1998, deep in the Maine wilderness—no towns for miles, no trails, no roads. Our family was on a canoe-camping trip we’d done three times before. Total isolation, just the sound of water and birds. That evening, we set up camp on a rocky island. As dinner cooked, our mom called us over with a panicked voice. A man—barefoot, tiny, bearded, in what looked like burlap sack clothes—was standing next to our dad. He had a musket. A sack made of sticks and animal hides. He spoke a kind of French none of us could fully understand. Pointed at our gear. Kept repeating something like “Tattoo-sack.” He seemed shocked to see us. We were more shocked. We motioned him to leave. He waded through the stream… and once he reached the far side—he was gone. We were all watching. Just… vanished. My sister said, “He had no shoes. Just a bunch of, like, leather.” We never went back. To this day, we don’t know who or what he was. But I think about him every time I hear running water in the woods. #UnexplainedEncounters #DeepWoodsCreepy #MaineMystery #WildernessWeirdness