Light at the End of the Tunnel

Yes, that tunnel you see right there. That was the No-Dead-Weight Irregulars' primary target on last Sunday's geocaching outing because, yes, there is a geocache in there. The team had a pretty full complement — Diefenbaker (a.k.a. Scott), Fishdownthestair (a.k.a. Natalie), NCBiscuit (a.k.a. Linda, but just for this one cache), Old Rob (a.k.a. Old Rob), and this old dude. As far as tunnels go, it wasn't a particularly lengthy one, but it did present a physical challenge or two to conquer before one could access the cache. And there was, quite literally, a light at the end. Scott turned out to be our wade-the-waist-deep-pool-and-scale-the-ladder-to-grab-the-cache man, and he did admirably — until he dropped the cache in the above referenced pool, which required him to come back down, retrieve the cache, and climb back up. I'm sure it was all as much fun for him as it looked, and we each earned a smiley in the deal.

 

Diefenbaker signing the logsheet, moments
before he dropped it into the water below

After we emerged from the not-so-daunting darkness, Ms. NCBiscuit left us for different pastures, and the rest of us meandered Chapel Hill way, where we grabbed a quite a few more caches, most of them of high quality. A fine day of it overall, akin to the days of old, when the full gang could spend the better portion of the day hunting all varieties of caches, fit in all kinds of decent exercise, and lay waste to a passel of decent vittles. This time around, we found a fine feast at Casa Maria Latino Restaurant on Franklin Street in Chapel Hill. We've been there numerous times, and it's always quite good, though for whatever reason, they weren't serving alcohol — a bummer because some of us had been craving margaritas. Don't know whether they lost their ABC license or what, but I hope it's not a permanent situation. More often than not around here, a restaurant loses is liquor license, and the next thing you know, the restaurant has ceased to exist.

On last Friday, after an early workday, I met friend Skyhawk63 (a.k.a. Tom) over in Pilot Mountain to hunt a newish Adventure Lab. It was enjoyable enough, and we completed it readily. I snagged a few additional hides afterward on my way to the old homestead in Martinsville. I hadn't been into Pilot Mountain in ages, and I did discover that, like Eden, NC, they also have their very own Bigfoot. It's a very flat Bigfoot — a piece of sheet metal on the side of a building in the middle of town — but I always do get a kick out of seeing him around as much as I do. To think so many people live their lifetimes never seeing Bigfoot and consequently not believing in him. Well, I've seen, and I believe.

Mount Pilot's very own Bigfoot

Apart from the geocaching, I've done precious little these past couple of weeks other than work like the dickens on a story for a new anthology. Due to so much happening on the homefront, I had missed the official deadline, but I still had a small window to get the story in. I trust it will please the editor. I found it, in the end, a most gratifying tale to write.

And I'll be back hard at the writing in the coming days, for I need to get back on the Georgia book for the Ameri-Scares series. I had started into it a while back but had to put it aside for a time while the wedding, the home renovation, estate business, and the regular day job ate up every hour of every day. I like to keep busy, but I really hope things don't build up to that beyond-intense pace for a long, long time... if ever.

Today, of all things, I did something I've not done in over a decade: I went out and played golf. Friend Terry invited me to go along, and I decided to do it. Years and years ago, I was quite the avid golfer, but these past few decades, it really hasn't been in my repertoire. Today, I scored about as well as one might expect after ten-plus years away from it. But I managed to nail a few beautiful shots, and I really did have a great time. I don't know that I'm going to become a habitual offender again on the golf course, but then... stranger things have happened.

And that's all for now, so sayonara and peace.

Fear the Grassman!

GRASSMAN: THE OHIO BIGFOOT

Crossroad Press has now released my Ameri-Scares novel — Ohio: Fear the Grassman! — in paperback. It’s also currently available for Kindle and will soon be released as an audio book.

THE STORY:
Five years ago, young Landon Shrewsbury saw something that scared him to death: a giant, shadowy figure lurking in the woods around his house. Something that left huge footprints in his yard. Now, at age thirteen, Landon has convinced himself he imagined the whole experience. But now, numerous people in Sugarcreek, Ohio, report seeing just such a creature. When his parents leave town for a week-long vacation, Landon is left in his older brother's care. And to his horror, the frightening, shadowy menace from his childhood returns. Landon, his brother Kevin, and his new friend Tami suddenly find themselves being stalked by the fearsome giant known as the Grassman. Now, the three of them must discover the reason for the beast's return—and find a way to stop its violent rampage—before they fall victim to its inhuman fury.

You can check out a couple of excerpts from Ohio: Fear the Grassman! here:

• Ohio: Fear the Grassman! Excerpt #1
• Ohio: Fear the Grassman! Excerpt #2

Order Ohio: Fear the Grassman! from Amazon.com.

Darrell, the Bigfoot of Eden

Behind me. THAT is Darrell the Bigfoot. I do not have the big feetz. Nor am I so two-dimensional. Well, that’s what I say, anyway.

