Tonight's encounter comes to you from long ago.
We're pulling this one out of the vault.
[Cow mooing]
Hello, Nance. My name is Nathaniel.
I live in Florida, and I'm not sure if what happened to me will interest you or not,
but I feel I need to share it.
So let me start this off by saying that I am sorry for the length of this email,
and it's fine if you don't believe me.
It is hard to explain what happened in these woods, and honestly I truly don't understand it.
I've been having a hard time dealing with these occurrences,
and it has put an intense fear in me that was not there before.
I'm calling them occurrences because I did not physically see the source of them.
Now, I've been an avid outdoorsman all my life.
I love hiking, hunting, and fishing.
I love nature, and spotting wildlife, and even listening to the sounds they make,
either while hunting, fishing, or just hiking.
It's always brought me peace, and I've always felt extremely comfortable in the woods.
I've lived in Florida for around twenty years, but I actually grew up in Springfield, Ohio,
and hiked a lot around the CJ Brown reservoir.
Am Buck Creek State Park there, as well as John Bryan State Park, and Glenn Helen and
Yellow Springs when I was growing up.
Honestly, I remember those areas fondly, and never felt afraid or even remotely uncomfortable.
Honestly, I feel uncomfortable in cities.
I've traveled all over the East Coast for my previous job, and always loved being in the
middle of nowhere, just the sight I was working at, and the two other guys on the crew I worked
with.
After these few occurrences, well, I can't shake them.
I can't explain them away, and they are not anything I've ever dealt with before, and none
of my friends or family who I've told can explain it away.
After the last one, I'm hesitant.
While if I'm being honest, I'm downright scared to go back into the woods to hunt or fish.
All of these have happened in the Green Swamp Wildlife Management Area, and all were
during the spring, turkey season over the course of a few years.
The first occurrences happened mid-April 2016.
I had been running a little late that morning, and I picked out a spot that I had not scouted
off of Great Road.
I grabbed my shotgun out of the back seat, and put my 9mm in my leg holster.
I carried a 9mm because of the hogs and snakes.
I started walking in on one of the minifire roads.
It was cold that morning, I could see my breath in my headlamp beam as I walked.
About a quarter to half a mile down this fire path, both sides were thick with trees.
To my left, they were just a few yards away.
To the right they were around 20 yards or so.
I found a place that seemed perfect.
Straight ahead is a decent field without a ton of palmetos.
To the left, a dense stand of pine trees, and to my right all the way down this little
field were Cypress trees.
I was excited about this spot, hoping I'd finally bag a turkey.
As the sun started creeping up, I noticed a familiar and very unwanted sound coming from
my right.
It was a wild hog.
I had holstered my pistol and listened as it came closer.
By the time it was in view, the sun was up enough for me to see that I was dealing with
a large black bore.
It was only about 30 yards away and I had nowhere to run.
I was silently cursing myself out, and that's when I realized something else had the bore's
attention.
It was staring directly into the field, not moving.
I'd never seen anything like it.
It was frozen.
It didn't even notice that I had raised my gun and I was aiming for it.
Then the bore started cracking its jaws together fast and hard and scraping the ground with
its feet.
I was sitting with my back against an oak tree and my pistol aimed at this hog's head,
and then this hog did what I've never seen before or since.
It started backing up.
It never took its eyes off the field, but backed up about twenty or so feet, and in an instant
that hog, who was easily one of the biggest I've ever seen, turned and bolted.
I was stunned.
I'd been treated a few times in the past, and I know that if you're that close, they don't
run away, they will charge, and they can, and they will kill you.
But I don't think it even knew I was there.
Then I realized the woods were silent, no birds, no insects, just the wind.
Which was weird.
Then a whistling started.
It started me so bad I almost pulled the trigger on my handgun, but I collected myself,
and I stood up thinking it was maybe another hunter.
So I whistled back just to let whoever it was know that I was there.
That was a big mistake.
The whistle changed into a steady constant string of notes, like nothing I'd ever heard before.
It was eerie, and I could not spot the source.
There was no other hunter out there that I could see.
