My mom and dad were deer hunting back in the 60's near Lapine Oregon. They were following deer tracks in the snow under a powerline right of way when a huge set of bare footprints veered onto the deer tracks and started following the deer. My parents followed the tracks that followed the deer for a little ways then dad decided he didn't want to catch up with whatever was leaving those giant footprints, carrying only his Marlin 30-30, so they turned around and left.
I knew a pastor that was deer hunting with his son in law, who was making a drive while he, Everett, was on a stand. Everett was watching an open lane in the reprod waiting for his son in law, who was a pretty big boy, to push a buck into the opening and give him a shot. When he caught movement stepping into the open shooting lane he thought it was his son in law at first, since it was upright and pretty big. It turned and looked behind itself, then walked across the opening back into the reprod. That's when he realized he'd seen something else. His son in law came along a little bit later. Everett didn't like to talk about it.
I was picking huckleberries out of Oakridge Oregon and noticing there were no bear tracks anywhere as I would have expected anywhere else. I had noticed the same thing all week, a distinct lack of deer, elk, and bear sign in prime habitat. It was really weird. As I was picking, I heard a gawdawful *roar* for lack of a better word, from way down in a canyon. It was hundreds of yards away, very deep in a roadless canyon. Whatever it was was big, and loud, and that sound carried a long ways.
How do you feel about that story?
I was carrying a .30-30 and .44mag and wanted no part of what I heard in the Northern California woods.
