Weston writes "I live in the northern part of South Carolina, and for the first five or six years my wife and I were together, we went hiking or camping almost every weekend. We loved exploring waterfalls and trails across the surrounding states. A lot of the time we chose remote areas where we wouldn't run into many people. The day this happened was different. We were visiting Crabtree Falls in North Carolina, a very popular waterfall along the Blue Ridge Parkway in the Blue Ridge Mountains. It's still remote in the sense that it's deep in the mountains, but it's a well-known destination, especially in the summer which is when we were there. This was in late July of 2016, well before Hurricane Helene, so all parts of the trail were open. The hike to the falls is about 2.5 to 3 miles round trip. About halfway in, there's a spot where water runs down the mountain and crosses the trail. It spreads across a wide rocky area, with large boulders lining both sides as far up as we could see. Curious, we decided to step off the main trail and climb alongside the water to see where it led. We thought maybe there was another waterfall upstream or at least we'd discover where this sizable creek originated. We climbed straight up those rocks for about half a mile. Eventually, we started hearing what sounded like a fairly large waterfall. We figured we were close and also that we probably weren't supposed to be there. There were signs everywhere warning hikers not to leave the trail, and by then we were well off it. I was climbing ahead in case my wife needed help navigating the rocks. When we reached the top of a large boulder near the sound of the falls, I pulled myself up and immediately froze. At the base of a waterfall roughly 25 or 30 feet tall, something enormous was crouched near the bottom, about five feet above the creek it fed into. At first, I couldn't process what I was looking at. I just knew it was huge. My wife hadn't crested the rocks yet, but she could tell something was wrong. I could hear her asking what was happening, but I couldn't respond. I couldn't move. I was staring at the back of this thing, crouched low. I knew it wasn't a bear, and that realization locked me in place. It didn't seem to know we were there. The roar of the waterfall likely masked our approach. And since everyone else was a mile below at the main waterfall, it probably didn't expect anyone to come up that way. Then my wife climbed up beside me. The moment she saw it, she screamed. The creature turned toward us and rose to its full height in one fluid motion. It made a deep, guttural grunting sound. That's when I understood what I was seeing and my fear went from paralyzing to overwhelming. I had never been that terrified in my life. As it stood there, I became aware of a strange pressure in my ears, like being underwater at the bottom of a deep pool. I could barely hear my wife screaming beside me. I'm not sure whether the pressure began when it saw us or when it stood and made that sound, but it persisted the entire time it was in view. The creature was over seven feet tall I'm certain of that. In high school, I had a close friend who was 6'10", and I saw him every day for two years. I know what seven feet looks like. This thing was taller than him, and it was only about 40 or 50 feet away. Its hair appeared auburn at the tips, possibly darker closer to the skin. Its skin itself looked charcoal-colored. I didn't get a good look at its hands, but I clearly saw its face and it's something I wish I could forget. Its head tilted slightly to the left as it made that grunting noise. When it moved, it did something no human could have done. In a single step, it crossed the creek and dropped from its crouched position about five feet down to creek level without jumping, slipping, or stumbling. The rocks were large and slick, but it moved effortlessly. Then, within just a few more strides, it went up the mountain and disappeared. As it moved, I noticed its proportions more clearly. Its knees stayed bent as it walked, and its legs seemed short relative to its torso. Its arms looked long in comparison, especially the forearms, which appeared longer than what I'd consider normal for a human. The proportions were wrong, almost exaggerated. It was over quickly, but it felt much longer. Once it was completely out of sight, the pressure in my ears finally faded. We didn't camp there that night like we'd planned. In fact, we stopped hiking and camping altogether for quite a while after that. It's something my wife and I will never forget."
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