Then more whistling off to my right in the Cypress trees, and it was that same eerie
tune, and it was coming closer.
I decided I'd had a nap for that spot, and immediately wanted to get to the car.
I had never felt like that before.
As I made my way back towards the trail, I was trying to convince myself it was just a mocking
bird, or a hunter screwing with me.
As I stepped out onto the fire trail, I instantly felt exposed and uneasy, like I was being
watched.
Before I started moving quickly back to the road.
The whistling noises had stopped now, but I was very aware of something following me in
the thick brush of the pine trees.
I couldn't see it, but knew from the sounds of the steps that it was large, as twigs
don't crack that loud on pine straw unless you get some weight.
I wondered if this was the same feeling, and animal feels, when it's in a hunter's
sights.
Finally, after an eternity of walking on legs that wanted to run, about thirty yards ahead,
I saw the mouth to the trail, and I knew better, but I couldn't help myself, and I sprinted
full speed towards the area that I had parked.
And my heart sank when I realized whatever was in the woods was running with me.
Its footsteps made heavy flat thuds as it moved twigs and brush snapped, and all I could
think was, "It's gonna get me."
Whatever this is is gonna get me.
Finally, the fire trail opened wide to the road, and I made it to the driver's side of
my car.
And I stopped.
I wanted to see what was chasing me.
I had a car between me and it, and my pistol was aimed at the woods, but nothing came
out.
Instead from the edge of the pines, the whistling started again.
And it was joined on the other side of the trail by more whistling.
I hadn't heard or seen anything in the cypress stand, which was only a few yards away from
the trail the whole time.
I fumbled for the keys, jumped in the car, and tore out of there as fast as I could.
I didn't go back that year.
In 2017, I only got a few days off in a road towards the end of Turkey season, so I went
back to Green Swamp, as it's close and open all week.
I decided to hunt the side closer to the 471 gate on a road called Levy Grade.
I had been talking to the guy at the gate, and he told me that he had seen two birds
roost there the night before, since he was stuck manning the gate.
He gave me the location on the condition that if I found them, I'd take the smaller one.
I agreed, and went on to the spot on the GPS he marked.
As the sun started creeping up, I could see the faint outline of two turkeys roosted in
a big pine on the edge of the road.
I drove past, got out, and circled back to where I could see them, and I found a spot to
wait.
The spot I picked out was no more than 60 yards from the road, but had thick, palm-metos.
But after I found a little opening and got set up against an oak, I realized the place
smelled funny, like hogs and vomit mixed with sewage.
But the sun was coming up, and it seemed like a good spot.
So I sat and waited, as the sun started really lightning up the woods, both birds started
gobbling.
I started soft-calling, and one flew down towards me.
And as it dropped into sight, I realized the palm-metos in front of me were too high to
see anything on the other side.
I'd been so focused on the birds and the roost, that I didn't realize I was in fact in a
bad spot.
So I decided to get closer to the palm-metos, and peek over, and pray that I could get a shot
off before the turkey saw me.
As I got to my knees and raised my head over the palm-metos, I was greeted with the smell
of vomit, hog, and sewage again.
But this time so strong it took my breath away, out of nowhere something growled.
It was loud and low, and made everything inside of me vibrate, like I was laying chess first
on a large guitar amp.
I fell backwards, and scrambled to the tree I was originally sitting against.
My shotgun was at the base of the palm-metos, so I stood up and pulled my pistol and scanned
the area, looking for the sound source.
But I saw nothing.
Nothing moved.
All the noise was gone out of the woods.
I knew I needed to get the heck out of there, but I was frozen.
I'm not ashamed to admit that I was scared.
After what felt like "atternity," I forced myself to take a step forward, then a couple more,
until I could just reach my shotgun.
I reached down and grabbed it, and as I stood back up another growl, this one deeper and
angrier than before.
My heart was in my throat, and at this point I knew whatever that sound was coming from was
big, and Turkey load and a 9mm was not going to cut it.
So I backed up for 15 to 20 yards looking all around me, but always keeping those palm-metos
in front of me.
I knew at any moment that whatever just growled at me could show itself.