Darrell resides in the town of Eden, the outskirts of which I pass through regularly when traveling between Greensboro and Martinsville.. I rarely go into Eden’s downtown (it actually has three, but that’s whole ’nuther story), but geocaching led me there today. A recently published Adventure Lab cache sends hunters to five separate locations in Eden that feature noteworthy works by local artists. Last night, I had to head to the old hometown for an appointment this morning, so on my way up — despite a torrential rainstorm — I stopped at three of the cache’s five stages (yes, I got wet; yes, I had fun). The weather turned out considerably better this morning, so on my way back home, I stopped at Darrell’s place — a shop called Sophisticated Rubbish — to make his acquaintance.

Previous caches have drawn me to this location, but those were prior to Darrell taking up residence. He is, indeed, flat — a near-life-size piece of sheet metal attached to a mural on the side of the shop building. This little corner of Eden has really undergone an agreeable transition, with numerous shops and places to dine. The pandemic certainly does not have impacted local businesses too negatively.

Any town that welcomes Bigfoot as a resident is all right by me. Thanks, Eden.

Just across the way from Darrell’s residence, you will find a little park with a mural promoting the town. There have been a handful of different caches placed here over the years.  An earlier mural here, called “River Boat Men: Dan River Trading, 1792–1892,” depicted black men rowing batteaux on the Dan River. It was changed in 2020, when some members of the community objected to it for glorifying of a part of history they felt best relegated to the past.

The Legend of Boggy Creek

For about a hundred years (or maybe it’s a couple of decades, I dunno), I’ve owned one of the multitudes of public domain DVD copies of The Legend of Boggy Creek, which is just this side of unwatchable—grainy, jumpy, dark, most likely taken from a VHS copy of a fading 16mm print. Mind you, I have loved The Legend of Boggy Creek, more or less irrationally, since the day I caught it at the Rives Theater in Martinsville, VA, in 1972, when I was twelve or thirteen. To me, The Legend of Boggy Creek is the ultimate cryptid film. It’s creepy, campy, shot as a docudrama, and features quite a few of the residents (who play themselves—or, in some cases, their own relatives) of the tiny town of Fouke, Arkansas, where the real-life events of the film ostensibly occurred. Having viewed only the abysmal DVD over all these years, it was a joy to discover that, in 2019, Pamela Pierce Barcelou, daughter of Charles B. Pierce, the film’s producer/director, took on the task of restoring the The Legend of Boggy Creek to its rightful quality and aspect ratio, which has given the film a whole new life for those of us who love it (however irrationally). 

Shot for a relatively paltry $100,000, the movie grossed $20 million in 1972 alone. With The Legend of Boggy Creek, Charles B. Pierce made quite the name for himself. In the 1970s and 80s, he enjoyed a successful career as a director, screenwriter, producer, set decorator, cinematographer, and actor (he reportedly wrote the line "Go ahead, make my day!" for Clint Eastwood as Dirty Harry in 1983’s Sudden Impact). His 1976 film, The Town That Dreaded Sundown, made in a similar style to Boggy Creek, also achieved fair critical and commercial success. In 1985, Pierce returned to his roots with Boggy Creek II: The Legend Continues, though this movie, in which he starred (to less than stellar notices), failed by a long shot to match the success of its progenitor.

Chuck Pierce as young Jim

The Legend of Boggy Creek opens with a young, blond-haired lad named Jim (Chuck Pierce, the director’s son), frantically hauling ass through fields and woodlands until he reaches downtown Fouke, where a gaggle of elderly gentlemen are swapping exciting stories about their day-to-day existences in their rootin’-tootin’ town. Jim blurts out that some kind of huge-hairy-manlike-yet-not-quite-a-man thing has been lurking around his family’s place. The gentlemen chuckle good-naturedly at his panic and send him back home, assuring him that there’s nothing to be afraid of.

Of course, it isn’t long before other folks in the community begin seeing our hairy, bog-dwelling friend. Apparently, living in the bog for extended periods can be boring, and the creature has decided he wants to experience civilization for himself. For him, this does not end altogether well. Before long, half the town has succumbed to panic, and our large, hairy friend ends up receiving a few reasonably well-placed bullets as a result. For a time, he disappears, presumably having decided that being bored in the bog is better than fucked over in Fouke.

Dennis Lamb as farmer O. H. Kennedy, wondering what the HELL is lurking out there in the Sulphur River bottoms.

If you are a cryptid, always remember to stand BEHIND the dude with the gun.

The story as it progresses is narrated by Jim, our young blond friend from the beginning of the film, as an adult. Actor Vern Stierman, who provides the running commentary, does an admirable job of injecting gravitas when gravitas is needed and adopting a light, conversational tone when characters aren’t in the throes of panic. And in true, early 1970s spirit, a couple of ballads interrupt the tense proceedings, the most memorable perhaps being the ballad of young Travis Crabtree, one of many Crabtrees who make appearances in this film. Travis plays himself (and, behind the scenes, was the film's key grip), and earning the right to his own ballad (titled “Nobody Sees the Flowers Bloom But Me”) is probably the most noteworthy thing he does in the film.

Hey, Travis Crabtree,
Wait a minute for me.
Let’s go back in the bottoms,
Back where the fish are bitin’,
Where all the world’s invitin’,
And nobody sees the flowers bloom but me.

