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/x/ innawoods stories are still /out/ you dingus
go fuck yourself retard and post a fucking story
grug safe now
I can never resist a free hug
>hiking near an abandon WW2 area camp
>forest has taken over
>munitions bunkers are still there
>checking out the inside
>get the urge to masturbate
>looking around, seriously considering it
>hand moves to outside of my pants
>nah, I’d better not. I haven’t fallen that low yet
>then again, why not? Who would know?
>internal turmoil
>decide against it
>turn to leave
>small group of people walking my way
>no choice but to pass them
>stink of shame wafting in their direction
>they are 100% creeped out by me

I’m certain they were absolutely positive that I was jerking off in there when really I was just considering it.
I'm sure they just thought you were checking it out. After all, how many people's minds would that idea even cross
>be me
>out running
>blood pumping
>suddenly something catches my mind
>can't figure it out so stop running and try to think
>head rush.. hard to concentrate
>couldn't stop the blood from running in my mind
>convince myself it's all in my mind, or just a short recovery phase from running
>keep running

It was a strange day, lads.
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Here goes:
>Be combatfag OEF 2010-12
>Get home, 24, more money than ever before
>REI, drop like $10K, idiot mode
>new girlfriend, cute bartender, likes camping
>Make plans to hike a few days of the Colorado trail
>"meet you at trailhead at xxxx hours"
>innacar, driving, get text
>"can't make it today, I promise I'll be at the trailhead tomorrow at 0500"
>"whatever bitch I'm already there, I'll camp out nearby, see ya in the AM"
>never camped solo before
>all my shit is ultralight backpack stuff, no giant Coleman cabin shit
>fuck it, I'll practice LP/OP stuff, totally LARP to keep myself entertained, count hikers and stuff, etc
>also, good recon for hunting in this GMU, maybe I'll see some deers
>find good spot innabrush, maybe 50y from trail, defilade, concealed, good spot
>set up, do a short hike, see some deers, get ready for sleep
>fall asleep surprisingly easy, Glock 20 10mm on my chest
>wake up once or twice, nothing spoopy, look at moon, sip whiskey, back to sleep
>get woken up by noise
>dragging noise
>tarp being dragged on ground noise (hear it a lot in Army)
>lay still, grip gat, listen
>noise on trail, going from innawoods to trailhead
>stops close-ish to me, hear a male voice talking
>"haha fuck me man, heavier than I thought"
>other guy laughing
>killing deers at nighttime like faggots
>they get to parking lot, start truck, drive away
>I sleep
>Wake up late, gf in trialhead parking lot waiting for me
>coffee, hike, sex innawoods, good times
>circuit hike, we're back to our cars in maybe 48 hours
>gf says "car I parked next to is still here"
>has kansas college bumper sticker, gf is from kansas, notices kansas shit
>go get lunch at Zoka's near Evergreen, then back to the city
>few days later see a hiker is missing in that area
>younger female
>Kansas college grad
>her car was found at that trailhead

I mean, I probably just heard poachers, right? Right?
did you what you heard?
meant "did you report what you heard" but I'm illiterate
Yeah, but I felt like a shit-heel. Gave them a date/time, which I'm sure was somewhat helpful. I never saw the truck, didn't really get any useful info. Still weirds me out thinkin about it. Trying to find the link to her story on KRDO now.
Go make a thread yourself so we can shit on it too asshole
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Imagine thinking campfire ghost stories don't belong in /out/...
Damn that must've fucked you up at least a little. Good story anon
>hiking on trail way out in the boonies around 9k elevation
>trail is empty
>get the urge to masturbate as a free man amidst nature while i have privacy
>look around, double check again, nobody near and not a sound or footstep; you can hear a pin drop
>do the deed silently aside from the russle of my pantalones
>pants up, *zip*
>turn around to pick up backpack
>ultralight backpacker out of nowhere turns around corner
>walks past me incredibly quickly, zero eye contact
>he saw
>continue on my way
i sure wish this was during the pandemic so i could have had a mask on
holy shit dude, 11B here, good thing you had the gat
Imagine being such a pathetic coomer you can't control when you have to jerk off. How enslaved to your desires are you?
>how many people's minds would that idea even cross
At least one apparently.
very good fucking story, good shit anon.
