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The Wampanoag called it Hockomock—"place where spirits dwell." They named it that twelve thousand years before anyone else noticed something was wrong with this swamp.
Tonight we descend into the Bridgewater Triangle, a 200-square-mile region in southeastern Massachusetts where Bigfoot stalks the wetlands, UFOs hover over highways, and the ghost of an 80-year-old war captain still guards the rock where he surrendered three centuries ago.
In 1978, Joseph DeAndrade walked into Hockomock Swamp and walked out describing a seven-foot creature covered in hair. He wasn't the first. He wouldn't be the last. Drivers on Route 44 still report picking up a red-haired hitchhiker who climbs into their backseat and vanishes. Visitors to Anawan Rock see phantom campfires flickering where a Wampanoag warrior gave up sacred wampum belts before his execution.
King Philip's War soaked this ground in blood. The Freetown State Forest hid genuine horrors in the 1980s. And cryptozoologist Loren Coleman drew a triangle around all of it, connecting the dots of fifty years of documented strangeness.
Maybe it's swamp gas. Maybe it's bears. Maybe it's the power of suggestion.
Or maybe the Wampanoag knew exactly what they were talking about when they named this place.
Some mysteries aren't meant to be solved. They're meant to be felt.
By Shane L. Waters, Joshua Waters, Kim Morrow4.2
135135 ratings
The Wampanoag called it Hockomock—"place where spirits dwell." They named it that twelve thousand years before anyone else noticed something was wrong with this swamp.
Tonight we descend into the Bridgewater Triangle, a 200-square-mile region in southeastern Massachusetts where Bigfoot stalks the wetlands, UFOs hover over highways, and the ghost of an 80-year-old war captain still guards the rock where he surrendered three centuries ago.
In 1978, Joseph DeAndrade walked into Hockomock Swamp and walked out describing a seven-foot creature covered in hair. He wasn't the first. He wouldn't be the last. Drivers on Route 44 still report picking up a red-haired hitchhiker who climbs into their backseat and vanishes. Visitors to Anawan Rock see phantom campfires flickering where a Wampanoag warrior gave up sacred wampum belts before his execution.
King Philip's War soaked this ground in blood. The Freetown State Forest hid genuine horrors in the 1980s. And cryptozoologist Loren Coleman drew a triangle around all of it, connecting the dots of fifty years of documented strangeness.
Maybe it's swamp gas. Maybe it's bears. Maybe it's the power of suggestion.
Or maybe the Wampanoag knew exactly what they were talking about when they named this place.
Some mysteries aren't meant to be solved. They're meant to be felt.

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