Now, to be fair, Travis, on one of his canoe outings, takes us deep into the bottoms, where he introduces us to old-timer Herb Jones (played by Herb Jones), who has lived alone out yonder for twenty years. Herb doesn’t believe for one minute that any creature exists out there. In fact, Herb’s sole purpose for being in the film is apparently to offer a less-credulous view of the goings-on around Fouke.

Hey, Travis Crabtree... wait a minute for me!

Herb Jones: “I ain’t never seen nor heard no monster!”

After some years, our lonely, hairy friend has again grown bored of the rural life and decides to take another shot at socializing. If it went bad before, this time, it goes really bad. Our friend the Fouke Monster has decided to pay a visit to a couple of young couples who have moved into a place along Boggy Creek. The couples—Don & Sue Ford (John Wallis, Bunny Dees) and Charles & Ann Turner (Dave O’Brien, Sarah Coble)—seem sociable enough, but soon, nephews Bobby & Corky Ford (Glenn Caruth, Billy Crawford) arrive for a visit and seem to rile the creature, perhaps because they decided go fishing in its territory. For whatever reason, when the Fouke Monster comes calling, quite the ruckus results, making this the most energetic and engaging story in the movie.

Following the climax, adult Jim returns to his childhood home and reminisces about those long-gone days when he would hear the creature’s frightening cries coming out of the darkness. In a memorable scene, as the sun sets on the landscape, Jim says, “I almost wish I could once again hear that terrible cry, just to remind me that there is still some wilderness left.” And so the cry does again rise into the night, and the ballad of the Boggy Creek Creature—sung by Charles B. Pierce himself (credited as Chuck Bryant)—plays over the end credits. It’s cheesy yet evocative little piece, which conveys the loneliness the creature feels out there in the bog.

Perhaps he dimly wonders why

There is no other such as I.

To touch, to love, before I die,

To listen to my lonely cry.

As crude and even naïve as The Legend of Boggy Creek must seem to those of the younger set, who never experienced the allure and excitement of fright flicks at drive-in theaters and weekend movie-house matinées, the film was, in its way, ground-breaking. With its low budget and earthy documentary style, the film clearly influenced the makers of The Blair Witch Project and other minimalist, ostensibly “real” indie movies. In Boggy Creek, at no time do we get a clear, vivid view of the monster. It is always scene in shadows or silhouetted, often partially obscured by foliage—all of which works to the viewer’s benefit, for that which cannot be fully seen can hardly be criticized as “fakey.” Indeed, it is not seeing the creature in its entirety that makes it more convincing.

As for the human cast, there are no “stars.” Most of the residents of Fouke were able to make an appearance, either in front of or behind the camera. Director Pierce simply wrangled as much help as he could get from the townsfolk, which certainly kept the film’s the budget manageable. While few of the cast would ever find themselves accused of being actors, in most cases, their raw, untrained energy brings a touch of both whimsy and verisimilitude to the proceedings.

There is no doubt The Legend of Boggy Creek helped spawn a plethora of movies about big hairy cryptids. The early 1970s saw plenty of them (many of which I still quite love, however bad they might be). The Creature From Black Lake, Sasquatch: The Legend of Bigfoot, Snowbeast, The Mysterious Monsters, and many more owe much to Charles B. Pierce’s vision. While The Legend of Boggy Creek itself was part of an already rolling cryptid bandwagon, it rose well above most of its contemporaries and imitators, and it is one of the few that are now well-remembered, going on fifty years after its release.

The beautifully restored version of the film can be rented on Amazon.com for $3.99. I strongly recommend it.

Now, what do you reckon that big old dude over there is up to?

Well, maybe not a lot, but what a mighty fun fellow!

Another Day on the Caching Trail: The Uwharries

Today's incarnation of Team No Dead Weight: Old Feller, Fishdownthestair, Skyhawk63, Pharaoh

The Uwharries — a relatively low, exceptionally ancient mountain range, some thirty miles due south of Greensboro — conceal a considerable number of geocaches (a hundred sixty-something, I'm led to believe), maybe half of which I've found on numerous visits over the past dozen years. Back in November, the redoubtable local geocacher Ranger Fox (a.k.a. Christopher) placed a bunch of new caches down yonder, and I will confess to you that this is the kind of behavior that makes ravenous geocachers like me go foaming at the mouth. A week or so ago, friend Skyhawk63 (a.k.a. Tom) suggested that today might be a fine day for a select team of us to seek a few of those suckers. And what a day it turned out to be. For December, it proved a morbidly warm day — damn near 70 degrees and somewhat humid. We had dressed with extra layers for the early morning's chilly temperatures, but by 10:00 a.m., for better or for worse, those layers were shedding themselves in ragged droves.

Depending on which of our pedometers one should believe, we put in something between 7.5 and 9 miles in terrain that might be considered a little more extreme than gently rolling hills. Of the seven caches we visited, getting to a couple of them damn near reduced us to quivering, sweat-soaked, perfectly useless mounds of human flesh and blood. However, as the oldest member of our intrepid group, I felt it incumbent upon me to set a positive example on the trail. Thus, I wailed, moaned, groaned, and griped better than almost anyone ever. You just ask. It's true.

