In the mid-1980s, while living on a farm in rural Tennessee, I had wonderful neighbors who allowed me access to their land for training Retriever Field Trial and Pointing Dogs, as well as to reach by horseback the top of the mountain that sheltered us and the almost 7,000 acres of the Prentice Cooper State Forest atop.

In those years, I never owned a horse trailer as I simply didn’t need one. I could saddle a horse, open and close one gate, and soon be on top of the mountain riding for hours in beautiful scenery.

Although I did use horses to facilitate training dogs, they were just as much about escaping for a bit and leaving the cares of the world behind. A really good horse is almost an extension of your thought process, and with a shared mutual trust, I could come off that mountain in the black of night when I couldn’t see the trail ahead and trust that “Max” would get me home. I just relaxed the reins, leaned down, and hugged his neck and he did the rest.

One summer evening while coming off the mountaintop, when we reached the upper pasture at dusk, Max suddenly alerted, came to an abrupt stop, snorted once, and began backing up. In the moments prior, I had been a blissfully unaware passenger simply letting him pick his way home at his own pace. Now I gathered the reins and began looking for a threat because this horse didn’t spook easily.

Forty yards ahead of us and upwind was a mountain lion. A habit now too old to break, I always have a well-used and familiar Colt .45 on my hip when horseback riding or hiking, so I felt no threat but simply wondered about the creature before us. Max apparently sensed my calm, and after two bold steps backwards, he stopped. But I could feel his stance and gathered muscles. He was ready to bolt if my judgment was flawed.

After a few seconds, the mountain lion vanished. It was almost like watching a reverse lightning bolt.

I got back to the barn, untacked Max, and cleaned his stall. I then walked to the house to call a game warden friend of mine.

“I just saw a mountain lion in the upper pasture coming off the mountain!” I said to Jim. He replied, “Yeah, they’re around, but few people ever see one.” I responded, “But everyone says there are no mountain lions in Southeast Tennessee, and there haven’t been any since the early 1900s.” Jim replied, “Well, everyone doesn’t know everything…”

And that’s when it occurred to me that Bigfoot might actually be real…

No, I haven’t taken leave of my senses, but just play along.

Although I haven’t seen another mountain lion or ever found a track in the subsequent 40+ years of roaming our country’s vast wilderness from sea to sea, I know they are real.

Many say, “There is no evidence of Bigfoot as we have never found a skeleton.”

In all my years as a hunter, fisherman, tracker, backpacker, and, frankly, nemophilist, I am astonished at how few skeletons of anything I have found in the now six decades as a “haunter of the woods,” prairies, and wild parts of the country. Nature, for the most part, just naturally absorbs the remnants of any above-ground carcass, and often quite rapidly.

A legion of explorers will lay claim to the mysteries of virtually our entire planet, but really, have they truly uncovered everything?

Now, if I did encounter Bigfoot, I would like to think we would understand each other. I would not question his desire to be elusive and secretive given the current state of society, and I hope he would not question my feeble attempt to join him.

Bigfoot, the coffee pot is always on, my dogs are friendly, and I have a totally open mind if you would like to drop by and chat sometime.

If coffee isn’t your thing, I have some “spring water” you might enjoy that comes from a dear friend, some fellow named Alexander whose East Tennessee family has been brewing that recipe since 1780. Some in the South call it “unstamped,” and the musically inclined once sang of it as “That Good ‘Ole Mountain Dew,” but in reality it’s just a hillbilly truth serum.

Now tell me, Mr. Bigfoot: Where have you been hiding all these years?