>canoe camping for a week in armpit of north fl
>day two find a nice little clearing with relatively solid ground and some pine trees. Decide to make camp and use pine tar to start a fire. Had been collecting drift wood and letting it dry in my boat as fuel.
>wolf chili and hard tack with a bit of wild turkey to wash it down.
>Set up tin can alarms around hammock and go to sleep.
>wake up to sounds of coyote yipping and squealing at about 3 am.
>grab suppressed 10.5 inch ar "pistol" that I keep in my pack for meth-heads and gators (the latter are usually not aggressive but I don't count on it.)
>Follow the sound being as quiet as I can. Ground is mostly moss and soft, rotting wood so stealth is a breeze.
>there are 3 of them going at it with a boar that probably weighed 50-60 lbs.
>the coyote are using pack tactics but the boar is holding its own.
>watch them for maybe 20 minutes
>boar finally exhausted and just lays down. Yotes start chewing on it.
>decide the shows over but I don't want these uppity dogs thinking they're the baddest thing in this swamp.
>put the hog out of its misery with a headshot from maybe 30 yds.
>the coyote all jump back and look in my direction.
>bobbing their heads for about a second until they all spot me.
>just sit there staring at each other with weapon shouldered.
>finally they approach the boar and start taking turns staring at me while the other two snack on the kill.
>Lower weapon. They relax.
>Watch until sun comes up.
>pack up and paddle on.
Nature is neat.
Dude, not to be a dick but why did we need to know so much background information about your life for this story. You literally could have cut out the first 14 lines of text and it would not have changed a single thing about the story lol
>a man alone in the woods, he must be trying to jerk off
How much porn do I have to watch to achieve this mode?
Very enslaved. I fully acknowledge my problem and it’s something I’m working on.

I assume everyone else is of the same pathetic coomer mindset as me.
I caught a guy jerking off in Alabama. Also stumbled upon a young guy blowing a much older man.
Write a book, faggot.
>what is context?
>what is narrative arc?
Go ahead, tell us one of your brilliant yarns, oh Great Bard of /out/. I'm sure it will be riveting.
they do not
>not dumping copious amounts of loads at point of interests and then stare at approaching party with widest ever grin
any chance those guys saw you?
Can you elaborate? You clearly have the best story
fair enough
Nice story, my fave so far
>Guy jerking off
There’s not much to tell, really. I was in Homochitto NF in Mississippi, hiking a 12 mile trail on a weekend. It’s rare to see anyone out there; MS has a low population and hiking isn’t exactly popular in that part of the country. The guy was in his late 20’s, no backpack, wearing casual clothes. He was barely off trail, and not being very conspicuous. Like, I was a good 100’ away when I saw him.

I just stopped and kind of hid behind a tree so he wouldn’t see me. Honestly I didn’t know what to do. Keep walking toward him? Call out and let my presence be known? I glanced over occasionally to see if the coast was clear. He moaned loudly when he was done, which I found odd. He walked the other way down the trail.

>gay fags blowing each other
This was at Clark Creek, a popular day hiking area near St. Francisville, LA. There are numerous waterfalls along a creek path, and a ~3 mile trail that meanders through very hilly mixed hardwoods and pine. No one bothers to hike that trail, as the waterfalls are the main attraction. The trail has a small shelter, about the size of a bus stop shelter, with a bench inside. It’s open on one side, facing away from the trail.

I was going up the hill and I saw someone kneeling in front of someone else. Like, it was obviously someone getting head. From the trail I could only see legs and feet. They heard me coming and stopped. They could have waited for me to pass or done the polite thing and asked me to join, but no, they left. It looked like a dad and his college-aged son.
Most likely poachers. Your car was at the trailhead as well. If someone is going to bury a body (and laugh while dragging it), they’re not going to park next to another car at a trail busy enough to spend the day counting people as they pass.
I posted in last thread asking if anyone wanted to hear about an experience I had in New Zealand with maori spirits and got some responses, I will post it here but I have to pre-write it because if I don't I will fuck it up due to a lot of the trippy shit that happened. May take a few hours I have some sources to find, and I want to make it as well written as I can as well.
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My Bro, my Mate, and I spent a night camping on top of a mountain that turned out to be seriously cursed by maori spirits. I will be precise with my information, events, and facts, but will try not to sacrifice the telling of the story in doing so. As such, I reckon this will be a longer one.
I will tell most of the narrative in greentext, but there is a point in the events where things get too disjointed for greentext; I have tried but I can’t make it work. Other than that I will provide some basic information here at the beginning and again at the end, and other than that try not to break the greentext.
Basic info: This story took place in the summer of 2018 here in New Zealand, the mountain is question is Mt. Pohaturoa, located on the opposite bank of the Waikato River from State Highway 30, just outside of the hydro-dam town Atiamuri. If you are a kiwi and you have ever driven south from Tokoroa towards the western access road around Lake Taupo you will have seen this mountain.
I am a born and bred New Zealander and have spent most of my life /out/, this was the first and only outwardly spooky experience I have had, but it opened my eyes to many things that I would’ve unconsciously ignored before this night. Maori to this day act as if there are spirits and cursed / scared places that you just shouldn’t fuck with, and nowadays I’m inclined to think they are right.
This is the story of what happened when I spent a night in one of these places.

>be December 2018
>suggest to Bro that we do some camping before Christmas when we won’t be able to get away
>he agrees, and reckons that we should check out Mount Pohaturoa, which we are both familiar with as a backdrop on car rides but have never explored
>it’s settled, and we will take my Mate, who was only just getting into /out/ and desu after this ordeal surprised he still is
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>Bro does some research, turns out Pohaturoa is on land belonging to the local maori iwi (tribe), and is being leased out for forestry, so we will need be somewhat stealthy about getting in
>he also finds on an old forum info that there was at one time a trail that went up onto the peak, which is lucky because this mountain is sheer buttress on all sides around the flat peak
>pic rel, the old map
>set out one morning with very basic gear; tarps, mats, cookers, food, and machetes for cutting through the blackberries that will inevitably be choking the undergrowth of the pines growing on the lower slopes
>drive south a few hours, everyone is excited at the prospect of exploring a potentially lost trail, and the anticipated view from the top of the mountain down the Waikato River valley and towards the inland volcanic plateau
>come into the river valley, and see Pohaturoa looming out of the middle of the valley floor, looking like something out of an old Western
>have to drive around for a bit to find a safe place to park Bros Outback out of sight, fortunately no logging machinery around, so we park up at a logging trail at the foot of the mountain
>leave the Outback and orient ourselves, Bro has a Garmin watch or some shit with a map and is orienting it with the map I posted to try get us close to the old trail, fucked if I know how all that works
>tree-line is a wall of mature radiata pine and thick undergrowth, inside is very dark and it is very clear that no one goes in here any more
>above the trees we can see the sheer cliffs of the rock plug that was the core of the mountain before it all eroded away, but can see that there is a kind of gully in the side that we are facing, which looks to be the only way to the summit
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>Bro puts us on a bearing and I take point to cut a path through the blackberry
>Hot work but as the slope builds the undergrowth drops off, but we are now walking up a 45 degree slope thick with slippery pine needles
>Mate finds it weird that there are no birds around, put it down to the forest being too monocultural, still strange though
>the pines are so old and so close together that we cannot see ahead to the cliffs, and hardly see the sky
>no sign of the old trail either
>stop to ask Bro if we are on the right bearing
>Bro: My watch hasn’t updated our position in the last couple hundred meters, idk if it’s because the trees are too thick or what. Just keep going uphill
>do so, and eventually run almost straight into a sheer cliff-face, with no sign of the trail or any way up
>reckon we drifted to the left, and cut back into the thick of the pines to loop right
>slope is so steep by this point that we are having to reach up and get a hold of pine trunks and branches to pull ourselves up
>realise that if this forest was meant to be harvested they’ve done a piss-poor job of managing it, wouldn’t be the first time forestry land was left to go to shit because the maori iwi owning the land flipped the table
>reach out for a root to hold onto, and when it comes away from the pine needles I realise it’s not a root but an old wooden plank
>I can make out another one just above me