Our mostest favorite of these caches lurked in an ancient graveyard out in the midst of the wilderness. Cooper Cemetery dates back to the 18th century, and is the resting place of one Sterling Cooper, who fought in the Revolutionary War.

For all our wandering and searching, the one thing we did not find today was the Uwharrie Bigfoot. Yes, reputedly, one or more specimens of the Bigfoot clan reside in the Birkhead Wilderness, right smack in the heart of the Uwharries. A couple of years ago, I discovered the movie Stomping Ground, about a search for Bigfoot in the Uwharries. It wasn't particularly good (nor was it awful), but it was fun, and seeing so many familiar locations in a wacky Bigfoot filum made me smile. Now, today, I did stumble in a rather massive indentation in the ground that might have been a Bigfoot track, but the considerable weathering made conclusive identification impossible. Because I'm  never one to leap to unjustifiable conclusions, I'm just gonna say it was a big old Bigfootprint and leave it at that. So there.

At the end of the day, we had seven caches under our belts. The company and exercise couldn't have been better — well, it might have if Bigfoot had come along — and the late lunch that Ms. FDTS and I had at The Flying Pig in Asheboro sure hit the spot. When I got home, to soothe the aftermath of my exertions, I took an honest-to-god hot bath, something I've not done probably since I had more hair up north. At least now I am clean, relaxed, and have availed myself to a Damned Rodan's Dirty Firetini (okay, so maybe there were two of them). Tomorrow's lineup includes Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker. I must tell you, I'm a little concerned about my Star Wars geek status, for there was a time I camped out in front of theaters for Star Wars tickets, and some people tell me I actually went to see the original Star Wars in 1977 no less than 23 times at the theater. This is probably the longest I've gone after a Star Wars release without hieing myself directly to the theater. Ah, well. I'm a getting to it, and that's what counts.

That is all.

A rock cairn at the summit of one of several high elevations we experienced today

Old dude takes a breather at the top of a mighty high ridge

Pharaoh looking for a helpful message from God at the cache site. No helpful signs were forthcoming,
so we had to find the cache the old-fashioned way.

Creature From Black Lake

For me, the Halloween season is the time of year for nightly horror/monster movies, and this year, I have gone to town. Cryptozoological thrillers always make for favorites, so I've put on several in the past couple of weeks. Since I saw it at the drive-in theater on its initial run, 1976's Creature From Black Lake has been a perennial favorite. So I'm gonna give it the quick treatment here at what we're gonna call—at least for this Halloween week—the Drive-in Where Horror Dwells,.

I haven't had many lazy Saturday mornings recently, so this a.m., I figured it was about time for one. The coffee had barely hit the mug when it struck me that that Creature From Black Lake ought to accompany breakfast. So, along with a yogurt-stuffed crepe, three strips of bacon, and my third mug of coffee, on goes the DVD. It's an old pan-&-scan, less-than-beautiful print of the film, but in its way, this sort of brings back the old air of the drive-in from the mid-1970s. (A much better, letterboxed print is available on Amazon Prime.)

The Story: Two grad students from Chicago—Rives (John David Carson) and Pahoo (Dennis Fimple)—travel down to Oil City, LA, to check out reported sightings of a direful "Bigfoot Creature" for their anthropology research project. Upon their arrival, they attempt to track down an old trapper named Joe Canton (Jack Elam), whose partner was reportedly killed in the swamps by a big hairy beast. However, as the locals don't have much interest in discussing their cryptozoological neighbor, they give the young men the chilliest of receptions. In particular, Sheriff Billy Carter (Bill Thurman) takes a dislike to the fellows and tells them not to go nosing around where they don't belong, i.e., anywhere in town.

However, a young gentleman named Orville Bridges (Jim McCullough, the movie's screenwriter), having overheard their exchange with the sheriff, tells them that, when he was a wee tot, the creature killed his parents, and he invites them out to the family place on the edge of the lake so they can have an in-depth conversation. Orville's Grandpa Bridges (Dub Taylor), at first suspicious of their intentions, eventually warms up to them and invites them to family dinner. He does give them a very stern warning to avoid bringing up the creature, since this would upset Grandma Bridges (Evelyn Hindricks). But upon hearing the braying of the family mule, an overly excitable Pahoo hollers out, believing it to be the creature on the rampage.

Boom. Next thing you know, Rives and Pahoo are relegated to the barn. And after dark, guess-what comes roaming around. Rives is able to record its cry on his tape recorder. After an uncomfortable night, they return to town, where they meet a couple of young women, Michelle (Michelle Willingham) and Becky (Becky Smiser)—the latter of whom turns out to be Sheriff Carter's daughter. Smitten and not to be dissuaded, the gentlemen invite the ladies to their campsite for the evening. Not only do Becky and Michelle oblige them, so does the creature, at least briefly, as does Becky's irate, badge-wearing dad, who pulls our heroes into the jailhouse. There they meet friend Joe Canton, who has also been pulled in, drunker than hell after another Bigfoot encounter of his own.

