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Re: Bigfoot

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  • Dex
    ... encounter with two Indians hunting deer in Nevada. One of the Indians was stalking a deer when all of a sudden Bigfoot walked up a little ways from where
    Message 1 of 2 , Sep 13, 2009

      > (Note: I watched a documentary about bigfoot and I remember an incident
      encounter with two Indians hunting deer in Nevada. One of the Indians was
      stalking a deer when all of a sudden Bigfoot walked up a little ways from
      where he was sitting. He said bigfoot reached down and fumbled with
      something on the ground and seemed unaware he was watching him. He said
      then bigfoot stood up and looked right at him. He said he took his rifle,
      aimed and fired the bolt action deer rife directly into bigfoot. He said he
      emptied all the rounds and bigfoot just stood there. Stared at him a few
      minutes longer and left. He said he took off looking for his friend and
      when he found him told him what happened. He and his friend went back to
      the spot where he allegedly shot bigfoot. His friend looked around and
      asked him how many rounds did you shoot? Well, the Indian said I emptied
      the entire clip. His friend then bent down and picked up the shells on the
      ground. He said these rounds haven't been fired. The Indian said he was
      flabbergasted, because in his mind he fired and ejected all the rounds,
      each time he fired a round he ejected it, but, evidence proved to him not a
      bullet was fired...Dex)
      > from Aileen:
      > Thursday, September 10, 2009
      > Iron Bridge � Shooting the Creature
      > Michael returns to the woods to hunt the monster that's haunted him
      > By Stephen Wagner, About.com
      > Beginning back in 2007, Michael L. and some of his friends have had
      encounters with a creature they believe to be a Bigfoot or Sasquatch near
      Iron Bridge, Ontario, Canada. In this third encounter (read about
      encounters one and two), their experiences go way beyond anything they
      could have imagined... because this time they took weapons. The results of
      this encounter, however, if true, might lend evidence to the theory that
      Sasquatch might not be an animal as we define the term, but something else,
      possibly from somewhere else. This story does stretch credulity (which is a
      characteristic of high-strangeness experiences), but Michael swears to me
      that it is true. This is Michael's continuing story....
      > TWO YEARS AGO, my friends Joe, Adam and I encountered something
      terrifying on my property, which is located about 30-40 kilometers
      northeast of the town of Iron Bridge, Ontario. Last year, during the
      summer, I encountered the creature again. Only this time I was alone and
      had no way of proving anything to anyone. The only proof that I had were
      the regular nightmares that I experienced in the weeks following.
      > This time, things went differently. A lot differently.We departed at our
      usual time of midnight to head up to Iron Bridge. We arrived in Sault St.
      Marie at about seven in the morning on a Monday, so there was no customs
      traffic to deal with, and the customs officer was nice enough to wave us on
      through without checking my vehicle. (I did have to pull over to have them
      inspect my Ruger 10/22 and my Mossberg 500B and fill out tons of paperwork,
      but that's unrelated to the story.)
      > We got to the town of Thessalon to grab a bite to eat and to prepare us
      for the next two hours of driving on bumpy, rugged terrain in a vehicle not
      suited for the trip. After getting off the last of the maintained road, it
      took us roughly an hour of driving to get to the gate to the cabin.
      > Immediately, something struck me as strange. There was a smell in the
      air. It smelled a lot like bear to me, so I took my shotgun out of the
      back, loaded it with three 3-inch slugs and proceeded up the hill with my
      two friends to start the Yamaha Rhino all-terrain vehicle (ATV), which
      would pull up the rest of our gear. It took about three trips, but we
      finally got all of our gear into the cabin. The shotgun never left my side.
      > Then it was time for me to get to work. I field-stripped my Mossberg
      .410, and removed the magazine restricter. I Rem-Oiled all of the moving
      parts, reassembled it and now had a pump-action shotgun capable of holding
      a maximum of seven 3-inch slugs, more than enough to take down an elephant.
      I then got to work on my Ruger 10/22. I removed the stock and replaced it
      with a bullpup design that I had purchased off the internet (bullpup
      meaning that the magazine is located behind the trigger group, giving you a
      compact weapon with the same barrel length). I loaded a few 20-round
      magazines with high-velocity "yellow jacket" ammunition and set everything
      > It was getting late and everyone was getting hungry, so we decided to
      cook some burgers on the griddle, have a few beers and call it a night. My
      friend Adam slept on the couch with the Ruger, Joe slept in one bedroom and
      I slept in the last bedroom with my shotgun loaded, safety off right next
      to me.
      > I was awakened by a lot of commotion. My mind was a bit blurry since I
      just woke up, but Adam related the whole story to me. He had been sleeping
      on the couch with the windows open, letting the cool air blow into the
      living room. He had been drifting in and out of sleep until he had smelled
      something reminiscent of rotting animal and feces. He knows what a bear
      smells like, so he slowly closed the window, picked up the Ruger off the
      table and went over to my room to knock on the door. The moment before he
      began to say my name, something had thrown "itself at the side of the
      > Adam quickly spun around and dropped to a crouch and clicked the safety
      off the Ruger. I threw open my door behind him and stood there a moment,
      trying to get my bearings. I asked Adam what had just happened and he
      clarified the story for me. I glanced at the clock. It was shortly after
      six in the morning. Heh, our friend Joe never even awoke through the whole
      > Adam and I spent the rest of the morning sitting on the couches, cradling
      our weapons and chain smoking cigarettes. We didn't speak much; we already
      knew what it had been. After eating breakfast and telling Joe what had
      happened, I went out to inspect the side of the cabin to see what type of
      damage had been incurred. There was mud on the window and a large gash in
      the roofing. The roof, at that point, is approximately eight feet from the
      > We all sat down around the dining table and discussed our plans. My plan
      was to get a body. Adam's plan was to record this thing and Joe wanted
      nothing to do with it. After two glasses of beer, we had decided on it. We
      were going on a hunt.
      > We loaded the Rhino with a day's worth of water, food, weapons and
      ammunition. Any MNR (Ministry of Natural Resources) officer who would've
      seen us would've thought we had come to take over the country. It was a
      damned hot day, and I didn't make it any cooler by rolling the Rhino
      through the thick trails at 5 mph. By five in the evening, we found a nice
      shaded area, had dinner and suited up to head back to camp. I drove a bit
      faster on the return trip, but I still kept my 10/22 "Spray n' Pray" aiming
      out of the driver's side door.
      > Upon arriving at the bottom of the hill where I had parked my car, I
      noticed something that I hadn't before. There was mud streaked down the
      driver's side of my car.
      > "Did someone s__t themselves?" Adam asked, referring to the foul odor in
      the air.
      > "No," I said. "Keep your guard up. We might have something in the area."
      > We rolled cautiously up to the cabin... and there it was in all its
      horrifying glory. Matted, disgusting hair, tinged green and dead-leaf
      yellow. The moment it saw our headlights, it dropped on all fours and ran
      into the thicket behind the cabin.
      > "Day number two, and this is it already, boys," I muttered as I shut off
      the engine and set the parking brake. I got out of the Rhino and handed
      Adam the 10/22. "How many spare magazines do you have for that thing?"
      > "Umm... three 20-rounds and one 10-round," he answered. "We're not
      following this thing are we?"
      > A sudden anger overwhelmed me. "Yes, if you want to stay in the cabin,
      stay in the mother_______ cabin."
      > "I'm coming," Joe said.
      > "Why the f___ not," Adam replied.
      > "Good," I said. "I want everyone to listen to every word I say. If I tell
      you to do something, do it."
      > They all nodded in solemn agreement. I instructed Adam to stay in front
      with the 10/22 and keep his eyes to the left. Joe would stay a few steps
      behind us and I would stand off to the right with the shotgun. After
      walking for about an hour, I started to smell that horrid stench again. We
      were getting closer. I could literally smell my prey.
      > "Are you sure it's legal to shoot Bigfoot?" Joe asked.
      > "Probably not, but I'm not too worried about it," I told him. "If I can
      kill it, take some photos and get them out to the media before MNR takes
      over, we should be on the front page nationwide."
      > "How much money do you think....?" Joe's words trailed off. I turned
      around to look at him and saw that same terrified look that I had seen
      nearly two years prior. I followed his gaze and could see the creature
      moving around a small "tipi" of dried grass; it was completely oblivious to
      our approach.
      > I dropped the tone of my voice. "Everyone, down on the ground." We all
      slowly obliged. My hands were shaking. Here was the moment of truth. I
      reached into my back pocket and pulled out a flask of vodka and took a huge
      > "Anyone else need some?" Joe took it from me, took a sip and put it in
      his pocket. "Okay, here's the plan. I want you both here to provide
      covering fire. It takes a little bit of time to reload, so make your shots
      count. I only want to engage it if it makes any threatening gestures.
      Meanwhile, I'm going to flank it on the right. I see a ditch that I can
      crawl through and hope doesn't notice me."
      > "Are you f____ing crazy?" Joe asked.
      > I hesitated. "Maybe." I then continued, "If this thing notices me
      crawling along the ditch I want to you open fire immediately. Don't aim for
      the head; he's too far out. Go for body shots. If I get into a good
      position, wait for me to start shooting before you do."
      > Joe shook his head. "Whatever you say."
      > OPEN FIRE
      > "Give me my flask," I said. Joe obliged and I drank the rest of it in two
      swallows. I gave a weak smile. "If I'm going to be rendered limb-from-limb,
      I want to be buzzed while it's happening."
