A listener writes “Hello Wes, I’m gonna tell you the events that changed my hunting passion from, I couldn’t wait til the season came in til I sold my best coonhound because it wasn’t fair for her to be penned up.
It all started when I was about 14. I was coonhunting with my grandfather and uncle. We were walking a river island and my grandpa’s dog started barking treed. Upon getting to her, she was not barking hard. Not upon the tree like she normally would be. About the same time my uncle’s dog came to check in and he started staring at the area Sally, my grandpa’s dog was barking. He commenced to growling and all the hair on his body was standing straight up. Limbs broke beyond Sally and her reaction was the same as Joe, my uncle’s dog. My grandfather was a hard man and at the time I didn’t understand when he called the dogs off and we leashed them and walked back non chilantly back to the pickup truck. I asked what did the dogs run and my grandfather played it off, said it was a slick tree. He wouldn’t answer at the time what was causing them to start growling like they were fixing to fight for their life. No matter how much I asked.
Fast forward 3 years. It’s was the opening night for coon season. The date was Oct. 15th. I had my Walker hound Bonnie and Bluetick Buck. Mind you I was approximately 5 miles from the spot I was at with my grandfather.
I unloaded the dogs and started my journey up an old road, that went to the base of the mountain where the inclined started. Around a two mile walk. I had got about a half mile or so. The dogs were out hunting, coming back every 10-15 minutes to check in as I call it and they’d go back out hunting. At about this point I could faintly hear something walking behind me. At first I thought it was one of the dogs so I didn’t pay it any mind. I was nearly a half mile from the end of the road where the mountain starts to incline that I noticed whatever was walking behind me was matching me step for step.
They were close, but as I cast my light threw the big timber I couldn’t see a thing. I had heard of bobcats being nosey critters and I played it off again. Figuring I’d have a good chase on my hands if the dogs caught the cats scent I was gonna try and scare it off.
I started walking but decided after about 10 steps I was gonna turn quickly and cast my walk light on this cat and scare it off. Well after I turned and threw my light up, I didn’t see a cat. I seen a bear, I thought looking at me from an old growth poplar tree. I quickly loaded my single shot 22lr and was about to shoot and scare it off when this big hairy thing, every bit of 7 feet tall and 40 inches wide, walked out from behind that poplar and preceded to walk past me on my right.
I was scared shitless. Couldn’t move, much less pop a round at this thing. About that time my dogs came back and caught sight of it. It started running ahead of me the direction I was intending to go. Was I ever so glad when my dogs gave chase. I knew I had a chance to get the hell to the truck.
I literally broke out running as fast as I could. I knew the mile and half would take roughly 10 minutes but I was glad to get the shit out of their. About two minutes into my run back to the vehicle I could hear the dogs chasing parallel to me but they were on top of the ridge and I was in the hollow. Another minute of running and they were ahead of me in the direction I was heading. I knew I had to get out of there, this thing was circling me. I ran faster than I ever had. Clearing blow downs that I’d normally walk around.
I was parked beside an open field where the dirt road I was traveling passed. About 300 yards from my truck I heard the most intense roar I’d ever heard in my life. The dogs had shut up. I didn’t have a clue what was going on but I knew I was getting in my truck.
When I reached the gravel road my truck was roughly 50 yards parked beside the fence that went around the field. As I got near my truck the fence was flattened like a tree had fell down on top of it. But nothing was their. The screams continued. I looked and my hounds had crawled under my truck. I opened the door and they jumped inside and I wasn’t gonna waste time putting them on the rear box.
You can say I made record time getting home that night. I lived with my grandfather. Upon walking in the house after tying up my dogs, I was asked by grandpa if I had caught a coon. Hell no was my answer as I caught myself speaking to him like that. He looked at me and said boy your pale look you ain’t getting sick? I told him no that I seen something and I set down and explained what I saw and what happened.
His first words were You were up on the mountain by the old dynamite shed. I asked him immediately how he knew. The only thing he said after that was don’t go back in them woods. That I had alot of other good hunting land.
I never questioned my grandfather that night. In fact I never coon hunted again. In 2005 as my grandpa was pretty much house bound. Not able to get out and walk, with that night still on my mind and him knowing where I was without anyone knowing I had to ask to get some type of closure.
He said Bill when I was your age we went to look for a guy in that very spot that had went hunting but never came home, we found him. He had shot himself. I asked do you think it was his ghost, his spirit? He said your not getting it. This guy was built like a mule, could beat any man that he knew of and he was too religious to commit suicide for no reason. I said do you think he was murdered. He looked at me and said I’ll never say this again. The guy we found had two broken legs. He was scared into killing himself. I’ve seen them several times day and night, hunting or cutting timber. But the ones up their will kill you. I encountered one once drilling ore in that very spot. I asked what was said of the man’s legs. It wasn’t reported on. It was the early 1900s. We kept it to ourselves but figured he was tortured. And committed suicide to get it over. I then asked what he seen when up in their drilling ore and he looked at me and said the conversation ends here. I have a feeling he had an encounter like me.
I’m in my forties and I drive by the same field I parked that night, but I always look straight ahead until I’m past the spot. It’s many things in life people will do for a dollar. I wouldn’t walk that two mile journey back in those woods for a million.
If I had the money I’d pay to know what I witnessed!!! Thank you for letting me tell someone. Other than my grandfather who took this with him to his grave, your the first person I’ve told besides Steve on how to hunt!
This took place in Augusta County, Virginia. In the Shenandoah Valley.”