>inform the boys that we have found the trail
>follow the now constant trail of old retaining boards and find the pines growing thinner as we go higher
>come out at a scrubby little clearing at the base of a very steep vertical gully in the cliff faces, and see the remains of old wooden stairs set into the rock
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>thrilled that we found the way up, we start to climb
>the way is very steep, and at times very precarious, probably way too dangerous to be trusting a worn out decades old stair, but we are too exhilarated to be above the trees
>after a bit of climbing we emerge out onto the southern end of the flat summit, mostly native scrub-grass, tall enough that you can’t see over it into the interior, but we just spend a few minutes enjoying the view
>from up here we have total command of the valley, can see the Waikato River flowing from past the foot of Pohaturoa out along the valley towards the very very distant Mount Ruapehu, still gleaming a little with snow
>it was and still is one of the best views I’ve ever experienced
>decide to check out the interior and find a camp site
>hacking our way through the long grass when we realise we are not alone any more, but surrounded by fantails
>these cool little birds are p common anywhere in NZ where there is native bush, they will hang around people and generally be curious, but these ones were being even more so, we put it down to the fact that they must’ve not seen people before
>take care when swinging machetes so as to not hit our little bros
>the ground we are walking over is cratered every now and again by pits about 2m x 2m, begin to wonder if maybe there are caves or sinkholes up here, so tell everyone to be careful and not step into the holes
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>getting close to centre of the summit when bro calls out that he can see a group of cabbage trees growing ahead of us
>these kinds of trees naturally grow in swampy soil, which means there must be some kind of spring up here
>go in to check it out but come upon something we did not expect
>a square post had been hammered into the earth at the head of a very large pit, it was painted white, and marked with a black ‘B’, and looked weathered but reasonably newish
>at the bottom of a small dip nearby was a clear but marshy pool of water
>Bro and Mate gather around and try to work out what we are looking at
>Mate (a geology student): Maybe it was from a soil survey or something?
>when I hear this I am reminded of a field trip me and my History class went on to an excavation. At the time I was studying History at Victoria University
>Me: Nah bro, this is from an excavation
>it then dawns on me, the pits
>Me: Neither of you stepped in any of those pits, right?
>Bro and Mate say no and ask why
>Me: cus they’re probably old maori sites or something
>now when I said this it was purely out of scholarly concern for disrupting a dig site, however it did occur to me that it was odd that a site such as this was neither sign-posted to prevent entry, or was clearly abandoned a while ago, guess that like the forestry management the iwi probably flipped their shit because of something and called the dig off
>figure that the ancient maori must’ve used this place as a pa (fortress) back in the day, god knows with the source of fresh water the place is perfect for it
>and this entire time we have about 20 or so fantails following us
>we head back to the outer edge of the summit to find a camp site, run into another dig marker marked ‘E’, and figure that there must be dozens of dig sites around
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>find a great spot to camp at the edge of the clifftop with a view down the valley, clear out the scrub and pitch camp
>it is mid-afternoon by now, but we are all fairly hot and knackered so we pitch our tarps and take off our shoes and relax
>the fantails get more and more curious at this activity, and perch on the tarp-strings, and even sit in our boots to enjoy the warmth
>at this time I am starting to get a bit uneasy about staying up here, now knowing that this place is an historic site – maori iwi are notoriously possessive with their land, and if someone sees our car and figures that we are out here we might walk out of here in the morning to get jumped, esp. cus the nearby town is noted for gang activity
>on 1News tonight, a trio of far-right terrorists are apprehended by peaceful iwi members after desecrating tapu site
Small disclosure; tapu is a concept in maori culture that is kind of hard to put a finger on. Basically, all things have mana, a kind of spiritual honour / prestige. Mana can be gained in honourable actions or taken away through shame. If something has really powerful mana then it is tapu, and to degrade the tapu means that you make it lose mana, which will incur utu, or a vengeance to re-balance the scales. This can happen on a human scale, and also on a cosmic scale. My fear was that the iwi would perceive that we desecrated the tapu of the site and would incur utu on us. I gave no thought to there being an utu of the other kind.
