

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But I don't think it even knew I was there.

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Then I realized the woods were silent, no birds, no insects, just the wind.

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Which was weird.

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Then a whistling started.

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It started me so bad I almost pulled the trigger on my handgun, but I collected myself,

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and I stood up thinking it was maybe another hunter.

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So I whistled back just to let whoever it was know that I was there.

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That was a big mistake.

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The whistle changed into a steady constant string of notes, like nothing I'd ever heard before.

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It was eerie, and I could not spot the source.

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There was no other hunter out there that I could see.

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Then more whistling off to my right in the Cypress trees, and it was that same eerie

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tune, and it was coming closer.

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I decided I'd had a nap for that spot, and immediately wanted to get to the car.

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I had never felt like that before.

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As I made my way back towards the trail, I was trying to convince myself it was just a mocking

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bird, or a hunter screwing with me.

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As I stepped out onto the fire trail, I instantly felt exposed and uneasy, like I was being

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watched.

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Before I started moving quickly back to the road.

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The whistling noises had stopped now, but I was very aware of something following me in

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the thick brush of the pine trees.

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I couldn't see it, but knew from the sounds of the steps that it was large, as twigs

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don't crack that loud on pine straw unless you get some weight.

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I wondered if this was the same feeling, and animal feels, when it's in a hunter's

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sights.

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Finally, after an eternity of walking on legs that wanted to run, about thirty yards ahead,

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I saw the mouth to the trail, and I knew better, but I couldn't help myself, and I sprinted

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full speed towards the area that I had parked.

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And my heart sank when I realized whatever was in the woods was running with me.

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Its footsteps made heavy flat thuds as it moved twigs and brush snapped, and all I could

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think was, "It's gonna get me."

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Whatever this is is gonna get me.

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Finally, the fire trail opened wide to the road, and I made it to the driver's side of

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my car.

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And I stopped.

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I wanted to see what was chasing me.

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I had a car between me and it, and my pistol was aimed at the woods, but nothing came

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out.

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Instead from the edge of the pines, the whistling started again.

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And it was joined on the other side of the trail by more whistling.

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I hadn't heard or seen anything in the cypress stand, which was only a few yards away from

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the trail the whole time.

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I fumbled for the keys, jumped in the car, and tore out of there as fast as I could.

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I didn't go back that year.

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In 2017, I only got a few days off in a road towards the end of Turkey season, so I went

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back to Green Swamp, as it's close and open all week.

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I decided to hunt the side closer to the 471 gate on a road called Levy Grade.

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I had been talking to the guy at the gate, and he told me that he had seen two birds

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roost there the night before, since he was stuck manning the gate.

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He gave me the location on the condition that if I found them, I'd take the smaller one.

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I agreed, and went on to the spot on the GPS he marked.

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As the sun started creeping up, I could see the faint outline of two turkeys roosted in

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a big pine on the edge of the road.

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I drove past, got out, and circled back to where I could see them, and I found a spot to

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wait.

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The spot I picked out was no more than 60 yards from the road, but had thick, palm-metos.

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But after I found a little opening and got set up against an oak, I realized the place

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smelled funny, like hogs and vomit mixed with sewage.

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But the sun was coming up, and it seemed like a good spot.

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So I sat and waited, as the sun started really lightning up the woods, both birds started

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gobbling.

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I started soft-calling, and one flew down towards me.

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And as it dropped into sight, I realized the palm-metos in front of me were too high to

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see anything on the other side.

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I'd been so focused on the birds and the roost, that I didn't realize I was in fact in a

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bad spot.

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So I decided to get closer to the palm-metos, and peek over, and pray that I could get a shot

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off before the turkey saw me.

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As I got to my knees and raised my head over the palm-metos, I was greeted with the smell

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of vomit, hog, and sewage again.

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But this time so strong it took my breath away, out of nowhere something growled.

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It was loud and low, and made everything inside of me vibrate, like I was laying chess first

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on a large guitar amp.

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I fell backwards, and scrambled to the tree I was originally sitting against.

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My shotgun was at the base of the palm-metos, so I stood up and pulled my pistol and scanned

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the area, looking for the sound source.

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But I saw nothing.

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Nothing moved.

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All the noise was gone out of the woods.

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I knew I needed to get the heck out of there, but I was frozen.

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I'm not ashamed to admit that I was scared.

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After what felt like "atternity," I forced myself to take a step forward, then a couple more,

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until I could just reach my shotgun.