Once let go, Rives and Pahoo, disregarding the sheriff's admonition to leave town, return to the woods for a last attempt to find our direful creature. This time, find it they do, and the ensuing meeting proves anything but pleasant for all parties involved....

#

Our protags, Pahoo (Dennis Fimple) and Rives (John David Carson)

Orville Bridges (Jim McCullough) invites Pahoo and Rives out to the family place
to discuss Bigfeet over dinner.

Crusty but lovable Grandpa Bridges (Dub Taylor)

Creature From Black Lake came out at the height of the 1970's crypto-horror era, amid such luminaries as The Legend of Boggy Creek (last night's Halloween treat); Bigfoot; The Legend of Bigfoot; Sasquatch, the Legend of Bigfoot; Mysterious Monsters; and numerous others. Although Creature From Black Lake is not presented as a documentary in the way of The Legend of Boggy Creek, the two movies could almost be considered companion pieces, with their settings being only 50 miles apart, and their styles, tones, and pacing remarkably similar. Both movies are set and filmed in actual locations — Boggy Creek in Fouke, AK, and Black Lake in Oil City, LA, and both use actual residents of their respective towns as characters. Like most such movies of its day, Black Lake is a slow burn, focusing on character development and playing up the creepiness of the setting—two elements too often missing from their contemporary counterparts. While some might consider the slow pacing a drawback, I find it relaxed without being dull, the characters well-drawn and engaging, unlike the cardboard, stereotypical teenage clowns that have populated all too many horror flicks, both then and now.

Indeed, actors Jack Elam and Dub Taylor, known for their exaggerated features and mannerisms, turn in appealing performances, both exhibiting humor and pathos in equal measure. As Pahoo, recognizable character actor Dennis Fimple—who appeared in virtually every TV show from the 1970s and 80s, as well as movies such as King Kong (1976), Maverick, and House of 1,000 Corpses—turns out to be quirky and likeable, while pretty boy Rives, played by John David Carson (also recognizable from countless 1970s and 80s flicks), starts out too cocky and smart-mouthed for his own good. As the story progresses, though, Rives learns he is not the self-assured, capable soul he believed himself to be. At the end, consumed by grief for his missteps, Rives breaks down with remorse, and Carson delivers a poignant performance. The focus on characters one can actually care about makes the difference between life and death for this film's pacing. Happily, it does live.

No movie about a monster is complete without the monster, but sometimes the reveal can be a movie's downfall. Films such as Boggy Creek kept views of the creature sparse, with little detail shown, which, given the threadbare budget, proved a wise move. Black Lake comes perilously close to giving us too much, as the few close-ups of the critter are, unsurprisingly, not convincing. However, for most of the movie, we see our Bigfoot in silhouette, in the distance, or in the quickest of cuts. A haunting shot of the thing partially backlit on a hillside after it has had a little tangle with Rives and Pahoo's van is the standout image from my first drive-in viewing of the film in the 70s. It's a matte shot, given away by a slight jiggle just before the camera cuts away, but this hardly spoils the impressive effect. A special-effects extravaganza this movie is not, but expecting one would be unrealistic. Where the monster is concerned, we do get mostly solid cinematography and effective use of suspense.

Some "old" movies that made an impression in my youth simply don't hold up to later viewings. Creature From Black Lake, however, is not one of those. It may be somewhat cruder than my first impressions of it all those years ago, and it most assuredly plays as a product of its time. Yet its solidity as a character-driven, atmospheric piece holds its own against so many later and contemporary horror stories, and I rate it among the ranks of damn-near perfect drive-in movies from those heralded days of yore.

Especially at Halloween time, this one gets 4.5 out of 5 Damned Rodan's Dirty Firetinis.

Crusty but lovable Sheriff Billy Carter (Bill Thurman) gives crusty but lovable trapper
Joe Canton (Jack Elam) a sobriety test. Epic fail.

There's trouble afoot for Rives and Pahoo!

What the HELL is that thing!?

Hey, kid! Don't put your lips on that thing!

Hanging with Bigfoot, and Other Amish Tales

Back home from a trip to the Ohio Amish country with Ms. Brugger, where we went for a few days to spend time with her parents, who enjoy visiting that area. I don't usually hear things like, "I'd like to visit Ohio" or even "Ohio doesn't suck," but I gotta tell you, in central Ohio, we found abundant beautiful scenery, with extensive flatlands that ended abruptly at dark, looming hills, laced with shadowy, winding country roads; numerous quaint, picturesque communities; and plenty of colorful characters, even though they dressed in black. Not to mention Bigfoot. Yes, he was there! Note the photo to the left. I can't say I had ever seriously considered going to visit Amish country, but when the Bruggers invited us to meet them there for a few days, taking them up on it seemed just the ticket.

We headed out at the ass-crack of dawn on Wednesday morning, bound for Zinck's Inn in Berlin, Ohio, where we planned to meet the Bruggers. Things started on a rather ominous note because, not long after we hit the interstate, we found ourselves behind a big old logging truck, whose trailer began swaying perilously in the wind, so that scenes from Final Destination 2 came flying fast and furious. It was quite the relief when we put some distance between that beast and us, and if it took out a slew of obnoxious young adults somewhere on the road, we were not around to bear witness. Or participate.

