What's It Like To Go On a BFRO Expedition With Matt?

Editor’s Note: This is a post by Bigfoot Evidence contributor Vicki W.

If you're reading here it's a safe assumption that you are intrigued to some degree about the possibility that Bigfoot exists. Not just the one though; a significant population of them may be roaming the forests, just hanging out and doing whatever Bigfoots do. It follows that you would be curious about what they look like, sound like, and just how big are they really? But the average Joe/Jane wouldn't go out looking for them, where would you start--not to mention how scary it could be.

No problem. Just call the Bigfoot Field Researcher's Organization, or the BFRO. Headed up by Matt Moneymaker, the BFRO will take you out on a sasquatch safari for the bargain price of $500, not including transportation and meals by the way. Maybe you have fantasized about camping with the so-called professionals, but still have some reluctance about it. Or maybe the reluctance is more about your wallet.

Take a vicarious look at New York Times writer Amanda Petrusich's story on her Bigfoot excursion with Matt and Cliff and ten other curious folks. She shares with us the fun details of the camp-out, complete with wood knocking and belting out her very own Bigfoot howl. Did they find the big guy? Well...

Here's a snippet from www.startribune.com:

[...]
Membership in the BFRO is by invitation only, and requires (paradoxically, perhaps) at least the appearance of good sense.

Kevin Smykal, 58, leads the organization's Florida chapter, and conducts telephone screenings of potential participants before they can sign up for an expedition.

"We're very careful," he said. "We don't want somebody who's going to be an irritant to other people. You're not going to want to spend your nights out in the woods with an undesirable."

I didn't want to be an irritant, but I also wasn't sure I wanted to spend that much time in dark woods.

The organization's investigators wear head lamps and carry flashlights, but they're intended only for use in emergencies.

"The darker it is, the closer they come," Moneymaker noted, and I sensed that neurotically flicking on your headlamp midexpedition was considered an unforgivable gaffe.

Moneymaker cited weather, big cats and stray branches as a sasquatch hunter's primary foes; a park ranger further cautioned us against snakes and alligators. Not far from camp, Barackman pointed out a series of unusual animal tracks. There was speculation that they were made by a bear or maybe even a young sasquatch. None of the presented possibilities were particularlycomforting.

The next morning, castings were made of the footprints; they turned out to be the work of an exceptionally large northern river otter.

At 10:30 p.m., after we'd roasted hot dogs and exchanged a couple of squatching yarns, Moneymaker ran through a few rules. "Don't freak out" was the prevailing theme. He said he'd seen otherwise stoic men -- soldiers, even -- turn into "sniveling messes" when led into a dark forest. Before attendees can be registered for an expedition, they are required to read a chapter from the BFRO handbook that helps people "deal with the terror of a first experience."

Moneymaker distributed night-vision monoculars called Ghost Hunters, which render everything in shades of green. We split into two groups, putting enough distance between us that we could convincingly initiate and return calls. We hoped to hear a few knock backs right away.

"It's not going to be a human out there making knock backs; it's going to be a squatch," Moneymaker said. "If we hear knock backs then we're in business."

When hiking through the woods, it's remarkably easy to lose sight of everyone around you, and even that false sense of isolation can be deeply terrifying. Our group of five crept toward the river in a single line. We paused near the sight of Craig's encounter and, after radioing Barackman's team, tried a few howls.

Much of bigfooting is listening, and like any kind of hunting, it requires extraordinary patience. While we waited for a reply, I pulled a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup out of my back pocket and laid it on the ground. (I'd been told that bigfoots have a particular affinity for Zagnut bars, but they weren't stocked by the local Wal-Mart.) A foraging armadillo let out a few inquisitive grunts, but sasquatches, it seemed, were uninterested in initiating contact just yet.

Eventually, we trekked back to camp and reorganized. Around 3 a.m., I followed Barackman and four others east toward the park's sandy access roads. We howled, knocked and scanned for glowing eyes, but our solicitations were not reciprocated. By 4:30 a.m., I was asleep in my tent with my hiking boots still on.

The next morning, I sat by the fire snacking on a slice of bacon and a powdered doughnut. The other team had heard and recorded a response howl -- a brief, high-pitched hoot. We speculated about whether it was human. Barackman described the results of the expedition as fairly typical.

"We recorded something that we don't know the origin of," he said. "The mystery continues."

A few minutes later, something screeched in the distance, and Moneymaker, barefoot, abandoned his breakfast and bounded into the woods at full speed. Although the sound turned out to be nothing, I was impressed by Moneymaker's enthusiastic gait. It was that of a believer.

Also, here's a video from a 2011 BFRO North Georgia Expedition. The witnesses claimed they observed a Sasquatch through a night vision monocular: