The bigfoot came at me so fast I never saw it break out of the brush.
One second I was locked in on a decent eight point easing across the edge of a thicket
and then the next there was something bigger crushing and hard from my left.
It was coming straight at the sound of my fawn bleat.
I dropped the call from my mouth and swung that way, just in time to see a large, dark
and hairy shape running on two legs as it hit the opening between two pines.
It stopped so suddenly, dirt kicked forward under its feet.
The buck that I had been trying to stop blew once and left the area as if it had been
shot out of a cannon.
That I was looking at something else and that something else was looking back at me.
And I knew right then I was in a world of heart.
That was four years ago.
I was hunting on a private lease in West Virginia.
I was kneeling against the base of a sweet gum right on the edge of a little hardwood
drain.
My cordless hole punch, well let's call it that, my cordless hole punch for hunting was halfway
up.
I had one elbow on my knee and I was staring at something that I didn't believe existed.
But there it was, a bigfoot, big as you please pardon the pun.
It was standing just inside the brush, possibly 30 yards, maybe a little more from me.
Now the first thing that hit me was the size.
And I don't mean just its height, which I put well north of seven feet.
Since I've had this encounter, I have listened to and heard hundreds of ways of people describing
it.
But none hit the spot for me when we talk about the size.
This thing was wide and thick everywhere, built like a huge Mack truck all over, solid and
heavy.
The outline of it was clear to me when I saw the head, which was just as big as everything
else.
It was like looking at a hairy refrigerator with long arms.
You know, there was no way I was wrong about calling it a bigfoot.
There was nothing in its shape that could ever be mistaken for a deer, a bear, or a man.
You simply can't mistake that shape.
It's a big, shaggy human shape walking around on two feet.
You tell me what else exists on the earth except a bigfoot.
I was still looking at it, and then it leaned forward.
It hit me then that the fondly is what drew it in.
I'd used that little can call for years, mostly to stop deer to get a better shot at them.
But that morning, that fondly got the attention of something else.
My cordless hunting single hole punch was up, but my finger was not on the punch button.
It came forward at a full step.
It wasn't in any hurry, but that one step seemed like some sort of test because it was
staring at me while it did it.
But I was looking at it, too.
I then got a better look at the fur, which was a flat, medium brown, and it covered the whole
body.
The thing that really bothered me was the face.
It had a very human look to it, even from that distance.
At the same time, overall, each part looked more animal-like.
It's difficult to describe.
I wasn't seeing detail at thirty yards, but I was seeing enough that I was becoming sure
on some things.
And here's the thing.
I knew I was the only hunter out there, or at least the only one that had permission
and should have been out there.
I had been hunting that private least near on ten years.
I knew the owner who lived out of state.
I followed the same routine.
I cleared my time on the lease with him, then I gave a courtesy call to the nearest neighbor
who was about a mile down the road and nearing eighty years old.
I just always let the old fella know when I would be in the adjacent woods.
I got there that morning before dawn, unlocked the padlock on the metal gate, drove in, then
got out and locked the gate back up with the same padlock.
I was the only one there.
So I didn't ever go with the thought that what I was looking at was a person.
Just trust me when I tell you, a person would have been hard pressed to come in any other
way than the way that I came in, even on foot.
We'll just say, terrain difficulties.
But I got there.
I got set up.
And a little after seven, here comes a big buck right out of the brush, quartering across
the hill, right in the sweet open spot that I had for a clean shot.
I gave the call a quick tip to stop him.
And just before I got my shot, here came this thing right at me.
Once I saw it, nothing else mattered anymore.
Didn't matter anyway, the buck was long gone.
The big buck came up another step and stopped just behind a cluster of saplings, which
did nothing to hide it.
I remember thinking thirty yards or less is not a big distance when something that big
decides to move in on you.
So I eased the hunting hole punch up tighter into my shoulder.
And you know what?
It saw that.
And it reacted.
I know it saw it because suddenly it's head dipped a bit, then it angled its whole body
over to one side, making sure I didn't have a straight on target anymore.
That was the only split second I had the faint thought.
Maybe that was a person, because animals don't react when they see a gun.
But that big foot did.
