Where were YOU when the Apes vanished?
The Awesomest Man
two-more-egg 09/18/08 (Thu) 04:12:59 #15072849
Typical example of Skunk Ape Iconography.
Hello, everyone. Regular readers of my posts will know that my recent activity has centered on obscure pickings, but today I have selected my topic based on two things: popular demand, and my personal connection to the subject. Indeed, it is "Florida's Bigfoot": the Skunk Ape!
The Skunk Ape is a part of the Sasquatch family of hominid cryptids, alongside the Yeti, Quinkin, and of course: Bigfoot. Much like Bigfoot, Skunk Apes are native to the United States, with the biggest concentration in Florida's Cypress National Reserve. As the name suggests, the Skunk Ape's defining characteristic is a distinct and foul odor, variously likened to dog breath, rotten clams, and "cat litter baking in a fast-food oven", among other eclectic descriptors. Beyond this, the Skunk Ape is quite similar in appearance to the typical Sasquatch, albeit with a smaller, stout build, matted long fur, and reflective eyes more akin to a cat than a hominid.
Finding a Skunk Ape in the wild is difficult, given their nocturnal nature, but there are several telltale signs one can look out for. Though Skunk Apes often travel in groups and can be identified through tracks, they are known for their meandering movement patterns, full of dead-ends and backtracking. Skunk Apes usually dwell in underground dens or caves, but some have been known to inhabit abandoned sites of human habitation, such as vacant homes or campgrounds. Some more….esoteric sources have even claimed the Skunk Ape's fur burns the skin on contact, or that a Skunk Ape's presence brings a dense, warm dampness in the air; the latter is in addition to the extreme heat and humidity Florida is known for.
The Skunk Ape has been a cornerstone of Floridian folklore for centuries, but it wasn't until 1977 that it received its biggest surge in relevance. An increased rate of sightings over the preceding 3 years led Florida’s state legislature to introduce a bill that would've made it a crime to "harm or molest" humanoid creatures such as the Skunk Ape; the closest any American governmental body has come to passing cryptid-related legislation. Unfortunately, the bill failed to pass, and sightings have been steadily declining since then; coupled with sea level rise many cryptid experts, including Dave Shealy himself, suspect the Skunk Ape may go extinct by 2030.
I have lived in Florida most of my life, and the Skunk Ape's plight means a lot to me personally. Skunk Apes are as much a part of our culture as Osceola, the Alligator, and yes, even the Florida Man, for good or for ill. Consider this thread a call to arms, then: I implore any who've encountered, seen, or even just smelled the Skunk Ape share their experiences here; it will not save the Apes, but they nonetheless deserve to be remembered just as much as any remarkable creature. Go and seek a Skunk Ape for yourself! I know better than to doubt the tenacity of the average Parawatch user.
Tase Anna Moon 09/18/08 (Thu) 04:15:35 #15072850
It all started, if you'll pardon the cliche, back when me and my partner were moving into a new trailer over in Palatka. Let's just say an "unwelcome guest" relieved the old trailer of its last gasp of cleanliness. Our new trailer wasn't anything remarkable on its own, save for a feral cat colony I discovered underneath the day she and I moved in. I was working a lot back then, and rarely found time for any activity one could reasonably call a "hobby", but we nonetheless found the time and funds needed to maintain the colony; I've long been a lover of cats and felt it my duty to keep them comfortable.
Late one night, about 4 months into our residence, I heard a loud crunching noise coming from behind the trailer, near where I had set feeding dishes for the cats. Working up my courage and fueled by what I suppose was a form of motherly instinct, I grabbed a meat cleaver and ventured outside, where I discovered three things: a rancid corpse-like stench, the beast we've gathered here to honor, and one of my precious babies, Rebecca, in that monster's arms.
I swung at the creature, more out of instinct and fury than anything rational, and I heard it exclaim in surprise, running off into the forest beyond the trailer park. I'm not a particularly athletic person, but that overpowering stench and some distinct tracks left in the muck were my beacon, as they led me to the mouth of a cave. I saw the creature's eyes shine from within the darkness, and I kept my cleaver pointed toward it as I advanced inside.
A short way in, I nearly tripped over a macabre sight: a mass of animal bones, held together with clay in the shape of a sphere. Sniffing at the ball was Rebecca, startled by my stumble. I picked her up and embraced her, relieved, but my actions drew the ire of the Skunk Ape, who growled and advanced on me. Swift action with my cleaver freed the two of us from danger, however, and we left the cave immediately, returning home without interruption.
I'm sorry to say that I didn't think to bring the sphere back in my groggy, primal stupor, but the experience echoes in my memory as a grim reminder of what lurks among the mangroves. I know all too well that they will come again, and I'll be ready when they do.
7he-nitt1e-0ne 09/18/08 (Thu) 04:28:19 #15072851
Oh man, that sucks. Obviously it sucks when any major species goes extinct, but this one sucks more than usual, thanks to my childhood.
My parents were (and still are) big outdoorsy types, and I mean really big. Honestly felt like they'd come up with a new nature adventure daily; hikes, bike rides, bird watching, swimming in the lake near our house, you name it. They've been like this as long as I can remember and it definitely had an impact on me as a person, just not always in a positive way.