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I reached down and grabbed it, and as I stood back up another growl, this one deeper and

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angrier than before.

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My heart was in my throat, and at this point I knew whatever that sound was coming from was

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big, and Turkey load and a 9mm was not going to cut it.

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So I backed up for 15 to 20 yards looking all around me, but always keeping those palm-metos

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in front of me.

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I knew at any moment that whatever just growled at me could show itself.

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I started side-stepping to get to the road, and I must have looked like an idiot, but

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I couldn't bring myself to turn my back to those palm-metos.

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I made it to the road in the truck.

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I was shaking and freaked out.

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I just wanted to get out of there.

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So I took off.

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I decided to go down to the river and collect myself.

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I got down to the fishing hole there, and saw other cars and instantly felt better.

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I pulled out my cell phone, and when I realized that I had a signal, which almost never happens

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out there, I called a buddy of mine who hunts here regularly.

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I told him what happened, and he called me a wimp, and said, "I was probably on a bobcat

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or a Florida panther kill, and I just got lucky."

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I let some time pass and studied my nerves, and then I decided to just go see if my buddy

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was right.

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I left my shotgun in the truck, since birdshot wouldn't do much against a panther or an angry

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bobcat.

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But I made sure my pistol was chambered and headed right back to where I had been that

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morning.

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It had warmed up quite a bit by now, and I was expecting that smell to be worse.

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But the smell of hog, vomit, and sewage was replaced by the smell of dead animal, and

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for the lack of a better term, gut pile.

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As I got back to the palm-metos, I used a machete that I had had in the truck to cut

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the palm-metos away with one hand, while I had my pistol aimed with the other.

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As the palm-metos gave way, what I saw still bothers me.

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My buddy was right.

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There was a kill site.

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But it wasn't a bobcat or panther kill.

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There was a hog with its one back leg twisted in the wrong direction.

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Its side and belly were ripped open, and its ribs looked like they had been pulled apart

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and folded over.

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It was like opening covered doors.

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The insides were a bloody mess, and the one front leg was missing.

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That's when I realized I was an idiot, because I was missing with an active kill site of

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a big predator, and that was a seriously bad idea.

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Then the growl came again.

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This time from behind me, and it wasn't as close as before, but I still felt and heard it.

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I bolted, like a mad man, away from the carcass through the palm-metos and back to the truck,

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and then I hauled my ass out of there.

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And I stayed home the next few days, and nothing else happened that season.

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I stayed away from green swamp the next year.

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I couldn't shake the two occurrences that had happened there, and I tried hunting on different

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wildlife management areas all of 2018.

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My oldest stepson had come home from the army in 2018, and wanted to start turkey hunting,

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so I agreed to take him and teach him.

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But we had no luck at any of the other wildlife management areas that we had tried, so that

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meant going back to green swamp.

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I had told him I wasn't really comfortable going back there, and I shared my experiences

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with him.

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He told me it'll be different since there's two of us.

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Boy was he wrong.

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A currents three happened in March 2019.

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Our time for spring turkey had been quiet and typical of public land hunting.

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I steered miles clear of the areas I had the first two occurrences at, and only had to

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deal with people walking in on our setup, or using calls they really couldn't use and

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scaring off the birds we had coming in on us.

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We were having fun, and I kept putting us on birds.

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We weren't able to harvest any yet, but we were having a blast, and I was happy to be

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hunting with one of my stepson's.

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I was actually happy to be in the woods again.

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By this time I started trusting my gut.

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If an area doesn't feel right, I'm not going near it.

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And it had worked so far for that season.

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But on Wednesday the 27th, we walked into an area off tram grade across from the little

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flip bridge.

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We went without scouting the area, but nothing ventured, nothing gained, I thought to myself.

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My stepson said he had a funny feeling about this spot, but I didn't, so we kept going.

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It was about 45 minutes before sunrise, and we had our headlamps on.

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We were looking for a place where the enough cover for both of us.

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Then the strangest sound came out of nowhere.

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It was a whooping sound.

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The kind I'd heard on those goofy bigfoot shows I had started watching, so naturally I thought

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it was my son messing with me, so I told him to knock it off or he will scare the birds.

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As he was saying it wasn't him, a second, even louder whoop, came from directly above us

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in the trees.

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We both dropped into a kneeling stance and were scanning the trees for what just made

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that noise.

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My heart was in my throat again, and I could hear it beating in my ears like an overcaffeinated

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drummer going nuts with his bass drum.

