My name is Don and I have lived most of my life in West Virginia. I have been a hunter and trapper my whole life and a hunting

guide for 24 years. I stopped guiding people two years ago due to my bad legs. I still bow hunt and a rifle hunt deer and bear and some

small game and turkey. I also still run a small trap line, some winters when I can.

When I was younger, I had a few strange things happen to me that I brushed off and ignored. Starting in 2014, though, things changed.

I used to laugh at the TV shows and joke with my kids about Sasquatch.

But that year I decided maybe it's not so much of a joke after all.

My youngest son was seven years old at the time,

and West Virginia opened an early black powder season

near the end of September.

At that time, I was living and working in an

orchard and upland shooting preserve. After work one evening I took my son on

the four-wheeler across the orchard 700 yards from my house and I set up to watch

deer come out and eat apples.

This spot was in 400 acres of apple trees surrounded by corn and beans, but there was a 10 acre patch of woods in the middle, and I would usually hunt in that area.

When it was just about dark, we still had not seen a single deer, which I thought was odd.

And then 75 yards away from the edge of the wood, something let out the loudest, deepest

howl I had ever heard.

The sound ended in a terrifying guttural roar

that I could feel all the way to my bones.

It was like a lion or a grizzly bear but much more intense and much more unnatural.

My son looked at me. He was scared straight.

Dad, what was that? he asked me.

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