      > I watched as Adam took a traditional sniper position and got a bead on
      the creature that was still moving around its tipi. I rolled into the ditch
      and started army crawling, hoping that this thing didn't hear anything. The
      last thing I wanted to hear at that moment was gunfire from behind me.
      Murphy's Law states that "anything that can go wrong, will go wrong." That
      applied to our situation quite nicely. As I was just orienting my body to
      get my head and barrel over the top of the ditch, I heard gunfire behind me
      and heard that horrible whiny, clicking scream again. I got my head above
      the trench to watch this creature get hit with four more hollow-points in
      the chest before dropping to a heap on the ground.
      > "Hold your fire and reload!" I yelled to my teammates. The next minute
      was tense. I couldn't believe it. We had actually killed Bigfoot! We were
      going to be all over the news the next morning. Then it got back up!
      > "Suppressive fire on target! NOW! NOW! NOW!" I screamed. The .22 caliber
      ammunition was having some effect on the creature's ability to stay
      upright. Each shot dropped it back down to its hands and knees. It was time
      for me to do my part and finish this. "HOLD FIRE! RELOAD!" I yelled as I
      stood up to full height.
      > The creature turned to look at me. This was the only time I had a good
      look at its face. It was terrifying. It looked like it was already dead.
      Its eyes were blacker than the night sky and the stench was unbearable. I
      couldn't compare this creature to anything I've seen before in my life. I
      fired a .410 slug directly into the side of its head and pumped in another
      round. It dropped back to the ground again.
      > "Move up!" I yelled, and I saw Adam and Joe move up slowly, Adam with his
      weapon still pointed at the creature. No creature in this world could
      survive a .410 slug to the skull, but this was no ordinary creature. It
      started getting back up! I fired two more shots into the head of the
      creature while walking forward. The stench, at this point, would have made
      me vomit if my adrenaline levels weren't so high. It slumped over again and
      I walked up to it with my shotgun shouldered and ready to fire again. I
      kicked its shoulder and it rolled over on its back.
      > Then it looked me right in the eyes.
      > At this point, I blacked out completely for approximately 15 minutes.
      According to my friend, Adam, this is what happened:
      > I went into a rage, he hold me. I screamed, I swore and fired all four
      slugs into the creature's face. After spending the rest of my magazine, I
      continued to dry-fire and attempt to pump another cartridge into the
      chamber. Realizing that I had no more ammunition, I did something that
      terrifies my friends and is told around campfires to this day. I calmly
      walked up as the creature as it was trying to roll over back onto its
      stomach to push itself up off the ground and kicked it, hard, with my
      steel-toed boot. It rolled back over to its back and I began beating it
      relentlessly with the butt end of my shotgun. I then pulled my 13-inch
      combat knife from my holster and slit its throat. I picked up my shotgun
      off the ground and walked over to Dave and Joe as if nothing had happened.
      I then asked Dave for the 10/22, asked him how many rounds it had left in
      it. Turned around and fired all twenty rounds, from the hip, into the body
      of this creature. I tossed the 10/22 back to Dave so he could put a fresh
      magazine in. I loaded my last three slugs. Then we waited.
      > I started to clarify my mind at this point and realize what I had done.
      No living creature could've withstood the punishment that I had inflicted
      on it. It had taken between 40-60 .22 hollow-point rounds, seven .410
      shells to the head and face, a kick to the face, a brutal attack with the
      butt end of a shotgun and then having it's throat cut. But it started
      getting right back up. I didn't even bother readying the shotgun. Three
      more rounds weren't going to do anything but stun this thing. I don't even
      think a minigun mounted on a helicopter could've kept it down. Dave fired
      the rest of a magazine at it, and it barely flinched.
      > It then proceeded to stand up to full height and perform its whiny,
      clicky growl again, then turned and ran.
      > "What. The. F___!" I was speechless, but I felt I had to the need to do
      something. I pulled my can of Zippo fluid from my vest, walked over to its
      tipi and began to douse it with the entire contents. I lit my Zippo and the
      tipi immediately burst into flames. I walked back to my friends and all I
      could say was, "Why didn't it kill me?" No one could answer that question.
      > We proceeded quickly back to the cabin to stock up on ammunition, just in
      case the creature wanted to visit us in the night. During that time, I
      noticed something strange. There was nothing on the butt of my shotgun. No
      blood, no dirt. It looked like I had just pulled it off the shelf. Same
      with my knife. Not a drop of blood on the entire blade.
      > No one slept that night, and nothing attacked the cabin. We left the next
      morning, four days ahead of schedule. I don't believe I'm going to be going
      to my cabin again. After seeing what I have seen, this creature is not of
      this world. If bullets and bayonets couldn't harm it... what could?
      > P. URIAL
      > [Non-text portions of this message have been removed]
      > ------------------------------------
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