Bigfoot’s Night in the Maine Wilderness

Oct 4

Far up in the northeastern forests of Maine, where pine trees tower over the land and the wind whispers through the mountains, there lived a creature known only to a few—the Maine Bigfoot. The locals called him “Woodswalker” because, though enormous, he moved through the dense forest as quietly as a shadow, leaving barely a footprint behind. His fur was thick and dark, blending into the deep greens and browns of the forest, and his eyes sparkled like the stars that dotted the night sky.

Woodswalker lived in the most secluded parts of the Maine wilderness, far from any towns or roads. His home was a cozy cave hidden beneath the roots of an ancient pine tree. Every evening, as the sky turned from gold to purple and the crisp Maine air cooled, Woodswalker would rise from his cave, stretching his long arms and taking a deep breath of the fresh, pine-scented air.

One night, as Woodswalker was walking along the forest paths, he noticed something unusual. The animals of the forest, normally so lively at dusk, were quiet. The birds weren’t singing their evening songs, the squirrels were still, and even the owls were perched silently, watching the forest with wide eyes. Woodswalker knew something was wrong.

He sniffed the air and listened closely. In the distance, he heard a faint cry—a sound he recognized immediately. It was a lost moose calf, separated from its mother. Moose were common in these woods, and Woodswalker had seen many families pass through, but never had he seen a baby moose wandering alone.

Without hesitation, Woodswalker set off toward the sound, his massive feet carrying him swiftly and silently through the forest. The trees grew denser as he went deeper into the wilderness, but Woodswalker knew these woods better than anyone. He followed the sound of the calf’s frightened calls, his heart heavy with concern.

At last, he found the little moose, tangled in a thicket of thorny bushes. The calf was scared, its large eyes wide with fear, and it struggled to free itself, but the more it moved, the more the thorns tightened around it. Woodswalker approached slowly, making soft, reassuring sounds to calm the little creature. Though he was large and intimidating, Woodswalker’s heart was gentle, and the animals of the forest knew he meant no harm.

With great care, Woodswalker reached down and began to pull the thorns away from the calf’s legs. His fingers, though large, were nimble, and soon the baby moose was free. The calf looked up at him, its fear melting away as it realized it was safe. Woodswalker gave the little moose a gentle pat on the head, and the calf nuzzled his hand in thanks.

But the calf was still lost, and Woodswalker knew the forest was no place for a baby to wander alone. The mother moose must be nearby, searching for her calf, so Woodswalker lifted the small moose gently in his arms and began to walk deeper into the forest. The trees whispered around him, their branches swaying in the cool night breeze, and the moonlight filtered through the leaves, casting a soft glow over the path ahead.

As Woodswalker carried the calf through the forest, he listened carefully for the mother’s call. After some time, he heard it—a low, mournful sound echoing through the woods. The mother moose was close.

Woodswalker hurried toward the sound, his eyes scanning the forest for movement. At last, he saw her—the mother moose, standing at the edge of a clearing, her head raised as she called out for her baby. When she saw Woodswalker emerge from the trees with the calf in his arms, she let out a joyful bellow and trotted over to meet them.

Woodswalker gently set the baby moose down, and the little one ran to its mother, nuzzling her side in happiness. The mother moose lowered her head and nudged her calf gently, overjoyed to have her little one back. She looked up at Woodswalker, her eyes filled with gratitude. Though they couldn’t speak, Woodswalker could feel her thanks.

As the mother and calf walked away into the night, Woodswalker watched them go, his heart filled with peace. He had done his duty, protecting the creatures of the Maine wilderness once again. The forest was his home, and everything within it was under his care.

With a soft sigh, Woodswalker turned back toward his cave. The night was calm now, the animals of the forest returning to their evening routines. The birds began to sing again, and the owls hooted softly as they took to the skies. Even the wind seemed gentler, rustling through the pine trees like a lullaby.

Woodswalker reached his cave beneath the great pine tree and settled in for the night. As he lay down, the stars twinkling through the branches above, he knew he would always be there, watching over the forest, making sure the creatures of Maine could sleep safely under the cover of the trees.

And so, under the watchful eye of the great Woodswalker, the Maine wilderness slept peacefully, knowing their silent guardian was always near.

The End.