When bigfoot gets in your head -- telepathy, dreams, & channelers, oh my!

One time, while out on a bigfoot investigation, I had one of the strangest dreams I’ve ever had in my life. In August of 2005 I went with another researcher to an area near Connelsville, Pennsylvania, where a lady and her children had reported a possible bigfoot encounter. They hadn’t seen anything, but they’d heard a very loud growl come from across a creek that just seemed too loud to be anything ordinary. It wasn’t much to go on, but we were headed into that area anyway, so we thought we’d look into it. After speaking with the witness we were directed to a nearby campground for the evening, which turned out to be a bit of good luck. The owner of the campground had his own experience to tell us about, which had happened some years earlier.

The owner, Leon, was a gregarious Vietnam war vet in his 60s, but still tough as nails. He had served as a point-man on jungle patrols and he knew a fair bit about being in the woods. He told us he was just getting his campground started at that time and that he wanted to keep it as close to natural as he could so that city-folk could come out and experience the natural world for real, not at some spa-like campground with luxurious cabins, heated pools, and 24 hour convenience stores. That suited us perfectly. We both admired Leon and his attitude toward camping right away.

He asked us what brought us out there so late, and we straight up told him. “We’re looking for bigfoot. One of your neighbors had a possible encounter and we’re going to check it out.” I even gave him a card I had at the time. He looked at the card, looked back at us, ran a hand through his hair, and took a deep breath. That caused me a moment’s nervousness. I was a little afraid he was going to order us off his property.

“You’re bullshitting me!” he said at last. We assured him that we weren’t, but we noticed that his hands had started to shake and he began to look more than a little unnerved himself. He slowly sat down, lit a cigarette, and started to talk.

“I’ve never told anyone else this,” he began, “but a few years ago, when I first got this property, I thought I’d have a logger come through and take out some of the old hardwood.” Leon leaned back into his chair and continued.

You can make a good bit of profit from that. This was before I had the idea about the campground. Anyway, I had this old fellow, a well known timber man in this area, come out to survey my trees. We walked along by the creek, and he would say, ‘That’s a good one. We’ll have that one,’ and all, giving the impression that he thought he could come out and make a bit from what I had. We were getting close to the point where you start to haggle for the price per tree when we came around a bend in the trail, and I noticed in front of us a good sized footprint in the mud. It was so fresh that it was still filling in with water. It was a big footprint, bigger than mine, and clear as day with toes and everything. I stared at it, wondering what it could possibly mean -- if there had been someone there, we’d have seen him. There’s no way to get in or out except the trail we were walking down or straight up through the brush. We’d have seen him either way. I couldn’t really wrap my mind around that footprint, so human like. I kept trying to make it be a bear print, but it wasn’t, or it was the biggest bear with the strangest feet, and no claws. When I looked back at the old fellow, I saw that he was looking at the print too. He eyeballed it a second more, then looked at me and said, ‘I don’t believe we are going to be able to do business,’ and he started walking back. He wouldn’t say another word about it, but I knew from how he acted he had seen that kind of thing before, and he wanted no part of it.

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