The Bog Walker

by Lukas Wrenval

Its feet resemble paddles, with which it uses to traverse the bogs where it gets its name.

I was a young man when I first encountered the bog walker. It was a muggy day, and I was tired from hunting, and the 12 gauge shotgun I carried had grown heavy.

The hunting had been fruitless, and aside from a few squirrels, which I had no intention of taking, I hadn't seen any suitable game, mostly due to the thick foliage that still had yet to fall and make way for winter.

As I reached the top of a hill I decided to break my pace. I took some time to scout out a log, and after leaning my gun against it, I took a seat myself.

I could now view the other side of the hill. At the bottom the sturdy ground gave way to marshland, which itself gave way to a small lake. I watched as its waves lapped into the wetland, and how the Earth moved with it, rising and falling on the water. A bog.

This is the scene where I first saw the beast. I had been on the log for a decent time when I heard its call. It was a loud and long droning which consisted of two distinct tones, one high pitched, and another low, much like the rumbling of a train engine. The sound shook me to my core, and my mind searched for the identity of its source while my eyes darted around the opposite side of the lake where it came from.

After some time there was a crashing, and I focused in on the trembling bushes. A deer emerged, and tore out across the marsh, and as it reached the bog I watched its front legs punch through and it was unable to escape as its feet failed to find solid ground under the matted vegetation floating on the water.

I had re-equipped my gun. I had no intention of taking the deer, which was a small yearling — I only brought small game shot, and it was out of season, but I knew the call couldn't have been from the deer, and its panic suggested it was being chased.

The yearling struggled for a few minutes, obviously kicking wildly as it sunk deeper, rapidly sinking past its haunches, then its neck, finally its face. A while after, the bog was disturbed from below, but as the yearling drown and suffocated, its efforts weakened, and finally stopped.

I didn't move, the scene was strange enough to keep my attention, and I kept looking back to the treeline where I had heard the call. I thought it may have been a bobcat at the time, but I knew that it couldn't have been, both because the deer had a terror out of proportion for a bobcat, and because it was a sound far louder and longer than one a bobcat could produce.

For a long time there was nothing, but after some time the bushes where the deer emerged rustled again. This time it was a longer disturbance and it struck me how high it reached, even above the bushes into the branches above. I saw its silhouette first. It was a large lanky figure, almost black in color, moving clearly on two feet, and I thought it was a large bear until it stepped out.

Visually it matched descriptions of bigfoot, but it was far taller, and economical than that, and as it crept out I saw its most defining feature: its two huge paddle feet. I was transfixed, and I held still as I could as the beast made its way down the same path the deer, it frightened, had taken. Its strides were massive and its head darted around as nervously, bobbing its head as it exited the covered woodland, entered the open marsh.

As it placed its feet on the bog, it didn't sink at all. The massive surface area cupped any rising water and held the creature above. It continued, its eyes darting around, then. It made its way to the drowning, and when it reached it, it held out its monstrous hand. The fingers are long and spindly in a way that is hard to imagine unless experienced firsthand. Each one is multiple feet long and as it reached down, not one of them dipped fully into the water.

It retracted, the head of the deer reemerged. When it was fully above, it wrapped around the other side with its second hand.

It then turned back, and as it shuffled, it continued looking all around for any potential threats.

Even as it disappeared back into the woods, I held still for a long time, afraid I would alert the creature.

As soon as coast was clear, I made my way to my truck as fast as I could while remaining quiet. Every dozen or so step I found myself looking over my shoulder.

When I finally arrived the engine purr sounded more beautiful than any church bells, and as I left I wracked my brain in vain to understand what I had just witnessed.

END

Back to Writings
Back to Writings

The Bog Walker

by Lukas Wrenval

Its feet resemble paddles, with which it uses to traverse the bogs where it gets its name.

I was a young man when I first encountered the bog walker. It was a muggy day, and I was tired from hunting, and the 12 gauge shotgun I carried had grown heavy.

The hunting had been fruitless, and aside from a few squirrels, which I had no intention of taking, I hadn't seen any suitable game, mostly due to the thick foliage that still had yet to fall and make way for winter.

As I reached the top of a hill I decided to break my pace. I took some time to scout out a log, and after leaning my gun against it, I took a seat myself.

I could now view the other side of the hill. At the bottom the sturdy ground gave way to marshland, which itself gave way to a small lake. I watched as its waves lapped into the wetland, and how the Earth moved with it, rising and falling on the water. A bog.

This is the scene where I first saw the beast. I had been on the log for a decent time when I heard its call. It was a loud and long droning which consisted of two distinct tones, one high pitched, and another low, much like the rumbling of a train engine. The sound shook me to my core, and my mind searched for the identity of its source while my eyes darted around the opposite side of the lake where it came from.

After some time there was a crashing, and I focused in on the trembling bushes. A deer emerged, and tore out across the marsh, and as it reached the bog I watched its front legs punch through and it was unable to escape as its feet failed to find solid ground under the matted vegetation floating on the water.

I had re-equipped my gun. I had no intention of taking the deer, which was a small yearling — I only brought small game shot, and it was out of season, but I knew the call couldn't have been from the deer, and its panic suggested it was being chased.

The yearling struggled for a few minutes, obviously kicking wildly as it sunk deeper, rapidly sinking past its haunches, then its neck, finally its face. A while after, the bog was disturbed from below, but as the yearling drown and suffocated, its efforts weakened, and finally stopped.

I didn't move, the scene was strange enough to keep my attention, and I kept looking back to the treeline where I had heard the call. I thought it may have been a bobcat at the time, but I knew that it couldn't have been, both because the deer had a terror out of proportion for a bobcat, and because it was a sound far louder and longer than one a bobcat could produce.

For a long time there was nothing, but after some time the bushes where the deer emerged rustled again. This time it was a longer disturbance and it struck me how high it reached, even above the bushes into the branches above. I saw its silhouette first. It was a large lanky figure, almost black in color, moving clearly on two feet, and I thought it was a large bear until it stepped out.

Visually it matched descriptions of bigfoot, but it was far taller, and economical than that, and as it crept out I saw its most defining feature: its two huge paddle feet. I was transfixed, and I held still as I could as the beast made its way down the same path the deer, it frightened, had taken. Its strides were massive and its head darted around as nervously, bobbing its head as it exited the covered woodland, entered the open marsh.

As it placed its feet on the bog, it didn't sink at all. The massive surface area cupped any rising water and held the creature above. It continued, its eyes darting around, then. It made its way to the drowning, and when it reached it, it held out its monstrous hand. The fingers are long and spindly in a way that is hard to imagine unless experienced firsthand. Each one is multiple feet long and as it reached down, not one of them dipped fully into the water.

It retracted, the head of the deer reemerged. When it was fully above, it wrapped around the other side with its second hand.

It then turned back, and as it shuffled, it continued looking all around for any potential threats.

Even as it disappeared back into the woods, I held still for a long time, afraid I would alert the creature.

As soon as coast was clear, I made my way to my truck as fast as I could while remaining quiet. Every dozen or so step I found myself looking over my shoulder.

When I finally arrived the engine purr sounded more beautiful than any church bells, and as I left I wracked my brain in vain to understand what I had just witnessed.

END