Thick as Two Men 300 to 400 Kilos (600 to 880 Pounds)
8 Feet Tall Man Like Beast
Per Ernest's request, used
1st name or nick name of each involved
so that they may remain anonymous.
Ernest writes RMSO
Date- Line. December 1971. Location Southeast Gippsland, Victoria
1.30. A.m.
“Hell-mate, shoot the bloody…‘Thing!”
Boon’s low hushed voice is not only urgent and panicky, but is also very persuasive, not to mention we are all on the verge of, ‘hysteria, if not going into total clinical shock!
Earlier. 10:30 pm.
It is late in the evening and even though it’s nearly midnight, the perspiration is pouring off me as I exert my sweaty grip on the pliers I am holding as I try to ‘strip-away some tough electrical insulation from the frayed leads of our borrowed spot-light.
In the near blackness I sensed more than seen, my two best hunting mates, Pete (Pink-eyes) is Danny's (Boon's) younger brother, and is also for tonight the driver. Both Boon and Pink-eyes are standing on my left.
I continuously applied more pressure on the black semi hardened thick insulation as I felt it stretch to its breaking point as I ‘yelled’ in, ‘frustration.
“Come on you bastard, give!
My voice boomed and echoed into the night as it rebounded off the dense pine forest. Our eyes are still not accustomed to the moon-less but wondrous, star-lit night.
With no wind and best of all, not a hint of any other spot-lighters in the area, we have the makings of an ultimate night, for a bit of spotlighting.
I applied the final amount of pressure that finally broke the camel’s back, as the insulation finally let’s go, as my right arm with a fist- full of ‘pliers’ swung out violently to my immediate right.
In this void of near blackness, I heard a heart-felt ‘scream’ that sickened me to my very core.
My favorite young brother, ‘Guy’ has copped the full force of my swinging backhand to the left side of his face.
Horrific images and pictures ‘flashed’ into my mind’s eye as I felt the pliers that are still in my sweaty hand.
In an instant, (Pink-Eyes) reached in and turned on the headlights of the white H.T. Holden Ute.
As I squat I put my arms around my beloved eight year old brother trying to ‘calm’ him down, as he rightly howled his head off, at the same time trying to asses the amount of damage, ‘done. (Inexcusable! Our dad is going to bloody ‘kill’ me!)
Upon closer examination in the head lights it turned out that his right eye is bloodshot and is also baldly bruised, but other than that nothing serious.
Thankfully, it was only my closed backhand that made contact not the pliers as I had first feared.
He is now going to be the proud owner of his first, ‘Shiner, (Black-eye) and a beauty it turned out to be.
I finished rewiring the pathetic and ancient spotlight that is only marginally, better than the car’s headlights. After a short test run, I turned off the spotty.
In the soft white lights of the Ute’s front parkers, I looked at my child-hood mates and neighbors, since the age of two, and hunting partners for the past eight or so years.
At twenty three years of age, Nickname (Daniel Boon) is around the same age as me. We are both two years older than his brother, who my father nicknamed ‘Pink-eyes’ due to his fair completion, and resemblance to an albino.
I spoke, softly and solemnly to my two, Amigos.
“Don’t ask me why, but I am telling you, ‘boys… This is a, ‘B-a-d, ‘Omen!”
Without giving them the chance to question or reply I spoke my mind, going with my gut feeling.
“I reckon we should call it quits!”
With disappointment in his voice, Boon is the first to respond in protest.
“What! Give it, a ‘miss?
“Y-e-p, I have a real, bad, B-a-d, feeling about ‘tonight!”
Two minutes later it is my young brother Guy, who finally breaks the disappointed silence.
“Ernie, I’m ‘okay, really! I don’t mind continuing… I’ll be alright!”
His braveness and eagerness to continue is starting to sway my better judgment, for tonight is Guy’s first trip afield, as a ‘fetcher’ of game, and his apprenticeship as a future shooter, hunter and bushman. He has been waiting patiently for a long time for tonight…. But now I don’t know.
As we stood in front of the Ute for a few more second in continued silence, I leaned back on the driver’s side front guard, as I casually turned on the spotty.
I did a big arch around our area following the narrow ‘beam’ as it sliced through the prevailing night. Ever so slowly, I scanned our immediate surroundings as a cold chill and shiver went through my body. My mind and gut instincts, ‘screamed….
“This is not kosher!
For a start it’s way too still and the quiet, it is so quiet it’s almost deafening.
Not a whisper of a hare’s breath. (Excuse the Pun.)
Nothing moved in this usually productive and lively area as I decided I must be getting a little, ‘paranoid, as I turned off the spotty once more conserving the battery.
