tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35593140110969005572024-03-14T04:26:21.953-07:00Rusty BigfootRusty Wilsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02155448464387401776noreply@blogger.comBlogger24125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3559314011096900557.post-57156317510280186672014-01-20T11:10:00.000-08:002014-01-20T11:10:54.928-08:00New Book! Chasing After Bigfoot<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Well, I sure haven't been posting on my blog lately, but I have a good excuse (I think, anyway). I've been working on my newest book, and it's now finally done! It's available <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Chasing-After-Bigfoot-Americas-Creature-ebook/dp/B00HXNFWDM/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1390244697&sr=8-1&keywords=chasing+after+bigfoot" target="_blank">here</a> at Amazon.com.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Since it's avalable only from Amazon in Kindle format, be aware that you can get a free Kindle app from Amazon—just go their main page and select Kindle and you'll see a link on that new page. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Here's the Introduction:</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Dear Fellow Adventurers,</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">As you may know, I’m a fly-fishing guide, and I’ve collected many Bigfoot stories around campfires from my clients. (“Rusty Wilson’s Bigfoot Campfire Stories” and others in that series.) </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">When I’m sitting around the fire listening to these stories, the storyteller will often tell the actual place where their Bigfoot encounter happened. I almost always change these locations in my books. Given what I believe is the declining number of this species, I feel we need to be very careful to not intrude on their habitat any more than we already do.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">But I always wondered what it would be like to go searching in those places, places where there have been actual encounters—some of which were real doozies. I call places where there was more than one such encounter “Bigfoot hotspots.”</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">My wife, Sarah, and I discussed this for some time, and I always felt a bit conflicted about the whole thing—I would hear of others going on organized searches, sometimes in fairly large numbers, and I’d wonder, what does the Big Guy think about all this? I always felt that he or she probably felt hunted. I know I would. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I wanted to see a Bigfoot, but I just couldn’t justify intruding into their terrain. I know I wouldn’t like someone coming into my territory, purposely searching for me and my family.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">While thinking about all this (usually while fishing), a thought finally began to take shape: what if I were to go to Bigfoot hotspots and just hang around camp, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible and not tramping into the woods looking for them? Would they maybe come to me from curiosity?</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Another thought was in the back of my mind—would I be able to find definitive proof of the existence of Bigfoot, something many scoff at or question? And if I did, what would I do with it? </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I tried to be honest with myself. If I did find such proof, I knew I would never sell it, and I wasn’t sure I would even share it with anyone except my wife, who I trust implicitly. I’m not interested in self-aggrandizement, and I feel that most media sensationalize the topic of Bigfoot. I wanted no part of that.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I simply have a life-long curiosity about Bigfoot. I wanted to see one—in a nutshell, meet the elusive creature I’d heard so much about over campfires. I also feel strongly that we must start preserving their habitat, and this won’t happen until we can list them as a real species, and possibly as an endangered one. </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">But what part I wanted to play in that was not clear to me, as I wanted nothing to do with anything that could also possibly make them even more endangered.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">So, I decided I would go camping. I would take off for a month and follow my heart, go chasing after the Big Guy—though I can tell you, when I realized my dream could become reality, I was kind of scared.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Did I have what it would take to camp in a tent in these Bigfoot hotspots all alone? I wouldn’t actually be chasing after Bigfoot—if anything, he’d be chasing after me. I hoped I had the fortitude and courage to let him find me, were he so inclined. To be honest, the thought was both intriguing and terrifying.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">And so, in late July, off I went, and I can tell you this—it takes a lot more to live through a Bigfoot story than it does to hear someone else’s. There were times when I amazed myself at my courage—but more often, I was shocked at how big of a chicken I could be. Things just didn’t come down like I expected them to—not one bit. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Unlike in my camp fire stories, the locations in this book are exactly where the event happened. I mention this because you might want to stay away from those places—or go there, if you’re ready. My vision of Bigfoot has always been that he’s a benign creature, but there were a few times during my “expedition” that I wasn’t so sure. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">So, make yourself a cup of hot chocolate, kick back by the fire, and be prepared for a story that may make your teeth chatter just a bit—and if it does, believe me, it won’t be from the cold.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I hope you enjoy it! —Rusty</span></span>Rusty Wilsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02155448464387401776noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3559314011096900557.post-90448571051670496522013-05-07T17:42:00.003-07:002013-05-08T07:05:01.251-07:00I Can't Hear You<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My wife, Sarah, always edits my stories after I have them down on paper. If it weren't for her, I'm sure they'd be much more unreadable—in fact, if she edited my blog, she'd probably make me find a new word for "unreadable," saying it's kind of unreadable. Ha.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Anyway, I was in another town and called her to see how everything was going. I have a new book out, and she was reading through the stories, editing them. I asked her which story she was on, and she replied, "I can't hear you."</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I repeated the question, and she answered, a bit exasperated, "I can't hear you."</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I looked at my phone, trying to figure out what was wrong, when she started laughing, then said, "That's the name of the story I'm on, I Can't Hear You." We both got a good laugh out of that one.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Anyway, here's the story, and my new book is available <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00COWERQA" target="_blank">here</a> on Amazon. It's called "Rusty Wilson's Mysterious Bigfoot Campfire Stories." I hope you enjoy.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><b>I Can’t Hear You</b></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><i>This story came my way from a fellow who had signed up for a guided trip in Montana. I have a lot of friends in that beautiful state that guide flyfishing trips, and one had broken his arm, so I filled in for him on the Madison River, one of my favorite places. As they say, it was a tough job, but someone had to do it. </i></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><i>We were all sitting around the campfire after a great dutch-oven dinner (featuring peach cobbler for dessert) when I heard his story. —Rusty</i></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">My grandpa was a crusty old guy, a real Wisconsin character. He lived in the same cabin he’d been raised in, way up by a lake in the timber, and he left only when my parents finally persuaded him to go live with them. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I have many fond memories of going up to that cabin with my brother to stay with Gramps. We spent part of our summers there—well, until this incident, anyway, then we quit going. After this, my dad would go stay with him some, and he finally persuaded Gramps to move in with us.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Well, Gramps’ cabin was old and rustic and had lots of leaks, but Gramps lived there year round, cutting his own wood for winter and growing a big garden, such that you can when you have such a short growing season. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">He had water right there in a little stream that came by his place, and he canned his vegetables and dried the meat from the deer he hunted. It was kind of like paradise in some ways, until winter, anyway.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">But I was glad when he finally moved in with Mom and Dad. He seemed to be getting frailer and frailer, and the thought of him being alone out in the woods was kind of unsettling—maybe because he wasn’t really alone, as you’ll see.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">This story happened one sunny summer day—well, summer night, actually. My brother and I had been playing poker with Gramps—he loved to play poker—and it was getting pretty late, so we finally hit the hay. As usual, Gramps had won all our change, though he would always let us win it back the next day.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Gramps slept in the little bedroom in the cabin and Jason and I slept on cots in what was the only other room, kind of a combination kitchen and living room.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We’d had a busy day doing what kids do in the woods, and we were tired. We both fell asleep pretty fast and were soon sleeping hard as rocks. I think this happened when I was 14 and Jason was 15. We were what you call Irish cousins, born barely a year apart.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Sometime in the night I woke, not sure why, as I hadn’t been dreaming or anything. I just woke from a dead sleep, just like that. I felt really uneasy.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I knew something was wrong. My instincts have always been pretty accurate that way, and I just lay there listening, and the longer I listened, the weirder I felt. But I couldn’t hear anything unusual. It was strange, and I finally wondered if I wasn’t just imagining things.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I finally drifted back to sleep, only to be awakened again by Jason poking me in the ribs. He was crouched down by my cot, kind of like he was hiding, and he half scared me to death.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Be quiet, Tommy, don’t make a sound. Just get up and sneak over into the corner with me behind the stove. Stay low.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Oh man, this was weird. Why was Jason being so dramatic? It wasn’t like him. He never played pranks, so I knew something was up.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I rolled off of the cot and crawled over behind the big pot-bellied wood stove, with Jason right behind me. I tried to make myself small as I crouched down behind it. Jason put his hand on my arm, and I could tell he was shaking. I remembered that I’d woken up earlier, and I knew something strange was going on.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Jason put his hand over my mouth as if he was worried I’d yell or something, then pointed to the little window above the kitchen sink. There, I could see a dark figure, a big head actually, and it was looking right into the cabin.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Jeez, I knew it had to be a bear, but what kind of bear would be bold and curious enough to come right up to the cabin window and look in? And it had to be the quietest bear ever, as it made not even the slightest noise.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“We need to get Gramps up,” I said. “He has the rifle.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Gramps always kept his rifle in his bedroom. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Let’s see what it does. Maybe it’ll leave,” Jason whispered. He then added, “Holy crap! Look at those eyes!”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The bear’s eyes were now glowing a greenish-red, just like it had turned on a flashlight, and that light was scanning the room like it was looking for us!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Crap is right!” I whispered back. “Stay still. That thing’s huge!”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We both continued to hide behind the big stove, hoping the bear couldn’t see us, and we were now totally terrified.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Soon the head disappeared. We decided to make a break for it and go wake up Gramps. We ran like bats out of hell into the bedroom, where we shook Gramps awake. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The old guy was getting hard of hearing, so we had to shake him awake, otherwise he wouldn’t hear a thing. About the only way we could even make him hear us anymore was to yell right at him.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">He woke up with a start and set straight up. I think we scared the old guy half to death. But we didn’t want to yell at him, so we were in kind of a quandary as to how to tell him what was going on. If we yelled, we knew we would alert the bear as to where we’d gone.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We tried to tell Gramps using a sort of sign language we made up on the spot, but he just sat there half-asleep, looking both alarmed and mystified. He seemed kind of put-out at us for waking him up. Finally, I thought to get some paper and a pen off his dresser, and I wrote him a note, using my pocket flashlight to show him.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Giant bear window glowing eyes.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Gramps now looked alarmed and got up, pulling on his trousers and getting his gun out of the closet. He loaded it and fearlessly walked out into the living room. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We followed like puppy dogs, scared and with our tails between our legs. Gramps must have wondered if we were really his own grandkids or some kind of impostors, as his kin would never be scared of a bear, glowing eyes or not.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">He opened the door and shot into the air several times, then closed the door, walked back into his bedroom, put the gun away, and went back to bed, leaving me and Jason feeling kind of inadequate.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It had been such a simple thing, dealing with this bear, so why hadn’t we just taken action and done the same thing and not woken him up? OK, in the future, we’d be more like Gramps instead of hiding behind the stove. We’d go in and get his gun and not wake him up.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">But Gramps hadn’t actually seen this thing, and maybe he would’ve been less cavalier if he had. Oh well, we thought, time to go back to bed.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It took me awhile to go back to sleep, and I finally got up and hung a towel over the window. I didn’t sleep too well the rest of the night in spite of this, and Jason said he didn’t sleep a wink.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Well, the next morning Gramps wanted to know what was going on, so we told him. When we were done, he looked pretty grim, and he led us outside to look around. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The cabin was surrounded by forest, and there were needles and tuft everywhere, so we didn’t see any tracks. But right under the kitchen window the pine needles were pressed down like something heavy had stood there. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Gramps studied it real close, then looked even more grim. He started yelling into the woods like a madman, well, because he was mad.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“You dang Forest People stay away from here! I’ll shoot every last one of you!”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">OK, this made me and Jason pause. Forest People? Who were they?</span></div>
<div style="font: 18.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I asked, and Gramps muttered something about how they were no good and for us to stay close to the cabin until he could deal with them. We got the feeling this had gone on before.</span></div>
<div style="font: 18.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">That night Gramps set with us by the big stove longer than usual. He was in the mood to talk, and he started telling us about the Forest People. Jason and I couldn’t believe what we were hearing, and if we hadn’t seen the thing in the window ourselves, we would’ve thought he was pulling our legs.</span></div>
<div style="font: 18.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">He told us about when his parents first came out there and built the cabin, and how the Forest People had tried to scare them away. He’d been a little boy, and he was forbidden to ever leave the cabin without an adult. His parents had finally moved the family into town, but they all returned a year later, as they wanted to homestead. By then, the Forest People had torn down the original cabin, and they had to start all over again.</span></div>
<div style="font: 18.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">This second time, his dad had lost patience and actually began shooting at the Forest People, though he really didn’t want to kill them, just run them off.</span></div>
<div style="font: 18.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Gramps told stories about seeing them in the woods when he got older and was able to go out alone, though he always carried a gun. He didn’t think they were dangerous, but it scared him to death when he would see them, as they were big and powerful looking.</span></div>
<div style="font: 18.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">As time went by, they came around less and less frequently, until finally they didn’t come around at all. It had been years since he’d seen any evidence of them, but he had thought he’d seen one the last time me and Jason were visiting, and he was thinking maybe they were attracted to us since we were kids, and he knew they liked kids.</span></div>
<div style="font: 18.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We just sat there listening, wondering if Gramps hadn’t been living in the woods alone too long. But we knew what we’d seen, and at that point, we were pretty much ready to go home—except we didn’t want to leave Gramps there alone.</span></div>
<div style="font: 18.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We tried to talk him into coming into town when Mom and Dad were scheduled to come get us, but he just laughed and said we were being silly, that the Forest People wouldn’t hurt anybody. Except he wondered if maybe they didn’t kidnap kids once in a while, as the lake had a bad reputation, and there’d been a couple of kids go missing there over the years.</span></div>
<div style="font: 18.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We didn’t like hearing that one bit. Now we were really ready to go home, but our parents wouldn’t come pick us up for another week. We decided we wouldn’t go outside unless Gramps was right there with us.</span></div>
<div style="font: 18.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">That night, all was quiet, and the towel over the window made me feel better, as I knew nobody could see us now. Jason and I lay there awhile, talking in low voices, with the light out, discussing what Gramps had told us about the Forest People.</span></div>
<div style="font: 18.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I finally drifted off, but only to once again startle awake in the early hours. I looked at the kitchen window, but the towel was still there.</span></div>
<div style="font: 18.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Jason whispered, “Tommy, you awake? Did you hear that?”</span></div>
<div style="font: 18.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“What was it?” I asked.</span></div>
<div style="font: 18.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“There’s something messing around outside. Sounds like it’s behind the house outside Gramps’ bedroom.”</span></div>
<div style="font: 18.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I lay still and listened. Something was making a low moaning noise, and it would then bang against the back side of the cabin. </span></div>
<div style="font: 18.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Gramps can’t hear it,” I whispered. “And it sounds like it might be trying to get him.”</span></div>
<div style="font: 18.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We both rolled off our cots and crawled quietly into Gramps’ bedroom. He was snoring like a saw cutting logs, totally oblivious to the racket outside.</span></div>
<div style="font: 18.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Jason crawled over by the dresser where Gramps’ rifle stood in the corner. He picked it up, got some ammo from the dresser drawer where Gramps kept it, then carefully loaded the gun. He now walked back into the living room, and I followed. We would deal with this on our own and not wake Gramps up—or so we thought.</span></div>
<div style="font: 18.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I held the door open while Jason stepped out a foot or two and shot the rifle into the air. Neither of us had spent much time around guns, and he wasn’t prepared for the recoil, which almost knocked him down. He came stumbling backwards into me, and both of us almost bit the dust, but we managed to stay on our feet. </span></div>
<div style="font: 18.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I slammed the door shut just as I saw something really big and black come around the corner of the cabin. I locked the door, then quickly put a chair up against it, as if that would have any effect at all on stopping an animal that big.</span></div>
<div style="font: 18.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Jason stood there, rifle pointed at the door, and we both held our breath. We were scared to death.</span></div>
<div style="font: 18.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Of course the rifle shot woke Gramps up, and he came into the living room with his skinny bare legs sticking out of his oversized BVDs. He kind of reminded me of a chicken with his potbelly and skinny legs.</span></div>
<div style="font: 18.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">He saw Jason with the rifle and immediately figured out what was going on. Now he was mad.</span></div>
<div style="font: 18.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Are they back?” he asked with a scowl on his face.</span></div>
<div style="font: 18.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Jason nodded his head yes as Gramps took the rifle from him. Gramps then opened the front door and went outside, BVDs and all. I kind of wondered if he wasn’t a bit more scary looking at that point than the Forest People were.</span></div>
<div style="font: 18.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We instinctively followed him, though we were both scared to death. Gramps didn’t seem a bit scared, and we were now worried about him. I guess we were feeling protective of the old guy, even though he was the one with the gun. </span></div>
<div style="font: 18.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Well, as I went out the door, I realized we were in deep trouble when I heard the lock click behind me. I hadn’t really unlocked it, just pulled it open from the inside. I tried the handle, and sure enough, we were locked out.</span></div>
<div style="font: 18.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The old cabin only had two windows, the one above the kitchen sink and a small window in the living room. There was no way any of us would fit through the kitchen window, and Jason might barely fit through the other one, being the smaller of us three.</span></div>
<div style="font: 18.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Jason, we’re locked out,” I whispered to my brother. He turned with a panicked look in his eyes and verified what I had told him.</span></div>
<div style="font: 18.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Crap,” he said, immediately going to the living room window and trying it. It was also locked.</span></div>
<div style="font: 18.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Meanwhile, Gramps had gone around the side of the cabin, muttering and looking for something to shoot at. I didn’t know whether to follow him and make sure he was OK or try to break into the cabin. Jason was trying to pry the window open, so I decided to follow Gramps.</span></div>
<div style="font: 18.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I was going around the corner of the cabin in the dark following Gramps when I heard the moaning again. It was terrifying, like something from a horror movie, and it sounded like it was right around the corner where Gramps had just gone. And of course it was too dark, so I couldn’t see a thing.</span></div>
<div style="font: 18.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I felt my way along the back wall of the cabin, thinking that surely I would catch up to Gramps soon. And sure enough, I did, bumping into him and scaring the bejeebers out of him. He must’ve jumped three feet in the air, and for a minute I thought I was going to get shot.</span></div>
<div style="font: 18.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">And now the moaning was right there, right by where Gramps stood, and he was looking at me, even madder cause I’d scared him. I knew he couldn’t hear the sound, and it sounded like it was right behind him. </span></div>
<div style="font: 18.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I yelled at him and pointed behind him, but it was so dark he couldn’t even see my hand. Right over Gramps’ shoulder were those eyes, those red-green glowing eyes, and they stood way above both me and Gramps. This thing was huge, and it was about to get my grandpa, and I couldn’t make him understand what was happening. </span></div>
<div style="font: 18.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I didn’t even think about it, I just grabbed the rifle from Gramps and pointed it at the eyes. I hesitated, as I didn’t want to kill anything, and just as I paused, Gramps turned and saw it. I pulled the trigger, but I shot purposely wide, and the thing jerked back as if I’d shot it, then disappeared into the darkness.</span></div>
<div style="font: 18.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I knew I hadn’t shot it—I couldn’t have possibly shot it—but I was worried just the same. I grabbed Gramps’ arm and steered him around the front of the cabin, where we were still locked out.</span></div>
<div style="font: 18.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The thing was moaning again off to our left, and now it sounded really angry. It soon began banging on the side of the cabin, but it stayed around back where we couldn’t see it. Jason was now crawling through the window, and we were soon all inside. </span></div>
<div style="font: 18.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I just stood there by the big stove, wide eyed and white faced as Gramps started a pot of coffee, cussing and fussing the whole time. He obviously couldn’t hear a thing and had no idea what kind of a racket the thing was making.</span></div>
<div style="font: 18.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It was soon dawn, and things now got quiet outside. We collected our wits, Gramps going on and on about the Forest People while drinking coffee. He had said they were harmless, but they sure didn’t feel that way to me.</span></div>
<div style="font: 18.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">That day, Jason and I walked down the road to the neighbors, who had a phone, and we called Dad. We told him to come and get us, though we couldn’t tell him the real reason with the neighbors listening in.</span></div>
<div style="font: 18.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Dad arrived that evening, and we packed up to leave, begging Gramps to come with us. Of course he refused, acting like he was surprised that we were leaving over something so trivial as a Bigfoot terrorizing us.</span></div>
<div style="font: 18.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">That was pretty much it for us wanting to go stay at the cabin, and it wasn’t long before Gramps finally gave up and moved in with us. </span></div>
<div style="font: 18.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We were glad he had survived it all, and to this day I wonder how many times he’d been terrorized by a Bigfoot and didn’t even know it. I guess ignorance is bliss, as they say.</span></div>
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Rusty Wilsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02155448464387401776noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3559314011096900557.post-75234825501470886332013-01-24T20:08:00.000-08:002013-01-24T20:08:03.903-08:00New Bigfoot Forum and Boot Camp!<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I just joined what I hope will become a really great Bigfoot Forum. It can be accessed <a href="http://northwestbigfoot.freeforums.org/" target="_blank">here</a> and is called N</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">orthwestbigfootfreeforums.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">It was started by Jaymi, a real Bigfoot pro, one who spends their time out in the field looking for Bigfoot instead of at home talking about Bigfoot. Now don't get me wrong, I love to sit around and talk Bigfoot, but it really doesn't hold a candle to getting out there in the woods and looking for one. (Actually, sometimes I prefer sitting around talking about Bigfoot, cause getting out there can be dang scary.)</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Jaymi is the person behind the <a href="http://www.bigfootbootcamp.com/" target="_blank">Bigfoot Bootcamp</a>, which is a really cool way to introduce your kids to the outdoors, adventure, and being self-sufficient and capable at survival skills. I highly recommend this, and if I were a kid, I would go beyond recommending it and would be bugging my parents to take me along—yes, you the parent get to go, too, under the guise of being a good parent while having a lot of fun.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">So, foot it on over to the forum and join up, it's free, though I encourage you to become a VIP member to help Jaymi in the good work she's doing. It's only 20 bucks, which is just a few Zagnut bars or sticks of Jack Link's beef jerky. And then go check out the Boot Camp.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">See you in the woods!</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><img height="306" id="il_fi" src="http://www.michellehenry.fr/hunters.gif" style="padding-bottom: 8px; padding-right: 8px; padding-top: 8px;" width="400" /></span><br />
