Creepy experiences in the backcountry

[MeatMissile]

 

[AK Troutbum]

Damn…. Another pic of my ex. She is really putting herself out there on the dating sites.

Damnit, as much as it pains me to say, I think your ex is now my ex. I guess the saying really is true, in Alaska you never lose your girl, you just lose your turn.


Sent from my iPhone using Tapatalk

 

[Kornet]

New member here saying howdy and to tell one of the weirdest things to happen while out hunting.
I’ve been reading and lurking and want to say thank you all for the tips and advice that’s helping me plan a hunt with my son and decide to register and tell one of my experiences as another way of thanks.

A bit about me first: I came to the USA full-time in 1991 after being raised in Poland due to my parents' careers. I'm a dual citizen with passports for both countries, but I consider myself 110% American. We visited the States often growing up to see family and buy things that weren't available back home.

In 1998, as soon as I was old enough, I joined the Marines and served 20 years—half enlisted, then commissioned as an officer. I retired as a Captain, then worked a few years as a contractor. I've been deployed to Iraq, Afghanistan, parts of Africa, and Haiti (literally hell on earth). I have creepy stories from all those places, but they're not for this thread.

I've hunted all over the U.S. (including Alaska), way up north in Canada for moose, boars in Europe, and more. At 15, my father and I hiked the entire Appalachian Trail from Georgia to Maine. I'd take leave to disappear into the mountains or high desert for a week at a time. The backcountry and outdoors don't faze me much—it's the two-legged predators that worry me most, as others here have said.

With that out of the way, here's the creepy part:

After one deployment, I took leave and went hunting in Montana with a buddy who lives there. We used Zortman, MT, as our base and headed into the Missouri River Breaks (outside the national park, about 50+ miles from anything resembling a town) for a week of antelope hunting.

We set up our first camp, took care of the horses and the one mule his family loaned us, and sat around the fire with cigars, planning the week. We talked about a promising draw on the maps that looked like a good day's ride. To supplement our food, we brought 12-gauge shotguns (one side-by-side, one over/under) for birds or small game.

Our firearms: I had a 25-06 rifle, he had an old 30-06. We both carried .44 Magnum wheelguns, plus a Ruger SP101 in .357 and a lever-action in the same caliber packed in a blanket roll on the mule (his dad insisted on sneaking that in).

The first few days were peaceful—great wind, endless views, no one shooting at us (lol), plenty of sign, and antelope in the distance. We weren't in a rush, so we just relaxed and enjoyed decompressing.

Day four started normally. We loaded up, shot a bearing from the maps, and rode out to where we'd picket the animals and walk in.

As we got close, we noticed signs of an old ranch: low stone wall remnants, posts, bits of a cabin. We love history, so we decided the mile or two difference in campsite wouldn't matter (famous last words).

We dismounted and spent the morning exploring: corral, more stone fencing, another outbuilding, lots of charred wood. Digging around, we found .44-40 shell casings and a few arrowheads (slightly larger than bird points).

That afternoon, we both filled our tags and hiked back to camp. We'd been so caught up in the old site that we hadn't set up the tent or unpacked the cook kit. Under a full moon with wind howling, we struggled to get everything sorted. We were exhausted, secured the meat, and crashed hard.

At sunrise the next morning, we woke to what sounded like the end of the world: screaming, gunfire, thundering horses about to trample us.

We bolted out of the tent, guns ready, crouched defensively, and rushed to the horses. Nothing. No dust, no people, no horses—only the wind rustling the grass.

The horses and mule were freaking out—snorting, stomping in the brush corral we'd made. We calmed them down, looked at each other, and just said, "WTF?!"

We did a grid search around camp for tracks, marks, anything. Zilch.

The rest of the trip was uneventful. Back in civilization, we told an old local rancher (born and raised there, probably a year or two younger than dirt) what we'd heard. He said when he was young, he heard stories about a homestead in that area attacked by the Sioux back when the land was still wild. The Sioux didn't like white encroachment and hit at sunrise—believing if you're killed at night, your spirit wanders lost forever.

They took scalps, burned the buildings, and stole the animals. It was a family of six plus a few hands and a circuit-riding preacher. After missed services, others rode out and found the scene. The family was buried on a cliff overlooking the river (we never found any graves).

Was it a residual replay of that event? An auditory hallucination we both shared (including the animals reacting)? No idea. But it was the craziest thing I've experienced while hunting stateside.

I've had other wild stuff overseas (possible djinn encounters, etc.) and while camping, but this one stands out.

Anyone else had similar experiences in the Breaks or old homestead sites?

 

[Xnoheros]

New member here saying howdy and to tell one of the weirdest things to happen while out hunting.
I’ve been reading and lurking and want to say thank you all for the tips and advice that’s helping me plan a hunt with my son and decide to register and tell one of my experiences as another way of thanks.