Going against my strong gut-feeling and better judgment not to mention, a highly developed survival instinct, I looked into my young brother’s hopeful and trusting eyes in the soft glow of the parkers, as I made my final decision, then and there.
As the head shooter and being the oldest, I have the last ‘say, on this matter as I give them my decision with great trepidation and reluctance.
“Okay boys….. Rather than be the ‘bad bloke’ in this equation, I will reluctantly relent, to the majorities wishes, all said and done we are not ‘Communist!
With that I give them the directive they are waiting for.
“Let’s do ‘it!”
1 am
Covering mile after mile of vast pine forestation that goes on and on, it seeming like it would never end. Travelling mainly on the hard yellowish gravel roads that are built for logging trucks didn’t help matters as they are all identical as they ‘criss-crossed’ throughout this vast area that seems endless.
Nothing, but native and feral animals are to be in these massive forests of pines.
The majority of game found in this little hunters ‘Mecca’ consists of the humble, overpopulated rabbit, the rare hare, heaps of Roos with the bonus in mid-winter, of quality fox furs.
The occasional roaming Sambar deer will be spotted feeding here and there in a spot-light but never shot, although legal to do so, it’s not only unethical, it’s non sporting, the same applies to the roo population, although we do on rare occasions drop one or two for dog meat, also taking their pelts to tan them etc, but only when they overpopulating an area, or on a farmers property at his request.
Not so lucky are the mountain dwelling black razor-back pigs, dingos, wild-dogs, etc, all of course depending on what time of year. If you like or love isolation, this is the spot.
The mobile scouting platform, (Ute) complete with a sofa cushion on the roof serves double duty, as a non-abrasive surface protecting your rifles, but also giving you near
Bench-rest steadiness and accuracy, when it comes to the killing shot.
Boon’s face as always is shinning in good health and as a rule, also in good humor and temperament. It must be all that free ‘steak’ the bastard has been ‘eating’ every day. Pink Eyes, on the other hand is the opposite of his brother being tall, thin, and pale, with a nervous persona and disposition.
Pete’s a, Panel-Beater \ Spray-Painter by trade and a good one at that, he still uses an oxy & acetylene to heat and shrink metal back into shape then the outmoded skill of lead wiping the damaged panels instead of using bog or fiberglass.
Boon is a lot more thick-set than his younger brother, Pink-eyes. Boon is also a, qualified country town butcher. (Handy aye)
Between us we know everybody, and everybody knows us.
Life, in the Latrobe valley, Morwell in particular with it’s abundance of surrounding game, is the sweetest place on earth for a hunter.
As we cruise slowly along at a crawl, Boon once again turns on the spotty as Pink-Eyes kills the main lights as not to flatten the battery, and give the spot light more definition and not scare off the game. Now with the comforting sound of tires on hard gravel the motion of going forward at snails pace relaxed me a little if only, short-lived.
As country boys we are well and truly rehearsed as to the routine and the rules
That applies to the art of spot-lighting. Extra-safety precautions on all counts and as always, ethical conduct to other people, livestock, property, and of course ‘Mother Nature’ is always paramount.
For the next twenty minutes or so, we saw virtually nothing but the odd nervous underground mutton (rabbits) making a dash for cover here and there, with my ‘snap-shots, with the pea rifle (22) in high speed pursuit. I glanced, at ‘Boon, and in a, hushed voice I whispered;
“Seems that tonight, some of the locals boys have beaten us to it!”
Boon, gave no indication of hearing me at first, as he Zigzagged and bounced the beam of light off the gravel road ahead of us, attracting my attention to the spot he is indicating, as he, ‘whispered:
“Think-not mate! …Haven’t seen a, fresh track for hours!
I followed the dancing beam, on the hard gravel road just ahead of us.
Once again Boon is correct in his observations.
Nothing has gone by in days including, loggers or fire patrols.
As we slowly crawled along we turned-off the gravel road and headed down a grassy firebreak track between thick rows of pine.
The shooting area became very confined to less than 20 meters on either side, and with a length of a few hundred meters to the end of this tree lined channel disappears into the black hole that is still ahead of our spotlight.
Boon is still flipping the ‘beam’ ahead of us from one side to the other. Under his breath he mutters:
“Real strange, there are no signs of life?”
An involuntary shudder goes through me that cause goose bumps, as I think to myself:
“I don’t like this, ‘one-iota! I like even less the small fact, Daniel Boon is strangely quiet and serious which is a rarity in itself, as usually I am telling him to shut up his cake-hole as his sense of humor can get very noisy especially his laughter that is usually directed at me for missing an easy shot.
