Here's a story I ran across in the April issue of the Western Bigfoot Society's newsletter "THE TRACK RECORD".
There is a story, if I understand it correctly which can be found in the book "On the Track of Bigfoot" by Marian T. Pace which recounts a story supposedly prior to 1958 at a logging camp on the Chetco River which was over the state line in Oregon but no more than fifty air miles from Bluff Creek.
The operation was small, employing a dozen men whose families lived in tents alongside the river. for several weeks nothing unusual happened.
Then one morning enormously large, human like footprints were discovered along the riverbank. The loggers laughingly accused one another of having feet as big as chopping blocks. Everyone, from the oldest to the youngest in camp measured his footprints against those of the unknown visitor. Since no one's feet were that large, one question was bandied about repeatedly; if those weren't a bear's tracks, whose were they?
Someone said there was a "wild' man living way up the river. He was an irritable old devil who threatened to shoot anyone who approached his cabin. No matter how bad the weather was, he never wore a hat or boots. he was always bareheaded and barefooted.
Barefooted? Then the tracks were his! With the mystery of the tracks solved, the loggers forgot about them. However, several nights later the sound of eerie whistling and angry shrieks wakened them. In every tent men bounded out of bed and grabbed their guns, assuming a wounded bear was nearby. No one lighted a lamp for fear of attracting the beast, and frightened children were warned not to cry. The spine chilling noises went on and on. Sometimes they seemed close by, other times from the direction of the road or the river. But finally the sounds faded into the distance, and quiet returned to the dark campsite.
At daybreak the men gathered to talk. (They debated whether it was a bear or a mountain lion.) To satisfy themselves and ease their families' worries, a half dozen men searched about for bear or mountain lion tracks. They found no mountain lion spoor at all and no fresh bear tracks. However, at the edge of the clearing, beyond the first stand of trees and dense undergrowth they came upon more of the giant-sized human footprints.
The men debated whether it was the old recluse...they agreed they had to catch the demented man before he killed someone. So, as quietly as possible, the search party backtracked along the line of footprints. These led them out to the road several hundred yards above the camp, and up the road to the logging site. Here they found where the wild man had emerged from the forest into the open area, and prowled around tree stumps, piles of brush. and the machinery used in loading the logs onto wagons. Then the men had a nasty shock. Massive, unwieldly tree limbs, far too heavy for one man to handle, had been pulled out of the tangled waste piles and either tossed aside like match sticks or used to beat on the machinery.
The story continues about how the loggers began to track the wild man, and how they pressed on as far as they dared. They had followed the tracks leading away from the operation site to a point where the tracks plunged down a steep ravine. The gloomy depths of the ravine provided to many hiding places for whatever this creature they were tracking might be.
The Chetco Indians believed there were man-animals in the woods, the loggers were informed. These man-animals had shared their hunting grounds with the Indians for generations. The Indians claimed the fierce-looking hairy creatures who walked upright like men were neither human, nor animal, neither friendly nor hostile. They were simply there, like every other man or wild creature, so the Indians left them alone.
But very late on the third night the frightening sounds were heard faintly from far off in the woods. People jerked upright in bed. As the whistling and screaming grew louder, in every tent men pulled on their trousers and boots, and readied their guns. Obviously the night prowler was coming closer and closer.
When he (the night prowler) seemed only fifty feet away, one man took desperate action. Hastily fashioning a torch of oily rags and kindling, he set fire to it. Torch in hand and rifle in the other, he raced into the woods.
Meantime the man's wife called for help. Within minutes several men stumbled towards her in the darkness. They groaned when they learned that their comrade had gone into the woods alone. None hesitated to follow, but minutes passed while one dashed off to fetch a lantern and others supplied themselves with extra cartriges. finally the party headed into the forest in the direction from which the awful sounds were heard. They had covered only a short distance when the whistling and shrieking stopped. The men halted and listened. There was a long silence, then an outburst of beastial yowling followed by human screams. Thinking their friend was being attacked, the men fought through the undergrowth, the man with the lantern in the lead. moments later their comrade appeared, and collapsed in their arms. At first he was too terrified to speak. his companions fired their guns to drive off the howler, and then waited patiently for the poor man to gasp out the details. He said that by torchlight he had followed the line of giant-sized footprints and suddenly came upon a huge creature covered with hair.
"A bear?"
"An ape! A monsterous ape, seven or eight feet tall, two axe-handle wide across the shoulders, with beady yellow eyes and bared teeth. The torchlight must have blinded it because it stood stock-still, one hand shading its eyes. Then it let out a tremendous roar. The man hurled his torch into its face, but instead of shooting he ran screaming toward camp.
While his companions did not doubt his word, they asked anxiously if he were positive the beast was an ape.
Yes, he was positive.
It really looked like an ape?
Yes, an ape! Did it have fangs?
You bet.
Claws?
The man said sarcastically that he hadn't stayed around long enough to study the brute. But after thinking it over, he said it had hands like a man, only twice as large and covered with hair right down to the fingernails.
Several nights latertwo other loggers decided to chase the animal down and confront it, they were found: their bodies slammed against tree trunks and torn to pieces. A trail of blood-smeared footprints led off into the forest.
Within twenty-four hours, the logging operation was deserted. A professional hunter was hired to track the beast down and kill it, but he was unsuccessful. It was never captured nor its voice heard again. The most people could hope for was that the animal had either moved away, or had died.
That's my scary story.
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