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It was about 1989 I think. I'd been working "crime beat" in an certain Texas city for about 10 years. Late night, out in the worst parts of town, by myself. Had been shot at, stabbed, totaled two News Units, burned half to death in a forrest fire, attacked by both an Elepahant and a Tiger(another story) and been on the scence at some 36 murders, often before the police.

I'd had enough of PEOPLE and cashed in my chips and headed for the Rockies.

Over the next year, starting down in New Mexico, I wandered my way north. Mostly staying in National Parks. Occassionally dropping in on friends who lived along the way and making an phone call home to let the folks know I was still alive. But keeping to myself mostly.

I moved back and forth, East side to West of the Rockies until I crossed the Lewis and Clark trail and decided to follow it West, taking it all the way to the Pacific where they ended their westward trek and then I turned up into the Cascades.

By now, I was pretty used to the sounds and the feel of nature and the "natural". As I moved farther north into the Cascades, the trees became heavier and the sky's constantly gloomy and rain almost constant. This was not nearly the wide open spaces of the two sides of the Rockies, but rather a...well, if any of you ever saw "Twin Peaks"....that's what it's like.

At North Casacdes National Park, up by Ross and Diablo I parked my van, loaded up my backpack and headed up towards what I thought was a Volcano...wanted to get above the clouds. But as I went, it became clear I had headed the wrong way and was getting deeper and deeper into very unfimilar type of forrests...Thick, dark, deep, so dark that could could rarely see the sun and MOSS grew on all sides of the trees. I wasn't exactly lost, but was "uncomfortable". I was pretty sure I could live out there for months if that's what it ended up taking, cause I'm pretty good at that sort of thing.

I was finally able to establish where I was and it wasn't so bad so I decided to find a little high ground and hangout for a bit.

The first night there all things, although wet seemed bout like my normal camp. I had a good fire, (don't beleive in tents just packaging for bears to eat out of at night) but had thrown a tarp up in a leanto....bout 10pm, things started to change.

Suddenly the hair on the back of my neck stood up. I got a shiver and the sent of a smell...musty...something that I have never smelled before. It was already quite this time of night in the forrest, but suddenly even the mosquitos stopped buzzing me.

The "hairs on the back of neck" thing had served me well in both city and country for many a year and had saved me from more than a few bad situation. So I did not ignore it.

Although it was illegal to carry firearms in the Nat Forrest at that time (except for hunting in certain locations) I reached for my weapon. An old Colt 45 that my Great, great Grandad had carried back when he was a Deputy for Wyatt Earp. (another story) By in large this was pretty much all I ever figured I'd need unless I encounter Brown Bear. I wasn't afraid of much else out there, having stared down some black bear a few times. I did worry about Moose which had more than once treed me and destroyed my camp. But generally speaking even Moose gave you a shot at getting away unless you got in between them and their youngun.

Anyhow, I scooted under the tarp, tossed some logs on the fire in front of it and hunkered down in my bag. Wasn't scared, just a bit confused about the "feel" of things and eventually fell asleep. The fire waned.

Must of been bout 3am and suddenly my tarp was pulled from it's stakes sort of like tossing the bed covers off in the morning.

I shot up in my bag, the Colt at the ready. But there was nothing there. Only a fleeting look into the darkness of my tarp as it disappeared into the thick trees. There was that musty smell again. Sort of a cross between a wet goat and a rattle snake hole.

Then it started to rain. I mean, REALLY RAIN! I scooted myself against a tree, held my gun to my chest and shivered through the rest of the night.

At daylight, my camp seemed OK. Everything in it's place other than the tarp. There were long skid marks in front of my trench fire. Sort of like somebody had run with mini-boggie boards on their feet through my camp. The rain had washed any defination away but from end to end they appeared to be about 18 to 25 inches long and maybe 12 to 15 across. Hard to say cause they had puddled.

