The first time I saw Siskwage was in December of 2018.

It was late Bo's season in my great state of Michigan.

My mother's horse had just passed away, and we were devastated at the loss of our showboy.

So I did what I do best from October until January. I went hunting.

I took my crossbow and headed down the road to a nearby property that I should have never gone to.

I had managed to slip in and out of there on many occasions.

I was working my way up a deer trail through deadfall poplar trees with the wind to my face.

The plan was to stalk the upper meadow and wait until dark and attempt to ambush any large buck

or faunless dough that stepped out. As I approached the meadow,

my thoughts and vision began to swirl, and I thought I was going to pass out. I stepped to the

edge of the meadow, stood five feet from an old maple that was almost six feet across, and I looked to

my left, and I was horrified.

Thirty yards away from me, I saw two large Sasquatches walking away. I distinctly remember

the muscle mass of the male's back and shoulders, the large girth of the female. She was the

10-foot-tall, blonde version of the Patterson Gimlin film.

The male was taller than her by two feet and his hair was black and buckskin brown.

He was half as wide as that old maple tree. The pines he walked through just came above his knees.

I'm five foot six and those same trees came up to my chest.

Had he been right next to me, he would have dwarfed me and it scares me as I think about it.

I don't like to go in the woods and the darkness.

This experience almost ruined hunting for me.

I've had many more encounters since and have learned

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