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>I kept my reservations to myself, as I had no intention of ruining the time for Bro and Mate with my paranoia
>plus, having a machete will make anyone feel gangsta
>we make dinner early to not interrupt the sunset, which looks like when it comes will be something special
>fuck yeah, roast chicken wraps
>sun begins to go down in the west, touching the hills on the side of the valley we are facing, and the sky immediately begins to go a very deep shade of red
>and I don’t mean normal sunset red, this was like someone painted the sky with red watercolours, it was deep and kind of smoky
>Bro: I didn’t think the Southern Lights came this far north
>theorise that maybe there was a big bushfire somewhere west
>at this point the sun is bisected by the hilltops, and in the redness of the sky rends of deep black are opening up to the night beyond
That was the last moment of cognisance I have of that night. What I am about to relate from here until I was standing back at the foot of the mountain the next morning I can only remember as if they were out-of-body experiences, or as if they were vivid dreams. I tried greentexting these bits but it was too confusing.
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Below is what I remember. I will try not to colour it too much with any of my reflections, and just tell it as the images presented themselves.
From that moment I was looking out over the cliff at the sunset, the next I was looking down at myself from above. I remember seeing myself, my Bro, and Mate all sitting still with very stern expressions as we watched the sky. We were lit up red and gold with the light, and all over us were perched the fantails, more than there had been before, and all of them still and quiet, watching the sky just like we were. The scene then went dark as the sun vanished, and everything was cast in the deep red of the sky.
Next I was back in the perspective of my own body, but I do not recall being lucid in it, as it was like I was a passenger rather than driving. I have to emphasise how abstract and dreamy this all felt, things like perspective and geography were being warped for the sake of the images I was seeing.
I was again looking up at the sky, and the black rends that we had seen before were growing and merging until it split the sky, which exactly mirrored the black shape of the river below us. Out of that black river in the sky figures began to emerge, black silhouettes cast onto the red sky. They came out of the river and were at the banks.
Now the perspective shifted, and it’s like I was in the first person perspective of one of those people down on the river. We were on the banks looking up at Pohaturoa, pulling in canoes to the banks. The people looked like Maori, but they did not have facial tattoos, and their hair was dark red. I (or the body whose eyes I was seeing through) looked to where a large canoe was being pulled in, and a tall man who I knew was the chief of our people stepped out onto the bank and turned to a woman.
She was Maori, she had a ta-moko on her chin and green-stone earrings, and was beautiful in a way that I haven’t seen a woman look like in the real world. The Chief helped his wife from the canoe. The whole thing was very dignified.
Then I was again looking at the sky, and on the river were two groups of figures fighting.
Next I was again looking through that same figures eyes. I do not know how I know it was the same man. I could smell blood. There had been a battle on the river with people who were clearly Maori, and while the Maori had been defeated the tribe had also lost men. I was in a group of the red-headed tribesmen assembled at the house of the Chief, they were angry and gesturing to his Maori wife, who the Chief then relented and turned on. She looked very young then when the tribe of red-haired men came in on her.
Then the memories shift to being back looking at the sky. Now above the image of the river is the silhouette of Mount Pohaturoa, looking like a tombstone. And then from the
peripheries of the horizon blackness began to seep in in the shapes of hundreds of men with spears, and the smoky red sky surrounding the mountain was then alive like it was on fire. There was the sensation that everything was throbbing with the beat of drums.
Once again in the perspective of the tribesman, the drumming was as loud as if it was behind me, and I was climbing that steep gully up the side of the mountain just like I had before, only now my arms were brown and I was surrounded by other fleeing people all scrambling up the mountainside as something chased us. There was a heavy smell of smoke. Even recalling that memory my heart speeds up a bit.
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When I saw the sky again it was as if the colours had been switched, the sky was black, and the river was red. There was no other image.
When I was looking again through the eyes of the tribesman it was totally dark, and my nose and mouth were filled with stagnant earth, but I could feel my hands breaking out into air. There was a distinct feeling that there was something coming up the mountain, that it would be there soon.
I was then looking down at myself as if from above again. Only now the night was dark, there was no light but from the moon and stars. Me, Bro, and Mate were all still sat there as still as before, but the fantail that sat on us were not. They were squeaking and shaking their tails where they stood, staring behind us into the long grass.
Through the tribesman’s eyes I could only smell the scent of decay. I looked through the long grass to the edge of the summit and saw myself, Bro, and Mate all sat as we were before, covered in fantails. The sensation that something was coming up the mountain was stronger than ever, and then I was overcome by a certainty that whatever it was had arrived on the summit.
