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

 

[Pharmseller]

Proper punctuation is refreshing.

 

[TreeDux]

This story is similar to quite a few that were posted on here a few years back.

I was in the backcountry elk hunting with a friend. It was late and and the sun had gone down about an hour before. We had shot a couple of grouse during the day, and he was talking to me as I built a fire to cook them. He pauses mid-sentence and says "WHAT THE F--- IS THAT?"

My friend does not curse often, and that combined with the fear I heard in his voice instantly sent my mind spiraling; coyote, bear, mountain lion, bigfoot, etc....

I turn and see him pointing up in the sky at a string of lights that was moving vertically from the horizon. This was shortly after the Star Link satellites started getting launched and luckily I had seen some videos online to be able to identify it quickly. My friend had not seen such videos and I can only imagine what went through his mind; UFOs, aliens, an attack.

We still get a good laugh about it.

I 100% did the same thing. We happened to be staying at a private home on a hillside in St. Croix. I’d walked out to the garden to look at the stars and enjoy the view. When I saw the lights appear over the open ocean I got a terrible feeling. I pulled it together and walked back to the front door, while calling to my wife to step outside.
In my mind it was over, they had arrived and the human race was about to end. I pointed it out to my wife who took a brief glance, said “that’s cool “ and walked back inside.

 

[eddielasvegas]

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

Me too. I got the edumacation too, but it was after the MC.


Eddie

 

[Kornet]

Second story:

I believe I was 19 years old on this next one. My girlfriend and I decided to go for a little backpacking trip on the Morgan Sisters trail in Wayne National Forest. Even though this would have been 2019, I have a bit of a luddite streak and still didn't have a smart phone. We were way outside of signal range either way and relying on my windshield-stick Garmin along with some paper maps I had printed. Eventually we make a wrong turn down a road we thought was leading to the trail head. The brush closed in tighter and tighter and the path got muddier and muddier until my poor '99 ranger was well and thoroughly stuck.

Spent an hour or two doing everything we could to unstick it. Digging it out, walking back to get gravel from the road, pushing. Nothing doing. Fine, we're way out in the sticks but there has to be a house eventually. I leave my AR in the truck, I really don't want to go walking up to somebody's property rifle in hand. But I do clip my Glock 81 (knife) onto the back of my belt. So my gf and I set off down the road.

Before we spot any houses, we see a Red Jeep Liberty coming down the road. We wave 'em down and I see its the mail carrier. This was pretty novel to us, being flatlanders. Hadn't ever seen a mail jeep. We explained our situation and asked for a ride to town. Whether its true or whether she didn't want to pick up the dirty hitchhikers (wouldn't blame her), she told us she can't give rides in the mail vehicle due to some federal law or regulation. But she did kindly let us know NOT to ask for help at the next house we'd come across heading the way we were going. Didn't really elaborate but made it clear we didn't want to be caught on their property. Told us that a couple miles further down was the house of a good guy to ask.

So we walk down a good 4 miles or so and knock on the door. The guy calls down to us from the second floor that he'll be down in a minute. Took more like 8 minutes. I'm sure he was strapping on his CCW (again, don't blame him). We explained the situation and he agreed to help. We waited while he pulled around his Kubota tractor. We hopped on the back and directed him to where we were stuck.

Dude got us pulled out no issue. He also did not fail to point out that what we thought was the road, was private property. And the folks who owned it would not hesitate to bury us with a front end loader where they'd never find us. Also gave me a stern warning that I need to be more careful about this stuff, especially with my woman in tow. He was totally right. I asked if I could pay him and he said he'd take 40$ for the diesel. We didn't have any cash but we wrote down his address so I could mail it to him later (lost the address, I feel like an absolute POS to this day. If anyone thinks they know the guy please dm me).

He got us sorted out with the right trail head. By this point it was near dark. We probably hiked no more than 300 yards and set up camp. Ate our MREs around a small fire and hit the hay.

Sometime in the middle of the night my eyes shot open. I could clearly hear the sound of a horse and a rider circling our tent. The rider was talking in a low voice and at first I couldn't make out what he was saying. Laying there terrified and struggling to hear, I could eventually make out that he was describing our tent, our camp location, and us into a walkie talkie or a radio. I was straining to do something but I felt literally paralyzed by fear. I strained and strained and finally managed to jerk myself upright. I shouldered my AR inside the tent and swung towards where I thought he was an screamed out "Who's out there?!". This woke up my gf and obviously scared the piss out of her. She asked what happened and I told her that someone was outside our tent. I unzipped the door and went out muzzle first with my 1000 lumen weapon light on, hoping to get back a little advantage against the mystery rider. But no one was out there.

I shined my light all around the woods around us, nothing. No tracks. Nothing at all. Eventually, we started putting the pieces together that the rider was a sleep paralysis hallucination. This was only my second or third time experiencing it and it was still very difficult for me to differentiate it from reality.

Come morning, between getting stuck and the little nightime freakout, we decided we had had enough for one weekend. We packed up camp and started the 4 hour drive back to Toledo, 2 days ahead of schedule. Spent the rest of the weekend playing videogames indoors, haha.

Nowadays its much easier for me to tell when I'm having a sleep paralysis episode so this doesn't happen anymore. Especially since I learned I just can't sleep on my back.

My wife’s family lives in the Athens area, quite a ways outside town. I’ve spent a lot of time in the National Forest down there (Wayne National Forest, Athens Unit), and thank God I was always armed.

When I camp, I set up trip wires a distance from my tent. They’re tied to chemlights and small poppers—if anything (or anyone) trips one, the light pops on and the noise hopefully scares them off.

