Illustration by Bill A.
It was a sunny cool crisp morning in Willow River, Minnesota in late August or early September of 1972. I was heading out to catch some fish in one of the shallow backwoods lakes of the area. Back then there was no traffic and no ATVs flying around so I was hitting a pretty good clip at 50mph or so on the gravel. Up ahead in an opening to my right there was a field about a hundred yards across and as many deep. There, just off the road I saw two white figures standing like statues, just like deer will do if you surprise them and they hope you don't notice them. Well, the big guy had to be well over eight feet and his head was turning slightly as I crunched ever closer to them, slowing a bit, but not wanting to slide on the gravel. As I pulled within 50 yards or so the hairy faced smaller figure, which I assumed was the female, started to lose her nerve and turned away from my approach. As she did this she sort of duck-walked in place.
The larger one’s fur spiked out noticeably at the shoulder tips and above the knees. He also had a rather pronounced curl of hair running down the back of his arm and out from his elbow like a spur of hair. Really a magnificent beast––and I say beast reluctantly as under all that hair he sure looked human. She, on the other hand, had a lusterous white coat like an otter––longer and thicker. From what I could see, she was not in any way equipped to hunt and likely was an underground dweller or something. Quite a strange pair! I could not see her eyes, nose or mouth even though I was real close at that point. So I stared at the big guy instead and he was staring back at me––glaring really! His eyes were a bit strange and he seemed old, much older than the drawing shows. There seemed to be a whitish film or something around his pupils. They looked a bit darker grayish-green, not really round, sort of irregularly shaped and very stern and intimidating.
He was obviously telling me "don't stop here" and I didn’t! I left the scene. I did turn around and come back a few moments later though. I started to get out to see if there were tracks but changed my mind thinking they could not have crossed the field in so short a time. The weeds were hip high on me am I am six feet tall, but I could see his knees plainly before over it. I am will to submit to a polygraph and have been trying for months to get anyone to administer one. These creatures really do exist!
In 2002 I reported my 1972 Big Foot sighting at Willow River to the BFRO (Big Foot Research Organization) and took up a friendship with Curt, the BFRO guy up here. Soon I was hooked on going out to find another one. I started to do that in March, off and on, and carried apples along to bait any spot where a track might be found. I came up empty until June 1, 2002 when I crossed over into Wisconsin and then took the first road heading back over the border. There was a big muddy curve on that road so I found a good hard spot to pull off and walked back there.
When I first saw a track, it was so big and had a couple leaves in it, so it didn’t quite register. I looked all around the area for a second print wherever one could have been expected in the same mud. But, finding no more, I went back and took the leaves away and sure enough the print was 17 1/4 inches. I tossed out the apples along the roadside and headed into town for some plaster of Paris and a camera, having left mine at home.
It was maybe an hour before I got back. I took a few pictures of the track and the area and finally decided to mix up the cast material. That was when things started jumping, quite literally. As I knelt and poured the mixed material into the print the foliage started bouncing back and forth and up and down nearby. It was not a particularly windy day and so I stood up to see what was going on. That’s when the top of a tree flew up into the air as if some great weight had come off of it. It made a big whiplash, cracked and fell to the ground. Everything was now absolutely still and I slowly walked the ten yards or so over to it. I started taking pictures. When I saw which tree it was he was in I remembered taking a photo of that one intact just a few minutes before. So I turned my back and walked across the road to where I stood the first time and quickly snapped another shot of the now barren stump. I guess I spun and snapped it too quick for him. There he is in the photo and he clearly was NOT in the first one!
Our meetings would be in the same spot at nearly the same time every day. He would follow me as I checked for his tracks along the roadside. He would stay 25 or more yards out and just behind me. I started tossing him apples. With my bad rotator I couldn’t quite reach him. So he slowly inched in a little closer. I have to work and rarely get time off and didn’t understand how punctual he was until later on. I guess we had this “I walk, he followed” game over a half dozen times. I could hear him plainly but the foliage and his reaction time stymied every attempt at getting a picture of him with the camcorder. Plus it was the rainiest year I can remember and I didn’t want to take too many chances to short out the camera. I am better prepared and equipped now.
I had a great time with that Bigfoot and learned a little about his habits, food and some surprising weaknesses to his supposed invulnerability over the next few weeks. On our last meeting in late July or early August it was terribly hot and humid. So rather than go through with our usual routine, I walked directly toward the sound of his footfalls hoping to get a photo of him. Instead he let me walk past and then stomped off angrily in the other direction. That was the last I saw or heard from him but the heat and deer flies were getting so bad I think they were bothering him too. The mosquitoes on the other had that bled me dry seemed not to have and affect on his activity. I believe one reason he was so active during the day was because of the weather. Rain and overcast all the time, he would have had no light to hunt by during that period at night. That is why you and me are twice as likely to smash our car into a deer on such a night. The deer’s instincts tell him no predators are about on a pitch-black night; unfortunately the instincts are moot about the cars.
I would not be pulling your leg or anyone else’s about these two encounters.
– Dennis Murphy
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