Bigfoot in Trent Hills Ontario

I came across Russell Cornith after a Google search combining "Bigfoot" and my home town of "Campbellford." Google linked up Russell and Bigfoot.

Russell, who holds a PHD in cryptozoology from a Northern University, is researching what he considers to be the true home of Bigfoot. Far from the Pacific Northwest, Russel has focused his research on a region of Central Southern Ontario, just North of the American border. He would not reveal to me what led him to this specific longitude and latitude, but he tells me he has made several satisfying discoveries in Bigfoot research since he arrived in January, 2010.

I asked him if he would be willing to summarize some findings on this blog. Lucky for us, he was more than happy to share:

"My name is Russel Cornith . I am a Cryptozoolager and dedicated Bigfoot researcher. I was drawn to the small town called Campbellford in the hopes of transforming decades of folklore into scientific evidence.

Campbellford traces its history back to 1834, when the first homesteaders arrived in the area. Once very wealthy, it is still known today for its many fine Victorian homes. The Bigfoot folklore seems to date orally from about the same time.

The impetus for my journey here is two fold. First, the abundant rumours and undocumented accounts of Bigfoot which stem from the late 1800's. Secondly, that most of the local population are unwilling to talk to me about Bigfoot, not necessarily from disbelief, but I believe, from some communal desire to protect the creatures.

After four months of on site research, I am even more convinced that Bigfoot lives in the geography surrounding Campbellford. I have managed to establish an eyewitness account that stretches back at least 80 years. And I have interviewed subjects whose Bigfoot encounters are as recent as 2009. Many others relate stories passed down through the generations, recounting stories that their Grandfathers told them, and which they swear are faithfull retellings from their own grandfathers generations before.

Here is a selection of interviews with local residents, which takes the science of Bigfoot way, way back. Well before that douche bag hoaxer Roger Patterson filmed his fake Bigfoot in 1967.

Jack Dooher, a life long resident of Campbellford, now in his 70's, was willing to tell me a story that was passed down to him from his grandfather.

As he told it:

"In the late 1800's, logging was the main business around the new town of Campbellford. Logging meant a team of guys would go into the brush, set up camp, chop trees and send the logs back down the river. My Grandad said that this happened in August of 1860.

Just outside of what is now known as Tweed, a camp of Loggers shot an animal while hunting for Elk. It was like nothing they had ever seen before. Much hairier than bear, but long armed. More like themselves than an animal. They bled the creature and hung it on game racks.

One man, Jerry Polty, had to ride the utility wagon out of the camp and meet the supply wagon at the main road. These old lumber paths were rugged, and it took hours to get in and out of camp. He returned to the camp at dusk. All was quiet. The fires were extinguished. He walked into the mess tent and found everyone dead, all 15 men bludgeoned to death and heaped into a bloody pile. The creature the crew had hung on the game racks was gone."

1998. "I was driving home from Havelock after getting a coffee and some cigarettes at the 24hr, it was just after day break and the fog was lifting. I was driving slow just enjoying the morning when I saw something on the side of the road next to a cornfield so I slowed down thinking it was a deer. I still had my head lights on and could see perfectly. But what I saw was not a deer it stood up to its full height which I estimate to be 8ft and looked right at me. It had a bunch of corn in its arms and I mean a hands like a human's hand. It looked like a human being with hair all over it. I stopped my truck and just starred at it as it did me. After a long moment, it started to throw the ears of corn at the truck. A few hit the windshield, then it took off and jumped across the road and into the woods. I called the police but they laughed at me. The Ministry of Natural Resources took my information but never called me back. But I swear on everything I know, what I saw that morning was a Bigfoot."

Wayne Jr. Casey.

1983. Russell Spurgeon has baled hay all his life. In the spring and summer, he moves from farm to farm, baling hay to feed to local dairy cattle for the year. In a good year, where all the climactic conditions are favourable, he can get three cuts from each farm. He doesn't like to talk about the bad years.

Russell is now 85 and lives in a retirement home on the Trent River. He is still very independent and stays in a small unit by himself. He is proud to point out that he walks at least 5 km a day and cooks his own meals. He was very reluctant at first to talk with me, but my persistence paid off. Here's how Russell told it to me.

"Well, I usually arrive before the farmers are even out of bed. I have the tractor and bailer outside the field the day before, all ready to go. I get up at four and drive the truck down to the tractor, give her a look, kick at the tires, and if the dew ain't too thick, I get bailing by 7am. If we have to wait for wet grass, I usually smoke a few pipes and have breakfast with the family. Once the sun burns up the moisture a bit, we get bailing.

Well, this day was early in the season, probably June. It was on the old Hoakes place, which ain't there no more. I bailed that property for about 17 years. Turned into a golf coarse now. And a shame too cause that was some real nice land. Now, it's got the ding dongs all over it who pay to whack their balls around for an afternoon. What an unholy waste of time I find that game of golf.

But, as I said, back on the day, I was getting ready bale the back fields on one of the nicest farms in the county. I'm about to start the tractor and I hear this Ungodly screeching just into the field. I have never heard a sound like that since. It was like some opera lady and a Gorilla were both screaming and those screams got laid over each other. I remember it giving me the chills just to listen. I went a bit into the field and up ahead, I saw something moving in the grass. I grabbed my .38. I always carried a .38 in case I bailed up something that needed to be put down. It happens. Half dead with it's guts all twisted out. So, I had my .38 ready and crept forward and that's when I saw it.