Some spots down there give off serious “The Hills Have Eyes” vibes. I’m pretty convinced I crossed paths with a family that’s actually living in one of the old coal mine adits.

I was tracking a deer and came down a ridge. My map showed an adit (mine entrance) at the base. I love local history and the old mines in the region—my in-laws even have a couple on their property that I’ve explored. In one, I added some timber supports and hauled out dozens of buckets of coal. So I wanted to check this one out, document it, match it to Ohio’s mine database, and maybe find the original hand-drawn map.

(Ohio has a great website through ODNR that shows all known mines with scans of the old maps.)

As I worked my way down the ridge, I caught a whiff of wood smoke. Through the brambles, I saw a rough shack built right onto the front of the mine entrance. Smoke was coming out of a stone-and-metal chimney, and there were men’s and women’s clothes hanging on a line out front.

The buck I was tracking suddenly veered hard left, away from the mine, crashing through the brush and making a ton of noise.

That noise made the door open. Out stepped one of the biggest men I’ve ever seen—like a white Shaq (and I’ve actually met Shaq at a gun range). He stepped out slowly and started scanning the whole hillside.

I froze next to a big blowdown oak, praying he didn’t spot me. While he was looking around, two little kids ran outside, also looking around curiously.

He called the kids back in. I waited a minute, then slowly crawled back up to the ridge top. Once I was over the other side, I booked it like the devil was chasing me.

I’ve been in combat, but this scared me more than anything I’ve ever experienced. I felt seriously undergunned even with a 45-70 rifle and a 10mm Glock on my chest rig.

I got back to the main road, drove straight to the Forest Service HQ (great spot—nice place for a picnic too), and talked to a ranger. They knew there was a group living back there somewhere, but not the exact location. There had been break-ins at houses and cabins nearby, plus hikers and hunters reporting glimpses of them. A few people even said shots were fired in their direction.

What stuck with me most: everyone I saw looked surprisingly healthy and clean—not dirty or ragged like you’d expect from people squatting in the woods.

I live up near Cleveland now and drive through rough areas often. I’ve seen drive-bys and worse up here, but nothing has ever put me more on edge than that day in the forest.

Anyone else had weird encounters out there? Or know more about folks living off-grid in the old mines? Stay safe out there.

 

[RockAndSage]

My wife’s family lives in the Athens area, quite a ways outside town. I’ve spent a lot of time in the National Forest down there (Wayne National Forest, Athens Unit), and thank God I was always armed.

When I camp, I set up trip wires a distance from my tent. They’re tied to chemlights and small poppers—if anything (or anyone) trips one, the light pops on and the noise hopefully scares them off.

Some spots down there give off serious “The Hills Have Eyes” vibes. I’m pretty convinced I crossed paths with a family that’s actually living in one of the old coal mine adits.

I was tracking a deer and came down a ridge. My map showed an adit (mine entrance) at the base. I love local history and the old mines in the region—my in-laws even have a couple on their property that I’ve explored. In one, I added some timber supports and hauled out dozens of buckets of coal. So I wanted to check this one out, document it, match it to Ohio’s mine database, and maybe find the original hand-drawn map.

(Ohio has a great website through ODNR that shows all known mines with scans of the old maps.)

As I worked my way down the ridge, I caught a whiff of wood smoke. Through the brambles, I saw a rough shack built right onto the front of the mine entrance. Smoke was coming out of a stone-and-metal chimney, and there were men’s and women’s clothes hanging on a line out front.

The buck I was tracking suddenly veered hard left, away from the mine, crashing through the brush and making a ton of noise.

That noise made the door open. Out stepped one of the biggest men I’ve ever seen—like a white Shaq (and I’ve actually met Shaq at a gun range). He stepped out slowly and started scanning the whole hillside.

I froze next to a big blowdown oak, praying he didn’t spot me. While he was looking around, two little kids ran outside, also looking around curiously.

He called the kids back in. I waited a minute, then slowly crawled back up to the ridge top. Once I was over the other side, I booked it like the devil was chasing me.

I’ve been in combat, but this scared me more than anything I’ve ever experienced. I felt seriously undergunned even with a 45-70 rifle and a 10mm Glock on my chest rig.

I got back to the main road, drove straight to the Forest Service HQ (great spot—nice place for a picnic too), and talked to a ranger. They knew there was a group living back there somewhere, but not the exact location. There had been break-ins at houses and cabins nearby, plus hikers and hunters reporting glimpses of them. A few people even said shots were fired in their direction.

What stuck with me most: everyone I saw looked surprisingly healthy and clean—not dirty or ragged like you’d expect from people squatting in the woods.

I live up near Cleveland now and drive through rough areas often. I’ve seen drive-bys and worse up here, but nothing has ever put me more on edge than that day in the forest.

Anyone else had weird encounters out there? Or know more about folks living off-grid in the old mines? Stay safe out there.

Closest thing has been being followed on public land, almost being 'escorted' out, after passing by several transient/homeless RVs and campers in the desert. Think, tweaker trailer-park elves that just show up one day and sprinkle poverty-dust everywhere to make the place look like it's been trashed for months. Garbage all over, several mongrels on chains, high-class miss-matched carpet segments on the sand at the base of their stairs, encamped right on one side of the two-track...who then seem to be bothered when you pass by "their" place, even at a moderate speed so as not to kick up dust.

They were smart enough to stay 100+ yards back, but it was annoying as hell having them follow me for miles. These transient RV encampments pop up randomly in the desert along I-80, and have an annoying habit of doing so at places great for shooting or other recreation - places with just enough isolation to not be seen from the main roads.