This uneasy feeling between us is growing alarmingly as I glance sideways to my right, I looked at Boon’s side profile in the reflection of the spotty as he squints ahead, you can nearly see his brain, ticking over as his taunt persona and tight jaw line instinctively reads, ‘danger!
Like me, Boon is highly on edge as he has been listening to the animals, and reading the signs. To be politically correctly, reading the lack-off!
Boon as a rule is usually a very highly spirited, and an optimist to the very end. Blessed, with nerves of steel, Boon is not one to panic easily.
I looked to the rear, to check on young Guy as he is standing directly behind us, patiently and silently watching, learning, and awaiting some action.
In the faint shadow of the spotty I give him a wink, indicating all is well.
All the time, although I can’t explain it, I have this dreaded feeling we are being…Watched!
It is like a breath of fresh air, as we make a right turn out of the dark and claustrophobic pine tree tunnel and onto the main arterial gravel road.
Five hundred meters of open space and gravel then, Pink-eyes, on his own initiative and to my dread, chucks another left into an identical narrow shooting gallery.
I am resisting the panic and the urge to bang on the roof and ordering a ‘back- up’ pronto! (As in, reverse)
The first three-hundred meters or so went without incident as we approach the end of this new tree lined tunnel.
Boon shines his light, ‘dead-ahead, showing our driver ‘Pink- eyes’ the way and making sure the track is clear of any debris and obstacles.
Living up to my reputation as, ‘Eagle-Eye, I spot two faint red glowing coals in the distant thick clumps of spear grass in the storm-water channel on the other side of the road that runs along side the main gravel road directly in front of us.
Not, fifty-meters away and closing, I ever so gently banged twice on the roof as Pink- eyes instantly hits neutral. We covered another few meters ‘free rolling’ as we come to a gentle and near silent brakeless stop.
Gently, I placed my right hand over Boons left, as I guided the spotlight centering the two faint red coals right in the middle of the spot.
Gently, with my right elbow I nudged into Boon’s rib cage, as I ‘whispered;
“See it?”
Boon confused and not sure asks:
“Where?"
I nodded to the center of the yellowish \ white beam, at the same time I looked down and took note of Boon’s open backup gun, a Sterling single shot 12g Shotgun, which has just occurred to me is loaded with ‘Winchester, No 4, Shot. Thinking to myself:
“Christ! ... Rabbit ammo! Boon still not seeing the faint red coals whispers again:
“Where?”
I look up to realize that Boon is having a little trouble ‘spotting’ what I see as I started to lose patients I hiss:
“There, in the flood channel, in the high grass on the other side of the bloody road … Straight-ahead…Crouching!”
That’s the precise moment when Boon finally made out the dull, glowing red coals in the tall grass as I silently slipped the bolt shut on the old mans ancient, but well used Bruno Model One.22 bolt action repeater.
As boon makes out the faint silhouette behind the glow he lets out a shocked but hushed:
“BLOODY-HELL!
Boon, has also voiced my sentiments exactly!
Lucky my will power and sense of ethics is stronger than my fear as I controlled my emotions and fought the urge to panic and shoot.
Still not quite believing what I am seeing I leaned forward as I cradled the oil stock into my shoulder while trying to look through the ‘worn-torn, scratched and ‘battle-scarred ‘Tasco Tiara 4X scope.
As I cursed under my breath I came to the conclusion I would have been better off with iron sights, as I tried to focus as best as I could. What I am looking at is sending the fear of the unknown through me and like my best mate Boon, I don’t scare easy!
From its faint silhouette, I can barely make out it is big, hairy, and is very broad across the shoulders, and is wide and thick as two big men.
Lumpy and well defined muscles are obvious, under its fur/hair.
With the bulk and weight of at least, three to four hundred kilos (600 to 880 pounds) , it looks huge.
I and Boon are going into what is known in the business as clinical shock!
My mind races as I contemplate our situation as I whisper a nervous rhyme to boon;
“The things you bloody see, without your ‘Jungle Carbine, ‘3-0-3!
Reality ‘snaps’ me back to my only conclusion, as I whisper to Boon in slight panic:
“We are in ‘big-trouble… ‘Whiteman!
I am still having problems mentally digesting what I am ‘seeing, for the first time in my life and no doubt for the last.
To top it all off my mind is going from shock to verging on the hysterical, as I continue to fight for control, non-the-less I am transfixed, and I just can’t look-away as my mind is screaming in the background:
“This cannot be happening to us!