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<br />Rusty Wilsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02155448464387401776noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3559314011096900557.post-41611691221791800822012-10-17T10:30:00.001-07:002012-10-17T10:32:37.694-07:00The Bigfoot Runes<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>A mysterious cave contains a strange book that leads to a quest with an unusual and scary companion. The stakes? An entire species.</i></span>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Lucida Grande'; letter-spacing: 0px;"><i>“</i></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><i>It suddenly struck me what an incongruous team we were—a giant hairy Bigfoot, a somewhat broken-down scraggly human, and a small scruffy dog. I was pretty sure the Canadian Border Patrol had never seen the likes of us—and I hoped they never would.”</i> </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Well, it's finally here! My new book is out and available at Amazon.com in both Kindle and print format. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B009S3GO9Q">http://www.amazon.com/dp/B009S3GO9Q</a></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I'll post more on it later, but feel free to ask any questions here or email me at rustybigfoot at gmail.com.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="clear: left; color: black; float: left; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7JHhpIg2uPt7UUFZl2iWJ08P77qZ_COnMfOs3isPL3lz18gpld4n47LoYIvO0NtqA8SOiBFz1vpNpNZOxV5J8sB_vFECK5_k2_kxaSxAdWP7ifIRKcOfZTcOvv2Nof3ZhmI83HI9yj7hS/s640/bigfootrunescvr.jpg" width="426" /></span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>Rusty Wilsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02155448464387401776noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3559314011096900557.post-65099799858156969082012-05-29T09:21:00.000-07:002012-05-29T09:22:47.985-07:00Wow! I'm interviewed on a very cool blog!<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Alisha Paige has a <a href="http://alishapaige.blogspot.com/2012/05/bigfoots-ghost-writer-rusty-wilson.html" target="_blank">very cool blog</a> and invited me over for an interview. The coffee was great and the fresh cookies were sublime, and don't forget to pick up a few of her books while you're there, definitely page-turners! Thanks, Alisha!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ffd966; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>Rusty Wilsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02155448464387401776noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3559314011096900557.post-61941388913835963912012-03-06T11:52:00.002-08:002012-03-28T08:33:15.485-07:00New Book Out, Here's a Story from it...<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I haven't been posting much lately because I'm working on a new book that should be out in just a few days on Amazon.com. I'll post the link when it's up.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It's called "Rusty Wilson's 12 Pack of Bigfoot Campfire Stories" and will be an ebook. I'm also working on a shorter 6 pack ebook. When they're both up as ebooks, I'll combine them in an 18 pack for the print version. </span><br />
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</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In addition, I won't be updating this blog much in the next month, as I'm going Squatchin! I just bought a little camp trailer and I'm going to stay in it in the backwoods and work on another book while wood knocking and whooping at night, hoping to get some Bigfoot to join me and tell some stories. I might even grill a few steaks to add to the interest. I'll keep you posted!</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">UPDATE: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B007IM48II" target="_blank">Here's the link to the 12 pack book</a>, and the <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Wilsons-Bigfoot-Campfire-Stories-ebook/dp/B007MHI6QY/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1332948519&sr=1-1" target="_blank">link to the Six Pack book</a>. If you want them combined into one print book, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Wilsons-Bigfoot-Campfire-Stories-ebook/dp/B007MHI6QY/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1332948519&sr=1-1" target="_blank">here it is.</a></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Here's the cover of the 12 pack, I think the Bigfoot are kinda cute:</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiox8AwbWfiZl1tsOTnh5YzRzB3hSBkqXk-T6vj8L3_LixtgbqwXrrgetSRoYsxcg80B7Fn8AxNTnxa-WNFJPXHa-pI5p9pjWD3zi8ZPQ6hSU51IyplrOz7AguRjMhLVx8ZN78Jd1n1mDxl/s1600/12packcover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiox8AwbWfiZl1tsOTnh5YzRzB3hSBkqXk-T6vj8L3_LixtgbqwXrrgetSRoYsxcg80B7Fn8AxNTnxa-WNFJPXHa-pI5p9pjWD3zi8ZPQ6hSU51IyplrOz7AguRjMhLVx8ZN78Jd1n1mDxl/s320/12packcover.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And here's a story:</span><br />
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<div style="font: 18.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Bone Games</span></b></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Jerry was a small wiry guy I met at a flyfishing class I was teaching in my home town. We got to talking afterwards, and when I learned he was camping in his little trailer, I invited him to come home with me for one of my wife Sarah’s good homemade spaghetti dinners.</span></i></div><div style="font: 18.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">As we sat around after dinner, the talk inevitably turned to camping, and Jerry shared the following strange story. I’ve never heard anything like it, and I wondered if it were some kind of coming of age ritual. </span></i></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I did get to meet his two cats, M&M, who he claims are way smarter than him, and this story makes you wonder. Nothing new there, animals seem to always beat us out when it comes to instinct, at least that’s been my experience. Now if we could just learn to listen to them... —Rusty</span></i></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">My name is Jerry and I live in my RV full time. After I was laid off from my last job as a computer programmer, I sold my house and bought a little Casita travel trailer and a new Dodge pickup. I put a shell on the pickup and use the back for storing lots of water and supplies, and I can go sometimes up to a month before I have to go to town for anything. I like to do what’s called boondocking, which means you camp out with no hookups. I hate RV parks.</span></div><div style="font: 18.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I have two cats, and I was trying to figure out how to make it so they could come along, as they’re my buddies. I call them M&M for Max and Missy. They’re both black and from the same litter when a friend’s cat had kittens. I’ve had them since they were babies.</span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">So, as things transpired, I taught them to walk on a leash, and I also built a wire cage off my trailer where they can go sit in the sun. They can go through a storage door and out into the cage, where they can sit and watch things happen. They love that little sunroom, and I just fold it up into the trailer when I travel.</span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Anyway, I usually spend two or three weeks in the same spot, going down to Arizona and New Mexico in the winter and then up further north in the summer. It’s a really nice lifestyle, and I get computer internet jobs here and there. I don’t need much money. I have a satellite dish that allows me to get the internet from pretty much anywhere. This all has some bearing on my story, so stick with me here.</span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">OK, I was down in northern New Mexico, not too far from Taos, working my way north, as it was starting to get hot. I had driven up towards the ski area in the foothills of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains until I found a dirt road, then I just drove up it as far as I could go. I ended up in a small meadow in the trees, very quiet and peaceful and private, just my cup of tea.</span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Ah, the good life! I was stocked up and had everything I needed to stay awhile. People always ask me how I keep from getting bored out there in the same spot all the time, and I always say it’s easy. I hike, listen to my satellite radio system, read lots of books on my Kindle, and do silversmithing. The silversmithing is starting to pay more than my programming, and I have several small galleries around the country who buy my stuff. So, I keep busy. And I also take M&M around for walks all the time on their leashes. I never get bored, and I never get lonely.</span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">And I never get afraid—well, I didn’t used to, anyway.</span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">So, I pulled the trailer into this nice spot and unhooked the truck, got some things like my camp chair out, then set up the cat house. That’s what I call the little wire room, the cat house.</span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I was busy messing around and finally went back inside to make some lunch, when I noticed M&M weren’t in the cat house. That’s usually the first thing they do, is run out into the cat house and sit there and survey their surroundings, like “Where we at now, Pops?” </span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">They were both sitting by an open window, looking out, not wanting to go outside, just sitting there. That in itself should’ve told me something was up, as they’d never done this before, sit by a window when they could be in their cat house. I figured they were tired or something.</span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I made PBJ sandwiches and sat in my camp chair and ate, then made some tea. After a bit, I decided to take M&M for a little walk and see the country around camp. I went back inside and put their halters and leashes on them, then opened the door. Usually they’ll bolt outside, as they love walks, but neither did, they just sat there. I tried to kind of drag them a little, but they started pulling back. Neither wanted to go out of the trailer, which was another first.</span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">This kind of made me stop and wonder if they weren’t getting sick or something. This was worrisome, but they’d both eaten a good breakfast and acted fine otherwise, so I decided not to push it. Animals are just like us, they have their off days sometimes.</span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">So, I grabbed my jacket and decided to go explore around camp a bit without them. They could sleep in the trailer. I set out a little pan of milk for them, then headed out, leaving the little meadow and following a small animal trail, walking into the aspen and fir forest. </span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">It was a beautiful day, and I was pretty happy to be in such a nice spot. It felt private and sheltered, and the forest was pristine, unlike some of the areas I’ve been where people left trash and did ATV damage. I was soon in another small meadow, and as I crossed it, I noticed something white in a tree over on the north end. I decided to go see what it could be, as it was up there kind of high. I figured it was some trash that had blown in.</span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Well, when I got there, I could see there were about ten bones hung in this big pine tree, like ornaments on a Christmas tree. They were large bones, like from cattle. It was kind of weird seeing bones high in the tree as if someone had hung them up there, yet that someone would’ve had to be a lot taller than I was.</span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I stood there for awhile, trying to figure it out, when I started to feel uncomfortable. This was a first for me, as I usually feel much safer out in the woods than in town. I carry a knife in a case on my belt, but I’ve never had to use it for anything, and I’ve never felt the need to be armed. The only thing out in the woods is an occasional bear and an even less occasional mountain lion, and I’d only seen one bear in all my camping times, so I didn’t worry too much about wild animals. </span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">But now, as I stood there, I felt uncomfortable, then I started to feel fear, which is another first for me. Like I said, I feel safer out there than in town.</span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I figured someone had been here before and found a cow skeleton and thrown it up in the tree for fun, but it seemed like the bones had been hung there. They just were too neat and all oriented the same way, and like I said, it would have to be someone real tall who could do that, like maybe eight or even nine feet tall. They just didn’t look like they’d been thrown up there. Maybe someone had used a stick to somehow put the bones up there, I thought.</span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Well, the longer I stood there, the weirder I felt, so I just turned and hightailed it out of there, kind of looking back and all around me like maybe something was following me. It was that kind of feeling, like I wasn’t alone, and I didn’t like it one bit.</span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I got back to my little trailer and went inside, where the cats seemed awfully glad to see me, more so than usual. Now, keep in mind that while these things were happening, I wasn’t paying attention to all these signs and putting them together, that came later when it was all over and I was thinking back. If I’d had the presence of mind to put this all together as it was happening, I would’ve been out of there immediately.</span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I sat there in my little trailer for a bit, kind of looking back the way I just came, wondering if there was a bear or something in there. That country only has black bears, so I wasn’t too worried. I finally started feeling better and turned on the radio and started reading an old Western I’d picked up at the last laundromat. It was pretty good, and I got all involved in it and forgot about the weird feeling.</span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">That evening was nice and cool, and there were no mosquitoes, something I really like about those dry New Mexico mountains. I sat out on my chair and drank tea, trying to coax the cats to come out into their cat house, but no go. They wanted nothing to do with being outside, and they actually acted like they wanted to hide. They kept trying to get into the cupboards and under the covers on my bed. In retrospect, animals have much better senses than we humans, and they pay attention to them.</span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Finally, the sun set and I decided to go to bed. I woke sometime in the middle of the night, which I sometimes do, and had to go take a leak. I stepped out of the trailer for a minute and did my thing in the bushes, and as I was standing there, I could hear a strange clanking kind of noise coming from the distance, the direction I’d found the bones. I went back to the trailer and stood in the door, listening. </span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">It’s hard to describe, but it sounded like a xylophone a little bit, like something hollow being hit with a hard stick. It was truly the strangest sound I’ve ever heard, and being out alone like that in the middle of nowhere made it even more unsettling. I listened until I started getting really freaked out, then I went back inside and locked the door. I decided that I would leave the next day. This place was just too strange.</span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I finally fell asleep and woke to the sun in my face. I’d slept way later than usual, but I still had a hard time waking up. After two cups of strong coffee and some oatmeal, I felt a little better and decided to try to get M&M to go out for a little walk with me. I was feeling different now that it was daylight and the strangeness of the night was gone. </span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">But the cats wouldn’t budge. In fact, neither of them had touched the canned food I’d given them as a treat, which was unheard of. I was now beginning to really worry they might be getting sick.</span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I decided to go ahead and hitch the trailer up, then I started putting things away. I would leave, but I wasn’t in any real hurry, just sometime after lunch would do. I actually liked this spot a lot, and if it weren’t for the strangeness, I would stay longer. </span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I got everything ready to go, then went inside and made some coffee and booted up my little laptop to check out nearby state parks, looking for the next spot.</span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Well, one of my main clients was a guy back east who owned a furniture supply company. He supplied stuff for schools, you know, desks and chairs and all that. I had built his online catalog and was the only one who really knew what the coding was all about. </span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">There on my email was a message from him, and he was frantic. The entire thing had crashed, and he had several schools wanting to purchase stuff before their fiscal year ended. This crash was going to cost him big bucks if we didn’t get it fixed immediately.</span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I sat down and got into it and finally solved the problem, but it wasn’t until late afternoon. I really didn’t want to take off in the evening with no idea where I was going. So, as you can probably guess, I was there for another night. I just hoped it wouldn’t be like the previous night, though nothing had really happened, just the strange noises. </span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">That evening, the cats seemed to be hungry, though they didn’t eat much. But at least they were eating, so my worry about them being sick lessened. But there was still no way they wanted to go outside. I had taken their screen room down and closed up the trailer hole, which was really a door leading into the cargo area. I figured if things got too weird, we would just leave during the night, since everything was all packed and pretty much ready to go.</span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I sat out by the trailer after dinner, just looking at what I could see of the sunset through the trees and thinking about nothing much in general. </span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">You know how there’s usually a little breeze as the sun sets, as the sudden change in warmth changes the barometric pressure? Well, the evening breeze hit, but only for a moment, as it usually does, but this time it carried a strange odor on it. I tried to figure it out, but it wasn’t quite the smell of a skunk, but close. It was more musky and foul smelling, and it also kind of smelled like something dead, all of that combined. The breeze died down and the smell went away.</span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I was again feeling some consternation. Maybe I should just get out now, while it was dusk and I could see a bit. But I hadn’t really figured out where to go, and I didn’t want to be going down the road in the dark, as it was rough. When you’re pulling a trailer, even a small one, you kind of need a plan of where you’re going to stop.</span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I was tired. I hadn’t got enough sleep last night, and the intense work of the afternoon on the computer had helped wear me out. At least that’s how I explain to myself later what I did, because there’s no other explanation. It was a really stupid thing to do.</span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">As I was taking my chair in, the noise from the previous night started up again. It was more distinct, and I think this was because the breeze was coming from that direction. It really didn’t sound very far away at all. For the life of me, it sounded like bones whacking on bones.</span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Like I said, I was tired, and I just instinctively reacted. I decided to go see what it was. I closed the trailer door, made sure everything was ready to go, and checked that my keys were in my pocket, then slowly headed for the little meadow towards the direction of the sound. Something said to be extra cautious and to stay hidden, so I carefully kind of slinked from tree to tree. By now it was almost dark.</span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">As I got closer, the smell started back up again, that skunky yucky smell. It was pretty gaggy at this point, but I kept going. The little meadow really wasn’t that far from my camp, so it wasn’t long until I was there, looking out from the edge of the trees. And sure enough, this was where the sound was coming from, and it was now pretty loud. Clank, clank, clank, it sounded just like bone on bone.</span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">It took my eyes a minute to get used to the shadows, but I then stood there in a mixture of shock and fear. What I saw is hard to describe, but I’ll try. It’s partly hard to describe for two reasons: one, as soon as I realized what I was looking at, I ran, and two, my brain had trouble processing an image so foreign to it.</span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">There, on the far side of the meadow where the bones had hung from the tree, were a dozen or so black masses—huge, thick, muscular, and terrifying black masses that stood upright, and several looked to be well over seven feet tall. It was now almost dark, so it was difficult to tell exactly what they looked like, but I could see well enough to make out general shapes. </span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">They all had shaggy hair and walked on two legs with large muscular arms that were exceptionally long. They seemed to be a bit stooped at the shoulders with round heads that kind of came to a peak at the top. They looked like their heads kind of met their collar bones directly, without much of a neck.</span></span></div><div style="color: #003648; font: 18.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">As I stood there, a sense of terror washed over me that I’ve never felt before or since. I was downwind of them, and the smell was about to gag me, but what I saw puzzled me enough that I stood there for a few moments longer than I might have otherwise—they were doing something, and that something involved the bones that had been hanging in the tree, some kind of game or ritual or something. </span></span></div><div style="color: #003648; font: 18.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">One of them held a big bone, maybe a cow’s leg bone, and one-by-one the others would come alongside him and try to knock the big bone from his hands with their own bones, which ranged from leg bones to collar bones, all the bones that had been hanging in the tree. It was maybe some kind of test of strength or something.</span></span></div><div style="color: #003648; font: 18.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">It was then I noticed a bunch of similar shadows, but smaller, sitting at the edge of the meadow across from me. This looked like a group of females and children, as they seemed to generally be a bit smaller, and the children ranged from small ones to what were probably teenagers. They sat there, watching this game or ritual or whatever it was.</span></span></div><div style="color: #003648; font: 18.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I was only there for a moment, but as I stood there, one of the big guys managed to knock the leg bone from the other guy’s hand. This was followed by a huge chattering from everyone, contestants and audience alike, and they sounded a lot like monkeys. Some of the females and children stood and started jumping up and down, and I swear to God they looked just like gorillas, at least their motions, anyway, though they were more like humans in their upright carriage. They were all very excited.</span></span></div><div style="color: #003648; font: 18.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Now the guy who knocked the leg bone out of the big guy’s hand, he and the big guy started wrestling while everyone stood around watching. It was something to behold, the strength and power of these animals, whatever they were. It was very scary, yet I couldn’t take my eyes off them. I felt sick when I realized they could snap my neck in a heartbeat if one of them had wanted to.</span></span></div><div style="color: #003648; font: 18.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I quickly came to my senses and snuck away, and when I was sure I was out of sight, I ran as hard as I could back to my trailer. I never let the cats ride free in the trailer, I always put them in the truck with me in their cat carriers, but that late evening, I simply jumped in my truck and headed out in the dark, cats still in the trailer. I didn’t want to even turn on my headlights for fear the monsters would see me, but I had no choice, as it was now too dark to see without lights.</span></span></div><div style="color: #003648; font: 18.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I drove out of there as fast as I could, and I think I put a few years on my rig, hitting ruts and bumps a bit faster than was prudent. It wasn’t until I got back to the main highway that I stopped by the road, went and got the cats, and brought them into the cab with me. They were pretty shook up, to say the least, but not nearly as much as I was.</span></span></div><div style="color: #003648; font: 18.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I drove on into Taos, gassed up, then headed north on the highway. I drove far into the night until I came to the Walmart in Durango, Colorado, then pulled into their parking lot. It was early in the morning, and I’d been on the road for hours. I was exhausted.</span></span></div><div style="color: #003648; font: 18.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I took M&M into the trailer with me and fed them. They seemed really happy and ate like pigs. We all then crawled into my bed and I didn’t wake up until mid-morning the next day when a big rig pulled in nearby. </span></span></div><div style="color: #003648; font: 18.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I normally would never stay in a Walmart parking lot, but it felt so good to be there that I just stayed that day and into the next, resting and sleeping and trying to figure out what had happened. I finally called my son, who I knew would talk to me, as we’re pretty close. After hearing my story, he told me I’d seen Bigfoot.</span></span></div><div style="color: #003648; font: 18.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I would never have believed it if I hadn’t seen it myself. And now I tend to camp more around people and not so much back in the woods alone. I just feel safer that way.</span></span></div><div style="color: #383838; font: 18.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div>Rusty Wilsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02155448464387401776noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3559314011096900557.post-19762266982716003642012-01-27T21:00:00.000-08:002012-01-28T07:23:13.055-08:00A Story from My New Book!I just published my <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Wild-Weird-Campfire-Stories-ebook/dp/B0071NP2D4/ref=sr_1_3?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1327542513&sr=1-3" target="_blank">newest book</a>, a collection of wild stories I've heard around the campfire. I think my favorite is "The Dino Boneyard," but they're all equally weird—at least so I've been told. I would like to give you a free story from the book, but Amazon won't let me, since it's enrolled in their Kindle Select program, which pushes exclusivity, only through Amazon, that kind of thing.<br />
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Oh what the heck, here's one anyway, just don't tell, OK?<br />
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<div style="font: 14.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><b><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><b>The Bush Pilot</b></span></b></div><b> <div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><i>This story was told over a picnic table high in the San Juan Mountains of Colorado. I was the only one present, as the guy who told it didn’t think anyone else would believe him, so he waited until we were alone. I guess I believe him, but it’s sure a strange tale. —Rusty</i></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Scotty and I were friends, and somehow I think we still are, even though he’s passed over to the other side, wherever that is. I dunno, but he’ll always have a place in my heart. Especially after he saved my life, and I know it was him.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I met Scott McDonald when we were both pretty much just kids. I was hanging around the airport in Fairbanks, Alaska, watching the planes come in. At that time, the airport was pretty small, and it was a pretty happening place, as the oil business was booming and the Fairbanks airport was a hub for it all. I used to go down there after school was out and just hang around, soaking it all in. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I wanted nothing more than to be a bush pilot. It was a life of adventure, and I craved adventure. This was back in high school, and I’m still that way. Nothing like a good day in the air, though I don’t fly as much as I used to.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Scotty was a few years older than me, and he’d been flying since before he was old enough to be legal. He started just like I did, hanging around the airport, just being a general gofor guy for everyone, and that bought him some time on the planes when they were taking tourists out and had an extra seat. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So he started getting to see some country, and that translated into him getting to go along and help on some of the freight flights, when they were hauling stuff in to the oil guys. He eventually got his license and was doing the freight runs himself, then, after he got the experience and hours in the air, he became a full-on pilot, hauling people into the bush. He learned the business from the ground up, so to say.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">My parents had moved the family to Alaska when I was about 15, my mom getting a job in school administration and my dad working in the hospital. We’d moved from sunny California, and it took us all awhile to get used to the long cold dark winters, but the summers in Alaska made up for it. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We all loved Alaska, and for me, it was the gateway to adventure. I wanted nothing more than to be a bush pilot. I think that made my parents a bit nervous, as it has a reputation for being a dangerous job, but they didn’t stand in my way.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So, meeting Scotty was my ticket to the air. When I met him, he was able to haul freight but not people, so I couldn’t fly with him. He was still working on getting air hours. But we hit it off, and he had the contacts to get me going, and I started out pretty much the same way he had, except my dad would pitch in once in awhile for a lesson, so I was able to progress a bit faster.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">By the time I was about 22, I was able to haul freight, and by 24, I was a full-on bush pilot. I ended up mostly flying floatplanes to remote areas, taking in fishermen and climbers and even ferrying locals around for doctor appointments, that kind of thing. I usually flew a Beaver or Otter on floats, but then I was finally able, with my dad’s help, to buy my own plane.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I’ll never forget the time I took a pilot from a big airline into the bush, along with his friend. He looked me up and down before getting into my little Cessna 207, then asked me how old I was and how many hours I had. He acted like he wasn’t gonna get into the plane with me. When I told him around 1200, he was incredulous. What he didn’t know was that I spent all my free time in a plane, and I’d been flying since I was 17. By then, it was second nature to me. After we landed on a lake way out in the bush, he told me he was jealous. This from a guy in his 40s who had been flying a big Boeing all over the world.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Anyway, Scotty was one of the most generous guys I’ve ever met. Whatever you needed, if he could help, it was yours. Everyone liked Scotty, and he was the first guy to be called by returning tourists, they all wanted to fly with Scotty. He had a great sense of humor and would go out of his way for you, whatever you needed. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I heard stories about him long after he was gone, things like how he would stop at some remote village and drop off fresh supplies even though the natives couldn’t pay for them, all out of his own pocket. Or how one little native girl needed surgery and he arranged for it all, including raising the money for it and flying her back and forth to the doctor.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Being a bush pilot isn’t a high-paying job, regardless of what people generally think. You do OK, but you can only fly in the summer months. And it’s expensive to live in Alaska. But Scotty did pretty well, as he’d go down to the Lower 48 and spend his winters flying tourists around down there, so his income was better than most of us. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">He worked out of Tucson, Arizona, and as we both got older and wiser, he always told me he was going to give up flying the bush and go down there year-round, but he never did. Bush flying gets in your blood and it’s hard to give up. There’s nothing like it—flying over a big herd of musk oxen or a pack of wolves out in the middle of nowhere, or a beautiful glacier far from the hand of humans. It’s always an adventure. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">But it can be hazardous if you don’t know what you’re doing or neglect to find out about the local conditions, or if you don’t set personal limits. It’s a thrilling job with lots of adrenaline sometimes, and it can be tempting to push it, to overestimate your own abilities. Common sense is what keeps you alive, and sometimes you think you’re invincible when you’ve flown through so much extreme weather and in such extreme country, sometimes landing on small strips of water or on sandbars and in places planes aren’t really made to go. One old-time pilot told me that you’re not a bush pilot until you’ve had a few crashes, so I guess I never was a true bush pilot, even though Scotty ended up there. But I bet he would have preferred not to have that designation in the end, he would’ve been happier to not crash.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So, Scotty and I flew a lot in the same circles, though rarely together. But we were close friends, and when we were both in town, we’d get together and have a beer or two whenever we could. I would also often stop at the hanger where he kept his little Piper Super Cub.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Well, one day I stopped by to see if Scotty was around, and he was just sitting there on the big beat-up bean bag he had in the hanger, drinking coffee. I greeted him, and he seemed happy enough to see me, but I knew right away something was wrong. I could sense it in how he held his shoulders, he wan’t his usual happy-go-lucky self.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“What’s up, Scotty?” I asked.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Oh not much, just found out an old friend just crashed his plane. Down in Arizona.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Bummer,” I replied. “What happened? Is he OK?”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Yeah, he’s fine, he lost power coming in and couldn’t quite make the runway. Engine malfunction.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Trash the plane?”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Somewhat, but it’s fixable. Undercarriage. He’ll be out for a bit.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“So why so bummed? He’s OK, that’s good.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Yeah, I know, but it just makes me think. Not good to think sometimes, you know.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“I know, Scot, I know. Too many things to think about if you let yourself get started in this biz. Got anything planned soon?”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Yeah, I got a couple I’m taking out to the Brooks Range. They have a cabin they built way out in the middle of nowhere and I fly them in when they go, about twice a year.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Scotty didn’t use floats, preferring land, saying it was more stable. He paused, and I helped myself to a cup of coffee. He then continued.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“You know, I keep having this weird dream, Lynn, it’s starting to freak me out a bit.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Now, some people can be a bit superstitious, which makes sense, as superstitions are a way to try to get a little control over the unknown, like crossing yourself before you take off. But bush pilots are a different breed, and I’ve never known one who was even a bit superstitious. They’re as pragmatic as it gets. I guess they figure if their skill and luck don’t hold, well, that’s life. So, for Scotty to be upset by a dream wasn’t like him at all.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“What’s the dream?” I asked, not sure I wanted to know. I was having a sense of foreboding, and I didn’t like it.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Aw, it’s just a dream, but it keeps coming back. No big deal, really, but I keep dreaming I’m flying over a big lake, kind of a bowl in these big mountains, where I see a plane crashed, kind of tipped in the water, one wing down. So I circle, and I see three people walking out, but they’re going the wrong way, like they’re disoriented.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">He continued. “So, I circle back around and head the right way for them to go out, and sort of waggle my wings. I do this a couple of times, and it’s pretty tight in there, but they finally get the message and start walking out the right direction. I then call in and report it, trying to get them some help.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Well,” I answered, kind of relieved, “Why is that so bad?”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“It’s what comes after,” he replied. “I’m on the radio, and all of a sudden, everything just goes black and I can hear a terrible crashing noise. It’s like I crashed the plane into something.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Oh man, I didn’t want to hear that one bit. It gave me goosebumps.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Look, it’s just a dream, right? You don’t believe in premonitions, do you?” I asked.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“No, actually I don’t. Maybe it’s just my subconscious trying to get my attention. I’ve been a bit lax lately with a few things.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Yeah, that’s it,” I replied. “Always slow down and remember to be safe. You’re the one who taught me that rule, and it’s a good one to live by, if you get my meaning.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Scotty smiled and stood up. “Hey, thanks, bud, I need to just slow down. In fact, I need to do some maintenance, that’s part of it, I’ve been putting it off a bit and that’s bad. But Lynn, I’ve been meaning to tell you, I think I’m going to leave Alaska, for good. Move to Tucson.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“No kidding?”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Yeah, this bush flying is starting to get to me. I mean, I never thought I’d give it up, but I keep having these feelings like it’s time. Hard to explain.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Well, Scotty, if you do, I may be right behind you.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“You starting to feel that way, too?”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“I’m not getting any younger. I’m pretty burned out on the long winters up here. Forty below zero is getting old. My wife’s about had it.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We talked a bit more about little things, then I started out the door, as I had to do a transport to a small village. I was kind of excited about Scotty leaving, don’t tell me why, as I knew I’d miss him. But it kind of tempered him telling me about the recurring dream a bit. Maybe it would be good if he moved to a safer place for flying.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">But as I turned to go out the door, he stopped me.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Lynn, I’m not sure I should tell you this or not, I mean, it’s just a dream, but maybe you should know that you were one of the ones walking along looking for a route out. You’d crashed your plane. Be careful out there, buddy.” </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">He put his hand on my shoulder, and for the first and what would also be the last time, though I didn’t know it then, we kind of hugged each other.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I felt kind of unsettled about what he’d told me, and I vowed to be safer myself. But I gradually forgot about his dream, and I didn’t think much about it, until a couple of weeks later, when I got a call from one of the guys I sometimes flew with.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Scotty had crashed his plane. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">He was flying alone, having taken some guys into the bush to fish. On his way back, he’d inexplicably veered off course and up into some pretty severe country. Once up there, he’d seen a little lake in a bowl and circled down. A private pilot had crashed his plane trying to land on a small lake, and he and his two passengers were walking out. Scotty had radioed in their location and shown them the correct way out when he suddenly crashed head-on into a big unnamed mountain. The people on the ground had seen it all, and they said he’d made no attempt to swerve away, just hit it full on. Nobody could figure that out, but maybe he was distracted. A rescue party would be going in, but it didn’t look good for a body recovery, as the plane wreckage was strewn all over a huge avalanche area, a really steep mountainside.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I was shocked. So, Scotty’s dream had been a precognition after all—or was it what had caused him to crash, more of a self-fulfilling prophecy? After all, he’d said I was one of those on the ground, and here I was, no plane crash that I was aware of. But it creeped me out anyway.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I decided not to fly for awhile. I was scared, to be honest, and I felt unsafe. I was beginning to think maybe I was a bit superstitious after all. And I was mourning Scotty. He’d been a close part of my life since we’d been kids, and I really felt his loss.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I shut everything down and took a break, went fishing, hung around the house and did some projects I’d been putting off, that kind of thing. My wife understood, and she had never been the type to tell me what to do, so I just went with it until I started getting bored.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">And then, I got a call from a retired couple who wanted to go sightseeing. Everyone else was busy, and this was the only time they could go. They were visiting their daughter up here from Florida, getting out of the heat, and could I take them out? </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I decided it would be OK. I needed to get back to work, and this would be a nice relaxing trip. We’d go out for a few hours and see some mountains and wildlife. I headed down to the hanger and got everything ready, and we were soon in the air. It was an exhilarating feeling to be back up, and they were thrilled with every minute of it. I remembered that this was what made my job so rewarding, this very kind of thing.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">When I would do a sightseeing tour like this, I’d follow a kind of standard route, but today I decided to veer off it a bit. I think it was a combination of their excitement and my missing flying that made me do this, as I normally would think twice. But the weather was perfect, and I decided to take them up to see some beautiful high-mountain scenery not normally on the route. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I climbed a good deal and kind of flew along the flanks of the mountains, not wanting to get up too high. I wasn’t interested in fighting downdrafts, I just wanted to give them a glimpse of that beautiful Alaska scenery. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">But before I knew it, I started having problems. We’d hit a downdraft, and it grabbed on and started taking us down. Now, I’ve flown lots of downdrafts, but this one was different. It seemed like there was nothing I could do to get out of it. That’s when I realized I was running out of gas.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I couldn’t believe it! Running out of gas? That was a problem that was out of my realm of thinking. I always checked the gas levels and filled up before going anywhere. What I didn’t know was that I had a gas leak, and even though the gauge said full when we left, I’d lost most of my fuel.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I had to set down, and fast. But there was nowhere to set down, just a tiny lake in a bowl right below us. I circled down and managed to land on it, then got to shore before the engine died completely.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Wow, what a shock! From an enjoyable trip to near disaster! Now what? I tried to radio out, but there was no reception.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I bet you can guess what’s next, because this story has a familiar ring to it, and it did to me even while I was living it. I could’t believe it was happening.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We had no idea which way to go to get out. It would seem obvious, but we had to find a way to cross over a big ridge. And I wasn’t real sure this older couple could even hike out and make it. They certainly weren’t the hiking type.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We assessed our options, and they decided they wanted to try hiking out with me rather than staying with the plane. I grabbed my survival pack, and we headed out. By then, I had no idea what was the best course to take, and they were adults, so we operated on the democratic principle.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Now, if you’ve ever tried walking through the Alaska bush, it’s not easy going. You need a machete, mosquito repellent, and a grizzly gun, and we had none of these. And it didn’t take long until we were scratched up and totally lost.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">This whole time, I was thinking about Scotty’s dream, but when I saw a bush plane overhead waggling its wings, showing us the way out, I felt like I was in that dream myself. We changed direction and the plane circled, waggling its wings again, so we again changed direction. When it came back around, I knew we were on the right course.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">But then suddenly, instead of circling again, it headed straight for a huge mountain above us. Before we could even gasp, it had crashed into it! But there was no sound, no crashing noise, nothing, no debris. We stood there in shock. It was as if the plane had just gone into the mountain.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It wasn’t long before we topped out on the ridge and saw another plane, and I knew this one was a rescue. It managed to land on a small flat area and pick us up.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It was some time later, after I’d retrieved my plane, that one of the guys told me it was a good thing I’d had the presence of mind to put out a mayday call with our location.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I just looked at him strangely. There hadn’t been time for a mayday call. But someone had indeed made one.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">That’s when I knew it was Scotty.</span></div></b></div>Rusty Wilsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02155448464387401776noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3559314011096900557.post-26581463259393112942012-01-20T07:07:00.000-08:002012-01-21T12:42:46.014-08:00A Little Bigfoot Expert—A New Generation of Bigfoot Researchers!<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I received a very special letter yesterday from a Third Grader named Everett that I'd like to share with you:</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Dear Rusty Wilson,</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I have been a Bigfoot believer since I was seven and I am now nine. My name is Everett. I've wanted to see a Bigfoot in real life, but I haven't yet. I live right in the middle of Iowa, but almost all of the sightings have been in the eastern part of Iowa.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I wanted to know if Joe ever went back and saw another Bigfoot? And if Baker and his sister ever told their story of Bigfoot to anybody else than you? I also wanted to hear any encounters you had if you ever had one. I do kind of want to know about your lifestyle. I can tell you about mine! </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So anyways I truly believe in Bigfoot. One I heard whistling in the woods. I'm really good at calling and communicating with them too. I watched this episode on Animal Planet called "Finding Bigfoot" and they heard this whistle, so I wonder if I had the encounter. I never saw it though. My friend Taylor heard this low deep growl in the woods when she was by a stream. I think it was Bigfoot, if it was Bigfoot it probably growled because she was too close to their water source, but I don't know. I'm almost like a little Bigfoot expert! Ha! Ha! I saw other Bigfoot books by you too. I really want to read them. Please write back and answer my questions.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Bigfoot believer, just like you,</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Everett</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Well, Everett, I'll be sending you a letter soon, but I just wanted to share this with my readers, as it's fun to know someone at your young age is studying the Bigfoot mystery. Everett's mom tells me he's also started a Bigfoot Believer Club at his school and has 13 members already! </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The book he's referring to is <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Short-Bigfoot-Campfire-Stories-ebook/dp/B00597RX1I/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1327071442&sr=8-3" target="_blank">Six Short Bigfoot Campfire Stories</a>. I don't think Joe ever went back, from the way he talked, but I did, as I live not far from where that incident happened (Buffalo Pass near Steamboat Springs). I did hear some strange sounds there, but never saw anything. And as for Baker and his sister, I know they told their parents about their encounter, but I don't know about telling others.</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And Everett, my lifestyle is actually pretty quiet most of the time, though I love it—taking people out to nice fishing spots and helping them learn how to catch a few (we do catch and release), and then sometimes making a big dutch-oven dinner for everyone and afterwards sitting around the campfire talking about Bigfoot. There are worse ways to live.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Maybe Everett will come out West one of these days and do some Squatchin' with me. If he ever does, I know we'll have some good stories to tell! And thanks for the great letter, my young friend, some more books are on their way. Keep on squatchin'!</span>Rusty Wilsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02155448464387401776noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3559314011096900557.post-63094471336932516892012-01-13T08:20:00.000-08:002012-01-13T08:25:04.932-08:00Ghosts??? Dunno....<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Well, people keep asking me if I ever hear anything besides Bigfoot stories around the campfire, and of course I do. There are always the inevitable spook and ghost type stories, but to me, these are kind of just weird and not necessarily true, just figments of the imagination. I believe Bigfoot exists, but ghosts—well, dunno, never seen one.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But...I will say I've heard some really strange stories. After talking to a friend (who does believe in the stranger side of life), I decided to put down a few of these for posterity or whatever. The first one is probably the strangest of the bunch, and it's called "The Ghost of the Canadian Mountie."</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Now, it's not what you might think, like some weird Canadian Mountie ghost comes to haunt someone out in the backcountry where said Mountie died a horrible death or something. No, it's just plain strange and has more to do with destiny and precognition. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Anyway, you can now buy it on <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Ghost-Canadian-Mountie-ebook/dp/B006THV3AE/ref=sr_1_8?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1325725314&sr=1-8" target="_blank">Amazon</a> for the princely sum of 99 cents. And better yet, it's going to be free tomorrow and the next day (Jan. 14 and 15, 2012). It also has a Bigfoot ghost story included, "The Green River Ghost," </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">from <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Bigfoot-Campfire-Stories-ebook/dp/B004EEOPYU/ref=sr_1_6?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1326471876&sr=1-6" target="_blank">my first book</a>.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> Even if you're not into ghost stories, I think you'll enjoy this tale...or is it true???</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1GCDB41NVBVhLVtlJLAHg57SMZmKQ9trnHNIEL0Q7bcSUhWeN_XWBhlxbDk4S1Gzjf1cFHmuzAhEGqNTYegS_b3DGiKNdHoqGV4gu5106g_g7Ph676qAwdCRSVTSdH9z41M0kQStjKu0j/s1600/canadianmountie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1GCDB41NVBVhLVtlJLAHg57SMZmKQ9trnHNIEL0Q7bcSUhWeN_XWBhlxbDk4S1Gzjf1cFHmuzAhEGqNTYegS_b3DGiKNdHoqGV4gu5106g_g7Ph676qAwdCRSVTSdH9z41M0kQStjKu0j/s320/canadianmountie.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></div>Rusty Wilsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02155448464387401776noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3559314011096900557.post-61798502730410327582011-11-30T16:44:00.000-08:002011-12-05T08:20:09.731-08:00The Bigfoot Runes<div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px;">The following story is from my first book, "Bigfoot Campfire Stories," and I've had a number of requests to finish it, but I didn't know any more about how it ended than you do. </div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px;">That's changed, as I've now heard back from the professor in this story. I'm working with Kickstarter to raise funds to write a book called "The Bigfoot Runes."<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 18px;"> </span>I've posted some cool rewards at Kickstarter.com for anyone who wants to participate. <a href="http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/1709862243/the-bigfoot-runes" target="_blank">Here's the link.</a></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i>This is the only story in this collection that didn’t come to me over the smoke of a campfire or from a friend. </i></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i>I was contacted by the professor in this story when he somehow heard that I was working on this book. He wanted my opinion on the matter. </i></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i>I found his story fascinating and asked his permission to publish it, which he gave, although he says he’s thinking about writing a full-on book on the topic, depending on how things shake out. </i></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i>(Once again, all names and locations have been changed, in case you feel an urge to go find this cave.)</i></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">My story has not yet ended, but let me tell you what’s happened so far. My name is Bryce and I’m a professor at a large university in the western U. S. I have a PhD in Linguistics from Princeton University. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Some think that linguistics is when you can speak a lot of languages, but it’s really the study of languages. It’s actually a very interesting and somewhat difficult field.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Here’s how the story begins. I was in my office, grading papers, when I got a call from the department secretary. She said I had a visitor downstairs, should she send him up? </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">This was a really unusual call for her to make, since normally people just came up to my office door and knocked. She never screened our visitors. I knew something was up, and this was her way of telling me. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I thought for a moment, then asked, “Judy, can you talk?” She replied that she couldn’t. So I told her to stall him for a few minutes while I came downstairs. That way if something were fishy, we could steer him away together.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">My office is in one of the older buildings on campus. It’s very picturesque, a three-story stone building with ivy growing up the sides, just like in the photos of ivy-league universities. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Before I knew it, I was hosting one of the least likely people to ever sit in an ivy-covered university building. Why I let him into my office I’m not sure, because he certainly didn’t look like anyone I would ever have anything in common with, or even be likely to associate with, for that matter.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">My guest was wearing green khaki clothing from head to toe, along with worn army-type boots. He was rough looking and scruffy with a short unkempt beard, and his longish dark hair was graying. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">His face was tanned and leathery, like someone who had spent their lives outdoors. And he had a big knife strapped to his belt.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I asked him to sit down, and he looked distinctly uncomfortable. He sat on the edge of his chair, kind of leaning over my desk. I had no idea why he was here, he looked to be in his mid-forties, certainly not a typical student.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">He introduced himself as Sam and got right to the point.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Prof, you study languages, right?”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I assured him I did.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Are you able to crack codes, you know, like maybe something that looks like it might be a written language?”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I told him that it might be possible, depending on the amount of information available.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">He sat there for awhile, as if assessing whether or not he wanted to continue. I guess he decided he did, because he then asked, “Can you keep a secret?”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I assured him I could, but it would depend on what kind of secret, and I couldn’t make any promises until I knew more. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">This made him even more uncomfortable, and I thought he might get up and leave at that point. I was actually kind of hoping he would, to tell the truth. I wasn’t interested in some Indiana Jones adventure, and this was starting to remind me of the start of a bad movie.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">He now leaned back in his chair and said, “I’m kind of an anarchist kind of guy. I don’t fit in, in case you didn’t notice. I’ve had kind of a rough life, and I sure ain’t no educated man, like you. But, I know how to survive on my own. I do odd jobs to make it, and I hunt my own food. I know we come from different worlds, but I would really like your help. I’ve found something that’s really interesting, and I’m totally out of my league.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I was beginning to wonder if this wasn’t some kind of practical joke by some of my students. Maybe they were filming it. It wouldn’t be the first time a prof had been pranked. I went along with it, kind of surreptitiously looking around my office for a camera, trying not to be obvious.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“I’ll help if I can. Go ahead.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Prof, promise me you’ll keep quiet about this. It’s just between you and me, OK?”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“OK, but you can call me Bryce instead of Prof.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“OK, Prof, that’s a deal. Have a few minutes?”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I looked at my watch. My next class was in two hours. The papers I was grading could wait. I nodded that I did.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Sam then reached into one of the pockets of the fisherman’s vest he was wearing, its pockets stuffed with who knows what, probably matches and survival gear. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">He pulled out a little notebook and handed it to me. “Take a look, Prof, and tell me what you think.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I carefully opened the small notebook, which looked like it had been so well-used that the pages were nearly coming off the small spiral binder. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">The first page had some kind of diary entry, something like—spg, falow gzly ck 3 mi e 2 jagd rck, lft...” —that kind of thing. Sam said to turn the page, so I did.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">The next page had three simple connected lines drawn on it. They looked like some sort of rune.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I turned to the next page, same thing, but different. Also the next and the next. Runic-looking inscriptions, each different. I pointed out the obvious, that they looked like some sort of runes.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Just what exactly is a rune?” Sam asked.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Well,” I explained, “In short, they’re a sort of alphabet. They preceded the Latin alphabet we now use. There were a number of runic alphabets, but the better-known ones were used in Scandinavia, as well as in Germanic countries. They’re a simple way of creating letters. I’m not a runic expert, but I do have some experience with them from graduate school, although it’s been awhile.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Sam replied, “Well, let me tell you more. I was up hunting in the...” He paused, then added, “I can tell you more about where later, but let’s just say it’s a very rugged area with lots of limestone caves.” </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Anyway, I tend to try and get into areas where nobody else goes, because that’s where the game is. Deer are smart, they know where to hide. It was last October, and no, I wasn’t poaching, I had a legit license.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">The way he said this made me think he did a lot of poaching. He continued.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“I’m a bow hunter. Part of the challenge is hunting the old way. I’m a purist, and I hate modern hunters, they’re just a bunch of posers. I won’t go into that, but I bow hunt, which means I’m very quiet and stealthy.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“I was way way back in there, in country so wild I bet nobody’s been in there since the Indians. That’s just me, I like wild country.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Anyway, I was walking along really quiet when I saw what you see on the second page there. It was carved into an aspen tree. I stopped to look at it. Since I was so remote, I was kind of surprised to see anything man-made. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“I thought maybe it was made by some sheepherder, you know, they have a tradition of carving in aspen trees. They get bored and carve all kinds of stuff. But it wasn’t really old, you can tell by the growth of the tree. A tree will try to scar over the cut, but it was relatively fresh, and anyway, this wasn’t sheepherding country. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“It was thick fir and spruce, with a few aspen and a rough understory. Not easy going. And bear country. No sheepherder in his right mind would run sheep there, you’d lose them all the first day, if not to the country, to the bears.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“So, I decided I’d write it down and see if I could figure it out later. I thought that maybe it was some kind of code or marker made by another hunter to find his way around. So I put it in my little book. I put everything in my little book.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“I was now following a little path. It was just a little winding path through the thick forest where the leaves and all had been beat down enough you could walk easier. An animal path.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“I hadn’t gone more than 50 feet when I found that second mark, or rune, as you call it. I copied it into my book. I thought, this is getting interesting. But I sure as heck didn’t want to run into anyone.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“And now, a third. All of these right along that animal path, carved into aspen trees. I kept walking along, and for some reason, I started getting the willies. I felt exposed, even though I was in a deep forest. Not too many aspens, as they need light, and the fir trees were getting too thick. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“I decided to step off the path and try to parallel it from in the brush. Hard to do, but it felt safer. I was beginning to wonder if I hadn’t stumbled onto some kind of pot growers deal, and they are very dangerous.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Now Sam shifted in his seat and paused, as if he’d forgotten himself and was reassessing the situation to see if I could be trusted. I was already caught up in his story. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I asked him if he wanted some coffee, and he said yes, so I started a cup in my little espresso machine. I then told him to go on, his story was very interesting. He continued.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Well, Prof, I was getting nervous, I can tell you. I followed alongside that little path and would find more trees with runes and copy them down, then get back off the path. It was easy to find them, ‘cause like I said, there weren’t that many aspens. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“This went on for a good mile, a long mile, winding in and out of trees and bushes and snags. I now had a good bunch of those runes in my little book, as you can see.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">He paused while I handed him a cup of coffee. I was more and more intrigued by his story.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Now, Prof, this is the part where you’re likely to say I’m making this up, but I have something else I’d like to show you.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">At this point, Sam pulled out a small pocket-sized digital camera, turned it on, and handed it to me. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Be careful, Prof, these are the originals, and I don’t have any way to make copies. I traded a nice Dutch oven for that camera. I figured it might come in handy someday, and it has. Push that little button on the left and you can scan through the photos.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I took the camera and carefully started scanning through what looked like photos taken indoors, vague and fuzzy, but I could make out an entire series of the runic figures. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Then, I could make out an entire wall of runes, then pages from a book. It reminded me of the Codex Runicus, a manuscript from around 1300 A.D. containing one of the oldest and best preserved texts written entirely in runes.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Sam, this is amazing! It looks like you found a bunch of them on a wall in a cave and in a book or something?” </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Can you make anything out?” he asked.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“I don’t know. They’re too small on the camera to really tell. I need to download them on my computer before I can make any sense of them. They’re too small.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“I need to know I can really trust you before you download anything, Prof.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I replied, “I understand that, but if I don’t download them, I can’t be of any help. What in the world could I possibly do with them?”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">He didn’t say a word, but nodded his head. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Look,” I said, why not take these to the local photo shop and have them put the photos on two discs, one for you and one for me. They deal with proprietary stuff all the time. “</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I continued, “Just have them print out a statement saying you own the copyright, and I have permission only to examine them, not to show them to anyone else or to use them in any other manner. I’ll sign it when you bring the disc. Our secretary can witness it. That should work.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Sam relaxed and sipped his coffee for a bit, then said he would do that, and would I like to hear the rest of the story? </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I answered, “Of course.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">He continued. “I followed alongside that path for awhile, and I could see it was leading up to the side of a cliff. I was really afraid of being ambushed by someone, so I was very careful, took my time. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“I actually kind of circled around and came in along the cliff from another angle until I could see where the path went. It disappeared behind some rockfall up against the cliff.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Now, there are tons of caves in this area, it’s pocketed with them, like I said before, it’s limestone. Spelunkers love this region, and they even found an Indian fellow inside a cave a few years ago. Archaeologists came in and recovered the body. It was very well preserved and carbon dated at around 5,000 years old.” </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Sam paused and sipped more coffee, then continued.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“So now I was beginning to suspect this was the entrance to a cave, and the trail had been made by cavers. I knew now it wasn’t no grow op, you can’t grow pot inside a cave with no electricity, so I relaxed a bit. I hid my pack in some nearby bushes.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“I sat there awhile, surveying it, until I felt comfortable going in. I quietly went down off the little hill I was on and looked in the rocks, and sure enough, there was a dark hole. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“It wasn’t really big, but large enough that two or three people could enter it side by side if they wanted. But as I was looking at it, I found more of those runic things. They were carved all around the cave entrance. Carved into the rock, mind you. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Why would someone take the time to do that? It would take forever to carve, even though it’s limestone. There’s a photo of the entrance, you can see it later.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“I always carry a headlamp in my pack, and I dug it out and carefully entered the hole. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“I will confess I was scared, but the wanting to know what was going on led me in there. Actually, you have no idea how scared I was, Prof. The place gave me the creeps.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“It took awhile for my eyes to adjust, so I stood there in the entrance with my headlamp off for a bit. Actually, I moved a bit to the side so I wouldn’t give someone a profile to shoot at or whatever. You can never be too careful in a situation like that.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“The hole opened up into a bit of an alcove, maybe about 10 feet high by 15 wide. I stood there, checking it out. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Could be that was all there was to it and it was someone’s home or something. I have run into a few hermits, and they usually aren’t very friendly. I even had one try to rob me. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“There was nobody in there, so I turned on my light and looked around.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“More runes or whatever they are, but now above another hole in the back wall. The cave went on in. I took a photo. You’ll see it, Prof.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Now things were getting dicey. The hole was easily big enough for me, but it looked like a tunnel, and I really hate being in dark narrow places. I’m a bit claustrophobic. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“I nearly bailed at that point, what business did I have being in there? But something kept me going. I have no idea what, I’m not much of an underground explorer at all.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“I slipped into the tunnel, wondering if somehow I would hear a clang as someone closed a gate behind me. I was pretty nervous. I decided I would only go in a short ways, then bail.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“I hadn’t gone more than 20 feet when a bunch of bats came flying out, right in my face. OK, that scared the crap out of me, right then and there. I stopped and caught my breath and thought, what scared those bats out? Was it me, or was there something or someone back in there? </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“I decided it had to be me, ‘cause if there was someone in there the bats would already be gone. I could now see a bigger area ahead, and I knew my light was shining into another room, so I went ahead, but I can tell you, I had my knife ready.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“I came into the room, and this one was really big, maybe 30 by 30 feet. It seemed huge after crawling through that tunnel. And I now noticed a really overpowering dank smell, I have no idea what that was, maybe the bats. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Once again, I stepped aside and surveyed the situation, and turned my headlamp off.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“So, Prof, I stood there listening and I finally turned on my light and surveyed the room. I had to walk around to get the full picture. There were no other holes, this appeared to be it, the end of the cave.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“As I walked around, I could see more runes carved into the walls. They seemed to kind of point to a certain place. They were in a thin line until you kind of got to this place, then they were thick. It was like a ribbon around the cave wall that culminated in a bunch of runes.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“And under that bunch of runes was a little table, made of deer antlers. It was crude, but someone had jumbled antlers together until they formed a small table. You may have seen something like it, sort of a folk art. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“And on that little table was a book. A very crude book. It was about a foot thick and maybe two feet square. Once again, there’s a photo. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“I have no idea what it was made from, but the cover was leather, looked like chewed deer hide, very soft and pliable. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“I stood there for a long time, thinking about all the stories I’d heard of weirdoes doing sacrifices and all that, Druid types, you know, hippies. I was freaked out and wanted to run like hell, but something made me stay. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“I wanted more photos, and then I would get out. I needed photos so I would later know I wasn’t crazy. Plus, I was curious.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“I really hesitated to touch it, but I slowly opened the book. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“It felt like it was made of some kind of homemade paper, very rough, and it smelled like that dusky odor I mentioned before—strong, almost made me gag. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“I opened it, though, and I took photos of every page. I hurried as fast as I could. I felt like I was a spy on some kind of mission.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“When I was done, I got the hell out. I actually ran down that passage and out the door and up the hill where I’d stashed my pack. I grabbed it and headed back for my truck, staying completely off that path. I just had the creepiest feeling about that place and wanted nothing more to do with it.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Once I got back to my truck, I hauled ass out of there. I’ve never been back. I have no idea why I took all those photos, they kind of give me the creeps and it’s not a good feeling. I kind of wish I’d never found that place.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Sam now got up and looked out my window. He seemed nervous, so I reassured him he’d done the right thing, that mysteries are best when solved, it takes the fear away. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I promised if he’d bring back the disc, I’d do my best to figure out the runes, but I also told him it’s impossible to decipher anything without context. He seemed ready to leave, so I let it go at that. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I asked him one last question. “Sam, what was in the book?”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">He looked puzzled, then asked, “I didn’t tell you?”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“No,” I replied.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Well, dammit, they were full of the runes. And there were a couple of drawings. You’ll see when I bring back the pictures. You know, Prof, that was about five months ago, and I can’t get that place out of my mind. That’s why I decided I needed help, to figure it all out. I want to forget it.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">He was half out the door, then turned and thanked me for my time, seeming almost embarrassed. I assured him I would do my best to get to the bottom of things. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">At this point, I was deeply interested and wanted him to return with the photos. I once again assured him his secret would stay with me. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">We shook hands and he left. I would never believe him if I hadn’t seen a few of the photos.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I barely had time to finish grading papers and get to my class, and I was completely distracted through my lecture about the history of the English language. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">After I returned, Judy stopped me and asked what the visit had been about. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I just laughed and said, “Oh, some wild story about finding some strange language. If he returns, let him come up. He’s very entertaining, a real character.” </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">And I let it go at that, expecting to never see Sam again.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I went back up to my office to prepare for another class, but I couldn’t concentrate. I kept seeing his photos of the runes and wondering if it was all fake, or if perhaps he hadn’t discovered evidence that the Vikings had been here, or that perhaps the Native Americans did indeed have a written language. If either were true, it was the stuff linguists would die for.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">The next day, Judy brought up a package for me. It was bubble wrapped and taped with my name on it. It was from Sam. I wondered why he hadn’t come up when he brought it, but the note inside answered my question:</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i>Prof, don’t need paprz, trst u, livng in pickup, leevng, wll be in tuch, do yr best, sam</i></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I opened the package, and out fell a disc, along with photocopies of his notebook. I almost started shaking, I was so eager to see what he’d found and examine it in detail. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I put the disc in my computer, hoping it worked, which it did. I felt like a spy on a mission, just like Sam had described his feelings when he photographed the book. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I eagerly printed out each of the photos. There were over 100 total—some were of the runes around the cave entrance, some of the interior of the cave, but most were of the contents of the book. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I printed everything. I had to insert a new ink cartridge in the middle of the job, but I finally had hardcopy. I made a cup of coffee and sat down to examine everything. I had all afternoon and evening, as my next class wasn’t until tomorrow.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">The first photo was of Sam’s truck. Why he’d photographed his truck I’ll never know, but I was later very grateful that he had, because one could also make out the Colorado plates. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">They were Pioneer Plates, which meant he was a descendant of original Colorado pioneers, as one had to prove their family had been in the state for 100 years to get such plates. I was surprised he’d go for the prestige. His truck was an old blue Dodge, and it had a camper on the back of similar vintage.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">The next photo was of a sign. I do this myself, I often take pictures of signs to later identify where the photos were taken. I think Sam forgot that photo was on the disc, because it identified the area his cave was in, and he wanted it kept secret. But I wasn’t about to tell anyone, as I had my own vested interests at this point.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">The sign said “Coffeepot Springs.” I suspected there would be more than one Coffeepot Springs in the state, but it was a start.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">The next series of photos were of the path, which was very faint and hard to make out, but gave one an idea of what the terrain looked like. Rugged. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">After that, there were a few photos of the cave entrance and then close-ups of the runes carved in the rock around the cave. Then came a few of the first room, then the tunnel, then the next big room.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Then came the gravy, so to speak. Photos of the runes carved around the big room, then of the book. It was big, and rough looking, just as he’d described it. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">If he were trying to hoax me, he was doing a remarkably good job of it. Next were photos of each page, very legible. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Then I stopped, shocked. These must be the sketches he had referred to. There were two of them, dark figures that were very muscular, with broad faces and wide shoulders, and faces that looked almost human, very intelligent. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">One wore a sort of crown that looked like it was made of antlers. The other looked female, it was less massive, and wore a crown made of leaves. Both were impressive looking, with heads that came to a sort of crest, or point, their shoulders melting into the neck muscles. And both were covered completely with dark hair, head to toe.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I sat back for a moment, not knowing what to think. Were these some conjured mythic figures that went with the stories in the text? Or were they sketches of real creatures? </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I shivered a bit, then got up and closed the window. It was spring, and still a bit chilly.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">There were more pages of runes, and now I was to the end of the photos, and there were four pictures that I couldn’t figure out. They looked like photos of the ground. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I put down the photocopies and went back to the computer and enlarged the first of the four strange photos. I sat and looked at the screen, unable to make anything out.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Just then one of my students, Roger, came into my office. He looked at my screen and said, “Wow, those are really big footprints. What are they?”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Footprints? I got up and walked across the room a bit and then, there they were, footprints, clear as day. I was just too close to make out the difference between the prints and the dirt, but now it was obvious.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“I have no idea what they are, Roger, they were brought in by some guy with some other photos. Hey, stick around a minute and look at the rest, maybe you can help me figure them out.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I pulled up the other three photos onto the screen and sure enough, Roger had no trouble at all making them out, more footprints. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">We studied them a bit, comparing them to nearby plants, and we deduced they were in the range of 20 inches long and about 8 inches wide. They looked like a huge barefoot human foot with wide feet and big toes. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Bigfoot,” Roger remarked. This made me stop, as his assessment fit perfectly with the sketches.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Roger was intrigued and wanted to know more, but I wasn’t able to tell him, since I’d made an agreement with Sam. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">But I did consider that maybe Roger would make a good partner in the project—he was very bright and knew linguistic analysis, I had taught him myself. I decided to share the story with him after talking to Sam and seeing if it were OK.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I told Roger I couldn’t say anything now, but would like to include him in on it later, if I were given permission to do so. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">He looked at me with a sparkle in his eyes that said he would never let a simple promise stand in the way of a good adventure, and I should just tell him now. I laughed and asked if he’d ever heard of Coffeepot Springs.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">He had. Interestingly enough, Roger had grown up in the small tourist town of Glenwood Springs, Colorado, and he and his dad had hiked that area. There was a Coffeepot Springs up on the Flattop Mountains above town some ways out.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Were there caves up there?” I asked. He said there were caves all over the Flattops, it was limestone. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">This was too easy, I now knew the probable area of the cave. But there was a lot of territory up there, one could look forever, I realized. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Roger sat there, puzzled and with a look on his face that asked to be let in on this one. And I wanted him in on it, I knew he could help me figure out if this was some kind of language. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">He was a bright and hard-working graduate student, and I was an overworked professor trying to get tenure. But I had given Sam my word.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Fast forward a few weeks. I’d been working in my spare time trying to figure out what the runic mystery was all about. I’d copied them into a notebook, studied their sequences and patterns, and done all a trained linguist can do to analyze a language. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">But I was getting nowhere, because one needs a framework, a context, for figuring out a foreign language or system. That’s why the Rosetta Stone is so famous, it provided the link between the old and the new. I needed a Rosetta Stone.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I had determined that the inscriptions were probably made by different writers, as there were differences and similarities. They also looked like the real deal, not a hoax. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I needed more information before I could even guess at when they were made. I needed to see them up close on the stone to determine how old they were using dating methods. My archaeologist friends needed to be there with me. And I needed that book.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I also needed more information from Sam, but he had left no way to contact him, no phone, no address, nothing. I also wanted his permission to get Roger involved. Until he returned, I was pretty much at a dead end.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Then, one day in early May, after I’d pretty much given up, Sam showed up in my office. He looked exactly the same, down to the clothes and boots and haircut, or lack of one. I made him a cup of coffee.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Hey, Prof, havin’ any luck?”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I told him what I’d been able to find out, and what I needed—to see the inscriptions for myself with an expert archaeologist. I also needed some kind of intermediary translation, which I doubted would be forthcoming. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I had compared his runes with those of the Norse and they had absolutely nothing in common. I was now thinking it was a completely independent system and probably Native American, but I wanted to show them to a runic expert.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I was frustrated, I needed more information, I needed help, and I needed to know where these things were located.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">But Sam wouldn’t tell me anything more. He could see how earnest I was at solving the mystery, but he didn’t trust me enough to show me where to go.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I added, “And Sam, my friend, I need to be able to get in touch with you occasionally. Not being able to reach you has slowed this thing down, you know.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Sam nodded, then said there was no way because he lived in his truck and had no phone. He assured me he would check in whenever he could.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">The only thing I could think of doing at this point was to send Sam back and have him collect the data we needed, since he wouldn’t reveal the location. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I could get him in touch with an archaeologist who could walk him through how to measure the depth of the carved inscriptions, bring back rock samples, more detailed photos, that kind of thing. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Sam said that would be OK, as long as no one else was let in on what was going on. I agreed to keep the secret from all but Roger, who would also be sworn to secrecy. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I called Roger and he came up to my office. Sam OK’d Roger’s help, after meeting him to gauge his trustworthiness. I don’t think Roger had any idea what he’d gotten himself into, because when we explained it all, he looked as incredulous as I had—and excited.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I told Sam he could park his rig in my driveway, which he did, but he wouldn’t come inside. I did manage to sneak a photo of him from inside the house. I don’t know why, but I just wanted some sort of verification this guy really did exist and wasn’t a product of my imagination. I was later glad I did, though at the time it felt sneaky.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">The three of us spent part of the next day meeting with an archaeology prof and getting the information we needed to try and date the inscriptions. I also went down and bought a better camera for Sam to try and get more photos.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Sam was very quiet through all of this, and when it came time for him to leave the next morning, I flat out asked him if the location wasn’t in the Flattops. He didn’t seem surprised and noted that I must’ve seen the sign for Coffeepot Springs. I said I had.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">He then said, and I’ll never forget it, “This isn’t at all what you think it is, Prof, it isn’t Indians.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I asked him what it was. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Didn’t you see the footprints? That should tell you. Those footprint photos were taken right outside the cave. I don’t want to go back. I don’t care about what it is anymore. It’s too dangerous.” </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">He handed me the camera I’d given him. “Thanks, but I just can’t do this.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Sam, can you tell me where it is so I can go in there?” I asked.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“No, it’s too dangerous. I’m wishing I’d never told anybody about this.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“What is it, Sam, if it’s not Indians? Tell me.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">He paused, then said, “Bigfoot. It’s some kind of a Bigfoot holy place, or their history, or something. Nobody belongs in there, I know that.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I was a bit shocked, but I remembered that Roger had said the same thing, Bigfoot. I then told Sam I’d spent many hours on this and it was definitely a real language, it had the pattern frequencies, the markings of consonants and vowels, and I’d even been able to make out some of the syntax. I wasn’t ready to quit.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">But now I realized that I should’ve quit right then and there. Maybe Sam would still be alive, assuming he’s dead.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">But I didn’t quit. I was able to talk Sam into going back, against his better judgement, and I suspect that he may have lost his life because of that. He listened to me instead of his own instincts.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Anyway, Sam went back out, promising more photos and the information we needed to try and date the inscriptions. He would also try to get a sample of the paper without harming the book. There was no way he would even consider bringing the book back. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I gave him a cell phone, and he promised to use it to call me in a week or so when he got back from the cave so I’d know he was OK.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">A week went by, and I began anticipating Sam’s call. Nothing. Two weeks, nothing. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">In the meantime, Roger was now working on the runes, trying to see what he could come up with. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">At the beginning of the third week, we agreed we needed to notify officials of Sam’s absence. I called the sheriff in Garfield County and emailed them the photo of Sam’s truck, along with the photo of him I’d taken, and I mentioned Coffeepot Springs. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">They sent out a search party that same day. They found his truck, sitting at the springs, but no Sam.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Two days later, I received another call from search and rescue. They hadn’t found him, and they were going to give up the search, as a big spring storm was in the area. It was snowing, and they were dealing with whiteout conditions. They would try to get back in there when the storm lifted.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">But they had found tracks about two miles from the springs, going up against a mountainside. There was enough fresh snow that they’d managed to track him. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">They were worried he’d run into a bear, as there were lots of big footprints around his in the snow, but melted and not very clear. But the bears should still be in hibernation, so they weren’t sure what was going on.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I asked if they’d found a camera or cell phone, and they had found a camera in his pickup, but no phone. But there was no coverage up there, anyway. They said they would send me the camera. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I felt sick. I was responsible for this, he hadn’t wanted to go back and I’d talked him into it. Roger said it was ultimately Sam’s decision, his choice, no matter what I’d said to him, and I shouldn’t feel guilty—but I did anyway. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I put the runes on the top shelf, so to speak, and halted the project. I was tempted to throw everything away, now that Sam was missing and maybe even dead. I received the camera, but I didn’t even want to look at its contents, so I gave it to Roger.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I still had no idea where the cave was, except in a general sense, although I thought it might be located using the information on the first page of Sam’s notebook. I was torn between wanting to go find the cave and hopefully Sam also, or forgetting it ever existed. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Could Sam have had a run-in with Bigfoot? I had no idea such creatures might really exist, I thought it was just a legend from the Pacific Northwest. But in Colorado? Bigfoot? The mystery haunted me, and I couldn’t forget it, but I also now wanted nothing to do with it.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">After two weeks of looking, search and rescue gave up the hunt. Sam would stay missing until he either came in by himself or someone found his body. I hoped for the former. I suspected it would be the latter.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Then, one day in mid-June, Roger walked into my office. He was excited.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Professor Johnson, I’ve found it! I think we can solve the rune mystery!”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I was shocked.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">He continued, “You know, I’m doing some work on the Lakota Archive with Professor Taylor. I came upon something really weird in an old manuscript from the museum in Bismarck, North Dakota. It was a photocopy of an old sun calendar they have in their archives with some Siouan inscriptions they thought we might be interested in.” </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">He pulled out the copy and pointed to an inscription in one corner. “Look, Professor. Runes. And under them, Lakota Sioux. It looks like a translation. There’s a lot of them. If it is, it may be enough to break them.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I was dumbfounded. Were the Lakota Sioux ever in the Flattops area, or were there Bigfoot in other regions? Had these huge creatures, if they even existed, actually communicated with the Native Americans? </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Was Sam right, was the cave some kind of archive for them? Had they killed Sam for entering it? It all seemed like something out of a fantasy novel.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">But Roger had more. He had downloaded the photos from the camera I had given Sam, and there were photos that looked to be a new cave. There, on its wall, were more runes, and under them, more Lakota Sioux.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I was astounded.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">To make a long story short, as they say, Roger and I are working on the runes, and we think we may indeed have the key. We are now trying to translate the book, and are having some success, although there are some gaps. What we’re finding is amazing, to put it mildly. It seems to be a historical account.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I am currently grappling with the ethical considerations of revealing this information to others. It’s a fascinating manuscript, but do I have the right to print it? I don’t know. It’s a real issue for me, and one I may never be able to answer. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">On one hand, this is very sensitive information about a creature not even believed by most to exist. And on the other, it would solve many mysteries and perhaps provide more evidence for their existence and ultimately, their protection. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">But my reputation as a credible professor of linguistics could also be at stake if I were to publish the information.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 3.6px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I keep hoping Sam will walk in the door. If and when he does, I suspect there will be more solutions to this mystery. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Until then, Roger and I will keep working on this amazing project.</span></div>Rusty Wilsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02155448464387401776noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3559314011096900557.post-5843658678374747542011-11-04T08:37:00.000-07:002011-11-04T08:37:58.163-07:00Tired of Tourists<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Well, as promised, here's a story from my new book, </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Intense-Bigfoot-Campfire-Stories-ebook/dp/B005ZMHXJ4/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1319666840&sr=1-1" target="_blank">Ten Intense Bigfoot Campfire Stories</a></span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">. Enjoy!</span></span><br />