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There was no noise and no wind, but the branches of the big oaks around us started moving,

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so we got up and backed out, and we found a different spot.

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I didn't feel uneasy, but I wasn't taking any chances either.

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I know owls don't make those sounds, and trees don't move by themselves.

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Just a day the 28th.

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We decided that we would hunt along the power lines on Tram grade, a spot we hadn't tried

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yet, but it looked promising as it was an open field lined on both sides by thick cover.

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I figured we could set up at the bottom of the huge metal towers that the power lines ran

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across.

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It was a chilly morning.

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I missed our turn and had to take the long way to the spot we had picked.

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We pulled in and got out to get our gear ready.

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I instantly had a bad feeling.

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Something was wrong.

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I'd later find out my son had the same feeling, but kept quiet about it.

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After I had everything set up and loaded my shotgun, I unholstered my 45 and chambered

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around.

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Then sat back down on the truck and took a drink of my coffee.

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My son was wanting to go set up, but I told him I'm going to wait a few and listen to

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see if we hear any birds gobble before we go in because of how open it is along the

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power lines.

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That's complete BS, but I didn't want him to know that something wasn't right.

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All we were hearing were whippah-wills and a couple noisy owls doing their normal concerts.

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Ten minutes passed, and my son needs to water the truck tire.

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So I get out of the truck to watch for headlights as we are in an open field, and no one wants

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to see a grown man peeing in a field.

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As I go to sit back in the truck, everything goes completely quiet, except for the power

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lines buzzing in the middle of this field.

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It was so sudden it hit me like a smack in the face.

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In my mind I'm cursing because I know something felt off.

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Then there's a low drawn out whistle.

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I felt sick.

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My son looks at me and says, "Pops, that wasn't a whippah-will."

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That's when he noticed my 45 was on my lap with the safety off.

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He looked blankly at me and said, "I guess you weren't lying when you told me about those

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stories, huh?"

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Before I could answer him another whistle, and I'm on edge, I scanned the woods with my headlamp

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but seen nothing.

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Just brush and trees, nothing out of place, and I can't hear anything moving.

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My son goes, "Pops, what was that?"

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I didn't respond because I don't have an answer.

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I get out of the truck and start loading my gear back in and close the back doors quietly

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as I can.

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My son does the same.

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Suddenly, a good distance down the left side power lines behind the truck, something

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lifts out the most god-awful noise.

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It sounds like a scream, a growl, and howl all at the same time, and it's loud.

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As that one starts to die down, but before it stops there is a second one.

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I'm shaking.

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Me and my son look at each other, and the fear is all over our faces.

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There's a few seconds of silence, and then from in front of the truck we hear coyotes.

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They are squalling and yelping and running.

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In the beams of our headlamps we can see a couple break cover, and they are running full

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tilt away from us and the noise.

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I looked at my step-son and flatly said, "It's time to go."

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As we are getting in the truck, a third one of those god-awful sounds, this time it's

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closer.

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It's way too close for comfort, and I could feel it in my body.

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It was on my side of the truck now, and we hauled butt out of there.

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On the way home, I couldn't figure out how something could move that fast from one side

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of the field to the other, and then up that side across a road and into the trees without

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being seen or heard.

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Didn't it click?

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It hadn't.

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There was more than one of those things, and they didn't want us there.

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The only thing that comes close to the sounds we heard out there is a video on YouTube of

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a silverback gorilla screaming, but it's not as angry, low, or as drawn out, and the

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big-foot house that are on YouTube don't quite match it either, it's almost across between

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the two.

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I'm trying to find answers to a lot of questions, so I figured I'd do some research into Seminole

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Indian legends, as they've been in Florida a lot longer than anyone else.

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When it turns out, the Seminole tribe was once part of the Creek tribe, and they do have

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a legend that is like big-foot called the Coloah, which when translated is supposedly the

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Seminole or Creek word for gorilla, only difference between the big-foot stories and what

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I could find on the Coloah is unlike the big-foot tales and legends up north where he is sometimes

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peaceful and benevolent, this southern one is a massive and malicious man-eater.

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Just my luck instead of Harry and the Henderson's type of creature, I'd find the kind from a horror

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movie.

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I kind of wish I hadn't dug into those legends.

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Well, that's what's happened to me so far.

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I still haven't decided if I'll go hunting this spring or not, but if I do and anything

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else happens, I'll be sure to let you know.

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for your time, Nathaniel.

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[BLANK_AUDIO]