This is a Bigfoot story from Alabama.

The writer says that he grew up deer hunting with his dad in Barbara County, Alabama.

He says deer season was a religion for us.

We hunted a 500-acre family property that was all woods and fields and

ponds and swamps. Things have changed, but in 1998 it was some of the most inaccessible land around.

The south side was all swamp except for one nice little patch of land planted for deer. The doze would move into that

field 30 minutes before dark, but the bucks would stay in the woods until well after dark.

Dad had the idea to go 50 yards into the woods toward the swamp and put a ladder stand there.

He had a lot of luck hunting from that stand, but I wasn't so fortunate.

Finally, I decided to take a portable climbing stand and go deeper toward that swamp than

Dad's stand, and I found a great spot that was close enough to the swamp to hear anything

moving through the water and a good view of the clearings near the swamp where I could

get a clean shot. One afternoon in early January, I snuck into the stand at 1.30 in the afternoon.

I hunted my way in like Dad always taught me. Typical of Alabama weather, it was in the 50s when I went in,

but I knew it would drop into the 30s once the sun went down.

There was no wind, plus being up 20 feet, I didn't have to worry about my scent.

I saw birds and squirrels, and other than that, everything was quiet.

There was a tension in the air that seemed to deepen as the day went on.

The closer it got to dark, the fewer animal noises I heard and the more my emotions began

to turn melancholy, and it was as if nature itself was sad.

At dusk, I heard something coming through the swamp.

It was forty yards behind and to the east of my stand.

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