Oh, shit.

The Inn provided comfortable lodgings, very convenient to the central business district and other places of interest to antique treasure hunters, which comprised the majority of our party. I am hardly what one could call an aficionado of antiques, though I do rather enjoy wandering through antique shops and finding intriguing items from days of yore. And while this was not primarily a geocaching trip, you can bet I set my sights on all kinds of caches, which often kept me occupied during our antiquing trips. Oh, yes — there were a handful of wineries in the area, a couple of which we visited and enjoyed, particularly Silver Moon winery, near Dover.

Don't step too far backward, Ms. B!

Now, even though Ms. Brugger is anything but an avid geocacher, she does appreciate the unusual destinations to which geocaching often takes us. In this area of Ohio, oh, my lord, there are dead people everywhere, going back years and years, even centuries, and thus there are graveyards scattered all over the landscape, and at many of them, yes, caches to hunt. Geographically, this region is not all that far from the setting of the original Night of the Living Dead, so at most of the graveyards we visited, the landscapes appeared eerily (and agreeably) familiar. I didn't exactly see any walking dead at close range, but at one old church graveyard we explored this morning, I did notice a strange, shambling zombie wearing fluorescent tennis shoes and a fleece jacket from our workplace in Greensboro. Funny, that.

I had a hard time restraining myself at Lehman's,
so they did it for me.

Yesterday, we took a little road trip up to Kidron, a few miles north of Berlin, which is home to Lehman's Hardware, a huge, damn-near Lowe's-sized installation stocked mostly with old-fashioned hardware implements appropriate to the Amish way of life, not to mention all kinds of just plain cool specialty items (and caches on the premises). I even found a stock of Kickapoo Joy Juice (based on the moonshine in the old "Lil Abner" comics), actually a citrus soda kind of like Mountain Dew, which I enjoyed when I was a little kid. Apparently, it's still being produced.

And yes, there were Amish folks everywhere, their horses and buggies clip-clopping up and down the country roads, the men farming the land everywhere you looked beyond the limits of the little town, and all going about their lives almost as if the myriad tourists around them didn't even exist. In the darker reaches of Holmes and Stark counties where we ventured, I couldn't help but recall T.E.D. Klein's novella, "The Events at Poroth Farm" (and his novel, The Ceremonies, based on that work), which chronicled some frightening goings-on in a quaint, religion-based community — not Amish but similar enough in aspect that comparisons are inevitable. I doubt any such supernatural horrors simmered beneath the surface of mundane life here, but by God, there was Bigfoot, and that simply cannot be denied. Remember the photographic evidence, people!

Sunset over the Old Berlin Cemetery, March 29, 2017

I did find it amusing that, one night, I haphazardly left a copy of Stephen King's Salem's Lot on top of the Bible in our room at the Inn, and the next morning, after breakfast, I discovered that our housekeeper had moved the King novel elsewhere and placed the Bible prominently on a tabletop. Touché.

Ms. B. goes to church.

The only thing that might have spoiled our enjoyment of the trip was a barrage of physical infirmities — primarily age-related — that befell both Kimberly and I, which in some respects left us in less vigorous condition than her parents, which they no doubt found rather amusing. None of it was really funny, but hopefully all temporary, so that the lady and I will both be back to our typical, young-at-heart selves in the nearest of futures, barring trips to see back specialists, X-ray techs, and other related medical personnel. This getting older crap does get in the way of living sometimes, it really does.

The lot of us are safely back to our respective homes, with all kinds of wonderful memories of great company and experiences, and at least one of us twenty-some geocaches richer. I'm thinking a long soak in a hot bath might help relieve some of these blasted old-people pains.

Doncha just hate it when the older generation runs you ragged?

Click on the photos to enlarge.

There's a geocache in that photo.

Old gravestones in a cemetery off the Winklepleck Road

More graves in the cemetery off the Winklepleck Road

Hans is watching you!

A bridge, leading to nowhere, at which I located a nice little cache

Another bridge, leading to not quite nowhere, at which I also located a nice little cache

One of the most common sights on our trip

Willow Creek: Fearing the Unseen

I seem to have stumbled into a mess of found-footage horror movies lately, not so much because the style appeals to me (it really kinda doesn't) but because several of the subjects I do enjoy — ghosties, trolls, and bigfeet — apparently also appeal to movie makers with an affinity for the form. Bobcat Goldthwait's Willow Creek is the latest of these I've checked out, and I did so mainly because a couple of writers whose opinions I trust gave it high marks. With some caveats, I will do the same.

Here there be spoilers.