I don't know which was on top or the other way, but two of these big hairy beasts were going at it right there in the grass in front of me. The one was face down in the dirt, and the other had a hold of it's hair, and was humping it something fierce. Right there in front of my eyes, two of these Goddamned creatures they call the Bigfoot, so busy in their devilry and humping that they never even seen me.

I nearly pissed myself on the spot. I cocked that damn .38 alright, cause I figured it they ever heard a rustle, they'd be up and on me. But I didn't need the gun. I crept back and they never noticed me.

Well, I got the hell off that farm, because I don't need to deal with no Bigfoots, or whatever that unholiness was. And I never went back to that place.

Those ding dong's can have their damn golf course. And at least once a day I still get a good giggle out of thinkin what's gonna happen if one of them pink shirted bastards comes across a couple of those humping beasts. That's a story just waitin' to happen, if you ask me."

2004. "One night around 11:30-12:00 me and my boyfriend were parked out in a pasture at my boyfriends grandpas land, just making out and talking. My boyfriend looked over my shoulder and saw a very large figure was standing beside the car. He said it looked like it was over 7 feet tall because my boy friend is 6'5 it had long arms and very bulky. It stood there just looking at us and we locked the doors and crouched down in the front seats. It started to make a moan something like "Gnaaa, Gnaaa, Gnaaa."

My boyfriend turned on the lights just to see it rise up there right in front of us. It was a full on hairy beast, very tall and there was a penis stuck right out through the fur, it was light coloured and hard. It was just standing there in the headlights kind of touching it, and making the sounds. "Gnaaaa, Ganaaa, Ganaaaaaaa."

Well, we started the car and got out of there fast."

Julie Vendors.

1996. I had to buy "Toad" a few beers to tease out the following account. (Toad is an alias to protect his real identity.) He's a slim man in his forties, very friendly and forthright with his opinions. He is a carpenter by trade, an herbalist and something of a bar room poet. He sips another Church Key lager and begins.

"Well, I'd been at the old Marmora Honky Tonk. I was playing pool with my buddy "Rowboat" (Rowboat is an alias to protect his real identity) and beatin him pretty good. We'd been pounding beers all night, so when the lights went up we were pretty boiled. Rowboat was my ride home, but he's picked up some fancy chick from Hastings, and they were getting a ride to her place from her cousin. I would never drink and drive these days, but back then, sometimes we risked it. I had to take my daughters to their lacrosse tournament the next morning, so I had to get home.

I hopped in Rowboats pick up, found a can of sardines in the glove box and choked em down. We used to keep sardines in the truck to cover up the smell of booze. If the cops stop you and they can't smell booze, they can't ask for a breath test.

So, I rolled down the windows, sprtized on a little VO5 and cranked up the Sabbeth. The last thing I remember is turning off the #7 highway, just as Iron Man blasted on the tape player. I remember singing along.

Next thing I know, I wake up on my back porch. My wife must of locked the door and I couldn't find the key. All the flower pots were turned over, becasue we kept the spare key under the white geraneams. I was chilly and covered in dew. I sat up and a raging hangover hit me hard. I could see that I must have crawled through her flower bed, as the plants were crushed and my pants were covered in dirt.

I stood up and got the morning spins. I reached out for the railing and threw up on the smokebush. I could hear a motor running. I lit a smoke and walked off the deck. I turned by the corner of the house and got a look at Roweboat's truck. It was right there idling in my driveway, but the grill was bashed in, the windshield was smashed and there was blood splattered all over the hood. I got closer and looked at something hanging out of the grill. It was bloody hair.

I fell down in the gravel and threw up again. I honestly thought I'd killed someone and didn't remember a thing past the last verse of Iron Man. You know, 'Heavy boots full of lead, fills his victims full of dread."

Well, I crawled up the driver's door and grabbed the handle. It was locked, and I could see the keys in the ignition.

That's when I saw it lying in the back. A huge, hairy, bloody thing all lumped up in the box. And I almost cried. Thank the Lord, I'd hit a frigging bear, not a person. I remember looking at that blue sky and wanting to scream out. I got dizzy and had another barf.

I looked closer at what was there. This was no bear. It's was all curled up but it was tall. Like over six feet. And it had hands and feet and lots of friggin hair. It's looked like some kind of skinny gorilla or something. Then, I walked around the box and got a look at it's face."

I asked him what happened next. He is quiet for a long time, he orders another beer and downs half of it.

"I got rid of it."

Where. I was desperate to know.

He finished his beer and stares at me.

"That's between me and the Lord. I've told you enough now. Thanks for the drinks but I won't ever talk to you again."

With that, Toad got up from the bar. He said he had told me everything he could. And he had to be home by 6 for Sunday dinner. I practically begged him to tell me where he took the body. He told me that he'd be taking that secret to his grave, and walked out. He managed to drink 14 draft beer during the telling of his tale. And as he moved off, so went my chance to find the remains of a creature. But I now know, somewhere in the viscinity of this town, are the reamins of a Bigfoot and I will never rest until I have the evidence I seek. The people of this town seem adament about protecting their secrets, and I am just as determined to unlock them. I will stay here and do my work until I am striken down by illness, or time, or punished for my curiosity by some local vigilante. That possibility, I acknowledge, is very real.