<br />
<div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I’ve been up into Canada several times, but always with a pretty good</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;"></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> sized group of people, and I’ve never had the chance to really do any Squatchin’. But based on the Canadian stories I’ve heard, the Bigfoot up there, which they often call Sasquatch, aren’t nearly as amiable as the ones this side of the border. </span></span></i></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This story came from a fellow who called himself Crow, and why he called himself that I never did find out, but he was a heckuvva fisherman. I enjoyed his story, though it did leave me feeling a bit uncomfortable about traveling alone in the Canadian Rockies. —Rusty</span></span></i></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My story took place in the summer of 2010, in early August. I was between jobs (as in unemployed), so I decided to take some of my savings and do something I’ve always wanted to do—go to Canada. I’ve always wanted to see the Canadian Rockies.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So, I got my passport and, since I have three dogs, I got their shots all current along with the veterinarian exam papers that Canada requires. After all that, I was never asked to see the dogs’ papers, but I sure didn’t want to risk not being legal.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I live in Wyoming, so I decided to just head north and see the country at a leisurely pace. I went through the Tetons and Yellowstone and finally arrived in Glacier National Park about three weeks later. I was an old hand at camping, having done it since I was a kid. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I was camped kind of illegally in Glacier, way out on a back dirt road off the highway that loops from St. Mary’s around to Hungry Horse, the back road that most tourists don’t take, as they want to go over the Going to the Sun Road. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It was a sweet camp, and I’d set up my big tent and all, and I knew nobody ever went in there because the grasses were growing so high you could barely find the road, which ended at my campsite. And man, what views! I could look down and see St. Mary’s Lake and huge distant waterfalls from my tent door. It was paradise.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Because of finding this great spot, I decided I’d go up into Waterton National Park in Canada, and make it a one day trip instead of packing up and then trying to find a camp spot up there. A friend who had been up there told me that the park would be very crowded that time of year. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I wanted to spend most of my time in Canada in Banff and Jasper National Parks, and I wanted to backtrack through Montana and cross the border north of Kalispell, so I wanted to come back down that way anyway, no need to change camps.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I got up really early, made some coffee, filled my thermos, fed the dogs, grabbed some lunch stuff, then we all jumped into my pickup and headed for Canada. It was a beautiful drive, and we crossed the border with no problems and were soon coming down the grade into Waterton. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I couldn’t believe the size of these mountains, even though I’d just been in Glacier, they seemed bigger and even more magnificent. I had to stop several times to just sit and stare.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Well, I made it into Waterton, and boy, was I disappointed. The park advertises itself as a quiet untrammeled place, and I suppose it is in general, but the little town of Waterton is a tourist trap bar none. It was hard to even find a place to turn around, and the streets were packed with people walking around, with nowhere to even park. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I drove around a bit, checked out the little waterfall there, then left, heading for Cameron Lake, which is at the end of a windy road that climbs high in the mountains above Waterton.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The lake was beautiful with a white glacier hanging above its far shores, but once again, it was crowded with people. You could rent canoes there, and the lake was just hopping with boats. I found a little side trail that I had no idea where it went, but it said dogs were allowed, so I put everyone on leashes and headed out. They needed a hike.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I hadn’t got more than 50 feet when I was greeted by a group of about 20 people coming up the trail, yelling and laughing and all that. I don’t usually mind people, but—well, OK, I do mind people when I want solitude, and I especially wanted to let the dogs stretch their legs a bit. This wasn’t the place.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We got back in the truck and headed back down the windy road. I was too busy watching the road and dodging RVs to even see much of the scenery, and there were almost no places to turn off and get out, so that was kind of a blur.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I decided to go see a place called Red Rock Canyon. It was the opposite direction from how I’d come into the park, so I turned left at the bottom of the hill and let everyone else go on back to Waterton. Good riddance.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Red Rock Canyon sounded attractive to me because the name reminded me a bit of the Red Rock Desert in Wyoming. I guess I was getting a bit homesick by that time. The Canadian Rockies are all sedimentary rocks, not granite or volcanic, which makes them truly spectacular because they have lots of layers and colors. Red Rock Canyon sounded like a place I should see. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">One thing I’d discovered about Waterton was that you could hike with your dogs, unlike the national parks in the U.S., which I found to be a very cool thing about Canada.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Well, there wasn’t much traffic on the Red Rock road, which was nice, and it wasn’t all narrow and windy, once you got up above the highway a bit. It kind of went through a big wide valley with a nice creek running through with lots of willows. A good place for moose, I remember thinking, though I never did see any.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I hope I’m not going into too much detail here and boring you, but I really want to paint a picture of how it was. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Anyway, I hadn’t gone more than a few miles when I saw a sign saying that the road to the canyon was closed at a certain point for construction. Great, no Red Rock Canyon for me. I was getting kind of fed up with Waterton National Peace Park, as Canada called it, pretty as it was. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">By now, I really needed to get the dogs out. I spied a campground to the left across the creek, so I turned in there, but the sign said full, so I just turned around and went on down the road. Too many people everywhere. You have to remember that I’m from Wyoming, and there’s almost no one around where I live, so I’m not used to many people.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Before long, I came to a turnout that had a historical marker, so I stopped there. I read the marker, and I can only recall that it was something about the natives there and some explorer, but I don’t recall anything about who or when. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I let the dogs out for a minute, and they went into the bushes and did their thing, then I decided this would be a great spot to get them out for some exercise.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I was kind of wishing I’d just stayed at my camp in Glacier, as we would’ve had a nice day just goofing around there, but on the other hand, at least I’d seen Waterton now, or a bit of it, anyway. But we were used to getting out, and we needed some exercise. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We headed up a big hill that appeared to be part of the foothills of a big mountain that rose above them, I mean a really big mountain. It was beautiful, all layered in various shades of red.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The dogs were really happy to be out, and we all kind of bounded up this big hill for a bit. I had to stop and catch my breath, and the views were stunning. I was really enjoying this and now liking Waterton, and so were the dogs.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But all of a sudden, the dogs stopped cold. They just stood there, looking ahead, and as I came up behind them, I could see that the one closest to me, Otis, was shaking. I’ve never seen my dogs shake. I then noticed they were all shaking. Before I could even say a word, two of them had turned and were hightailing it back to the truck as fast as they could go. We hadn’t come very far, so they were back down there really fast, and I could see them crawling under the truck.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Now Otis was running back, too. He was very protective of me, and I’d never seen him do anything like that. I decided it must be a big grizzly bear, and maybe they could smell it, where I couldn’t, and I’d better pay attention, so I was soon also heading back at a good clip.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I unlocked the truck and everyone jumped in, which was unusual, as I typically have to get after them, they always want to fiddle around, smell everything. I jumped in and locked the doors.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Now I started scanning the hill, wondering why we were all so scared. I finally rolled down my window, but I didn’t hear or see anything. By now another car had pulled up to read the sign, and they smiled at me and got out and acted like everything was fine.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I was puzzled. What had the dogs sensed or smelled?</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I’ve been a bit of a photographer since I was a kid, even though I never could afford nice equipment. But most of my stuff was landscape photos, as there wasn’t much where I lived except deer and antelope in the sense of wildlife. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But ever since going through Yellowstone, I’d come to understand why people are so attracted to wildlife photography. I’d taken some photos there of wolves and buffalo and even a huge great-horned owl. So, I was kind of hoping this grizzly would come out to where I could get some photos—from the safety of my truck, anyway, and where I could get away fast.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I set there a bit, even though the dogs were again shivering. I have a club cab, and Sunny and Maggie were in the back, hiding on the floor. My dogs are all labs, and they’re happy-go-lucky, and I don’t think they think enough about things to get scared much. Even fireworks don’t usually bother them. So I knew this had to be something really scary.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I rolled the windows back up. The other car left. I started the pickup and turned it so I could make a quick getaway, if needed, then turned it off and just sat there. Whatever it was, it was still around, according to the dogs. I got my camera ready to go.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">By now, it was getting on towards late afternoon. It had been a long day, and I wanted to take a picture of this grizz, then I would head back to Glacier.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Just then, something huge jumped onto the back of my truck. I have a camper shell, so whatever it was, it had to have jumped onto the bumper. The whole front end of the truck came up, including the front wheels. We just hung there in the air for a minute.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I was shocked and dropped my camera. I couldn’t see what was holding the truck up, but it was something big. I hadn’t seen anything coming, which was really strange, as I kept looking around and in the rear-view mirrors.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Just then, I heard a breaking sound. My truck was falling apart! The front came down with a wham and I nearly smashed my nose on the steering wheel.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I had the presence of mind to start the truck and slam it into gear and peel out while I could. Dirt and rocks went flying into the air, and I know they must’ve hit this thing in the face, as it had to be standing directly behind me.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As I peeled out onto the blacktop, I felt something slam against the side of the truck, and I saw a big tree branch rolling down the road behind me. By then, I had the accelerator floored and was quickly getting up speed. But not fast enough, because I noticed something in my passenger-side rear mirror, and this really shook me up. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Something big and human-like was chasing me, wearing a fur coat, and it had nearly caught up. It looked like it was trying to grab onto the door handle. I reached down and hit the auto-lock, making sure all the doors were locked. By now, Otis was whining his head off in the seat beside me. Maggie and Sunny were still on the floor, so I couldn’t see them at all.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">By now, my truck had ramped up and we were finally able to leave this thing behind. I never did get a really good look at it, but I can tell you this—it was no grizzly. What I did see was that it was huge and covered in light brown, long, flowing hair. It was a Canadian Sasquatch, and you can believe me or not—it doesn’t matter either way, because I know what I saw. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I drove like a madman towards Red Rock Canyon, the direction I’d had the truck pointed. I’d forgotten the road would be closed, so I was surprised when I got a mile or two down the road and saw a flagger ahead, wearing orange. It was a woman, and she stopped me and told me I had to turn around and go back.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I was in shock, and I told her I couldn’t turn around and go back. I hardly knew what I was saying. She said I had to turn around, as they were working on the road. I just sat there. Finally, another car came up behind me, so I decided I would turn around, then follow it back. There was no way I was going through that stretch of road alone. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I turned around and pulled over to let the other car go around me. It then dawned on me that I should get out and see how much damage my truck had taken. What I saw really messed with my mind—my entire bumper was gone! And there was a big dent where the tree branch had hit, just above the wheel well.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It also dawned on me that I needed to get that bumper back, as it had my license plate on it. I would get pulled over with no plate, and what was I to say, that a Sasquatch had torn it off? I had to stop back there and get it. But I couldn’t, there was no way.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">About then, a pickup came along with Montana plates, and I flagged it down. I explained that I’d lost my bumper back down the road, and I needed someone to help me load it into my truck—would they mind following along and helping? The driver was a real nice guy, he looked like a rancher or something, and he said he would.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I hoped I wasn’t getting them involved in something bad, but when I got to the pullover I slowed down, did a quick look around, then pulled over. Sure enough, my bumper lay there, all twisted up, but the plate was still on it. I hoped the Squatch had moved on.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The guy from Montana got out and asked me what had happened, but I couldn’t tell him the truth, so I said I’d backed into a rock and hadn’t realized it until later. He looked skeptical, but helped me load it into the back of my truck. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I couldn’t wait to get out of there, especially after I smelled a strong skunky odor. I thanked him, then he asked me if I was OK. I decided to tell him the truth, so I quickly told him what had happened. He commented on the strong odor, and then jumped into his truck and drove away. I think he believed me. I was right behind him.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The drive back was a blur. I don’t really remember anything, not even the border crossing. By the time I got back to Montana and the little resort town of St. Mary, I had had it. No way did I have the courage to go back to my camp, so I rented a room, no matter that it was really expensive and I had to sneak the dogs in. I didn’t care.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The next day, I drove back to my camp. What I saw scared the heck out of me. All around the tent were huge bear tracks. I know it was a grizzly. It hadn’t bothered anything, but had just walked around a bunch.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I was then glad I’d stayed at the motel, because if I’d come back, who knows what would’ve happened. Maybe that was why nobody had camped there for so long, it was prime grizz territory.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I packed everything up and headed home. I’d go see Banff and Jasper another day, which I did, but from the comfort of motel rooms at night. I’ve never camped since, except in the desert. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But I’ve often wondered if that Squatch hadn’t felt like I did that day—sick of tourists everywhere.</span></span></div><div><br />
</div>Rusty Wilsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02155448464387401776noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3559314011096900557.post-2410648451580848972011-10-29T07:54:00.000-07:002011-10-29T07:54:53.996-07:00Ten Intense Bigfoot Campfire Stories<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxZGYv_Pxp2_eCb_pV5ooS-D9M_m625EzO2MRcdSw4gw5OmEAQpsGHNT132DeGpIweT7hd84fVH6oWAcT3MT6RwbD2n4n5-vrx2VNU09ABIDjEXSkRJ3hcBBS4tdGlhSIcMctgOM5KNHtM/s1600/cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxZGYv_Pxp2_eCb_pV5ooS-D9M_m625EzO2MRcdSw4gw5OmEAQpsGHNT132DeGpIweT7hd84fVH6oWAcT3MT6RwbD2n4n5-vrx2VNU09ABIDjEXSkRJ3hcBBS4tdGlhSIcMctgOM5KNHtM/s320/cover.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>My latest book is now out, and I think you'll really enjoy this one. It's full of good stories—but be sure to turn the lights on and close the curtains before you start reading, even if it's still daylight.<br />
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I've been chewed out by several people who started reading my books, couldn't put them down, then looked up to see it was dark outside. They'd left the curtains open and were too scared to even get up to close them. It might be best to read my books when someone else is around, just so you don't get too weirded out. And whatever you do, do <i>not</i> read them when you're out camping. If you do, I'm not responsible.<br />
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When dealing with Bigfoot stories, I've found the real scare comes from your own imagination. The human mind is perfectly capable of scaring the rest of the body beyond belief. That in itself is kind of scary. My stories come to me from others and they swear they're true, and I've found they all use the <i>human mind scaring itself</i> technique—there's no blood and gore.<br />
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Anyway, this is available only as an ebook, but I have bundled the stories from this book into a print book, which is called <i>Rusty WIlson's Favorite Bigfoot Campfire Sotires</i> and is available exclusively from Amazon.com. Also included are my ebooks, <i>Rusty WIlson's Hairy Trio of Bigfoot Campfire Stories</i> and <i>Six Short Bigfoot Campfire Stories</i>. So if you don't use an ereader, here's your chance to have them all in print—19 stories and 245 pages for $15.99.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiskDAZGS7AQaeoa9I9m-KQgw_52lAjiE8Vm8ru_vboGJgBpaWnbCs9WzfoyU2T-f8B1BVMNB8cTNpifhvGdRqKfmaFtxIbIXumFGlOH4d7dA1pXhpahoaWlZPN23II1h7shDgmPPDnx1tF/s1600/favoritestories+cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiskDAZGS7AQaeoa9I9m-KQgw_52lAjiE8Vm8ru_vboGJgBpaWnbCs9WzfoyU2T-f8B1BVMNB8cTNpifhvGdRqKfmaFtxIbIXumFGlOH4d7dA1pXhpahoaWlZPN23II1h7shDgmPPDnx1tF/s320/favoritestories+cover.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>I'll post a couple of the stories here in the future. But like I sai<span id="goog_653269204"></span><span id="goog_653269205"></span>d, turn the lights on and close the windows.Rusty Wilsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02155448464387401776noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3559314011096900557.post-24387511294423574112011-10-14T19:19:00.000-07:002011-10-14T19:25:26.685-07:00Can Bigfoot Climb?I've been pondering a story a friend just told me, and it makes me kind of nervous. Not <i>really</i> nervous, since I'm not a climber, but kind of nervous on behalf of those of you who are—and I suspect a number of people who are interested in Bigfoot also climb, as Bigfooters seem to be an adventurous bunch.<br />
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I don't just mean technical climbers, but anyone who goes up mountains or scrambles up cliffs and such. Maybe you just like big views, or maybe you like to be up high, or maybe you're just in it for the exercise or to watch birds. Anyone who climbs should ponder the story my friend told me, which I'll relate here soon.<br />
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It makes sense that Bigfoot would be good climbers, given that they're primates and have opposable thumbs. And if they're gorilla-like, as some claim, then why not climb like one? On the other hand, humans are primates, and we seem to need lots of technical gear to climb anything very steep.<br />
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Or do we? Watch <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BPN3gLVDsOY&feature=related">this guy</a>.<br />
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I recall reading a couple of encounters in the mountains where big walls were climbed by Bigfoot, one in the Trinity Alps. If you poke around on the internet a bit, you can find such stories. In all honesty, they make me nervous, or did I already mention that?<br />
<br />
Anyway, the other day, I ran into an old climbing friend, I mean an old friend who climbs, and I ended up having to buy him dinner to get him to sit down long enough to recount his story in detail. I've heard a few stories of Bigfoot in the big mountains, but they're not stories about climbing Bigfoot, and my friend's story was.<br />
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My friend had recently done his last climb of the season, and he always goes to the same place—it's kind of a tradition or ritual for him and his climbing buddies. They go up to Wyoming and climb the Grand Teton. That particular mountain makes my head hurt just trying to look up at it, and climbing it is a whole new world to me, I can't really even imagine it.<br />
<br />
They like to go in September because that's when all the guided climbs are pretty much over, and there aren't usually too many people around. My friend said this was his 20th time climbing it.<br />
<br />
I want to write his story up for one of my books, as it's just too long to go into all the detail here, but let me just say that what he and his friend found on the top of the Grand Teton boggled their minds. You can guess—a Bigfoot. It seemed to be enjoying the views, but they didn't stick around long enough to ask.<br />
<br />
When they finally got partially back down, far enough away from it to recover a bit, nobody said a word, as each one thought they were hallucinating, maybe a case of hypoxia. It wan't until they had a beer in a Jackson bar that they compared stories.<br />
<br />
I wish I'd been there—at the bar, not on the mountain. Here's a photo I borrowed off the internet:<br />
<br />
<img height="211" id="il_fi" src="http://mbiru.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/07/Grand-Tetons.jpg" style="padding-bottom: 8px; padding-right: 8px; padding-top: 8px;" width="320" />Rusty Wilsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02155448464387401776noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3559314011096900557.post-82341073978010722072011-09-28T19:17:00.000-07:002011-09-28T19:17:01.087-07:00Bigfoot Flea MarketWell, it's been awhile since I've posted. I wish you all had been out with me, camping in the wilds. It was beautiful, but it's nice to be back to a warm bed and a hot shower in the morning...not to mention being able to get caught up on things...<br />
<br />
...such as this email, which I share with permission, although the author wants to remain anon:<br />
<br />
Dear Rusty,<br />
<br />
I want to share something that happened to my wife and me the other night. If you or any of your readers have any thoughts on this, I'd like to hear them. It has me scared to go back out camping unless I take pink flamingoes along.<br />
<br />
We were out in a location in eastern Oregon, a small town with about 200 residents that's pretty sleepy most of the time. This particular small town has a pretty good tourism base, and one of their claims to fame is a big flea market they hold once a year. It's a big deal and lots of people come to it.<br />
<br />
The town is also in the mountains, and there have been Bigfoot sightings nearby, though the locals don't take it too seriously.<br />
<br />
We were camped not far from town. We have a camper, and my wife has these silly pink flamingoes she puts out when we camp, along with some tiki lamps and a few other funky things. She's all into it. We were there—you guessed it—so she could go to the flea market and get more kitsch. All in fun.<br />
<br />
Well, we woke up in the middle of our last night there and heard something that sounded kind of like sort of a chatter. This scared the hell outta my wife and I. I finally got up the nerve to get up and turn on the porch light, and at that point, something really big started rocking the camper.<br />
<br />
My wife started screaming and it stopped.<br />
<br />
There were other campers around, and they all woke up and turned on their lights. After it was all over, a couple of them said they'd seen something big and hairy running off.<br />
<br />
The next morning, we looked out and all my wife's junk was gone.<br />
<br />
So, I'm wondering, do you know if Bigfoot has kitschy taste?<br />
<br />
(If anyone sees some pink flamingoes in the woods around Sumpter, Oregon, they're probably my wife's—but truthfully, I hope I never see them again.)<br />
<br />
Sincerely, A.L.Rusty Wilsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02155448464387401776noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3559314011096900557.post-44605535210268181632011-09-06T19:08:00.000-07:002011-09-06T19:08:12.117-07:00Sitting Around the Campfire...All Night Long<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I've been out in the field for quite awhile and am in town just long enough to resupply, so will do a post. Autumn is definitely in the air, and the nights are getting chilly. I had something walk around my tent all night long the other night—maybe it wanted to get inside where it's warm (I have a big cabin tent with a propane catalytic heater). Not sure what it was, but it made the hair on my neck stand up.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Speaking of the hair on your neck standing up, the following story had that effect on me. It's from my first book, </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Bigfoot Campfire Stories, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">and was told by a fellow named Brian:</span></span></span></i><br />
<br />
