WBS March

Western Bigfoot Society
Portland, OR
3-3-2012

The first thing I appreciated about this Saturday evening meeting was that the drive from my Tri-Cities, WA home down the Columbia River Gorge and to Pattie’s Homeport Restaurant in northwest Portland, a distance of precisely two hundred and thirty miles, was the beauty of the day. Although

windy, the sun shone brightly on my path making the Columbia River, with its wind driven white caps, literally sparkle in brilliance. This early in March, new grass was not in evidence through the prairies and desert of the eastern half of the journey, but, just a few miles west of the small town of Boardman, home of a major grain shipping terminal, I rounded a curve and was thrilled with the

sight of Wy’east in the Indian language and Mt. Hood in the predominant tongue of the region looming large on the western horizon. At 11,250 ft, this stratovolcano lies quiescent today but is one of the most likely of the string of such peaks that stretch from northern California to Canada in the Cascade Mountain Range to erupt.

The truly remarkable thing about this scene was that the 12,280 foot Pahto or, more commonly, Klickitat… Mt Adams in our language was also in brilliant sunlight off to the north of this vista point. Their sister, Loowit, now truncated to a mere 8800 feet after the terrible eruption of 1980 lay unseen in the depths of the Cascades just thirty one miles to the west of Klickitat. This triangle of stone, Wy’east to the south, Loowit to the

north and west and Klickitat to the east form a triangle far more mysterious and foreboding that the more famous triangle which lies off the eastern coastline of the U.S. And… Today… it was all in sunshine! While this is not an uncommon event later in the year, it is highly unusual for the Department of Tourism to have all three erected and visible so early in the year! All too often, it is late April or even, sometimes May before the western peaks, Mt. Hood and Mt. Saint Helens appear in the midday brilliance.

I was blessed for sure as the beauty of this land unfolded before me as I lumbered quietly west at seventy plus miles per hour in my modern covered wagon. A summer fire had bared an area of now greening grass near the mouth of the John Day River (named for an Astor man who had lost his mind and died in the wilderness in the teen years of the Nineteenth Century). On this

impossibly steep bluff overlooking the river, fed a small band of Bighorn Sheep. In the barely few moments I was allowed to view them, I saw no large rams, nor did I expect to see any as they would all be off in their own bachelor bands at this time of year. This band was all ewes and last year’s lambs but still very impressive to see. I saw no pronghorns today, but there were mule deer there. Traffic was light, as usual through this remote stretch of the Pacific Northwest and I completely enjoyed my leisurely drive through God’s great creation.

With only a short Pit Stop to drain the body and refill the drink cup at Biggs Junction, the approximate halfway point on my journey, I continued on… making that remarkable transition from desert to temperate forest in the less than twenty miles that separate The Dalles, OR from Hood River, OR…ever west until I arrived at my destination precisely three and one half hours after leaving my home. The amazing part of this trip is that the actual half way point is, as mentioned, at mp 104 on Interstate Highway 84, Biggs Junction, but the mental dividing line for me comes near mp 10 on that same highway. The

last ten miles of I 84, three miles north on I 5 and seventy three blocks west on Lomard Street from I 5 Exit 305B are crowded, dangerous and downright crazy at times.

I am amazed that people can be so ridiculous in their driving. It is like they are possessed by some kind of demon that controls their very psyche. I witnessed, in that short stretch, some twenty miles in total, more near misses caused by people darting in and out of lines of traffic in some inane effort to be “first” than I did on the preceding two hundred and ten miles combined.

I arrived early enough to enjoy a leisurely meal of a very well made hamburger and fries with a diet cola and conversation with the staff of this tiny oasis in a desert of humanity. The company was convivial with people, as they arrived, introducing themselves and expressing pleasure at meeting me or seeing me again, a phenomenon that I still find disconcerting. First to arrive was our host, Mr. Ray Crowe, one if the grand men of Sasquatch research in the U.S. and the Pacific Northwest. Ray started his queries back in the dark ages. I teased him that he and the first Sasquatch were contemporary so it made it easier to commune with them.

The speaker for the March third meeting was Mr. Henry Franzoni. I’ve heard Henry speak before. It was last June at the Oregon Sasquatch Symposium and I was greatly intrigued by his knowledge and approach to the Being we call Sasquatch. Henry is a self proclaimed math nut and computer geek. He is, by trade, a Fish and Game analyst for the four major Indian tribes of the Intermountain Northwest, to wit, The Yakama Nation in Washington, the Warm Springs Nation and the Confederated Tribes of the Umatilla Indian Reservation in Oregon and the Nez Perce Nation in Idaho. As such, he travels extensively in these areas.

Henry began his dissertation with an acknowledgement to the WBS founder, Ray Crowe and made note of the fact that, being a dedicated geek, he worked with Ray and created the FIRST Sasquatch internet website ever in existence. At a time back in 1993, when there were less than five hundred websites in the total of the world, one of those was for the Western Bigfoot Society.

“We must remember this,” Henry stated dramatically enough to cause me to draw my pen and abscond with my neighbor’s (unused) napkin to make a note, “we are not investigating science, we are gathering Intelligence on a foreign species.” Henry continued: “Sasquatch is far too intelligent to be experienced in the normal way. You cannot get him into a Lab”

“You know crows as a group,” Henry stated, matter of factly, “but you do not know them individually. To us, every crow pretty much resembles every other crow in existence but the inverse is not true. Crows know us individually. In order to survive, they have to know which of us will provide them food and which will attempt to take their lives. It is essential for their very survival to understand the individuality of persons.”