The spotlight is very limited at this distance, but even in the yellowish/white light, the dark brown or black outline of the top half of this creature is becoming more than distinguishable through the thick spear grass. The giant obviously believes it is still ‘invisible, as it has not moved ‘one-iota.
Crouching forward, it reminded me of an Olympic sprinter or runner in the starting position, that’s when the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, as it also reminded me of something else… A ‘predator’ waiting to ambush his prey…‘US!
Boon who is also in obvious hysterical shock, softly whispered:
“What is it?”
Without taking neither my eye away from the scope, or my finger off the trigger, I whispered back intensely:
“A Bunyip, how in the hell would I know?” Boon started to crack under the pressure.
1.30 am
“Hell-mate, Shoot, the blood… Thing!”
I whispered back:
“Not yet, I’m still not sure what that thing is!”
Boon, now more than a little panic crawling into his voice, is insistent:
“It isn’t from this Planet… Let alone this area… Shoot!”
“Yeah I know still, I don’t feel right, it could be some sort of sub-human?”
Boon is getting real edgy and a little hysterical as he insists:
“Now either shoots the bloody thing, or I will!”
I have already come to the conclusion that whatever this beastie is, it is not ‘human’ and its calm, crouched stance suggests it intends to attack-us!
The thick bars stood out prominent in my sight picture, as I centered the X hairs, between the creature’s eyes, through the thinner and upper part of the tall grass.
Slowly and surly I kept applying pressure to the trigger, until the .22 went off with a surprise.
‘Crack! …Thud!
At the sound of the shot, Pink-Eyes must have had his hand on the light switch, as the headlights came on instantly.
I do believe the bullet went a little low hitting the animal in the throat, for without
Uttering a single sound and in the blinking of an eye, this eight-foot plus, brown/
Black Ape (for better word) reared up and spun around on its own axis making a mad
Dash upright straight back into the heavy cover and natural thick bush that is the
Boundary and the end of the pine forest.
I could not believe the speed and cat like reflexes of such a huge, man like beast.
Again we all went into deeper shock for an instant …‘SHOCK, being the operative word, is the only ‘explanation’ for my next command, as I instinctively yelled:
“Kill the lights!!!!”
Instantly, we are pitched in total darkness and I have already cranked another .22 into the chamber of the Bruno as we listened intently for logic dictates, if there is one, there might be two or more!
In the dead of silence the sounds of shear panic drifted back to us as the ‘alien’ crashed it’s way through the thick dry scrub, sounding like an Asian buffalo that has stampeded in panic.
From the sounds drifting back, the beast is putting as much distance between it and us as possible. In its ‘panic’ it must have run into a low hanging tree branch some 30 meters in, as the violent sound of the crack of the limb snapping in half drifting back to us in the dark sent more shivers through us, realizing the raw and brute power of this unknown animal.
It didn’t even slow the creature up, as we listened to its heavy footsteps and crashing, through the scrub like a runaway tank, getting fainter and further away.
The raw power exhibited has turned our blood cold, not to mention it scared the living be-Jesus, out off all of us!
Pete couldn’t handle the darkness not for a second longer, as he flipped the headlights back on, and started the engine. I yelled out to him:
“Did you see that, ‘Pete?”
With disbelief he asked out of the driver’s window:
“What in the, ‘Hell’ was that!”
I replied in my sarcastic manner:
“Don’t know, but it is sure as, ‘Hell, it ain’t, local!”
I looked at ‘Boon, in the soft light and he is still transfixed looking straight ahead, as I questioned:
“What do you reckon, ‘Boon?”
Without looking away, he simply uttered one word:
“BIG-FOOT!!!”
We just stood in the back of the Ute listening in silence, but I didn’t have to wait long.
Boon, even in shock is not one to ‘miss’ an opportunity to stick it to me.
As he smiled he let out his unnerving giggle, as he put it straight on me…
“Well, you know the rules…Are you going in after it, and finish the job!!!?”
Boon is obviously taking the piss out of me, so to lighten up the moment I fired back:
“What!!!? … You expect me to follow-up that Yeti, and finish it off in the dark, armed with a .22?”
Glazy eyes shinny but still smiling, Boon insists:
“You shot it... You finish it! …Take the ‘Shotty ‘WOG!”
I laughed for the first time tonight as I hit back:
“You’re kidding me right? … That dirty old ‘thing! … With no 4, rabbit shot? … Don’t bloody think-so… CONVICT! …But hey, ‘HERO, be my guest if it is that important to you… Away you go!”
Boon laughed and declined simultaneously as I yelled out to Pete:
“Get us out of here, bloody Quick!”
Pink eyes needed no encouragement as he slipped it into gear and took off, post-hast.