<div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This happened to me and some friends about five years ago, in a national park in Washington. The park has a backcountry permit system—you can’t camp without a permit, and we had to apply for this way ahead of time. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We thought we’d see lots of people, as it’s a popular park, but we saw almost no one the entire time we were there.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">At the time, I worked for a high-tech company in Seattle. A group of us decided to go backpacking together. We were all pretty avid outdoorsmen, some were hikers and a couple of the guys were serious climbers. We were all seasoned and experienced outdoorsmen. There were seven of us, all told.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So, we finally got the permit and made our plans and were soon camped in a high alpine basin deep within the park. I’d rather not say exactly where this happened. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It took us a good hard day to get in there, carrying all that gear on our backs. We were tired, and after we set up camp, we built a fire and cooked dinner. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It was soon dark, as it had taken quite awhile to set everything up. We had a great spaghetti dinner and were soon all crashed out in our tents, exhausted.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I’ll add that I was the only one with any kind of weapon. I had a large Bowie knife, and I slept with it under my pillow. I’d had a run-in with a black bear in Yellowstone and always carried that knife. The bear hadn’t harmed me, just scared me trying to get into my tent, but I hadn’t had any defense at all, so thus the knife on this trip. This was before you were allowed to carry guns in national parks.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I guessed it to be about 3 a.m. when I woke. I just lay there. Something had awakened me, but I didn’t know what. Then I heard some scuffling noise and some low talking. I crawled out of my tent and found several of the guys up and talking in a whisper. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I didn’t even have time to ask when I heard it. From way off in the distance, I mean several miles away, we could hear a sound that, for lack of better description, sounded like an air-raid siren. It was the weirdest thing you can imagine, being way up there in the wilderness, to hear a siren. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But what was even weirder, and what left me with a knot in the pit of my stomach, was the fact that the noise was moving, was gradually getting closer. And whatever was making it had lungs like a freight train, if a train had lungs. Whatever it was had a huge set of lungs, it sounded miles away and yet was so distinct. It really filled the air, it had vibrations to it.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">By now the rest of the guys were up, and everyone looked concerned. It was a unique situation for all of us. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And remember, I was the only one armed, and not very well, at that. A Bowie knife isn’t really much of a weapon in a deal like that.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We kind of ended up bunched together, and someone said we should build a fire. So we ended up grabbing some wood from the forest around us, and put it with the bit of wood from our earlier fire.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We built a fire, and some of the guys continued to gather wood, but no one would get far from camp. We used our headlamps, and it was kind of eerie seeing all the lights nervously moving around the forest while that noise just got closer and closer. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">By the time it was near us, it actually shook the forest. It was the most intense sound I’ve ever heard, and it brought shivers to the back of my neck, literally. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Before long it was really close to our camp, and it was so loud it made my ears ring, you could actually feel the sound waves going through the air. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It was just this intense siren sound, it would go from low pitch to high and drop back down again. Everyone stood with their backs to the fire, and we all had big sticks, except for me, and I had my knife in my hand.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When the creature got to the edge of our camp, it just went crazy. It stopped making the siren sound and started with a high-pitched screaming, then it would stop and growl, then go back to the screaming. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">That growl was absolutely terrifying, it was deep and throaty and mean sounding. We were all scared to death. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Nobody said a word. We all just stood there, white as ghosts. Once in awhile the fire would kind of die down and someone would grab some wood from the pile and get it going again. This seemed to enrage the creature, and it would start screaming again.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It then began circling our camp, and we could hear it breaking through the bushes and trees. It had to be large. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I swear, I was so scared I don’t remember much except praying and standing there with that big knife held out in front of me.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The creature circled and circled. It knocked down several fairly large trees, a good eight inches in diameter, and one of those nearly fell on us. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We just continued to stand there in a pitiful circle around the fire. I worried that we would run out of wood, and sure enough, it was about 5 a.m., and the last bit of wood was burning. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I said to one of the guys that we needed a plan for when the wood ran out. The creature was still circling our camp. It had settled down some and wasn’t screaming any more, but from the way it was breaking trees left and right, it still seemed very angry. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Once in awhile, it would lob a small tree at us-—trees too green to burn, and you could see the roots. It had ripped them from the ground.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So, we made a plan, though it wasn’t much of one. We hadn’t had our headlights turned on, as we wanted to conserve the batteries. We decided that when the fire was dead, we’d all turn on our lights and shine it at wherever the creature was, and keep shining the lights until dawn. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We knew we could last because we all had fresh batteries, the trip having just started. If the creature wasn’t afraid of our lights, well, who knows then?</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So the fire died out, and we turned on our headlamps and shone them at the creature as it circled the camp. I was amazed at the energy it had, it hadn’t slowed down at all. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This wasn’t much of a plan, but it was all we had. If it tried to attack, we agreed to light some sticks on fire, we’d go down fighting. A kind of pitiful plan, really.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When we turned on our lights and shone them into the woods, the creature stopped short. We could now see a pair of glowing red eyes looking at us, and the eyes were a good eight feet off the ground. This scared the you-know-what out of me. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And the eyes had no flicker to them. We hadn’t seen any red eyes before, it was like it had just turned them on at will.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It stood there, eyes glowing, just out of the circle of our lights, then just disappeared.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The quiet, the silence, its disappearance, were all really scary because we had no idea what was going on. Was it sneaking up on us? The uncertainty factor was really chilling. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">If I tried to describe the fear of that night in detail, it would be a mixture of hopelessness, chilling terror, and astonishment.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Finally, I could see the first light of dawn as the sky to the east began to turn a pale blue. It was still a good hour before it was really light enough to see much, and by then we had all pretty much collapsed around the cold fire ring. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The night had taken its toll on us all, but not one of us went to sleep sitting there, we just sat in shock.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As soon as it was light enough to see, everyone got up and began breaking camp. There was no discussion about it, it just happened. Everyone was exhausted, but we put on our packs and headed back the way we’d come in.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It was only a few hours later when we got to the trailhead and our cars. Going downhill and pushed by fear, we got out really fast. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">At that point, the sun was bright and the night seemed like a weird dream. We sat down on some rocks and began talking for the first time. I made some coffee, and someone else broke out some granola bars and cheese, and we ate like famished men, which we were.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">No one had any idea what to make of any of this except one guy who had been raised in the Northwest, and he said he knew what it was. He said it was a Bigfoot, and a very angry one, probably because we had invaded its territory. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Would it have harmed us? Yes, he was sure of it, as angry as it was, it wasn’t bluffing.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">After a bit of talking about all this, we left and went to our respective homes. I don’t think any of us have been back in the park since then. I know I’ve given up camping completely and have no desire to be out in the woods.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I still have an interest in the park and read the news about that area, and strangely enough, several hikers have disappeared in that part of the park since then. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A couple of years later, I took it upon myself to contact a park ranger and tell her of our experience that night. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">She was very quiet, then told me what she was going to say was strictly off the record, but that the park service had quit issuing permits for that section of the park and knew something strange was afoot. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">They weren’t sure how to address the situation. Strange tracks had been found, and she, herself, had something black and huge stalk her while on horseback patrol not too far from where our camp had been. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">She won’t go into that area alone, and the park service has now prohibited anyone from going in there at all. She told me they’ve had two rangers transfer and a couple of seasonals quit, and she was trying to transfer also.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I told her I understood how she feels. I myself have no desire to ever go there again.</span></span></div><div><br />
</div>Rusty Wilsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02155448464387401776noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3559314011096900557.post-52556408164245972362011-08-27T14:07:00.000-07:002011-08-27T14:10:34.006-07:00Cool Bigfoot Stuff<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Hey, this stuff is cool. Order at </span></span><a href="http://www.yellowcatbooks.com/index_store.php"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Bigfoot Headquarters</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">(Disclaimer - I get nothing from this, except seeing a friend hopefully not starve.)</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<div><div><img alt="Bigfoot Bomber Hats" border="0" height="260" src="http://www.yellowcatbooks.com/store/images/bom100_th.jpg" width="200" /></div></div><div><br />
</div><div><div style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; color: #333333; font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', 'Book Antiqua', Palatino, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 24px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 27px; margin-bottom: 12px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 8px;">Bigfoot Bomber</div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; color: #333333; font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', 'Book Antiqua', Palatino, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 18px; line-height: 27px;">Don't let Bigfoot hear you shivering this winter. You'll be warm in the woods with this faux fur lined hat with earflaps. (And if your teeth are still chattering, try a using a protective mouth piece.) </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; color: #333333; font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', 'Book Antiqua', Palatino, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 18px; line-height: 27px;"><em>Warning: not recommended for wear during Faux Season.</em></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; color: #333333; font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', 'Book Antiqua', Palatino, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 18px; line-height: 27px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; color: #333333; font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', 'Book Antiqua', Palatino, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 18px; line-height: 27px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; color: #333333; font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', 'Book Antiqua', Palatino, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 18px; line-height: 27px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; color: #333333; font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', 'Book Antiqua', Palatino, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 18px; line-height: 27px;">Also available in Blaze Orange. While we are not sure if Bigfoot is color blind, we do know for a fact that the average hunter can usually see blaze orange and recognize it is not something he would typically eat. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; color: #333333; font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', 'Book Antiqua', Palatino, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 18px; line-height: 27px;"><em>Warning: not recommended for wear during Carrot Season.</em></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; color: #333333; font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', 'Book Antiqua', Palatino, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 18px; line-height: 27px;"> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; color: #333333; font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', 'Book Antiqua', Palatino, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 18px; line-height: 27px;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; color: #333333; font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', 'Book Antiqua', Palatino, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 18px; line-height: 27px;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; color: #333333; font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', 'Book Antiqua', Palatino, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 18px; line-height: 27px;"><img alt="Koozie with Official Bigfoot Field Researcher" border="0" height="281" src="http://yellowcatbooks.com/store/eBook_cover_200.jpg" width="200" /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; color: #333333; font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', 'Book Antiqua', Palatino, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 24px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 27px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; color: #333333; font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', 'Book Antiqua', Palatino, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 18px; line-height: 27px;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; color: #333333; font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', 'Book Antiqua', Palatino, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 24px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 27px;">Personalized eBook Reader Covers</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; color: #333333; font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', 'Book Antiqua', Palatino, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 24px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 27px;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; color: #333333; font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', 'Book Antiqua', Palatino, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 18px; line-height: 27px;">Personalized eBook covers to protect your Kindle, Nook or other eReader!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; color: #333333; font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', 'Book Antiqua', Palatino, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 18px; line-height: 27px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 12px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 8px;"><br />
</div></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; color: #333333; font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', 'Book Antiqua', Palatino, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 18px; line-height: 27px;"><img alt="Koozie with Official Bigfoot Field Researcher" border="0" height="200" src="http://yellowcatbooks.com/BigFoot/official_koozie.png" width="115" /></span></div><div><br />
</div><div><div style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; color: #333333; font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', 'Book Antiqua', Palatino, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 24px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 27px; margin-bottom: 12px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 8px;">Official Bigfoot Field Researcher Koozie</div><div style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; color: #333333; font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', 'Book Antiqua', Palatino, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 18px; line-height: 27px; margin-bottom: 12px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 8px;">Not everyone can claim to be a Bigfoot Research Specialist! Drink apart, officially, with any of these foam drink coolers. </div><div style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; color: #333333; font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', 'Book Antiqua', Palatino, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 18px; line-height: 27px; margin-bottom: 12px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 8px;"><br />
</div></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; color: #333333; font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', 'Book Antiqua', Palatino, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 18px; line-height: 27px;"></span><img height="187" src="http://yellowcatbooks.com/store/images/capl_200.jpg" width="200" /></div><div><div style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; color: #333333; font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', 'Book Antiqua', Palatino, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 24px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 27px; margin-bottom: 12px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 8px;">Official Bigfoot Field Researcher Caps</div></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', 'Book Antiqua', Palatino, FreeSerif, serif;">This is THE one cap to have if you want hands-free illumination while beating a trail out of the wilderness after dark. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', 'Book Antiqua', Palatino, FreeSerif, serif;"><be><be>Featuring Electronic Contiguous Beam (ECB™) Technology, these caps feature embeded side by side LED optic lights that form a powerful beam of light for either up-close or distance applications.<br />
<br />
The 2 front visor lights shine forward up to 40 feet, and a third undervisor light shines down for close up work! These powerful white LEDs create 22,000 to 25,000 MCD (millicandelas) each and have battery life of over 25 hours. (Batteries are replaceable and can be found in most any store.)<br />
<br />
Hat is fully washable and electronics are waterproof. Great for Emergency, Professional, Outdoor, or Home usage - or for tracking Bigfoot on the trail at night!</be></be></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', 'Book Antiqua', Palatino, FreeSerif, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"><br />
</span></span></div>Rusty Wilsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02155448464387401776noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3559314011096900557.post-9013160127030610842011-08-24T08:14:00.000-07:002011-08-24T08:16:09.574-07:00Who am I?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKbyvEsV3hmEDxTuVCbM50hhJnTJZWQJgMw_iZ0fYXTZvfGgBs60Sqxw4og9rDHvAo2BUv46pwYH4E1q0DhLoreDKB5BhiRTS0sb-bXJ_9SNymFYawlmWCs7Dh66EJhx2UJ61aHFovEG3S/s1600/Roger+and+Spanky+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKbyvEsV3hmEDxTuVCbM50hhJnTJZWQJgMw_iZ0fYXTZvfGgBs60Sqxw4og9rDHvAo2BUv46pwYH4E1q0DhLoreDKB5BhiRTS0sb-bXJ_9SNymFYawlmWCs7Dh66EJhx2UJ61aHFovEG3S/s320/Roger+and+Spanky+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I've been really busy with flyfishing clients, now that the rivers are back down and not flooding—but I was looking at this blog and wondering what to post when I noticed I had never introduced myself. So, here's a bit about me...</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I grew up in the state of Washington, in the heart of Bigfoot country. I didn’t know a thing about Bigfoot until I got lost at the age of six and was then found and subsequently adopted by a kindly Bigfoot family. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I lived with them until I was 16, when they finally gave up on ever socializing me into Bigfoot ways (I hated garlic and pancakes, refused to sleep in a nest, wouldn’t hunt wild pigs, and on top of it all, my feet were small, being a mere size 10). </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">My Bigfoot family then sent me off to Evergreen State College in nearby Olympia, thinking it would be liberal enough to take care of a kid with few redeeming qualities, plus they liked the thick foliage around the college and figured I could live there, saving them money for housing. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">At Evergreen, I studied wildlife biology, eventually returning to the wilds, after first learning to read and write and regale everyone with my wild tales. I eventually became a flyfishing guide, and during my many travels in the wilds, I collected stories from others who have had contact with Bigfoot, also known as Sasquatch.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Because of my background, I'm considered to be the world’s foremost Bigfoot expert (at least so by myself, if not by anyone else). I've spent many a fun evening around campfires with my clients, telling stories. Some of those clients had some pretty good stories of their own, which I've put in my books.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">If you think being raised by Bigfoot was easy, you might possibly be a romantic type. I still have dreams about my family, even though I haven't seen them for many years. I can never catch up with them, they're always either somewhere in British Columbia or Washington, depending on the season, and someone told me recently that they'd been spotted down in South Carolina.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">But last night I dreamed we were all back together again and had rented an apartment in downtown Tucson, as that seemed an unlikely place for anyone to look for Bigfoot. Of course, they're nocturnal, so can live about anywhere and not be noticed, as everyone's usually asleep when they go out.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">It was kind of a scary dream, because trying to live with a Bigfoot family in an urban apartment is the stuff of which nightmares are made. When I woke up, I was glad to be at home with my wife and dogs. Whew.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Maybe someday I'll write a book about being raised by Bigfoot. They can put it on the shelf next to the one about feral kids raised by wolves and such. Of course, it wasn't all bad by any means. I do know how to take care of myself in the wilds—how to find huckleberries, forecast the weather, and whack on trees with sticks when I'm bored. But I will say that growing up around Bigfoot kind of wrecked my sense of smell.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">But I still don't understand why my wife would rather get take-out than eat out with me...</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><br />
</div>Rusty Wilsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02155448464387401776noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3559314011096900557.post-39562363857633716832011-08-18T16:04:00.000-07:002011-08-18T16:09:26.567-07:00New book out - almost free<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">This in straight from my publisher:</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">"Rusty Wilson’s the kind of guy that if he sees you in town, he’ll buy you lunch. But since Rusty’s rarely in town, instead of buying you lunch, he’d like to give you a huge bargain price on a few of his stories so you can sample the crazy and mysterious world of Bigfoot. </span></span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Wilsons-Bigfoot-Campfire-Stories-ebook/dp/B005HYDL8M/ref=sr_1_4?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1313707505&sr=1-4"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">These great stories</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> were collected by Rusty from his flyfishing clients around the campfire—and they’re stories you’ll never forget—even if you’d like to!</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">This little ebook has three new tales and two bonus ones from Rusty’s previous books, plus a special sample from a cool Bigfoot mystery—all in all, the equivalent of a 60-page print book.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">So, even though Rusty’s trying to be generous here, read only if you dare!"</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I guess for $.99, you can't go wrong, especially if you like Bigfoot.</span></span>Rusty Wilsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02155448464387401776noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3559314011096900557.post-68869319403676846232011-08-17T01:35:00.000-07:002011-08-17T01:35:01.312-07:00The Bigfoot Wedding<div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This story is from my latest book, which hasn't yet been published, so I'm giving you a sneak peek here. It was told by a retired guy who had come to love flyfishing and wanted to have a pro show him some of the ropes. He came on a three-day guided trip and told this crazy story around a big campfire up in Montana’s Yellowstone River country. That particular trip was a lot of fun, and he became a regular after that, coming on one of my trips every year. He was always game to tell this story, and it was quite the tale. -Rusty</span></span></i></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 16.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My name is Tanner, and what I’m about to relate happened in the mid-1990s, maybe about 1996, near Telluride, Colorado.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I grew up near Telluride, and I was a true ski bum for a number of years. I would do anything to ski, which included sleeping (freezing) in my car, working in ski rental shops, couch surfing, washing dishes, you name it. Anything so I could ski, which I loved. </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I finally got on the ski patrol there, which was a dream job in some ways, though the pay wasn’t that great. A bunch of us rented a three-bedroom apartment and managed to get by. I think there were six of us, and I got the couch for reduced rent. But we didn’t care, we were all ski bums. </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I gradually decided I should move on and get some job skills, so I left Telluride when I was in my late twenties and moved to Grand Junction, where I got a career job with the Department of Wildlife. That was great, because I was still outside a lot, but now I had some job security and a decent wage. I stayed there until I recently retired.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But this event happened in Telluride, and I’ve never seen anything like what I saw since, even though I’m outside a lot. In a way, it’s kind of funny, though at the time I was terrified.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I had managed to wrangle a job that summer with the ski area, working as a lift operator. It was a pretty cushy job, though it didn’t pay much. I ran the Coonskin Lift, the one that comes right up out of town. I think it’s still operating, though I know they’ve added the gondola now, too. But in the summer, it was just a tourist thing and you don’t get all the crazy skiers who fall when they’re getting on and off, making you have to stop everything all the time.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I was working the ski shack at the top of the lift, where everyone gets off to either ski back down or go to the next lift, although in the summer everyone was obviously hiking. The altitude at the shack was 10,800 feet. </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">If I recall correctly, it was late July, the time the monsoons start to hit the area. Colorado mountain weather is pretty nice in June, but come mid-summer, the monsoons hit, which means lots of rain and lightning. Usually, the mornings are nice, but by afternoon, you’d better be off the mountains.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So, I was running the lift, and everything was fine, just a typical day with a few hikers and sightseers. It wasn’t too busy, and I managed to grab some lunch while running the lift.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It wasn’t long after lunch that my boss showed up to inform me that we were getting a huge bunch of people soon because there was a wedding at the top of the mountain. I was to be extra careful, as some of these people would be older and not in such great shape, and I might have to slow the lift down for them to get off. And on top of that, they’d all be in fancy wedding attire, with high heels and all that. Some big star of the Miami Dolphins, a fullback, was getting married.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Great. I couldn’t wait. A bunch of dressed-up city folk trying to ride the Coonskin Lift, which was very steep and scary. Make my day. I started laughing, but my boss got kind of tense and said this was serious. He knew I could be a smart-ass, and he knew that big money was something to be respected in Telluride, at least every one else seemed to think so—everyone except the crowd I ran with, that is. </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I stopped laughing, but I couldn’t wipe the grin off my face at the thought.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So, my boss decided to stick around and make sure everything went well. It was a big wedding party, about 300 people, a big responsibility for him. I guess he decided he needed to handle it, as I wasn’t competent enough, even though I’d been running the lift alone for over a month by then.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Well, it wasn’t long before people started showing up. I don’t know what the Coonskin Lift capacity is, but I think we had all 300 people on it when what I’ll call “the Event” happened. So, picture a very steep and scary ski lift, the kind with only a bar across the front to hold you in, all crammed with uppity-dressed people, tuxes and high heels and crazy long dresses and even hats and all. Man, I wish I’d had a camera, cause just that alone was something I’d never seen before or since. It belonged in a movie.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">There was a huge variety of people, from young to old. Some looked like they were scared to death and some were laughing and having a great time. Of course, it took awhile to get everyone onto the lift. One chair would come into place, then the lift would stop while people boarded, then the same thing would happen again. I was at the top, like I said, but I could tell what was happening from how the lift went. I knew it would take a long time to get everyone off when they got up to my lift shack.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So, during all this, which was a while, I was noticing the sky was getting dark. Clouds were moving in really fast, which is typical for the mountains. My boss was also noting the same thing, and he started looking even more tense. Usually, when the clouds came in, we would just shut the lift down until it all moved through, but no way could we do that with what was going on.