On the morning of December 20, 1879, a Cree trapper named Swift Runner stood on a scaffold in Alberta and waited in the cold, because the hangman had forgotten the straps and had to go back for them. He had already confessed. He had already walked the police out to a clearing in the bush and shown them what was left of his family, and his explanation never changed across four months in custody. Something came into him that winter, and it made him hungry in a way that food could not answer. The men who tried him did not believe in that thing and the men who guarded him did, and both groups agreed on the physical facts, which were a camp 25 miles from a post that was issuing rations, a cooking pot, bones cracked open at the ends, and one man who walked out of those woods in the spring heavier than he went in.The road trip turns north in January, and this stop is different from the others. The wendigo is not a cryptid with a gift shop. It comes out of the traditions of living Algonquian-speaking peoples, and in northern Minnesota that means the Anishinaabe, whose seven nations in this state are governments with citizens, not historical footnotes. So we spend a few honest minutes on what the old accounts actually describe before we go anywhere near a sighting, and it turns out to be almost the opposite of what has been sold to you. There are no antlers. The deer skull came out of concept art in the last 20 years. What the tradition describes is something starving, with the skin drawn tight over the bones and the eyes sunk back in the sockets, that grows in exact proportion to whatever it eats so that the arithmetic never breaks in its favor and it is never one bite closer to full than it was when it started. And it is not only something out in the timber. It is something a person can become.Then we go into the woods, and we stay there. Ray heard his own name spoken through the spruce four miles from the nearest road on a trapline nobody ran but him, and he answered out loud and was walking toward it before he had decided to. Marlys followed a child crying in a tamarack swamp and covered 60 yards without the sound ever coming one foot closer. Dale and Ron met in the middle of the timber a quarter mile apart, each one having heard the other call his name, and looked down at four inches of fresh snow holding nothing but their own two trails. Faye was 11 years old when her mother's voice started calling her in from the yard of a cabin on the Bigfork River, and the fear did not arrive until about 30 years later. Wayne opened the door of a fish house on the ice at two in the morning after somebody outside politely said come here, and found open snow under a moon in every direction. Lonnie lay in a wheelhouse north of Deer River and counted the footsteps of whatever walked past him at 40 feet, and walked the interval out himself at first light. Delores was taught as a small child on the Red Lake reservation not to look at the treeline, not to run, to hold her pace, and to say out loud to an adult what had happened, and the same instruction turns up from Manitoba to Michigan in communities that never compared notes. Gordon watched something stand past his woodpile at 35 yards in the gray before deer season light, went in for a rifle, and signed his share of that hunting camp over to his brother's boys without ever explaining why. Kenny came through the door eight seconds behind his brother into an empty yard with fresh snow and no track under the window, and they sold the shack four years later. Verna gave up a bedroom after three February nights of something dragging along the outside wall at waist height, 20 seconds down and 20 seconds back, with a full minute of pause in between. Orval watched something cross a burn scar for two minutes through binoculars from a staffed fire tower in the Superior, called it in on the radio, and would not answer when the man on the other end asked him what it was.Sam and Wes heard a scream in the Boundary Waters at two in the morning that ran longer than a lung should allow and never broke for breath, and then heard it again from a different position. Andrea's whole body turned before her mind did on a February trail outside Ely, and she still snowshoes and no longer does that trail alone. Tara has worked out how fast something would have to move to cover the ground it covered in 90 seconds, and she does not say the number out loud.The turn to sasquatch is a real one and the episode explains it rather than assuming it, because Anishinaabe tradition carries a separate word for the hairy man of the woods and he is not made by cannibalism and does not eat anybody. That opens up a Minnesota record almost nobody outside the state discusses. Remer in Cass County, where the town's founder described tracks much bigger than a man's and sunk deep into the earth, where the old accounts talk about whole families of them and a stretch of Big Sand Lake that people left alone out of courtesy, and where a trail camera caught something in October 2009. The Vergas Trails in Otter Tail County and the Hairy Man, running since the late 1960s, including two 12-year-old cousins on a snowmobile in 1972. A researcher out of Moorhead who found nine published Minnesota sightings when he started looking and spent his life demonstrating how badly incomplete that number was. Tracks crossing a frozen lake in a single line with a stride over four feet. A bear bait barrel worked 40 yards off its tree with the chain still whole. A deer wedged nine feet up a maple with no claw marks on the bark and no blood in the leaves underneath. And the report this state produces more than any other, which is not a monster standing in a road at all, but a line of tracks that came out of the treeline, crossed a yard, stopped 10 feet from the back window, and turned around, left for a woman who had been standing at that sink in the night with the kitchen light on. Email Brian Join Our FREE Newsletter Get Brian's Books Leave Us A Voicemail Visit Our Website Have you experienced a Bigfoot sighting, Sasquatch encounter, Dogman experience, UFO sighting, or any unexplained cryptid or paranormal event deep in the woods? We want to hear your story. Email your encounter to brian@paranormalworldproductions.com for a chance to be featured on a future episode of Backwoods Bigfoot Stories. Backwoods Bigfoot Stories is a paranormal storytelling podcast featuring real Bigfoot encounters, Sasquatch sightings, Dogman reports, cryptid experiences, and true scary stories from the backwoods. Follow the show and turn on automatic downloads so you never miss a chilling encounter from the forest. Listen with the lights off… if you dare.