One of the big traditions they upheld was that every year on my birthday, they'd let me pick what outdoor activity we should do. I'd usually pick swimming if I felt like being boring or opt out if I felt like being sick or some such, but this year was different. I heard about a big ol' monster hiding in the woods the prior school year, and I wanted to put the rumors to the test: I wanted to see a Skunk Ape! My parents weren't blind to my hyperfixation, either; their gift to me that year was all the gear I'd need to find one, with parental supervision, of course.
Picture of the clearing I took a few years ago. Yes, that is my dog.
We set out an hour after party festivities wound down. An hour after that, we hadn't gotten anywhere. An hour after that, my antsy child brain got the bright idea to run away screaming for the Apes at the top of my lungs, to get their attention, I guess? All that got me was empty lungs, a rushing heart, and the acute awareness that I was now lost. I could still hear my parents and they could still hear me, but a child's brain doesn't think to do things like follow voices when confronted with a scary situation. I did manage to get out of the cramped trees and into a clearing, but all I could do was break down crying, curling up in the grass out of despair.
I must've fallen asleep or something, because the next thing I know I'm startled awake by this smell bad enough to sting my eyes and a bunch of glowing eyes staring down at me from the treetops. I didn't think twice and took off; then immediately ran into a stump and tripped. The eyes gave me no time to get steady as one pair started descending towards me; with no obvious exit around, I froze and closed my eyes as hard as possible.
I kept my eyes shut for the entirety of what happened next: all I remember was a pair of hands gently picking me up and whatever that pair belonged to beginning to walk. I recall the sounds of crickets and rustling leaves giving way to just crickets, and eventually the pair of hands set me down on something hard and made of wood. By the time I worked up the courage to open my eyes, whatever it was that carried me was gone and I was sitting on my house's front porch.
Tired out of my mind, I went straight to bed. The next morning, the first thing I did was run straight to my parents for hugs and reassurance. They gave me both, but what they didn't give me was relief. I don't mean they gave me the old "it was all a dream" BS, they definitely remembered what happened. The thing is, they didn't seem at all concerned that their only child had gotten themselves lost in the woods not even 6 hours prior and had somehow found their way back home in one piece, as if the whole situation was perfectly under control.
Needless to say, I was hesitant to ever go into the woods again. My parents never pushed, but we didn't take another forest trip for the rest of my childhood, opting for wide open spaces instead. But then therapy comes along in my mid-teens and the topic of conversation shifts to my scary woods experience; nowadays I go hiking with my boyfriend every other week. One such week, I decided to go back to that clearing, or at least where I estimated it would be, to try and get some measure of closure. I didn't find anything, but something certainly found me: a cylindrical object that came rolling down a hill into my foot. It was a bundle of sticks and animal bones held together with sap; when I unraveled it, I found my old Ape hunting gear! I lost it the night of the incident and didn't have the heart to tell my parents. My boyfriend asked about it when I caught up to him, but I didn't say another word on our way home.
crewtime 09/20/08 (Sat) 11:00:47 #15072852
A lot of people have asked me to discuss the case of Catalina and Sebastian Coronado; they were a Miami-Dade County couple who both fell victim to mysterious circumstances. Mr. Coronado disappeared from his home in 1976, and the ensuing investigation found Ms. Coronado's dead body half-buried in the swamp near their home, having been left to rot for years, at least.
Unfortunately, there's not a lot of information on the case available publicly, and I make it a point to avoid breaking the law as much as possible when I research cases. All I was able to find was a diary recovered from Coronado's home after his disappearance, released to the public by Sebastian's sister in 1981. This diary remains the only evidence of any paranormal happenings surrounding the Coronados. Considering its content, I felt it appropriate to post some notable entries here, verbatim:
It's over. Cat always said we'd turn the old place into something worth living for and then she goes and sits on her ass doing nothing. At least something of hers will make itself useful. After all, she wouldn't have wanted me bankrupted.
Slow hunting day today; not even a damn duck around. Normally I'd ask Sarah for help, but it's late and I can't stand the stench. Probably go tomorrow, if the weather's good.
Ok, now I'm pissed. Sarah wasn't at her usual meeting spot and I only got blank stares when I eventually found her after midnight. I have no idea what her problem is, but I guess I'm going into town for food. Fucking ridiculous.
I'm not sure what to say about today, other than how anxious it's made me feel. I went down to the market, but no one there was willing to talk to me. I tried Mary, I tried Luis, even that bastard Craig had nothing smart to say. Came home empty handed and now I've got Sarah staring at me through the grass.
Guess I'll take Bette out this time, she's got a better nose than me and anywhere has to be better than this damn smell. I don't know what else to do.
they took her they took her the bastards took bett she ran off and didn't come back i heard her i FUCKING HEARD HER you took her i know you took her sarah give her back give her back im begging you i cant lose my baby
There's nothing left in the house.
Ok, I did it I wanted the good life is that so much to ask I CAN HARDLY BREATHE OVER THE SMELL GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM MY WINDOW
I'm gonna do it. I'm gonna kill Sarah, or at least one of the others. She already took everything from me; let's see how she likes having something taken away for a change.