A bit about me first: I came to the USA full-time in 1991 after being raised in Poland due to my parents' careers. I'm a dual citizen with passports for both countries, but I consider myself 110% American. We visited the States often growing up to see family and buy things that weren't available back home.

In 1998, as soon as I was old enough, I joined the Marines and served 20 years—half enlisted, then commissioned as an officer. I retired as a Captain, then worked a few years as a contractor. I've been deployed to Iraq, Afghanistan, parts of Africa, and Haiti (literally hell on earth). I have creepy stories from all those places, but they're not for this thread.

I've hunted all over the U.S. (including Alaska), way up north in Canada for moose, boars in Europe, and more. At 15, my father and I hiked the entire Appalachian Trail from Georgia to Maine. I'd take leave to disappear into the mountains or high desert for a week at a time. The backcountry and outdoors don't faze me much—it's the two-legged predators that worry me most, as others here have said.

With that out of the way, here's the creepy part:

After one deployment, I took leave and went hunting in Montana with a buddy who lives there. We used Zortman, MT, as our base and headed into the Missouri River Breaks (outside the national park, about 50+ miles from anything resembling a town) for a week of antelope hunting.

We set up our first camp, took care of the horses and the one mule his family loaned us, and sat around the fire with cigars, planning the week. We talked about a promising draw on the maps that looked like a good day's ride. To supplement our food, we brought 12-gauge shotguns (one side-by-side, one over/under) for birds or small game.

Our firearms: I had a 25-06 rifle, he had an old 30-06. We both carried .44 Magnum wheelguns, plus a Ruger SP101 in .357 and a lever-action in the same caliber packed in a blanket roll on the mule (his dad insisted on sneaking that in).

The first few days were peaceful—great wind, endless views, no one shooting at us (lol), plenty of sign, and antelope in the distance. We weren't in a rush, so we just relaxed and enjoyed decompressing.

Day four started normally. We loaded up, shot a bearing from the maps, and rode out to where we'd picket the animals and walk in.

As we got close, we noticed signs of an old ranch: low stone wall remnants, posts, bits of a cabin. We love history, so we decided the mile or two difference in campsite wouldn't matter (famous last words).

We dismounted and spent the morning exploring: corral, more stone fencing, another outbuilding, lots of charred wood. Digging around, we found .44-40 shell casings and a few arrowheads (slightly larger than bird points).

That afternoon, we both filled our tags and hiked back to camp. We'd been so caught up in the old site that we hadn't set up the tent or unpacked the cook kit. Under a full moon with wind howling, we struggled to get everything sorted. We were exhausted, secured the meat, and crashed hard.

At sunrise the next morning, we woke to what sounded like the end of the world: screaming, gunfire, thundering horses about to trample us.

We bolted out of the tent, guns ready, crouched defensively, and rushed to the horses. Nothing. No dust, no people, no horses—only the wind rustling the grass.

The horses and mule were freaking out—snorting, stomping in the brush corral we'd made. We calmed them down, looked at each other, and just said, "WTF?!"

We did a grid search around camp for tracks, marks, anything. Zilch.

The rest of the trip was uneventful. Back in civilization, we told an old local rancher (born and raised there, probably a year or two younger than dirt) what we'd heard. He said when he was young, he heard stories about a homestead in that area attacked by the Sioux back when the land was still wild. The Sioux didn't like white encroachment and hit at sunrise—believing if you're killed at night, your spirit wanders lost forever.

They took scalps, burned the buildings, and stole the animals. It was a family of six plus a few hands and a circuit-riding preacher. After missed services, others rode out and found the scene. The family was buried on a cliff overlooking the river (we never found any graves).

Was it a residual replay of that event? An auditory hallucination we both shared (including the animals reacting)? No idea. But it was the craziest thing I've experienced while hunting stateside.

I've had other wild stuff overseas (possible djinn encounters, etc.) and while camping, but this one stands out.

Anyone else had similar experiences in the Breaks or old homestead sites?

Man that’s a dinger. Well written too!

 

[Kornet]

Man that’s a dinger. Well written too!

Thank you
I pride myself on my ability to write clearly and to give the reader a nice perspective.

I’ll add more stories soon but a lot are from overseas.

 

[eddielasvegas]

Thank you
I pride myself on my ability to write clearly...

And you were in the USMC?

Semper Fi.


Eddie


P.S. PI or Hollywood Marine?

 

[Smokey Bear]

Thank you
I pride myself on my ability to write clearly and to give the reader a nice perspective.

I’ll add more stories soon but a lot are from overseas.

Looking forward to reading more of your stories from overseas. Welcome to the site.

 

[Kornet]

And you were in the USMC?

Semper Fi.


Eddie


P.S. PI or Hollywood Marine?

PI like a real one.
I went out and got myself an edumacation so they taught me how to use pens and pencils and I only get crayons on special occasions