A young Washington man was in Grayland State Park late at night, attempting to camp out and grab some sleep after a long day. He was startled by a nearby screaming Bigfoot while walking on the dark trail.
I recently came across the following account:
The date was May 13th, 2012. I had taken a train to Olympia, WA and then hitchhiked the rest of the way to Westport, WA, because I wanted to learn to surf. I'm experienced in the outdoors and hitchhike semi-regularly.
Anyway, after renting a surfboard and flailing around in the water for the day, it was getting close to sunset and I had to find a place to sleep. I found out that it was illegal to sleep on that beach (state land) but someone suggested I go down to Grayland State Park, just south. Not only did I have the option of paying for a campsite, but I could also find a place to lay my stuff down (I had a ground tarp, a sleeping bag, and my wetsuit) and sleep without being bothered.
Now, in May the weather is windy, and the water is absolutely freezing. Surfing was unpleasant and this beach is pretty empty, except for a few (unoccupied at the time) summer homes, etc.
I hitchhiked down highway 105 to the park, decided against buying a campsite, and hiked through the woods to the beach. The wooded area between the highway and the beach is probably only a couple hundred yards deep, but the trees aren't very tall and form a thick canopy. It was somewhat claustrophobic. I found a couple small landmarks (a certain rock, a beach marker with a streamer on it) to remember where my things were, and set them down. I grabbed a sandwich from my bag and went back to the campsite area so I could charge my cell phone in the bathroom.
I was surprised at how empty the area was. There was one RV with the blinds down, and a couple fast asleep in one campsite. Otherwise it was deserted.
As I sat, disappointed that the bathroom had no electricity, I smoked a long cigar and enjoyed my time alone. Night fell.
It was bedtime. I began to walk back towards my impromptu beach camp when I realized I couldn't see a damn thing. The moon was relatively bright, but the wind was intense and the forest canopy blocked any moonlight. I continued walking west, through the trees, with my hands out in front of me so I didn't hit anything.
At this point I was creeped out. Dark, empty woods at night are creepy. Howling wind that covers any other sound is creepy. But I pressed on because I'm more adventurous than that. Besides, the beach was easy to find. Just walk west until you reach the Pacific. Big ocean, can't miss it.
I came out onto the beach, and none of my landmarks were there. I might have gone a bit north or south, I don't know, but I thought the dim light from my cell phone screen could help me find that weird rock, near the edge of the woods.
I went back into the forest. Never had I thought I could be so lost in such a small area. I couldn't have been more than a half mile from my things. Yes, the woods are creepy, but I'll hang in there. That was, until the scream! Directly behind and to my right, the most starting "WOOOOOOAAAAAHHHHH!" I've never heard anything like it before.
I jumped and began to run. I didn't know what that was, and I didn't want to find out. I couldn't run too fast, because I couldn't see.
The noise continued, although I was getting further from it. That was encouraging. I ran a little faster, until I slammed my left shoulder into a tree I didn't see. Barely catching myself, I slowed down, despite the adrenaline. As I slowly walked, feeling tree trunks and trying not to trip over rocks, I remembered reading that these woods contained screech owls. Those aren't scary.
Eventually I came back to the beach, wandered up and down until I found my stuff, and tried to go sleep. 'Well shit,' I thought. 'Screech owls are startling.'
That was two summers ago. Earlier this year, after getting interested in Bigfoot, I was telling someone my story. They asked if I could send them a recording of a Western Screech Owl, so I Googled it.
I couldn't actually find a recording that matched what I heard. Screech owls have several calls, but this was not one of them. 'Weird,' I thought.
Then later I found out that Grays Harbor County (where I was at) has some of the highest numbers of BFRO reports in Washington. What I heard wasn't the famous "whoop-howl," but it was similar in pitch and unbelievably loud.
I'd hardly call a scary noise in the woods proof of an undiscovered ape, but there's my story. CB
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