Willow Creek is about a young couple who set out in search of Bigfoot. Their destination: Bluff Creek, in Six Rivers National Forest, CA, the site of the infamous 1967 Patterson-Gimlin Bigfoot film. Jim (Bryce Johnson) is a confirmed believer looking to make a documentary about the legendary beast. His girlfriend, Kelley (Alexie Gilmore), though skeptical of the critter's existence, is sporting enough to accompany Jim on his venture. They head out to the wilderness, via the town of Willow Creek, a.k.a. the Bigfoot Capital of the World. We have a few lighthearted moments here, especially at some of the establishments that actually exist, but soon enough, things start looking a bit hairy. In town, they find posters displaying a photograph of a woman who has recently gone missing. And immediately they reach the old logging road that leads to the filming site, an unfriendly local accosts them and warns them to get the hell out of there and return to town. But having come this far, Jim refuses to abandon his plans and finds another route to his destination.

Once the couple has set up camp, they take a swim break at a nearby stream. However, when they return to their campsite, they find it in shambles. Figuring it to be the work of a curious bear, they resolve to be more cautious, but the incident does little to dampen Jim's mood. After sundown, though, exuberance gives way to trepidation as the couple hear strange noises in the darkness. Indeed, the sounds — ranging from inexplicable knocking to bizarre vocalizations — move steadily closer. And it isn't long before Jim and Kelley — and we, the audience — discover the source of the sounds.

It's sort of what you expect, but sort of not.

Willow Creek breaks no new ground, none, following the formula established by The Blair Witch Project to a tee. A crucial difference, however, is the fact that the two main characters in Willow Creek, unlike the former film (and so many other horror movies with youthful protagonists), are not obnoxious idiots. While perhaps myopic and foolish enough to make you want to give each of them an occasional swift kick, Jim and Kelley make for a believable couple, and even his Bigfoot mania isn't so over the top as to be ridiculous. Having some positive emotional investment in the characters shouldn't be such a breath of fresh air, but this is an aspect of characterization that movie makers have failed to understand from time immemorial — particularly in the realm of horror movies, where I would argue that a positive emotional connection is most needed.

Until Jim and Kelley retire to their tent after dark, there hasn't been much in the way of suspense. But when it kicks in, it kicks in, and I can safely say that, as one who frequents the woods and has been an avid camper, I haven't been so riveted by a movie scene since a nurse got her head chopped (just off camera) in William Peter Blatty's mostly excellent Exorcist III. The power in the scene in Willow Creek comes not from any visual effect; in fact, for 17 full minutes, the camera is focused solely on Jim and Kelley, listening, inside their tent. And the sounds coming from the woods could not be more disconcerting. As the camera comes on, we see Jim gazing into space wearing a curious expression, and Kelley stirs beside him. He tells her he has heard a knocking sound in the forest, but she doesn't hear anything. Neither do we — until a few moments later, a distinct knocking does echo from the distance. Gradually, more sounds rise out of the night: weird, muted sounds that might be voices, or perhaps low, non-human vocalizations; rustling; increasingly loud knocking. And as the source of these noises draws nearer, it's easy to feel as if we are right there with the characters. As Jim's fascination turns to fear, one might just feel compelled to get the hell out of, well, wherever the hell you're watching the movie.

The staging in these last few minutes is not quite spot on. Once Jim and Kelley do leave their tent, too much time is spent with the camera simply aimed at their faces. It only stands to reason that if there's something out there in the woods, and you're bound and determined to keep that camera running, you'd be trying to record whatever is out there and not your every facial expression. To put a more positive spin on it, at least this keeps the shaking, weaving, lurching camera work — the single biggest blunder of found-footage movies — to a bare minimum.

Without completely giving away the ending, I'll mention that at no time do we actually see Bigfoot — and in this movie, that's a clear positive. We don't need to see Bigfoot. The things we've heard are far more convincing than any image. The movie Exists (reviewed here), which in many ways blew beans, did present us with an excellent visual depiction of ye Sasquatch; but in Willow Creek, we're better left with the one disturbing visual it does afford us just before the movie ends. And because there is at least some emotional investment in these characters, there's a deeper sense of tragedy than one could derive from Exists, or The Blair Witch Project, or (insert most any teenage victim movie title here) during which most of us are praying for the characters to die and thus put us out of their misery.

I haven't read many positive reviews of Willow Creek, and to some extent, I can understand the lack of love. As I said, we're not breaking any new ground. There's no big visual payoff. Some viewers find the protagonists as vacuous those in The Blair Witch Project; I disagree but I do grant that these people are not colorful, deep, or particularly clever. I find them to be individuals who might be my next-door neighbors (actually, sadly, my former next-door neighbors). In this movie, these characters are just made to order.

What shines in Willow Creek is its superior immersion factor. I am in this movie. I am loving the gorgeous forest scenery. I am hearing those inexplicable noises in the dark. And I am feeling the terror build as the sounds move nearer. And what happens in those 17 minutes in the dark in that tent, well, that is precisely what pushes my fear buttons.

3.5 out 5 Damned Rodan's Dirty Firetinis.

Jim interviews Bigfoot for his documentary in the town of Willow Creek, the "Bigfoot Capital of the World"

Jim and Kelley enjoy Bigfoot Burgers at The Bigfoot Restaurant in Willow Creek — a real treat at a real location.

Jim gives an on-the-spot report at Bluff Creek, the site of the infamous 1967 Patterson-Gimlin Bigfoot film clip

Noises in the dark wake Jim and Kelley in the middle of the night.