I started side-stepping to get to the road, and I must have looked like an idiot, but
I couldn't bring myself to turn my back to those palm-metos.
I made it to the road in the truck.
I was shaking and freaked out.
I just wanted to get out of there.
So I took off.
I decided to go down to the river and collect myself.
I got down to the fishing hole there, and saw other cars and instantly felt better.
I pulled out my cell phone, and when I realized that I had a signal, which almost never happens
out there, I called a buddy of mine who hunts here regularly.
I told him what happened, and he called me a wimp, and said, "I was probably on a bobcat
or a Florida panther kill, and I just got lucky."
I let some time pass and studied my nerves, and then I decided to just go see if my buddy
was right.
I left my shotgun in the truck, since birdshot wouldn't do much against a panther or an angry
bobcat.
But I made sure my pistol was chambered and headed right back to where I had been that
morning.
It had warmed up quite a bit by now, and I was expecting that smell to be worse.
But the smell of hog, vomit, and sewage was replaced by the smell of dead animal, and
for the lack of a better term, gut pile.
As I got back to the palm-metos, I used a machete that I had had in the truck to cut
the palm-metos away with one hand, while I had my pistol aimed with the other.
As the palm-metos gave way, what I saw still bothers me.
My buddy was right.
There was a kill site.
But it wasn't a bobcat or panther kill.
There was a hog with its one back leg twisted in the wrong direction.
Its side and belly were ripped open, and its ribs looked like they had been pulled apart
and folded over.
It was like opening covered doors.
The insides were a bloody mess, and the one front leg was missing.
That's when I realized I was an idiot, because I was missing with an active kill site of
a big predator, and that was a seriously bad idea.
Then the growl came again.
This time from behind me, and it wasn't as close as before, but I still felt and heard it.
I bolted, like a mad man, away from the carcass through the palm-metos and back to the truck,
and then I hauled my ass out of there.
And I stayed home the next few days, and nothing else happened that season.
I stayed away from green swamp the next year.
I couldn't shake the two occurrences that had happened there, and I tried hunting on different
wildlife management areas all of 2018.
My oldest stepson had come home from the army in 2018, and wanted to start turkey hunting,
so I agreed to take him and teach him.
But we had no luck at any of the other wildlife management areas that we had tried, so that
meant going back to green swamp.
I had told him I wasn't really comfortable going back there, and I shared my experiences
with him.
He told me it'll be different since there's two of us.
Boy was he wrong.
A currents three happened in March 2019.
Our time for spring turkey had been quiet and typical of public land hunting.
I steered miles clear of the areas I had the first two occurrences at, and only had to
deal with people walking in on our setup, or using calls they really couldn't use and
scaring off the birds we had coming in on us.
We were having fun, and I kept putting us on birds.
We weren't able to harvest any yet, but we were having a blast, and I was happy to be
hunting with one of my stepson's.
I was actually happy to be in the woods again.
By this time I started trusting my gut.
If an area doesn't feel right, I'm not going near it.
And it had worked so far for that season.
But on Wednesday the 27th, we walked into an area off tram grade across from the little
flip bridge.
We went without scouting the area, but nothing ventured, nothing gained, I thought to myself.
My stepson said he had a funny feeling about this spot, but I didn't, so we kept going.
It was about 45 minutes before sunrise, and we had our headlamps on.
We were looking for a place where the enough cover for both of us.
Then the strangest sound came out of nowhere.
It was a whooping sound.
The kind I'd heard on those goofy bigfoot shows I had started watching, so naturally I thought
it was my son messing with me, so I told him to knock it off or he will scare the birds.
As he was saying it wasn't him, a second, even louder whoop, came from directly above us
in the trees.
We both dropped into a kneeling stance and were scanning the trees for what just made
that noise.
My heart was in my throat again, and I could hear it beating in my ears like an overcaffeinated
drummer going nuts with his bass drum.
There was no noise and no wind, but the branches of the big oaks around us started moving,
so we got up and backed out, and we found a different spot.
I didn't feel uneasy, but I wasn't taking any chances either.