I don't know if it knows about guns because it had been watching us or through other
experience, but it broke eye contact with me and reduced its target size.
So it knew what to do when I pulled my whole punch up, like I was going to punch that
button.
I didn't lower the cordless hole punch.
I kept my eyes on where the big foot was or had been.
I stood up slowly.
I was of a mind of making sure I was on my feet if I had to leave in a hurry.
And after every second I thought more sure that's what I needed to do.
It stayed like that for a few seconds.
I was standing with my long hole punch tucked in, ready to start punching.
And it, weaving and bobbing between some trees, trying to cover itself.
But I still could see it.
Then something made it turn its head quickly, and it looked up hill.
It was hearing something I couldn't.
I thought maybe I would get out now while it was distracted, so I took a step back.
It heard, and its head snapped right back to me.
So much for a clean getaway I thought.
But I took a step back anyway.
And what did it do?
It matched me by taking a step forward.
I took another step back.
It didn't just a little at the waist, but just a little bit of a turn to it, just enough
for those long arms to reach something on the ground.
It happened so fast I wasn't sure what it was doing.
I barely saw it as it was doing it.
But it grabbed something off the ground.
Pulled its arm back like it was throwing a bowling ball.
Then threw something up that arced high and came down, hitting a tree about ten feet from
me.
Close enough that a bit of flying bark hit me.
That happened, and I jumped sideways, and I almost lost my balance on the wet leaves.
That was it for me.
I started backing uphill toward the old logging road that I had come in on.
I kept looking back and forward to check where I was going and what it was doing.
I was not far enough that I felt okay turning my back on it.
One second I saw it.
Then I looked back to see where I was stepping.
Then I looked forward for it.
And I didn't see it.
It was nowhere to be seen.
It was gone.
But then I found it quickly.
It was coming uphill right along with me, keeping a distance of about thirty yards between
us.
I saw it coming up through the trees in the brush.
It was looking over at me often.
My skin crawled because its movements and behavior were exactly like the one in the video from
the 1960s.
The arm swing, the twist to look at you.
But I think this one was a male.
I didn't see those things up top that would have told me it was a female.
In my head I was thinking I need to use my cordless hole punch and I need to use it now.
But I didn't.
I'm not going to wax all poetic and emotional about how human it looked and that's why I couldn't.
It did have human-like features which I've already mentioned, but that didn't come to mind
when I was thinking about using that hole punch.
I guess maybe because I didn't plan to put it on the dinner table.
And I had been raised to think, "You don't shoot for sport.
We shoot to fill the freezer, to feed the family."
I tell you though, if at that point it had started acting like it was coming towards me.
I'd have used that hole punch then.
But I did use that cordless hole punch when a large chunk of wood came flying in at me.
It was about the size of my forearm and landed way too close.
It hit the ground and half of it burst apart.
It was so rotten.
But if it had hit me, I think it would have done some damage.
I remember everything kind of went white for me inside my head.
I wasn't exactly thinking and I wasn't scared.
I do remember a simple thought.
"Okay then buddy, you want to send me a warning shot?
I'm going to send you one of my own."
I stopped.
Tucked the hole punch-up tight to my shoulder, sited it in my scope.
And you know what?
That dang thing went right behind a huge oak.
If I hadn't seen it slide behind that tree, I would never have known where it was.
So again, that thing knows what a gun can do.
It's learned from watching us I was sure.
Or maybe it had been shot, or one of its family had been.
I had exhaled and had been ready for a shot, when probably 30 or 40 seconds went by, and
it still didn't come back out for a shot.
So I took a chance and I hit that hole punch and the tree behind it is what I got.
I was just sending it a message too.
Listen buddy, I got good aim too.
All of a sudden that big that came out from behind that oak tree like a brown streak
of lightning.
It was moving faster than a deer at full run.
I kept trying to get my sight in front of it so that I could maybe take another punch.
But every time it would bob and weave between the trees or dip down behind the brush, I
tell you.
That big foot, it knows evasion tactics.
I turned and started booking it up the hill.
The logging road I knew was maybe 70 yards above me.
My truck was another 200 past that give or take, and it was parked where the road was still
clear near the front gate, and the gate was probably another 200 yards from the truck.
