There was an incredible story I remember from Kamloops, BC, which I had heard back in about 1995. It still lives in my memory as one of the funniest things I’ve ever heard and a verified true story, not an urban legend.
It all began one summer when I was spending time with a friend named Jennifer. We had nothing particular to do except enjoy ourselves and see what adventures came our way. One afternoon, while walking downtown, we ran into a fellow named Gerry — one of the most light-hearted, comical characters you could ever hope to meet.
He was a bit rough around the edges, wearing a ragged jean jacket and a baseball cap. His teeth were slightly curved, but his bright blue eyes sparkled with mischief and warmth. I believe we had met him at a party earlier that summer. Another friend, Jason, needed a place to stay for a while, and somehow we all began visiting Gerry’s first-floor apartment downtown. We’d bring a guitar and a few bottles of beer, and the evenings would unfold into laughter and storytelling.
It was in that apartment, with Gerry’s girlfriend sitting nearby confirming every detail, that we first heard the legendary tale. Gerry told it with incredible animation — helped, perhaps, by the number of drinks he had consumed — but mostly because he had a natural gift for storytelling.
And it began like this.
A Cold Kamloops Night
Gerry had been alone in Kamloops during the middle of an icy winter. With little to do and far too much free time, he decided to head down to a nightclub on Victoria Street called the Juke Box Jive — known locally in the 90s as “J.J.’s.”
After midnight, Gerry found himself sitting alone at a long counter overlooking the dance floor. Bored, he noticed another lonely-looking fellow a few chairs down.
“Hey buddy! How’s it going?” Gerry asked. “This place isn’t exactly thrilling, is it?”
“Not really,” the stranger replied.
“Want to grab some off-sales and get out of here?” Gerry suggested.
“Where to?”
“Mission Flats by the river. Maybe light a fire.”
The stranger agreed.
Soon they were driving across the Overlander Bridge in the dead of winter, heading toward the industrial stretch along the Thompson River. It was bitterly cold — one of those Kamloops nights where the wind cuts straight through your jacket. And Gerry, true to form, was still wearing that same ragged jean jacket and cap he wore year-round.
Abandoned
They parked several kilometers down the river, dropped the tailgate, and began drinking. After a while, Gerry said,
“It’s freezing! Let’s get a fire going — but first I need to step around the bush.”
As he did, he suddenly heard the tailgate slam and the engine roar to life.
Confused, Gerry hurried back — just in time to see the stranger’s truck spitting gravel and disappearing into the darkness.
He was alone.
His beer was gone. His cigarettes were gone. The lighter was gone.
And the temperature was dropping fast.
“There was nothing to do but start walking,” Gerry told us. “Or freeze.”
The Walk
Within the first kilometer, Gerry said he felt the early signs of hypothermia. His hands and feet were numb. His face stung. The wind cut through him.
The industrial stretch was deserted, and he was several kilometers from the bridge.
Then, through the cold haze, he noticed a faint light off to the right.
As he approached, the smell grew stronger. He realized it was the Kamloops Septic Treatment Facility.
At that moment, any light meant hope.
But when he reached it, he was met with a fifteen-foot barbed-wire fence. The small office with its glowing light was about thirty meters inside.
He shouted.
No answer.
Desperate, he began climbing the icy fence. After slipping down several times, he made it to the top. With one mighty heave, he flung himself over the barbed wire. His pants snagged and tore, but survival mattered more than clothing.
He fell hard.
And landed directly into one of the warm septic pools.
The Transformation
The shock of warmth flooded through his freezing body.
“Now I can rest,” he thought.
He began sinking into what he later referred to as “the abyss of the Poo Factory.”
But as he sank, he accidentally inhaled some of the foul water.
Instantly, instinct took over.
“I’m not done yet!” he realized.
In that moment, as he told it, something transformed inside him. He described it as a kind of rebirth — like a swamp creature rising from the depths with supernatural strength.
He exploded upward from the bottom of the septic pool, shot to the surface, and launched himself out in a single desperate surge.
There he stood — soaked, stunned, and very much alive.
The Office Worker
Determined, Gerry marched to the office door and knocked.
BANG.
BANG.
BANG.
Inside, a sleepy employee named Charlie woke in confusion. Who could possibly be knocking at 2:30 a.m. inside a fenced, locked facility?
He cautiously opened the door.
And there, dripping and steaming in the cold night air, stood what appeared to be a living Swamp Monster.
Charlie shouted in alarm and slammed the door, immediately calling 911.
Rescue
Minutes later, the RCMP arrived. They gathered Gerry’s story, wrapped him in blankets, and assessed the situation. Before putting him into a cruiser, they wisely provided protective gear and transported him to the holding cell to warm up.
According to Gerry, the other occupants of the holding area kept their distance.
The smell was convincing.
The Aftermath
At this point in the story, Jennifer and I were nearly in tears from laughter.
Then Gerry’s girlfriend added her part:
“Our apartment smelled so bad after he brought those clothes home in a bag that we ended up moving.”
That sealed it.
We laughed harder than we ever had that summer.
From then on, whenever we told the story — and we told it often — we affectionately referred to it as:
“Gerry and the Poo Factory.”
And no matter how many times we retold it, it never stopped being funny.