Looking down on the three of us again, the grasses to our backs were thrashing like several large crawling things were moving around the clearing of our camp, but every time they came close the fantails, now flashing all around us, would dart towards the scrub and whatever was in there would turn back for a moment. Much like how I had felt through the tribesman that something had arrived on the summit, I now felt the same sensation as I looked down on our bodies. There was something coming this way, that had come up the mountain to find us.
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And then I was back in my body. I was walking behind my Bro, my hand clenched on the shoulder of his shirt, and I could feel Mate’s on mine, like kids trying not to get lost in the dark. We were walking through the scrub one behind the other in darkness, surrounded still by fantails and the sound of crashing in the scrub all around us. My head was bent, and I had the very strong impulse in my head that I must not look at the faces of whatever was in the scrub.
That moment flashed to the next and were no longer on the summit, but on the lower slope of Pohaturoa, descending just as we had before with hands on shoulders, in the same dream-haze. Only now the night was quiet, and though the pines made the darkness near absolute my Bro walked on like he knew exactly where to go, and I could still feel the fantails perched on me, though they were now quiet. Around this time, awareness seemed to be returning a bit to us.
>Bro mutters: Nearly out...
>I mutter something to Mate, but hear nothing
>I reach my free hand across my body to tap Mate’s hand, only to freeze when I touch it
>my fingers met with something that feels smooth and bony
>I went to turn around when that impluse that I felt not to look before came back over me, only now it was soothing, as if explaining to a frightened child
>one of the bony fingers at my shoulder unfurls and strokes my still frozen hand, and I became calm
>a voice seemed to say in that movement ‘don’t worry, your friend is safe, he is just here behind me’
And the next thing I recall it was morning, and all three of us stood in a row facing away from the tree-line next to Bro’s car, with all our gear stacked neatly beside it. This is the first ‘real feeling’ memory I have where it actually feels like I was in full command of myself.
>we all stare at each other for a minute, unable to remember how we got there
>Mate is there, and for some reason that fills me with relief
>ask each other what the last thing we remember is, all can only recall up to the sunset
>weirdly on autopilot, we pack our things into the car
>Mate keeps staring back into the treeline
>I don’t even want to look at it
>ride home, barely saying a word to each other, are in a state of strange mental fatigue, have to take turns driving cus Bro almost falls asleep
>only in the ensuing weeks do the memories begin to return to me, I try to talk to Bro about it, but he keeps saying he can’t remember anything, I don’t know if this is true or if he doesn’t want to admit it, or if maybe he saw something worse than I did
>but Mate is open with his returning memories, he had almost exactly the same experience as me
>put the pieces together over a few weeks, then while we drink beers in my shed on Christmas Eve he says ‘Do you remember Her?’
>’What do you mean?’
>Mate: ‘The one who got us off the mountain, she was a tall woman wrapped in a feather cloak with greenstone earrings. She led me by the hand and was holding onto you.’
>after another beer realise it must’ve been the chieftainess from the dream
>fuck man, why do you get the undead Maori princess waifu?

I have done a lot of research about Mount Pohaturoa and the local area since then, and think I have roughly put together what we experienced, I will post my hypothesis in a bit, now I gotta take a break because this took way longer than I thought it would.

I didn't realise how damn big this would be until uploading it from the word doc, apologies for that but /out/ is slow af anyway so who gives a fuck. Bravo if you read the whole thing
>be the only guy confirmed camping in vicinity and at the same time as hiker goes missing, alone
>be of military background, know how to plan and execute shit
>had at least 1 day to coach the gf on the story
you're pretty sus, anon
me too XD
>no photos from hike
Good story though anon, I liked it
Are those really free?
Asking for a friend.
Nice story anon. Do you think the fantails were possessed by the spirits of the fleeing defeated Maori, and that they protected you from whatever was after you?
Maybe all those digsites you saw could have been Maori grave sites?
Dude. I hope this is real, but honestly don't even care if it isn't. You're a fantastic storyteller, historically and technically knowledgeable, and use great imagery. Feels oddly comfy even, reading this. Impressed.
What the fuck
yes but it's mostly a scheme to get you to purchase premium hugs during the cooldown.
shut up fag
>HTOP but SL/DL wasn’t OL, more like SDKB. Then I hit my ATZ with a quick UME

Nobody can understand when you type like this, just because you are from the USA and in the military doesn’t mean this way of communication is ‘proper’ outside of that context
There is no need for homophobic slurs here.