I know owls don't make those sounds, and trees don't move by themselves.
Just a day the 28th.
We decided that we would hunt along the power lines on Tram grade, a spot we hadn't tried
yet, but it looked promising as it was an open field lined on both sides by thick cover.
I figured we could set up at the bottom of the huge metal towers that the power lines ran
across.
It was a chilly morning.
I missed our turn and had to take the long way to the spot we had picked.
We pulled in and got out to get our gear ready.
I instantly had a bad feeling.
Something was wrong.
I'd later find out my son had the same feeling, but kept quiet about it.
After I had everything set up and loaded my shotgun, I unholstered my 45 and chambered
around.
Then sat back down on the truck and took a drink of my coffee.
My son was wanting to go set up, but I told him I'm going to wait a few and listen to
see if we hear any birds gobble before we go in because of how open it is along the
power lines.
That's complete BS, but I didn't want him to know that something wasn't right.
All we were hearing were whippah-wills and a couple noisy owls doing their normal concerts.
Ten minutes passed, and my son needs to water the truck tire.
So I get out of the truck to watch for headlights as we are in an open field, and no one wants
to see a grown man peeing in a field.
As I go to sit back in the truck, everything goes completely quiet, except for the power
lines buzzing in the middle of this field.
It was so sudden it hit me like a smack in the face.
In my mind I'm cursing because I know something felt off.
Then there's a low drawn out whistle.
I felt sick.
My son looks at me and says, "Pops, that wasn't a whippah-will."
That's when he noticed my 45 was on my lap with the safety off.
He looked blankly at me and said, "I guess you weren't lying when you told me about those
stories, huh?"
Before I could answer him another whistle, and I'm on edge, I scanned the woods with my headlamp
but seen nothing.
Just brush and trees, nothing out of place, and I can't hear anything moving.
My son goes, "Pops, what was that?"
I didn't respond because I don't have an answer.
I get out of the truck and start loading my gear back in and close the back doors quietly
as I can.
My son does the same.
Suddenly, a good distance down the left side power lines behind the truck, something
lifts out the most god-awful noise.
It sounds like a scream, a growl, and howl all at the same time, and it's loud.
As that one starts to die down, but before it stops there is a second one.
I'm shaking.
Me and my son look at each other, and the fear is all over our faces.
There's a few seconds of silence, and then from in front of the truck we hear coyotes.
They are squalling and yelping and running.
In the beams of our headlamps we can see a couple break cover, and they are running full
tilt away from us and the noise.
I looked at my step-son and flatly said, "It's time to go."
As we are getting in the truck, a third one of those god-awful sounds, this time it's
closer.
It's way too close for comfort, and I could feel it in my body.
It was on my side of the truck now, and we hauled butt out of there.
On the way home, I couldn't figure out how something could move that fast from one side
of the field to the other, and then up that side across a road and into the trees without
being seen or heard.
Didn't it click?
It hadn't.
There was more than one of those things, and they didn't want us there.
The only thing that comes close to the sounds we heard out there is a video on YouTube of
a silverback gorilla screaming, but it's not as angry, low, or as drawn out, and the
big-foot house that are on YouTube don't quite match it either, it's almost across between
the two.
I'm trying to find answers to a lot of questions, so I figured I'd do some research into Seminole
Indian legends, as they've been in Florida a lot longer than anyone else.
When it turns out, the Seminole tribe was once part of the Creek tribe, and they do have
a legend that is like big-foot called the Coloah, which when translated is supposedly the
Seminole or Creek word for gorilla, only difference between the big-foot stories and what
I could find on the Coloah is unlike the big-foot tales and legends up north where he is sometimes
peaceful and benevolent, this southern one is a massive and malicious man-eater.
Just my luck instead of Harry and the Henderson's type of creature, I'd find the kind from a horror
movie.
I kind of wish I hadn't dug into those legends.
Well, that's what's happened to me so far.
I still haven't decided if I'll go hunting this spring or not, but if I do and anything
else happens, I'll be sure to let you know.
for your time, Nathaniel.
[BLANK_AUDIO]