Guess it could of been some locals with their Big Foot shoes on, trying to scare me, but that all seemed a lot to go through, way out here just to mess with some lone camper.

Thought it might be a Woverine, but then, a Wolverine would of torn up the whole camp just for the fun of it and probably stopped for a bite of me on the way. Bear the same thing but in the night, when a bear is in your came...it's a fight to the death. You don't scare them away then. Moose, running by in the night? Doubt it. Moose don't just go running through the forrest in the dark. And again, it was REAL Close to the fire, which I don't think a Moose would do.

I decided it was time to leave. As I packed up, the "hairs" came up again. I smelled the musty oder and had the unending feeling something was watching me.

I was pretty sure I knew where I was and started back down the trail I'd come up on. The first part was easy as I had been on it just the day before, but as I traveled I became a bit unsure at points. I also had the constant nagging feeling I was being watched. The weather was totally gloomy and wet again and I had the feeling that I was in some B horror movie. You know, the Blair Witch Project or something.

I reached a point where I had to sit and study the map again. Was not sure I was on the right path and there now seemed to be two of them, one going left, one right.

Suddenly I noticed something blue in the right hand path. I approached it and it was a torn piece of my tarp...ripped, not cut laying directly in the path. Now I had to ponder.

Whatever it was clearly could have come for me at anytime. Although I had the 45 now stuck in my belt and frankly, had pulled it out a couple of times in sort of a panic....but, the fact remained, there was something out there, something big and something that was watching me.

And yet, it seemed to have given me directions out of the forrest. So, not knowing which way to go, I took a leep of faith that whatever this was, it just wanted me gone...nothing more. I followed that path and along the way for the rest of the day I found more peices until I felt certain I was less than a few hours from my van and OUT OF THE WOODS. But, it was growing dark. The rain had started again and now I heard noise in back of me, as if something was driving me...wanted me to pick up the pace. I thought I heard something like grunts....not like a bear might grunt, that's more like a cough. This was more like something trying to spur me forward.Almost a communication. But, it had grown dark and I was exausthed having been pretty much in full flight mode for hours. I stopped. Prepared to spend another night in the woods, with...well, whatever it was.

It was now pitch black...I pulled my gun out and started to pull my backpack off with my other hand, when something hit me from the back. It sent me, my pack and my gun flying into the dark and I came up laying on my pack, the gun I didn't know where it was. I heard the grunt again and it seemed to be right behind me. I reached into my pack grabbed my flashlight, swung around and caught only the glimps of something...well, saw what appeared to be an arm...possibly red, possibly gray, definately hairy as it went behind a gaint tree.

I freaked and like the worst of all tender foots began to fly down the path, as much as I could see with my flashlight. I stumbled, I fell, I ran into things and was pretty well beaten up when suddenly I was in a campground...my campground. The one where I had left my van. I never realized I was so close or I never would of stopped.

I ran to the van and saw a window was broken...Oh, great, Big Foot and burglers too!

But there on the drivers side, front seat, surround by broken pebbles of glass was my Great Grand Daddy's 45. Barrel bent almost straight up.

I got the hell out of there...drove to Seattle where I checked into the finest hotel I could find, got in the bathtub and stayed there for a day. Emptied the mini bar of booze and snaks and tried to make sense out of what had just happened to me.
I had never been driven from anyplace before. Other than the Tiger attack, never that scared.

Was it locals funning with me...kind of doubt it. I'd of figured out men. I probably would'nt have smelled them either and frankly, they couldn't have just run circles around me on the trail. Bear, Wolverine, badger or Moose. Nope, just didn't fit.

My conclusion.??? I had just been stalked and thrown out of a National park by Big Foot himself. And frankly...well, you can go and enjoy the Northwest and the forrests of the Cascades all you want. It's beuatiful... But I ain't meeting your there, I ain't even flying over. As far as I'm concerned, that's Big Foots home and he already served me notice.

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There was that musty smell again. Sort of a cross between a wet goat and a rattle snake hole.

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