So I fixated on that, kept my feet moving.
The whole time I was keeping my eye on where that big foot was.
After about ten seconds I had no idea where it went.
I couldn't see it, but I kept heading uphill.
Twice I almost bit the dust slipping on wet leaves going uphill, but thankfully I didn't
fall.
I didn't see the big foot for maybe another 30-40 seconds, and I had almost convinced myself
it had left.
It was going to leave me alone.
But then I heard large brush breaking, not far away.
I looked over, and it was coming right for me on an arc of an angle.
It wasn't completely in the open, but it was coming in fast enough that it didn't matter.
We were going to intersect.
I saw bobbing and weaving through the trees.
How something that size can cover uphill rough ground like that as fast as it did, I still
don't understand.
It was really fast.
So I used the whole punch and tried to punch a hole in it as we were running, and I almost
got it.
But it bobbed right behind a tree the second it saw that whole punch come up and get
tucked up tight on my shoulder.
I punched the tree behind where it was.
I saw the bark fly.
I stepped out on the old logging road, and I thought a small bit of relief, but I knew it
was far from over.
That part of the old road hasn't been maintained for probably decades, not since it was all sold
off as private leased land.
Only near the gate could you still drive on it.
That also meant that it was real fun to run through there.
There are old ruts in the road that you can't see, and if you aren't careful, you will
go down and snap an ankle or worse.
I bolted through green briars, feeling but not feeling the thorns raking me.
I could hear the big foot, but I couldn't see it, but I knew it was staying right in step
with me.
I came out of the brush and I kept booking it.
Where the brush started getting thinner, I was beginning to see flashes of my red truck
far in the distance.
I was winded and on rubbery legs, but seeing that red gave me a second wind.
I could hear the big foot off to the side of the road.
It must have been part mountain goat to hang on the side of that slope, with all the unevenness
and still keep up the speed.
I was on semi-flat terrain, and I was worried about the ruts and rocks tripping me.
I glanced over a couple times.
I could see the brush moving, but I didn't see the big foot.
Didn't matter.
That was enough for me.
I moved over to the center of where I thought the road was, and I pushed on harder, keeping
the whole punch up and held to my chest.
Once it sounded like it was coming closer, I turned and shouldered my whole punch again,
and it sounded as if it backed off.
I rounded a light bend of the road, and the brush was clearing more and more, and the road
was more and more visible.
Dead ahead was my truck.
And let me tell you something that I know about hunting.
It's flushing your game to where you want them to go.
My truck, my beautiful truck, was only about twenty yards from me.
That's maybe the length of the main floor of my house.
And bam!
I got cut off.
Not by the one that had been running along with me.
Oh no.
His job was to flush me, to push me, to run me in a particular direction.
Another one had come out from the other side, and cut off my route to the truck.
This one was smaller, and it was more compact than the one that had been running me.
I'm pretty sure it was a male, too, but nowhere near as large.
But that didn't mean it wasn't likely to be able to rip me from limb to limb.
I pulled up my cordless hole punch and fired.
I hit that one right on the left shoulder.
I was aiming for where the heart was, or where I assumed it was, but I was running, and
I was just a tad bit off.
It let out a screaming sound that liked to have burst my eardrums.
I had never heard anything like that before, and I hope I never do again.
But it went down.
My cordless hunting single hole punch that day is a favorite of mine, not only because it
was a gift from my father the year before he passed, but it's a really good single hole
punch.
It's a Browning 30.06.
That's a hole punch with some really good punch power, and it sure did its job that day.
I swirved around with the other big foot lay, and I kept my eyes on my truck.
I had a complete moment of panic when I dug into my pocket for the key fob.
Right then was the first time I realized I had left my pack and supplies far behind.
So I really did have a second of panic thinking my keys and key fob might be in the zipper
pouch on the outside of my pack, which is where I often put them.
But thank God I had it in my pocket.
I was shaking, but I got it out just as I reached the truck.
I got it unlocked and got inside.
My truck was about 40 feet, maybe, from where the big foot lay on the ground.
He was still alive, and the bigger one had now come out and was looking at him, kneeling
near him.