Something is out there. But Bigfoot beware! Kelley is brandishing a big stick!

Exists

I've gotta tell you, I'm a sucker for movies about Bigfoot and other cryptozoological beasties. During my teenage years, it was a rich time for all things Bigfoot, with movies such as... wait for it... Bigfoot, with John Carradine (surely one of the world's worst movies, yet such an all-fired hoot I can't help but love it); The Legend of Boggy Creek; The Creature From Black Lake; Sasquatch: The Legend of Bigfoot; et. al. Exists hearkens back to just that kind of movie — both hokey and creepy as all get-out. It's directed by Eduardo Sánchez, who brought us The Blair Witch Project and others some years back. Not unlike Blair Witch, this one is largely seen through the eyes of various cameras — Go-Pros, cell phones, and such — though it isn't found-footage per se. The camera's eye views are not as erratic and shaky as Blair Witch or Cloverfield (the latter of which I refuse to watch again because the shaky-cam footage isn't just overdone, it's stupidly overdone). Exists, fortunately, is largely shown through a more traditional camera lens and features an honest-to-god score, composed by Nima Fakhrara.

The story is classic drive-in movie fare: five young adults — brothers Matt (Samuel Davis) and Brian (Chris Osborn), Dora (Dora Madison Burge), Todd (Roger Edwards), and Elizabeth (Denise Williamson) — take a weekend trip to a remote cabin, located somewhere in the wilds of eastern Texas. On the way, they run over some critter, which they take to be a deer until they discover some odd hair stuck in the radiator grill. It isn't long before something begins making scary squalling sounds out in the woods and then comes prowling around the cabin. Next thing you know, said something has smashed the youngsters' car, leaving them stranded and all but helpless. Matt decides to try fleeing on a bicycle so he can bring help. Alas, he never reaches his destination. And the remaining four young people become subject to a relentless assault by the thing — or things — out in the woods. There is much destruction, screaming, hollering, and even some blood. These young 'uns at last realize that their chances of getting out of the woods alive are mighty slim.

The wooded setting and cabin couldn't be more conducive to frightening things happening; happily, it's all filmed on location, without any dopey-looking sets or crappy CGI. There's an atmosphere of both serenity and strangeness about the woods that couldn't be more genuine. (As a matter of fact, the woods closely resemble those around what I call the Bigfoot Trail, just a few miles up the road, where I've done quite a bit of geocaching over the years.) Until just about the end of the film, the critters are shown only in silhouette or in quick cuts, and one scene, in which the monster is seen as a black shadow racing through the woods alongside a trail in pursuit of Matt on his bicycle, is actually pretty hair-raising. When, at the end, we have the big reveal, it's not disappointing. It's pretty damned good. I'd go so far as to say Exists offers a few of the best-staged Bigfoot scenes, well, maybe ever.

What Exists also offers... unfortunately... is a great big nasty-tasting, nausea-inducing, brick shit house full of stupid. Oh, my lord. The characters, to the last, are obnoxious, ever-swearing, hyper-screaming, pot-smoking, stereotypical boneheads who can't formulate a rational thought even when they're not panicking, and there's more than enough panic going on here for about four movies. Yes, it may bloody well be true that in highly stressful, likely deadly situations, many people will, in fact, lose their shit. But I think that segment of the population has been more than adequately represented in horror movies over the years, and I am weary beyond weary of them. (And even most of them would have a fair idea of when to actually get rid of the Go-Pro.) Why not make a movie with the same scenario but with characters who, between them, have more than a single functioning brain cell? Or at least make them colorful. Ever see Creature From Black Lake, with Jack Elam, Dub Taylor, Dennis Fimple, and John David Carson? Talk about enjoyable characters. Dopey, maybe, but what hoots! In The Legend of Boggy Creek, we have plenty of not-necessarily-bright characters, but the audience never looks down on them. They're kind of charming in their way. Hey, Travis Crabtree even had his own ballad written about him. It doesn't get much more charming than that. I tell you, the world is dumbed down aplenty as it is, and Exists, despite so many wonderful aspects that work, is insulting to an even marginally thinking audience. Mr. Sánchez, is it really, really true that your film won't make a buck unless your characters are idiots?

I believe you're wrong. Really, really fucking wrong.

That doesn't even begin to cover some of the contrivances, the hackneyed plot devices, and the almost note-by-note reproducing of scenes from The Blair Witch Project. Even these would be somewhat more palatable if it were possible to give a hoot about the people on the menu.

Four and a half Damned Rodan's Dirty Firetinis for the atmosphere and the Bigfoot scenes. One Damned Rodan's Dirty Firetini for the overall movie.

Shame on you, Eduardo. Shame on you for taunting me with all kinds of goodies and then throwing a rancid pie in my face.

A rare moment of non-panic, and not a bad one at that. (For this, you need to watch the deleted scenes.)

Nincompooper! Is upside down!

You'd think that with this beast in hand, Todd might not panic quite so badly. You would be wrong.

"If you say 'Where's my Go-Pro?' one more time, I'm gonna drown you."

That ain't Harry out there.