I took one last look behind us as I made a ‘mental note’ of the area as we made our getaway. For I have already stated, it is reasonable to assume, where there is one, ‘Big- Foot, there are bound to be others.
In any event, I felt saddened that I took the shot but under the circumstances I did fear for our safety and hysteria will do strange things to good judgment, for if I had my 303, or a Winchester pump action loaded with solids or SG at hand I might have taken a different course of action.
I would not hunt in this area again for a long time to come. But come I will, in June the 24 /2009, and this time, Prepared!
Ernest
27/5/2009
Epilogue
In the next six months I would leave my beloved Victoria and head north, first to Sydney, then 20 years later in 1991 to sunny Queensland, where for the last 18 years I married and settled down and breed some big foots of my own.
Till this day I don’t talk much about my experience, let alone discuss it with my old shooting mates or my younger brother on the rare occasion we get together when I went back to Victoria to visit. I did however tell this story to my wife and two teenage sons who still reside with me, and while they thought I was telling them a whopper, the tune changed when my brother Guy then aged 41 years old, turned up here for a visit some 5 years ago, and with little prompting I ask him to retell this story in his own version, with me not saying a word or correcting him through-out the retelling, as I also wanted to see how well he remembered it after nearly four decades.
Low and behold his version is exactly the same as I have written down here for posterity. My shocked wife & two sons don’t think I am telling tall stories anymore, and that’s all that matters!
Although in the last 5 years I have made a yearly trip back home to visit my ageing mum, I have not ventured anywhere near that area since the sighting, but this time I am going down to have a bash at the Sambar with my cousin Guy, (Yes I know) and good mate Dash, who is a top notch deer hunter and crack shot. I brought a Baikal
under and over just for the occasion in 308W, which is already down there waiting for me.
After 40 year absence and turning 61 this year, it’s time to revisit the area and confront my fear, and this time I will be armed with some heavy duty back up!
Ernest
P.P.S.
All the above is true, except for the language, as it has been toned down a lot for obvious reasons. I and my brother Guy are more than willing to be polygraph on the truth of this matter, and I am also willing to put down sizable side-bets on the outcome, as I don’t mind taking money off sceptics!
Email your Bigfoot sighting to RMSObigfoot@gmail.com
"He just stood there glaring at us,
the Sasquatch was silver grey with a black face"
9 to 10 Feet Tall Stossel Creek
Sasquatch Glaring at Fishermen
Mike Hazenberg writes RMSO
It was 1969 we had watched the movie The legend of boggy creek and the Paterson film was new.
The mopars with the hemis were the kings of the road. Vietnam was raging. I was a sophomore in high school, bothell high north of Seattle. Being the straight laced students that we were we would skip school, find someone to buy us some beer and drive up in the mountains towards stevens pass. Stossel creek road runs between Duvall and sultan we looked for Bigfoot it was a blast.
One weekend early summer a buddy and I decided to go fishing in the creek. We would park and walk up the road a ways and fish the creek walking back down till we got back to the truck then drive up some more and do it again this went on till evening.
Then I noticed a feeling and also noticed that the little animals, birds, chipmunks all went silent, it was creepy so I looked across the creek at my buddy and he was motioning me let's go. So we got back to the truck and jumped in. We had to drive up the road a little ways to find a wide spot to turn around.
When we started back down I noticed movement up the Hill to the right. There was a clear cut going up the hill where maybe they were putting in a power line or something. Anyway all the trees were cut down.
What I noticed was something walking upright swing its arms unusually far about the time we passed the cut so I yelled stop stop and we backed up to see this huge humanoid standing behind a stump we could see him from the chest up.
It was silver grey and black face, long hair with dark roots. He was just standing there looking down at us kinda glaring about 75 yards away so we got a good look. Every so often he would look from side to side like he was telling his buddies to just stay back. This went on for 5 minutes or so till we left him standing there.
We decided to come back to check for tracks so we came back the next day and walked up to the stump where he was standing and the stump was as tall as we were. So the Sasquatch had to be 9-10 feel tall, also there were good tracks there too with toes clearly visible but that was before we thought about casting them. I regret that because those were very clear and about 18 inches long. That was my first of many incidents on Stossel Creek
RMSO responds
Hi Mike, great report.. We spoke to a witness that saw a large over 9 feet tall bigfoot from about 30 yards away while he and his girlfreind were driving on a dirt road... He said it had a pissed off look as it stared at them. You say this bigfoot was glaring at you all down in your car.. Thinking that pissed or glaring look may be a normal face for them. Or in fact the one you saw and the one Matt saw in Utah were actually upset that you were there.