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Everything seemed to take forever. Getting all these people on the lift was a big deal. I watched as cloud tendrils began wrapping around the higher peaks. Holy crap, I thought, we could be in for a wild ride. </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Finally, the lift stopped stopping, and I knew everyone was loaded on. Sure enough, here they came. I could see down the slope and the entire lift was loaded to the gills. It began its slow upward climb just as lightning started popping all around the upper peaks.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Man, that lift seemed like it was going even slower than normal, but I knew it was just because I wanted it to go fast and get up here before anyone got smacked by lightning. Now the lightning was popping all around us.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This is when the Event happened. My boss and I were both in the lift shack, and he had his hands on the lift mechanism, ready to stop it whenever the first passengers arrived. They were now about two-thirds of the way up the hill.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I was looking out the open door at the peaks above me, watching the lightning, when I heard a weird noise come from my boss—it was literally a scream, if you can imagine a man screaming. It scared the crap out of me, and I turned to see what was going on. He was pointing to the lift shack window, but I didn’t see anything. He then started kind of babbling, “My God, my God” while he pointed at the window.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I stepped out of the shack to see what was going on, and that was when I saw it. By then it had turned and was loping down the steep hill. I think my boss scared it as much as it scared my boss, cause it wasn’t wasting any time. And it was running directly down the Coonskin Run, right under the big wedding party.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I knew immediately what it was—a Bigfoot. I’d never seen one or even thought of seeing one before—Bigfoot wasn’t much of a big deal in Colorado at that time. Since then, there have been more and more sightings, maybe because there are more people out and about, I don’t know. But it was a sight that’s etched into my memory, the backside of a Bigfoot, running down Coonskin. The creature was enormous and very dark, covered head to toe in what looked like black hair—not fur like a bear would have—but hair. The hair was long and hung off its arms, which themselves hung down almost to its knees.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I couldn’t believe how fast this thing was. It was running down Coonskin faster than any Miami Dolphins fullback could possibly run. That thing was moving!</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Now for the crazy part of the story. </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As I came back into the lift shack, I noticed my boss had a glazed look on his face, but he was also kind of gesticulating at me as if trying to say something. I think the poor guy was in shock at that point.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">OK, now I noticed what was going on. He’d slammed the lift bar when he saw the Bigfoot and the lift was now going at top speed. Oh man, this was bad, real bad, cause I knew it was going to jump track at that speed with that much weight on it.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Sure enough, all of a sudden it stopped with a lurch, the chairs swaying back and forth and people yelling. It was such a stunning chain of events, I almost started shaking from the stress.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Here we were, lightning now popping around, with an inoperative lift crammed with people dressed for a wedding, many of who were now screaming and yelling as they witnessed a Bigfoot running directly under the lift, where they now sat dangling in the air. What a scenario.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My boss was now sitting helplessly on the floor, so I took over. I went outside and yelled up at the people closest to me to pass the word down the lift that help was coming. Of course, it wasn’t, not yet, anyway, but the last thing we needed were people panicking, many who didn’t want to even be on that lift in the first place, especially with lightning popping around.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So, I could hear people yelling the message on down the line. I went back into the shack and radioed down to the bottom that we needed help. Before long, I saw an ATV coming up the slope. By now, the Bigfoot had decided to head into the trees, and was long gone, leaving only a residue of terror and bafflement. I think a lot of people thought it was some kind of a gag.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It now started to pour rain. The guys on the ATV were soon climbing up the lift tower where the derailment had happened, checking it out. Those guys should’ve got commendations for taking their lives in their hands, cause now the lightning was just crazy. I saw and heard one bolt at the same time, it was that close. They were up there for some time, then came back down and on up to the shack, where they informed me that we were going to have to evacuate everyone off the lift.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This would be a slow and treacherous process, especially with so many people involved. They radioed down, and soon people working for the ski area starting coming up the slope. I think there were probably a good 50 or 60 people there helping before it was all over, including a search and rescue team. </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The ski people brought a bunch of bosun’s chairs with them that the ski area kept just for this purpose. These little chairs were lightweight and attached to the end of a rope. If you were stuck on the lift, the M.O. was to get ahold of it and sort of scoot it under you until you were well in it, then you latched yourself in and were lowered by whoever was holding the end of the rope.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So, we now had to throw the bosun's chairs over the cable to lower people down with. You would take the chair and start spinning it around your head until it got up a lot of momentum, then you’d hurl it as hard as you could, hoping it would go up over the lift cable. Once you had it over, you were home free, cause then you could use it over and over to lower people. We had a minimum of three people holding each rope, acting as a belay while each person was lowered. The person on the lift would slip the chair under them, then when they were ready, they’d wave or yell, and we’d yell "on belay!" and start lowering them, one by one.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Many were terrified of getting on the spindly looking chairs as the height was really scary, and I didn’t blame them. We had several people who refused to even get into the chairs, but we persuaded them by saying it was that or spend the night and who knows how long on the chair lift. That would finally get them moving, but I mean they were scared stiff.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As for those of us on the belay end, holding the ropes, it was steep terrain and hard to stand up, especially with a rope around your waist and some scared person on the other end, being lowered little by little. It took us four hours to get them all off the lift. </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">By then, the rain had stopped and the storm moved on through, but everyone was still soaked. It was amazing no one was hit by lightning.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The ski area had to do something with all these soaked and unhappy people, so they hired the local taxi service to come up. Telluride Taxi had Suburbans at the time, and they drove up the Coonskin snowcat trail to pick everyone up. The ski area was billed later for this, and I bet it cost them a fortune. </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">By the time it was all over, my boss had recovered somewhat and hiked on back down Coonskin Run without saying one word to me. He told me later that he’d seen this black thing staring in through the shack window at him, no more than ten feet away, with a large dark face almost like a human’s. When I told him that I and everyone on the lift had also seen it, I think it helped a bit. Maybe he wasn’t crazy after all.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">After it was all over, I just stood there, kind of enjoying it all, watching all these people walking in the grass in their wedding duds, a lot of the women barefoot, as they’d taken off their heels. It seems the majority were kind of having fun, enjoying the adventure, but some people looked outright shocked, mostly the older ones. But everyone was talking about the Bigfoot. I think by then everyone thought it was just a big gag someone had contrived for their enjoyment. A few looked really uncomfortable, like they knew it was real.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">By the time it was over, it was nearly sunset. The taxis were long gone, so I had to get myself home. I normally would ride the lift down, but now I had to hike down. I didn’t want to hike down Coonskin, as I was pretty scared by the thought of a Bigfoot around, so I hiked over to the Plunge and came down that way. I was glad when I got into town, and I went home and told my buddies about what had happened. They believed me, so they said, anyway. </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I found out later that the Bigfoot story was soon all over town, and I’d become somewhat of a accidental celebrity. I kind of ran with it for awhile, as it was all in fun, at least if you hadn’t seen the creature and been scared to death, that is.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And in all honesty, I had been scared to death. I didn’t do much hiking at all that summer, and when I was out, I was always looking over my shoulder. I was the last one to operate the Coonskin lift for the summer, as the Gondola went online that year, and the Coonskin lift is now only open during the winter. </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">What was a Bigfoot doing on Coonskin? I think it was hungry and was attracted to the big plastic trash bins that set by the snack shack that was about 50 feet above the lift shack. I saw a brown bear up there one day, just mulling around through the trash, and I know they threw a lot of food away in there.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">By the time winter came, I was fine, figuring the beast had probably gone somewhere else for the cold season, so I was back on the slopes skiing like a madman. And it was the only time I ever heard of a Bigfoot there, so maybe, like me, it was just wondering what in the heck was going on that wedding day. </span></span></span></div>Rusty Wilsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02155448464387401776noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3559314011096900557.post-34134481494638362362011-08-14T07:23:00.000-07:002011-08-14T07:23:00.648-07:00On Photographing Mr. Big<div style="text-align: left;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I've always been puzzled why so many people have encounters with Bigfoot and yet there haven't been any good photos (and we'll leave the PGF out of this, as it's a bit too controversial). I mean, surely someone somewhere would get a good shot. Something besides a blobsquatch, I mean.</span></span></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></span></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">This is one of the main arguments people who don't believe in Mr. Big bring up to counter his existence—no photos or films—but I think that maybe there's a valid scientific explanation for this.</span></span></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></span></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">There are a number of scenarios that would work and that would still follow the scientific paradigm. For example, what if Bigfoot has developed some sort of hair gel that reflects certain light waves? I mean, of course they would have to keep up with the technological advances of human photography and go from an anti-film gel to an anti-digital gel, but what if? </span></span></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></span></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">And perhaps the human eye can detect things the camera can't (though photographers will say just the opposite), but what if? We can see Mr. Big when conditions are right, but our cameras can't—as long as Mr. Big wears the gel. So, we see him crossing the road ahead of us, but the camera just can't handle it.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></span></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">But what if Mr. Big gets up one morning and forgets his mousse? Surely that would have happened just once, and we'd have a good photo, but it hasn't. This leads us to the possibility that Bigfoot has a natural built-in deflective gel and doesn't have to bother applying it. Perhaps something that developed as an evolutionary defense against us ever-encroaching humans being able to photograph him.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I mean, humans seeing Bigfoot isn't all that dangerous and might even be a good thing, especially on busy freeways—but being able to capture a Bigfoot on film could lead to all kinds of bad things, like people who never believed before now organizing Bigfoot hunts. So maybe this was a natural development. Makes sense to me...</span></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></span></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I'm sure someday this conundrum will be solved, but until then, we need to think outside the box. And perhaps, just perhaps, we'll figure out that just because we can't photograph something, we're a bit presumptive to say it doesn't exist.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></span></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Hows about the love my little Beagle has for me (and likewise me for him) and my dear wife worrying about me when I go Bigfootin'? Can't photograph any of that, </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">but it sure does exist. </span></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: auto;"><br />
Not quite the same you say? I dunno, maybe it is...</div><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfzIB9djjYNod64cfPFApPPD1uHLHl-7Oyisdfw-LFJMRt8WPY96fr-phWLc5__ezGC-lSgdIRrYj5333kDIMfw6dS36muUdawr0yNPN7XOB1jRH5rpjJS7zHUE1LWf7h2iJ94rKH1JT4c/s1600/IMG_7227.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfzIB9djjYNod64cfPFApPPD1uHLHl-7Oyisdfw-LFJMRt8WPY96fr-phWLc5__ezGC-lSgdIRrYj5333kDIMfw6dS36muUdawr0yNPN7XOB1jRH5rpjJS7zHUE1LWf7h2iJ94rKH1JT4c/s320/IMG_7227.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Mr. Big just came sauntering along and jumped up and grabbed this limb, swung off it, and landed in the bushes. I swore I got a few good photos, but this tree was all the camera showed when I downloaded the pictures later...</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><br />
</span></span></span></div></div>Rusty Wilsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02155448464387401776noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3559314011096900557.post-46567358220390011992011-08-12T09:14:00.000-07:002011-08-13T09:24:03.947-07:00Congress Man<div style="color: #333233; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 18px; font: normal normal normal 18px/normal Palatino; line-height: 27px; margin-bottom: 23px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Here's another story from my good friend who's in touch with a band of Bigfoot. (See previous blog entry called </span></span><a href="http://rustybigfoot.blogspot.com/2011/07/note-from-uncle-hairy.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">A Note from Uncle Hairy</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">.) Some have asked if these are by me, but no, they're honestly not. Maybe some day my friend will let me give out his name, but for now, he wants to remain anon. I think he's afraid of being inundated by Bigfoot researchers, even though he is one.</span></span></i></b></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></span> </span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333233; line-height: 27px;"><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span></span></i></b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Hey Rusty,</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">The other day I was out scouting around here in the boonies and got turned around a bit and was late getting in to my truck. It was getting dark, and just when I got to the outskirts of my camp I spotted a black bear sitting on his haunches sniffing the air down below. No doubt he was thinking I was in camp and was conniving a thieving move. So I snuck up behind him and kicked him in the rump and he leaped up and bucked off for the hills, not even bothering to turn around to see what I was!</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">That incident reminded me of my first ever meeting with a Bigfoot. It happened up north, nearer to the border than I really should've been. I had been scouting all day and had gotten a ways too far from the camp and so attempted an ill-fated shortcut which led to a couple of circle walks, some thornberry patches, and deep river crossings. I was tired, wet, and hungry.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Anyway, I finally sorted my bearings and upon reaching my truck was fully engaged with the pleasant thought of what to make for dinner. Imagine my surprise to see a roaring fire and a pot of coffee brewing in my camp and someone wearing a Bigfoot suit sitting casually on the lowered tailgate of my truck. </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I stopped stone cold and just stood there, unable to gulp.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">The Bigfoot had his hairy chin resting on one knee in a thoughtful pose, and I swear in the right angle of light if you'd put a ball cap on him he'd look all the world like a Game Warden officer making a casual routine check before calling it a day. </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">"You should've taken that left fork at the ridge crossing up there," he said with gruffy discernment. "Woulda saved you at least two hours."</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Trying to be cool and casual, I answered, "Well shoots, why didn't you say something back there then?"</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">"Couldn't. I was sitting here at the time."</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">That's when I knew I was done for. This was a real Bigfoot. Those guys have legendary hearing, plus they have all kinds of informants, and that trail fork was a good 9 miles back. I forgot all about supper plans, I was gonna die tonight, hungry.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Suddenly a log snapped in the fire, and as if on cue the coffee started percolating. Bigfoot bounded off the tailgate, spun around and slammed it shut and then brushed abruptly past me towards the fire with his head down in an on-a-mission look.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">My shoulders and neck muscles tensed up and instinctively I felt for my cell phone, then realized it was no good back in these parts. Who was I gonna call anyway, "Neighborhood Bigfoot Watch?" </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I gathered my wits and took a long deep breath. I was tired. I was hungry. I was hallucinating. I did not just see a Bigfoot slam my tailgate shut. There is no fire either. But why do I smell coffee? Coffee doesn't lie, ever.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">In a robotic graceful kind of way, I managed to get my body turned to see what the real scene was behind me. I rubbed my eyes and blinked and, yep, I saw a fire, and yep, sure enough there was a Bigfoot pouring a hot cup of coffee. The massive, hairy creature then carefully set the pot on a rock and walked over and handed the cup to me with all the grace of a bistro waiter. </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Gee, my first ever </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Bigfoot Brew</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">! What a way to die, I thought.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">This was one weird evening: Me, fire, coffee, and Bigfoot.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I looked down into the steaming cup and noticed a bit of bark or moss or something had fallen from his chin whiskers into the cup and was floating around, but I sure didn't say nothing. It's important to keep one's table manners, even when facing a sure death.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">"T-t-thanks," I stammered. He grunted and went over and squatted down on a log next to the fire. </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">"Wup, so...what brings you out here in these parts, B-B-Bigfoot?" I somehow managed to gaggle while raising the cup in a shaky salute. I swished the cup around a bit, hoping to get that floating tidbit to fly out.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">He stared into the fire. "I got something to share. Been a long time since I talked to a human, so I gotta find the words. Have a seat."</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I stood there, swishing that coffee cup around, still trying to get that little particle out of my coffee. "Have a seat!" he then bellowed with impatience and gestured nowhere in particular.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I jumped and spilled some of the coffee, burning my hand in the process. The good thing was that mysterious grub particle flew out. At least I would die drinking a clean cup of coffee. Hey, things were looking up already. </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">With that comforting thought I dragged out a camp chair and set it up near him and s-s-slowly eased down into it. I sipped a little brew and looked into the fire, trying really hard not to look at those big hairy feet. I'm no shoe expert, but they was easily a size 33 in my rough guesstimation.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Then he cleared his throat and told me a most remarkable tale. Here is his complete transcript with my notes included for clarity:</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">[Begin transcript]</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">My clan lives among the many high peaks region [ed note: Adirondack Mountains]. Although there are a fair number of us, we have always avoided the two legs [humans] as they are quite unpredictable and dangerous. [Quick glance toward me]. </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">[I sat harmlessly and said nothing, absorbed by the comfort of my last cup of coffee. Satisfied that I was not, at the moment, unpredictable or dangerous, the Bigfoot continued on.]</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">One morning I was out gathering berries with others when we heard a strange wimpering. I motioned to the others to stay put and went over the ridge and down into the next valley and immediately found the source of the cry. A young Two Leg was alone, running about in no direction and very frightened. </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I circled the area and there were no other Two Legs about, however I did find a broken water shell [boat] and small Two Leg tracks from the boat, so that is how he got there. </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">So I go back and again watched the little human for a long while. Suddenly I notice that a silent Long Tail [mountain lion] was also watching this human from a high ledge. The human would be a good dinner for the Long Tail, so that would end the noise and be fine for me. Satisfied, I left and returned to my group and told them, and we all went about our evening.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">The next morning, however, I was awakened by a bad noise, so awful that I knew it could only be a human. I followed the sounds and saw a new thing that amazed me. </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">The human was talking to the Long Tail. Each time the Long Tail crept in closer for his food kill, the human would talk more and louder, and the Long Tail would then move back, sit down and yawn. </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I watched this awhile and then stood to stretch and accidently knocked a large rock that rolled down the hill. Busted - both the human and the Long Tail saw me! </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">The Long Tail quickly ran away, as they do not like us. But the human ran right up to me and began to talk. I had no choice but to politely sit and listen. He talked. And he talked, then he talked some more.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Finally, I decided I must go home. I motioned for the little human to follow, and the sounds he made had a pattern to them that I found interesting, so I thought it would be good for the clan to study him awhile.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Well, the human stayed with us a long while. Many of us began to learn the talk from him. At first it was fun, something new. We learned words, then phrases, then endless sentences. </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">But soon it became a problem, actually many problems. </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">The human would never stop talking. Even when eating, he talked. That became bothersome.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Also, the human would often say one thing but then do another. He would explain the great benefit of eating dirt, so well told that many tried it and for awhile believed it. Then they noticed the human was eating their share of juicy berries, while they were enjoying the new benefit of eating dirt. </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">And he was very good at talking to make things change for him. I would tell him it was his turn to bring water but he would get someone else to do it, by telling him somehow the great reward for doing so. Pulling water had never been fun or rewarding before, but his words said the opposite was really true.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">But the worse thing was, the clan stopped doing things. Less and less they gathered food or trekked over to visit other Bigfoot clans. Instead, they sat around and talked. </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Talk, talk, talk. </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">One day, I had enough. I forbade any more talking. Everyone stopped but the human, of course. When none of us Bigfoot engaged in the talk, the human began to talk to the camp fire, the trees, the rocks, the animals. At times he even talked to the air.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Soon the leaves began to wither. The rocks crumbled. Animals disappeared. Even the fire would not stay lit or put out much heat. And the air, I think it became thin.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">So finally I picked up the human and carried him down the river toward the human dead tree piles [houses]. Of course he talked the whole way, but I did not hear him because I had packed mud in my ears. I took him down to where the Green Hats [forest rangers] </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">lived </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">and set him on the porch and knocked on the door and left quickly. </span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">When I got to the forest edge I looked back one more time and the little human was talking to a barking Stick Bringer [dog]. For a moment, he curiously cocked his head, then he lay his head on the ground and covered his eyes with his paws.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">After that, we all returned to our ways, and it was such a relief. The animals returned, the trees bloomed, and the air was full and the fire was hot. We have learned our lesson, that the Two Legs are not just dangerous, they are also noisy. </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Years later, I was snooping around a Green Hat's home one evening and heard a familiar old noise from inside. I slipped up to the window and peered in and, to my great chagrin, I saw the same human, much older now. </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Actually the human was in a box. He was surrounded by other humans and they were all smiling and clapping at his words and waving little flags on sticks. Someone in the box called him Congress Man.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I quickly ducked away from the window and crawled off, fearing Congress Man would see me and come out of the box and follow me back to my clan and make things all bad for us again.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I am the only Bigfoot that can remember the human way to talk. It is such a burden to have to talk, and thank you for listening so I can get rid of the words. I feel better now. Just don't tell Congress Man you saw me here. I will meet you again later and get rid of more words. </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">[End transcript]</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">With that, Bigfoot stood and took my empty cup, walked over to the warm pot and refilled it and brought it back to me. </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Then, without a word he slipped out into the darkness, leaving me with a steaming cup of </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Bigfoot Brew</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">. </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I took a sip of my </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Bigfoot Brew</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">, leaned back, and listened to the wild sounds of the night, happy that the air was no longer filled with human words. </span></span></span></div>Rusty Wilsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02155448464387401776noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3559314011096900557.post-12561303874558229542011-08-08T15:05:00.000-07:002011-08-09T12:57:08.882-07:00The Back Forty<div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Here's a story from my second book, </span></span></i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Rusty-Wilsons-Bigfoot-Campfire-Stories/dp/0965596184/ref=tmm_pap_title_0?ie=UTF8&qid=1303577791&sr=1-2"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">More Bigfoot Campfire Stories</span></span></i></a><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> (click on title or see sidebar to order). It's one of my favorites, mostly because I like the characters. It was told to me over a campfire deep in prime Bigfoot country—Colorado’s Flattop Mountains. </span></span></i><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">And though the location is kept under wraps for obvious reasons, I will say that it took place in the state of Arkansas, which has had a number of Bigfoot sightings and even a couple of tales of habituations. —Rusty</span></span></i></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">When I was in the sixth grade, I had a friend called Wasp. Why he was called Wasp, I have no idea, but that was his name, Wasp Jensen. Wasp was kind of a tall gangly kid, and he had red hair that stuck out all over. It seemed like he never combed it, or if he did, it had a mind of its own.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Wasp and I weren’t friends initially, as he came into school mid-grade and was kind of quiet and shy at first. But after a few weeks, he kind of got his stride, and he became just the opposite. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Wasp started telling everyone all about himself, anything you wanted to know was game, and he was the complete opposite of shy. I think he was just assessing the situation at first.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Wasp lived out on a ranch, he told us, a few miles out of town, and he and his mom were what he called “loners.” I found out later that he meant something different by that word than what I thought it meant, he meant he and his mom were all alone out there. Apparently his dad had left them, and thus, they were loners. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Looking back, I think Wasp was kind of a genius and none of us recognized it for what it was. We just thought he was odd. He definitely didn’t have many social skills, and some of the teachers had a hard time with this. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Wasp would just blurt out anything in the middle of class, things like what he’d had for breakfast (or more likely, the fact that he hadn’t had any breakfast), how he had to ride the bus from now on because their car wasn’t running too good, that kind of thing, just out of nowhere. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">He actually acted like he’d never been in a school setting before, and I found out later that the sixth grade was his first introduction to education. He was totally home schooled, and by that, I mean he taught himself stuff while his mom worked, leaving him home alone. He had never even had a teacher.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Given all that, he was amazingly knowledgeable. He knew more math than the rest of us put together, could read better, and asked smarter questions. That’s why I think maybe he was a genius.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">The kids pretty much steered clear of Wasp because he was different, and because he was poor. His clothes were clean, but worn and out of style. He didn’t have a television, so he had no clue what the latest TV talk was about. He didn’t even have any way to listen to music, so he was out of it there, too. I think the lack of these things made him develop his intellect more, which turned out to be better in the long run, but he definitely didn’t fit in.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I took a liking to him, probably because I was always kind of the class geek, as I liked scientific stuff. Wasp seemed to be knowledgeable about anything I could throw at him. He had built a Van de Graaff generator. He knew how to make a radio from a few wires. He could build stuff from nothing. And he understood the physics behind it, something I hadn’t grasped yet.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">So Wasp and I got to be friends. One day in class, while Mr. Ramsey, our history teacher, was discussing the Anasazi Indians, Wasp blurted out, “I think there might be oil on our ranch. We’ll make a lot of money if there is.”</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Mr. Ramsey patiently asked Wasp to save it for after class, when he could tell us more about it. Wasp looked hurt.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I asked him after class about the oil, and he said his mom had some guys coming out that very day to discuss buying the mineral rights from her. I knew they were desperately poor and this was a big deal to Wasp, so I let him talk about it until the bus showed up, then he got on it, and I walked on home.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">The next day, I asked him about the oil business and he said that nothing had come of it. He also asked if he could share my lunch, as his mom had forgot to pack him one. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I knew they didn’t have any food, so I talked to Mr. Ramsey between classes. He got Wasp on the free school lunch program that very day.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Wasp and I had gotten to where we spent our lunch time together, planning or working on science stuff. We were right in the thick of designing a nuclear power plant. Wasp said he thought if we could do that, we could get a lot of power going and sell it and get rich. Wasp was always trying to come up with get-rich schemes, and I knew it was because he was so poor, so I would go along with them.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">One day, Wasp didn’t seem to have any interest in the nuclear plant, even though I’d managed to get a book on one and we had now sketched it out on paper and everything. He seemed distracted.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">That afternoon, he blurted out in Mr. Ramsey’s class, “We got a new family living on the ranch now.”</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Mr. Ramsey said that was nice, and went on talking about the Incan Indians. I think Wasp felt comfortable in Mr. Ramsey’s class, as this was the only class he would blurt stuff out in. Plus, it was history, which I knew he found boring, and I think his mind would wander, and he would forget where he was and just blurt whatever out.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I asked Wasp about the new family after class. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“Yeah, we have an old school bus out on the ranch down in the willows, and a family has moved into it. There’s a mom, a dad, and a kid. They’re ugly.”</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I thought it was odd that someone would move into an old school bus way out on Wasp’s ranch, but times were hard, and I let it go.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">The next day, Wasp reported in Mr. Ramsey’s class that his mom was helping the family out and giving them food, and he was worried, because they really didn’t have enough food to just give it away, and these guys ate too much. Mr. Ramsey asked Wasp to come see him after class. Wasp turned red. He knew he was in trouble.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">But he wasn’t, not really. He reported back to me that Mr. Ramsey had given him a lecture about talking in class, but had seemed more concerned about the food situation and wondered if he was getting enough to eat. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Wasp had replied, “Well, Sir, all you have to do is look at how scrawny I am and know the answer to that question.”</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Mr. Ramsey talked to the school principal, who took the matter up with Wasp’s mom, who reported back that they were having hard times, but she had just managed to get onto food stamps, so things were looking up. She said that yes, she was helping some others out, but all they were getting was scraps, and she was also getting them road-kill off the highway.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">The principal made a secret deal with the school cook to slip some of the leftover food from each day’s school lunch into Wasp’s book pack. I think Wasp had most of it eaten before he got home each day.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Wasp started growing like a weed. He’d been tall and gangly before, and now he was even taller and ganglier. But he was growing, and that was good. It meant he was getting the nutrition he needed. He was actually becoming a very nice looking kid, my mom said, after she saw him and me talking at the bus stop.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">One day, in Mr. Ramsey’s class, Wasp once again broke in and informed everyone, “That family I told you about, they’re getting scary. Oops, sorry, Mr. Ramsey, didn’t mean to interrupt.”</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Mr. Ramsey smiled and said it was OK, and could Wasp again please see him after class. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Mr. Ramsey was concerned about what Wasp had reported and wanted more information. Why was the new family scary? Wasp said they were scary because they were big and ugly and were now starting to come up to the house wanting food, and his mom was giving it to them. This concerned Mr. Ramsey, but he wasn’t sure what to do. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I, of course, heard all about it at the bus stop, where I hung out with Wasp each day while he waited for the bus. Why were they scary? Why was his mom feeding them? I wanted to know more. Wasp said I should come out on Saturday and visit and see for myself.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">This was the first time Wasp had invited me to the ranch, and I was pleased by that, yet a bit nervous about this “ugly family” situation. I decided it would be OK, but no way was I going to spend the night.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">The next Saturday, my mom took me out to the ranch. We had a bit of trouble finding it, as it turned out to be off a road no longer maintained by the county and the sign was down, but we finally pulled off a bouncy dusty dirt road into his driveway, such that it was. Wasp stood there grinning at us.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">The ranch was really more of a junkyard. Wasp and his mom lived in a small two-bedroom trailer that was so faded it was hard to tell it had once been yellow. The little wooden porch was tippy and the hand rail had long broken off.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Wasp’s mom came out to meet us, and she was a pleasant woman who looked like she might’ve once been a beauty contest winner who had since come on hard times. Her face was drawn and tired looking. She had beautiful shoulder-length blonde hair that was naturally thick and curly, but her eyes were tired looking. She said hello and welcomed us to the ranch.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I instantly liked her, and so did my mom. They ended up talking for a long time, while Wasp and I went out to explore the ranch.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“This here’s the Back Forty,” he pointed to a bunch of old abandoned rusted-out cars. “There’s forty of them there. And there’s the Back Twenty.” He pointed towards more old cars by some cottonwoods that appeared to flank a small creek.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“It isn’t much of a ranch, but my Grandpa gave it to us. He died a few months ago. Before this, we were living in that old school bus that the new family now lives in.” </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">He pointed down past the cottonwoods, and I could make out the top of something. I walked over to the side of the road to get a better look.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“We had it parked over in Coalville, and we moved it here when we got this place. My mom set it down by the creek for a getaway place, but that was before the family moved in.”</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“Can we go down there?” I asked, not really wanting to.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“Nope. Well, yes, I guess you could, but I’m not going with you, and you might never come back.”</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I studied his face to see if he was kidding. He wasn’t.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“Let’s get back over to the house,” he added. “That ugly bunch has ruined this place for me.”</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Just then, I could see something moving down there. It was big, and it made the school bus look like a VW Bus, it was that big in comparison. A strange feeling came over me, and I wanted to turn and run. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I suddenly wanted to go home. “Say, Wasp, why don’t we go back to my house? My mom’s still there, talking to your mom, and she can bring you home later.”</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“I can’t leave my mom here alone,” he replied. “Now you understand what I was talking about in Mr. Ramsey’s class. It’s dangerous here. He thought I was joking, but I wasn’t. It’s OK when I go to school, as my mom’s at work then, but I can’t leave her here alone. That’s why I never attend anything on the weekends at school or go to anyone’s house. This place is getting creepier and creepier, and I don’t blame you for wanting to go home. My mom’s bleeding heart is to blame. Maybe another time, huh?”</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I felt really guilty, but I had to leave. I thought I was going to be physically ill. I told my mom I was going home with her, as I didn’t feel very good all of a sudden. It was the truth. Wasp’s mom looked like she knew what was going on. She looked a bit sad.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">We left, and I wondered if I should tell my mom. I was worried for Wasp’s safety, as well as his mom’s. I decided my mom wouldn’t believe me, so I said nothing.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">But as soon as I got home, I called Mr. Ramsey. Maybe he would believe me. But when he answered the phone, I chickened out and hung up.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I spent the rest of the weekend worrying about Wasp and his mom, out on their ranch. I knew now that his announcements in class were his way of trying to deal with the pressure he was under. He was begging for help the only way he knew.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">The next Monday, I was happy to see Wasp get off the bus. Later, he announced in class, “Mr. Ramsey, I hate to say anything and I know I’m interrupting class, but we have some researchers coming out to our ranch.”</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">By now, Mr. Ramsey was pretty much used to Wasp’s ways. He just nodded and said, “That’s nice, Wasp,” and continued talking about the Aztecs. After class, I asked Wasp about the researchers.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“My mom’s still feeding that family, and this guy found out, and he’s a researcher and wants out come out and see them.”</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I asked Wasp how he felt about that. He answered, “I don’t care, cause they’ll just disappear. They won’t let anyone but me and my mom see them. You got a look only because they didn’t know you were around, but usually they come up only at night, and we don’t even really see them very often, which is OK by me, they’re so ugly. They can research away all they want.”</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">The next day, I was eager to know how the researcher thing went, and I met Wasp as he got off the bus. He looked tired. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">He reported that two guys had shown up and set up these little remote cameras all over the place, then they had set out some really nice turkey and apples and peanut butter and all kinds of good stuff, then hid in the trailer, where they sat all night watching. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">They hadn’t seen a thing, but around five a.m., they had woke him and his mom up because they’d recorded some howling and were really excited. They were going to be there again tonight, and he wished they would go away, but it was also comforting to have them there. He felt safe for once with them around.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">The researchers ended up staying there for a full week, and Wasp reported that the family had come up close enough to the house one night that they had managed to get some shadowy photos of them, though you really couldn’t make out much.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Wasp even came over and spent the night at my house on Friday while the researchers were still there. He acted like spending the night away from home was a really big deal, and I guess for him it was. We rented a couple of movies, and my folks had a barbecue. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Wasp acted like these were all things he had never done. I felt bad for him, yet I was kind of intrigued by his life, as it seemed way more interesting than mine. But I didn’t envy him living out in the sticks with that weird family around.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Things seemed quiet on the ranch front for the next week, and then one day, Wasp made another announcement in Mr. Ramsey’s class.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“Mr. Ramsey, please excuse me for being rude, but my mom just sold the ranch.”</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Mr. Ramsey stopped his lecture on the Mayans and asked for more details. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">The whole class started interrogating Wasp, and the Mayans were relegated to history for that class session, forgotten.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Wasp was moving into town. The researchers had bought the ranch from his mom, and now Wasp and his mom were rich, he reported. They had been looking at houses and were buying one soon. His mom had quit her job as a motel maid. He was joining the basketball team. He might even be able to get a dog now.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I had never seen Wasp so happy. The entire class was happy for him, and Mr. Ramsey even had them all do a high five for Wasp.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">After school that day, Wasp didn’t ride the bus. His mom picked him up in a brand new Toyota car. I figured they truly had made a killing on the ranch, though I had no idea why anyone would want 30 acres of scrub woodlands with a junkyard on it.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Wasp filled me in the next day. The researchers were being funded by a rich guy who was obsessed with proving that Bigfoot existed. He knew a Bigfoot family was living on the ranch. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Wasp’s mom had done a good job of habituating them, and the new owner would keep feeding them until he eventually trapped one or at least got a video of it. He was setting up everything right now, more trail cameras, feeding stations, everything. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">He had paid Wasp’s mom a true fortune for the place, and the two researchers would now live there full-time. They were all very excited, as they knew they would soon have a breakthrough.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I don’t know what happened, but I think they probably never saw a thing. Wasp had told me the family was shy and wouldn’t come out, and I suspect the Bigfoot all left shortly thereafter, as nobody ever heard a word about any Bigfoot discoveries.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Wasp and his mom bought a house not too far from mine. Wasp and I had a great friendship all through high school, and we would even camp out in my back yard, though it took me awhile to convince Wasp it was safe. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Sadly, we lost touch when we both went off to college. Wasp was class valedictorian and got a full ride to MIT, which didn’t surprise me a bit. I went off to the state college and eventually became a high-school science teacher. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">And even though I have a scientific bent and like evidence for things, I always try to keep an open mind, because I personally know that there are things out there that we have no idea about and can’t explain. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Palatino; margin: 3.6px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I know because I’ve seen them.</span></span></div><div><br />
</div>Rusty Wilsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02155448464387401776noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3559314011096900557.post-57677113394872119822011-07-31T08:48:00.000-07:002011-08-09T12:57:44.720-07:00A Note from Uncle Hairy<div style="color: #333233; font: 18.0px Palatino; line-height: 27.0px; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 23.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I have a good friend who's in touch with a band of Bigfoot. Every once in awhile he sends me the latest going ons. He just sent me this:</span></span></i></b></span></div><div style="color: #333233; font: 18.0px Palatino; line-height: 27.0px; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 23.0px 0.0px;"><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Hi Rusty! I just heard from a friend in western Colorado, who wishes to be anonymous and only identifies himself as Uncle Hairy. Here's what he had to say:</span></span></i></b></div><div style="color: #333233; font: 18.0px Palatino; line-height: 27.0px; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px;"><span style="font: normal normal normal 24px/normal Palatino; letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I</span></span></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">'d like to say </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Happy Birthday</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> to my little buddy Solcfeet, seems like only yesterday he turned 243 and was telling me about the first golf course he ever saw.</span></span></span></div><div style="color: #333233; font: 18.0px Palatino; line-height: 27.0px; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">At first he hated the fact he lost so much of his wilderness backyard to a backward human, but when he discovered that the water sprinklers came on at night, his whole clan would sneak out there and they'd have a grand time slipping and sliding all over the manicured greens, waving around the white flag on the long pole, and burying themselves in the sandtrap. Also they played mock golf, pretending to hit a ball into the pond or sandtrap, then howling and breaking their clubs over their knee. And of course, some Bigfoot dufus would always sit on a bench pretending to smoke a cigar while talking on an imaginary cell phone. No matter how many times that was played out, it was a hoot.</span></span></span></div><div style="color: #333233; font: 18.0px Palatino; line-height: 27.0px; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px;"><span style="font: normal normal normal 24px/normal Palatino; letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">T</span></span></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">hen during the day Solcfeet started sneaking around stealing golf balls (which at first he thought were hard eggs). He told me he'd have uncontrollable fits watching the humans curse and beat the bushes with a shiny club looking for them. He never felt bad about stealing them because the humans seemed to have so many of them in a great bag they carted around.</span></span></span></div><div style="color: #333233; font: 18.0px Palatino; line-height: 27.0px; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px;"><span style="font: normal normal normal 24px/normal Palatino; letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">O</span></span></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">ne day, Solcfeet began to notice that ever so often a human would accidently leave behind a shiny club on the ground after knocking a ball in a hole. So he began to sneak in there and steal the club before the player came rattling back in their golf cart looking for it. Again, Solcfeet mused, the humans had a lot of clubs in their great bag so he saw no harm in taking one from time to time when the coast was clear.</span></span></span></div><div style="color: #333233; font: 18.0px Palatino; line-height: 27.0px; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Besides, any Bigfoot worth his salt is apt to do anything when there are no cameras about.</span></span></span></div><div style="color: #333233; font: 18.0px Palatino; line-height: 27.0px; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px;"><span style="font: normal normal normal 24px/normal Palatino; letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">W</span></span></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">up, this became a full time hobby, and the last time I trekked over to visit Solcfeet he proudly showed me his great collection: 438,231 golf balls, 6,872 clubs, and 153 pairs of sunglasses.</span></span></span></div><div style="color: #333233; font: 18.0px Palatino; line-height: 27.0px; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">But the real centerpiece of his collection was the Cushman golf cart.</span></span></span></div><div style="color: #333233; font: 18.0px Palatino; line-height: 27.0px; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px;"><span style="font: normal normal normal 24px/normal Palatino; letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">A</span></span></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">ccording to Bigfoot legend and lore of this incident (and there are many, many variations) the </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Cushman Encounter</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> went something like this:</span></span></span></div><div style="color: #333233; font: 18.0px Palatino; line-height: 27.0px; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">One fine drizzly Bigfoot morning Solcfeet and his cohorts sallied over to the golf course and noticed a human park his golf cart and go into a small green box and did not come out for several moments.</span></span></span></div><div style="color: #333233; font: 18.0px Palatino; line-height: 27.0px; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">There were no other humans around, and especially, no cameras. So after much badgering and encouragement from his fellows, Solcfeet snuck down and grabbed the cart, picked it up and turned to run for the woods.</span></span></span></div><div style="color: #333233; font: 18.0px Palatino; line-height: 27.0px; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px;"><span style="font: normal normal normal 24px/normal Palatino; letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">B</span></span></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">ut suddenly he stopped, turned abruptly with a wide grin (some say to wave to his fellows hiding in the bushes, others say he wanted to peek into the green box to see what the human was doing) and accidently smacked the side of the green box, spilling the great bag of clubs and balls from the cart and completely knocking the green box over on its side, door side down.</span></span></span></div><div style="color: #333233; font: 18.0px Palatino; line-height: 27.0px; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px;"><span style="font: normal normal normal 24px/normal Palatino; letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I</span></span></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">n a stunned moment of silence, Solcfeet first looked at the big green box laying on the ground. Then he looked at the scattered pile of shiny clubs. Then he noticed the little golf balls, celebrating their sudden flight of freedom, dribbling merrily down the trail and plopping harmlessly into the pond.</span></span></span></div><div style="color: #333233; font: 18.0px Palatino; line-height: 27.0px; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px;"><span style="font: normal normal normal 24px/normal Palatino; letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">P</span></span></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">anic then hit poor Solcfeet as the human within the box began to scream (so eerily that it was almost Bigfoot-like) as his Bigfoot fellows laughed and beat the bushes as we are known to do, that is, uncontrollably.</span></span></span></div><div style="color: #333233; font: 18.0px Palatino; line-height: 27.0px; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px;"><span style="font: normal normal normal 24px/normal Palatino; letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">S</span></span></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">olcfeet took two long bounds and leaped into the pond still holding the golf cart. The cart sank and Solcfeet hid in the tall reeds all day until darkness.</span></span></span></div><div style="color: #333233; font: 18.0px Palatino; line-height: 27.0px; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Throughout the day, he watched in amusement as more people came and rescued the smelly human from the box. Although visibly agitated when rescued, the smelly one became quiet when they handed him a beer and a cigar.</span></span></span></div><div style="color: #333233; font: 18.0px Palatino; line-height: 27.0px; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">The rest of the day, the humans spent hours barking and pointing in different directions, apparently with differing opinions on what happened to the missing cart.</span></span></span></div><div style="color: #333233; font: 18.0px Palatino; line-height: 27.0px; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Lucky for Solcfeet, the pile of clubs and balls did not tell the humans a thing, but then again Solcfeet noted that the humans did not even ask or examine them about the indicent.</span></span></span></div><div style="color: #333233; font: 18.0px Palatino; line-height: 27.0px; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px;"><span style="font: normal normal normal 24px/normal Palatino; letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">L</span></span></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">ater that night, a soaking wet Solcfeet came sloshing into the central tribal cave holding a white golf cart over his head roaring in great triumph.</span></span></span></div><div style="color: #333233; font: 18.0px Palatino; line-height: 27.0px; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">After much yelling and back slapping, everyone took turns sitting and pretending to drive the cart while smoking an imaginary cigar, blowing smoke, guzzling a beer and filling out a score card. It was an all night hoot, and from that time forward we all called him </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Cush Man</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">.</span></span></span></div><div style="color: #333233; font: 18.0px Palatino; line-height: 27.0px; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px;"><span style="font: normal normal normal 24px/normal Palatino; letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">H</span></span></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">appy Birthday,</span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> Cush Man!</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> And many, many more!</span></span></span></div>Rusty Wilsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02155448464387401776noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3559314011096900557.post-76834745892125452172011-07-22T14:46:00.000-07:002011-08-09T12:58:05.490-07:00Bigfoot Country<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I live in Bigfoot Country. My home is in Northwest Colorado, in a small resort town surrounded by miles and miles of backcountry seldom trod by human foot. I'm a flyfishing guide, and when I go out to some of the better-known fishing holes, I still rarely see anyone. Seems everyone wants to hang together in or near town. Even the mountain bikers and hikers never really get that far out.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">And I bet a lot of you live in Bigfoot Country, too—and you may not even know it. Even people in some of the more urban areas live near Bigfoot, although they might laugh at the thought. I'm thinking of someone who reported seeing a Bigfoot out their office window in downtown Salt Lake City, near the capitol building. It was walking in the foothills not so far away.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Think of it—a sighting right out your office window. Makes you feel safer out camping than being at home.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">OK, maybe not, especially when it's pitch black and something really big is stomping around your tent and huffing and then your tent starts being pulled along. I personally would probably pee my pants.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> </span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtLWqJAR_BKjBGeg7FH0XlckrecE83V5pdmLrL-dURv-xCSODZK3EjGtLuQuRbHpGJwI1tYZP2jHtS4CWVU6GYdKimPWtmLU_6ZLW03xCcmzUW5-zQzinIxQMVLDiwJV7xqnwRuA4Uftfd/s1600/IMG_8744.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtLWqJAR_BKjBGeg7FH0XlckrecE83V5pdmLrL-dURv-xCSODZK3EjGtLuQuRbHpGJwI1tYZP2jHtS4CWVU6GYdKimPWtmLU_6ZLW03xCcmzUW5-zQzinIxQMVLDiwJV7xqnwRuA4Uftfd/s400/IMG_8744.JPG" width="400" /></span></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">How cool would that be to come around the corner on a backroad like this and see Uncle Hairy walking along, carrying an iPod and listening to </span></span><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_oFwKGw6V80"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">this song</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> (caution, not safe if at work).</span></span></i></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">So, don't take anything for granted, keep your eyes open and your mind open, too, cause I think Bigfoot is attracted to those who love nature and see it for its wonder and beauty. Bigfoot Country is where the Big Guy lives, and where I want to live, too, far from the crowds. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">As long as he doesn't mind and doesn't try to steal my breakfast pancakes. Write me at rustybigfoot at gmail.com if you've ever met Mr. Big. Your anonymity is guaranteed. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">—Rusty</span></span>Rusty Wilsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02155448464387401776noreply@blogger.com0