I sweared to you.
I couldn't hear them, but I think they were talking.
I was backing up to make the turn back down to the gate when I realized two more things
it wants.
That big foot was really pissed now.
It was looking at me in the truck, and he was coming up for me in the truck.
I also realized I would have to get out and deal with that padlock on the gate.
And I had about 200 yards from the truck where it was parked to the gate.
So I did some mapping in my head, and I figured if I laid on the pedal to the gate, I might
get ahead enough that I might be able to get that padlock undone.
Before the big foot got me that is.
I didn't recognize B-stain around a locket up after I left, but so what?
I floored my truck.
Do you know what happens on old roads with fruts and potholes when you go fast and you're
not wearing a seatbelt?
Your head will hard kiss the top of your truck, not to mention all the damage you're going
to inflict on your truck.
I didn't have a seatbelt on, and I did hit the top of the truck.
I hit it so hard.
I saw stars, and I bit my tongue so hard by accident.
I thought I might have bit right through part of it.
And just a second, my whole mouth was full of blood.
But I didn't stop, and I didn't slow down.
I kept looking in the rear mirror, and the big one was coming after me for about the first
thirty seconds.
And then I didn't see it anymore.
I kept checking the mirror all the way anyway.
I thought maybe he had left the road and was off to the side, trying to be stealthy.
I tell you true.
I was so scared when I got to the gate.
I didn't realize I was at the gate.
I was looking in the mirror, and I plowed right through that big metal gate.
Talk about some real damage, both my truck and the gate.
The gate was ripped off on one side, and it rode on the front of my truck till I got out
on the road.
Now luckily, there was no one out there on that road when I came barreling out, because
I didn't slow down.
I would have hit somebody.
I tore through that gate, and I went straight across and almost went into the trees on the other
side of the road.
That's how much I overshot.
That's how fast I was going.
But I came to a screeching stop just in time.
Put the truck in reverse to turn onto the road, and that's when I heard the metal clatter.
That's when the gate fell off my front end.
I was still looking back down the logging road as I hit the pedal and went speeding down
away from there.
I got home, and my wife totally freaked out.
Not only was I home much earlier than normal, but I got out of my truck with blood running
down my chin.
Turns out I did sort of bite a little bit of a piece of the side of my tongue right off
to this day I can feel where it was missing.
No idea where that little chunk went, and I probably swallowed it.
I was shaking so bad when I got home.
I kept telling her I was okay, and it took a long time to get the whole story out.
But I told her.
She took one look at my truck, my mouth, and she never questioned me about it.
I'm not saying she fully believed me, but she knew something bad happened out there.
That truck wasn't even a year old, and I babyed the dickens out of it.
And it looked a pretty bad mess, plus here I came home with nothing but my rifle.
Once I stopped shaking, I got on the phone, and I called that landowner.
I told him there had been a mishap that gate was broken, but if he got someone to fix it,
I'd happily pay for it.
He was a little puzzled.
He asked what in the world happened.
He was thinking maybe I'd ran into some bad people out there, and maybe we had tangled.
Maybe someone took a shot at me.
I said no.
I only would say that I had seen something out there, and experienced something that I don't
ever want to talk about.
I refused all of his probing questions.
I told him also I wouldn't be going back out there to hunt either.
I knew he was confused.
He's a nice guy, but dang it, we knew all the same people.
I wasn't going to start blabbing about seeing a big fit or saying that I shot one.
My name would forever be mud in that town.
I really don't know if the one I shot ended up dying.
I have seen much bigger animals go down from one punch from my cordless hole punch, and
they never got back up.
So I really can't say.
In a way I have regrets over punching it, but at the same time I don't.
I know that if I hadn't, I wouldn't be here typing up this email.
I still hunt, but never there, no never there.
I don't even hunt that county or that string of mountains anymore.
No force that I know connects there.
I refuse.
Never again.
I also don't use a fond belief anymore.
I don't have a loan, but I cannot flush and drive game toward another hunter either, because
I remember what that felt like, because that day the old cliche was true.
I suddenly went from being the hunter to the hunted.
I was flushed and driven like game, and I believe I am lucky I survived.
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