A group of Wisconsin boys are kayaking and camping along the Wisconsin River when they encounter a fisherman who is acting strangely. The entire scenario seems so bizarre.
The following account was forwarded to me:
"This encounter took place when I was 13, June at the time. Three of my friends and I, aged 13-14, who I'll call Sam, Cam, and Ned, take a four-day camping trip on the Wisconsin River in South Wisconsin. For those of you who aren't familiar, the Wisconsin River is relatively long, relatively wide, and has long shallow stretches as deep as a couple inches to a couple feet; you have to walk your canoe through some of it. Moist sandbars run down the middle of the river.
The adult on our trip was Cam's grandma. Even well into her 60s, she had wilderness skills. She has incredible stories, from viciously biting home invaders to protect her daughter, to hiking through remote mountains at midnight and sleeping surrounded by wild horses. Major "peace, love, and happiness" type from the 60s. One of the most fascinating people I've ever met.
Anyway, we set up camp on a beach at about 3pm on our first day. There's a lone, still fisherman slightly upriver from us. This is strange given we're mostly in the middle of nowhere, but there are occupied properties here and there on the river, so it's not crazy. Immediately after we arrived, Grandma realized she had left her coffee cup in the car. She decides to make the kayak trip by herself back upriver to where we parked, just to grab the cup and come back. Left alone, we boys go off to play in the river shallows.
Landscape-wise, there's our beach, with dense forest behind it, and a strait about 90 meters across between the beach and a sandbar. We're screwing around in the shallows for maybe 30 minutes. Then I remember being on my stomach in the water and looking up at Sam staring all glazed into the distance. We all look. The fisherman from earlier is on the sandbar about 50 feet from us. None of us remember him getting so close, especially since he had no boat and would have to wade through the water. I remember there being a strange glare from the sun so we couldn't make him out perfectly, but he was a thick man with a droopy long-brimmed hat. We could not see his face but collectively had the feeling he was looking at us. It was obvious he knew our adult left and decided to close in. The timing was perfect. "Whatever," we say and head back to the tent.
We're behind the tent for maybe a half hour playing cards and gathering firewood. We take turns peeking around the tent to check on the status of the fisherman. He's moved in, off the sandbar, through the shallows, practically on the shore of our beach. Yes, the river is an open area, but it's unspoken that you wouldn't wander onto someone's campsite, especially when kids are alone there. We're weirded out, and Sam, being a badass 13-year-old, breaks the ice by waving his arms and yelling at the man "Hey! What's up! Hey!" No response, but the man turns his body towards us, staring, completely still, like wildlife caught in headlights, or Bigfoot in one of those blurry photos. After a few seconds, he does a 180 and just starts walking away from us straight back into the water, like he intends to keep walking until the water comes up around his face. We move to hang out at the other end of the beach.
It's been 3 and a half hours since Grandma left, and we have no idea when she's supposed to be back. We're on the completely opposite side of the beach from our camp, and due to the forest, we couldn't even see it. But as we round the bend again, we see the man standing on the shore, practically on our campsite. He's walking around our bags like he's patrolling the perimeter of the camp. Not his camp, our camp. Little more than a silhouette. And he has something. Not a fishing pole. I was never brave enough to get close and check it out in detail, but all three of my friends will tell you he had a rifle. Over his shoulder. From where he got it we don't know. He should've been able to see us from where he was, but he didn't close in anymore.
We decide to play it cool all the way over behind the trees where we are. Luckily, Grandma arrives on her kayak shortly. We call her over to us to tell her everything, but I swear to you, by the time we pointed over her shoulder to show her the fisherman, he was gone. Like a vision. We saw him one more time, late that night we were having a fire. The moonlight on the water illuminated his shape all the way back across the river where we saw him the first time, fishing in darkness. We said, "Who was that guy?" We went back to making torches.
I remember digging my phone out of the waterproof box and trying to send this blurry, creepy picture of the fisherman to my friend as proof. Due to connection, she never got the image, but one text message went through to her that read something like "He's back." He's like a weeping angel or something, coming closer only when you look away." BD
Black Eyed Children: Revised 2nd Edition
Stalked in the Woods: Creepy True Stories: Creepy tales of scary encounters in the Woods.
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