The sturgeon lake creature

About two summers ago my dad and I were fishing at sturgeon lake( a small lake near our homtown) we were about to start the day fishing and my dad was just pulling the boat up so I could jump in when there was a extremely large splash about 50 yards away from us near the center of the lake.

Now I can’t stress this enough but this lake isn’t particularly big, but occasionally people do catch large 40-50 pound pike out of this lake, so 15 year old me tries to think about it logically and labels it as such.

Once I get in our boat my dad starts up the trolling motor and we go over to the far side of the lake.

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Southern Ohio Skinwalker

This happened about a year ago, last summer. Some background. I’m a 21 year old non-native american (100% German bloodline) male and somewhat know about Skinwalkers and Wendigos, mainly from the massive amount of time I spent on 4chan in the past couple years. I live in the hills of the Ohio River Valley. Im an avid coyote hunter and fisherman. What time I am not spending at work, playing video games, or browsing 4chan, I’m in the woods or on the river.

One night after I left work I decided to go fishing at the pond on my friend’s property, to the northeast of my house. I got home, grabbed my rods, tackle box and trusty HK VP9 (because I carry everywhere I go nowadays), and ran to the store and bought some chicken livers for bait. I should also mention that I brought my puppy. A 9 month old German Shepherd/Rottweiler mix that I named Mauser.

As I arrived at my friend’s property and began pulling my truck into the field surrounding the pond, the sun started to set. It was eerily quiet. No noises of nature, or any noise at all other than the engine of my truck running. It made me feel kinda uneasy, but I just pushed it out of my mind.

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Night Fishing Terror

First let me tell you a few things about me. I am a Man of God although when this story took place I wasn’t a Christian. I have also spent twenty four years in the outdoors, hunting, fishing, camping, and hiking. I am twenty eight so that’s a lot of time in the wilderness. I’m the guy everyone says that when the zombies come it’s my house they are going too. I know how to live off the land and know how to survive disasters that could happen. Part of being in the outdoors for as long as I have been is you see a lot of things most people don’t get to. I’ve seen some of the most beautiful sunsets and sunrises from being an avid fisherman and hunter.
However you also see things at the opposite end of that spectrum. I’ve witnessed predators hunting, people get hurt, and the downright scary. Growing up my whole life in Northwestern PA it was interesting to say the least. When you throw outdoorsman into the mix you get a brand new mix. I’ve seen a lot that Science refuses to admit is real. From the monster of Lake Eire to my favorite catfish hole being a UFO hotspot. Now with all that while creepy, the events of one July evening at Geneva Swamp take the cake.

About three or four years ago I had a few days off work. So my buddy Tyler and I had made a plan to do an all day fishing trip to Geneva. We had it set, bait, snacks, and drinks. We had our poles and tackle boxes packed up the night before. The weather called for warm and sunny day with a light wind. Any fisherman knows it’s a good day for fishing. Not to hot, cause if it is the fish won’t bite. If it’s too cold the fish are harder to catch because they are sluggish and not to mention very uncomfortable for you no matter if it’s hot or cold.

We arrived at Custards Bridge, for everyone who isn’t familiar with the area, it used to be an old steel bridge. It’s on a small back road called Mercer Pike. It’s an outflow to one of the small rivers in the county called French Creek. Geneva Swamp itself is the largest in Crawford county. It spans from Conneaut Lake PA all the way to Mercer Pike. Just about 5-10 miles. The swamp itself is beyond mysterious. There are three bridges that go over it. I-79 is one of the main highways in PA. There is also Snake Road bridge. These two bridges are floating bridges. The story goes that when they were building the interstate over the swamp they couldn’t find the bottom. They dropped cars, a railroad car, and a crane at full extension into the swamp. Never once did any of them reach the bottom.

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Fishing with a serial killer

This story didn’t happen to me, it happened to my father when he was in high school in the late 70’s. He was, and still is, an avid fisher, hunter, hiker, etc. At the time this took place, he was ice fishing with a few close friends at a lake in southern Wisconsin. Every time he recounts this story to me, he get this look of disgust on his face, less like he remembers the fear, and more like he’s ready throw up at the thought it. The rest will be from his perspective.

We were out on the lake, it was cold. A few of the guys just walked back to the car to get some things, and it was just me Bruno. We were minding our own business when this older man walked out of the woods. He was sort of chubby, and big, and he had a creepy smile. We didn’t think anything of it, we were raised to be polite, so we struck up a conversation.

He said he’d been fishing too, and wasn’t catching much. He asked if we wanted a drink, said he had some at his camp. We told him we had our own and we were okay.

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Scoutmaster’s Voice

I am an eagle scout in Ohio, and I do a lot of camping most of the camp outs I go fishing on because it gets me away from the younger scouts. So when this all happened I was at peace until it all went to hell.

The trip was reasonably peaceful, we ate played capture the flag etc, etc. The everyone went to bed exept me I decided to go night fishing with a buddy. So about midnight we head out to a lake about a mile and a half away from the campsite. Thinking nothing of it this seemed routine to us. When we got there we were greeted by the usual crickets frogs and such and we were there for about 45 minutes until this started happening…

First everything went dead quiet, which when you are also an avid Hunter you know this is a bad sign. We start to get a bit of the heebe jeebes of course at that moment we decided to go back to camp. Now this is where things get freaky.

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It wasn’t a Gar

This occurred in 2007, when I was 9 years old. My family has always been very outdoorsy, and that summer my dad, my two brothers, Luke and Owen, ages 15 and 12 respectively, and I had gone camping at a site in Virginia. For the life of me, I can’t remember its name.

We spent the first few days doing normal touristy stuff like canoeing, hiking and fishing. On the morning of the fourth day, my brothers and I woke early with the intent of going for an early morning swim. There was a large lake just out of eyesight of our tent, and after wolfing down a quick breakfast, we put on our swim trunks and set off. Luke had brought his fishing pole, since there was a large fishing pier at the lake.

Two other people were already fishing there by the time we arrived, a man in his fourties and his son, who looked to be about 14. Upon seeing us, the boy rose to his feet and said, “I wouldn’t swim there if I were you. There’s a lot of Gar around, and they can really cut you up.” I glanced over at Owen, who shrugged, and, in his typical reckless fashion, dove in headfirst. Not wanting to be left out, I jumped in after him, while Luke sat down next to the boy and began to set up his pole. We had been swimming for around fifteen minutes, drifting gradually farther and farther out. The water was very deep there, at least twenty feet; but we weren’t worried, since Owen and I were both on the swim team back home.

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