I have no real stories, but I sometimes get the feling of being watched when I'm out in the wilderness.
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Chass, put me in the video
we had to know who Anon was before the murder and/or rapist innawoods men strolled by his tent.
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Only replying now cus desu I didn't think this was gonna be read.
Oh really nigger? Check pic rel, photo i snapped from the top with my phone, looking up the valley
Do you think the fantails were possessed by the spirits of the fleeing defeated Maori, and that they protected you from whatever was after you?
Hit the nail on the head, I think. Will outline my whole thoughts in next post on what I think happened.
So I did a bunch of research into the area after the incident and turns out the area around Pohaturoa was settled by the first wave of polynesian settlers in the 1400s. For those who do not know the early polynesians in NZ at this time were nomadic, as they hunted the large native bird-fauna that had evolved here like Moa. The Moa Hunter cultures were defined by the fact that they were nomads, were far less material than later Maori culture, and they were far less violent. They had no reason to be with so much resources. When the moa began to die out the new waves of Polynesian settlers brought cultivated crops with them and started creating larger settled communities. With this settlement came competition for arable land and a more warlike culture.
I believe that the red-haired people I saw through the eyes of were the Moa Hunter tribe of that area, and that the Maori who came in were newcomers looking to gain influence in the area through a marriage of a chief's daughter to the chief of the Moa hunter tribe. And to back it up, I have the iwi's oral history that explains exactly that. This article goes into the local history and lines up with what I saw.
>Fletcher says they could barely be called a tribe to start with. More a collection of scattered families, they arrived in the area around 1400 and were known as the People of the Pumice Lands. Over the next 200 years, they lived in the area alongside the Ngati Hotu and Ngati Ruakopiri
>As with European monarchs, the hapu arranged a strategic alliance, marrying a chieftainess to a man of the Kahupungapunga for the sake of peace and access to the region's natural wealth. But the arrangement, it is said, turned sour
This is where shit get really fucked. The Maori woman that I saw was obviously blamed for the attack by the moa hunters from what I had seen, and I figured she must've been killed, but the way that they did it was so horrible it makes me sick and angry. According to the legend (source: same article):
>People here saw her as imposing their [Whaita and Waerangi] mana on them. They could see a loss of the area with more people coming in. They murdered her and made it look like an accident
>But the woman, most commonly thought to be named Kiroukore, had a slave. He discovered Kahupungapunga's treachery and carried the news back to Kawhia. The Raukawa hapus were furious and, that same day, gathered together a war party 500 strong. The warriors moved across the land, conquering several pa as they went. Finally they met the Kahupungapunga in a battle called Taurianuku
It doesnt say how she died, but there's a bit later on that stirred my memory:
>The pursuers crossed the stream to Pohaturoa, each party fought valiantly, the Ngatiwairangi were several times repulsed but in the end they drove back the others and captured their great toa [fighting chief] Hikaraupi. The great stones on which the bodies were cooked can be seen still
The rock in question is pic rel. It has many legends to its name, but one is that it was used to cook alive a Maori Princess. When i touched her hand all the skin on her had been stripped away and her bones were shiny like they'd been boiled. Why they boiled her avile insteaad of outright killing her i dont know, but as far as I care those cunts got what they deserved for what they did to her.
I think that the things that were stalking us in the grass where the spirits of the Moa Hunters, and the spirt of the Princess had so much mana that they were afraid of her when she led us out.
Regarding the fantails, they are held by maori to be bodies that dead spirits can inhabit. I think they were dead maori spirits protecting us.
Last post cus its late and this is too long anyway. But since then I see fantails a lot more often and in places I wouldn't expect. I live in an urban area, and one morning a fantail flew into my living room, hovered in front of me and chirped then flew straight out. Fantails inside houses are considered seriously bad juju, and that afternoon I heard that my Pake had died the following night. I like to think that it was him saying farewell.
That's it really, unless there are questions.
Nice story bro. Good to see some NZ stuff here as a kiwi myself. Been past that place more than a few times. Will look at it differently now. What area are you from?
>>then again, why not? Who would know?

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