This brought a thought to my own mind.  Many years ago, I had a friend, Gary, who had a friend, Brad, who hunted crows. One day, Gary and I happened to be in the general vicinity of his Brad’s rural home. We watched from my truck as a flock of crows flew in the general direction of Brad’s home only to suddenly turn ninety degrees and fly well off course from the house. After flying well beyond shooting range from the house, the flock of crows then turned back ninety degrees to resume their original course of flight. Those crows knew who lived in that house and they knew when they were in danger.

Henry then resumed his discourse… “Sasquatch are like crows in that they know who we are, individually, that come into their realm. They respect the level you are on. You will see what you are ready to see and no more. If you are ready to see a Sasquatch cross the road in front of you at night, that is precisely what you will see. If you are ready to see a shadow in the timber, that is what you will see… if you are ready to see a tree peeker peering around a tree in the forest, once again, that is what you will see. But, if you are ready to handle a face to face visit, prepare yourself well, for that is what is coming. Bear in mind please that Sasquatch can either bring couples together or he can split them apart by their very appearance to that couple. Rest assured, whatever you are ready for, they will make a difference.”

I must amend that slightly to warn people that one should not seek to meet these magnificent beings unless the person is ready to accept the fact that they are LIFE-CHANGING in their scope and their power. My own teacher, Akanneesha is very, very powerful. He is so powerful that I cannot be in his physical presence but minutes as he so enervates me that I could not walk away from him if I tarried longer. Do not ask for this boon unless you are ready to accept the consequences. Many of these consequences are positive, but, I must say that there are negatives too. I love the friends I have made, but I’d be as happy if no one knew what I happen to have learned of my hirsute friends… We are Homo sapiens sapiens… Wise Man… they, I feel are Homo sapiens hirsutii… the Hairy Wise Man.

Henry, a man of science far beyond what any of the “coalition” can claim concluded his discussion of the evening with a word to the “science only” community: “If we were investigating a worm, we could use the ‘scientific method’… Sasquatch is too intelligent to be empiricized. The Indians know a lot more about Sasquatch than science knows. And science still refuses to entertain the fact that they might know something of value. To the Chinook, he is Seatco… to the Chehalis he is Sasquatch.. to many other nations, he has many other names but they all mean the same thing… he is merely another tribe. He is not mysterious, evil or threatening, he is simply ‘Brother’… nothing more, nothing less.”

In Henry’s unique position with the four great nations, he hears much, but it is always prefaced with, “this is not to be shared with the white community…” it is felt they would not Respect nor Protect the Skookum Man… our large elder brother… it is my prayer that we do so with a great and enduring vigor.

Respect & Protect

One Summer Day

  One Summer’s Day

   By
Missy Hultzer
as told to
Thom Cantrall

         It was a warm late summer day in Martinsburg, West Virginia. A soft breeze was doing its best to keep the temperatures bearable as my cousin and I took our game of ”Spiderman” to the trees of the apple orchard that lay behind his house.

         The welcome zephyr rustled the leaves gently as we sprang from tree to tree while pretending to be the “Spidey-Siblings” practicing our awesome Spidey powers and web-slinging abilities. While I was but eight years old and my cousin a year less, we were diligently proving to each other that our characters could do all the powerful things that Spiderman could do. When we had ventured no more than ten or fifteen trees from his backyard, we stopped to plan our next adventure. It was during this planning break that we heard something break.

          The sound filtered to us through the trees from the boundary. We, thinking it was Uncle coming to scold us, fell silent and watched closely, peering through the leaves, for him to appear. We were not allowed to play in the orchard for many reasons, primary of which was the farmer didn’t want us there. Of course there were snakes and other dangers for children. Being children, however, we ignored those reasons as simply being excessive worry on a grown up’s part. What we saw next was to remain burned into my memory forever…

         As we each stared into the other’s eyes in fear and disbelief, a very wide, very hairy man walked out from the grove and into the path that lead directly between the rows of trees where we hid. It was late summer, that time between picking time and fall, as there were no apples on the trees and only a few scattered on the ground beneath us. We didn’t speak…we didn’t move… we didn’t even but barely venture to take a breath… I watched as this man… this creature, turned toward us. I was afraid… so very afraid, but, strangely, I felt I was safe because I was sure he could not see me. After all, I had been quiet, and he gave no sign…not even a glance up, to indicate that he saw us there. As the giant approached us he kept his eyes to the ground. It looked almost as if he was trying to avoid eye contact. I was surely was not trying to institute it either, for I simply wanted to know who this was.

          I knew that none of my cousin’s neighbors were this big nor were any of them in long reddish brown hair as this fellow was. The being was big but not as tall as one would think him to be for his bulk. He was built quite square really, with three or four inches of a reddish brown hair blowing gently in the wind. The only skin that I could see was on his hands and it was of a tan hue. It was much like the skin of grandfather, weathered and tanned from a lifetime of farming. As he approached our tree fairly quickly it seemed his purpose and movements were fluent. From the moment he broke through the tree line he was obviously on a mission and, just as obviously, I just had no idea what that mission was.

          In a single motion, he approached us and squatted in front of our tree. Quickly, with hands that were but a blur, he reached out and snatched a snake from the base of my tree. He did this with a hand that appeared to have a thumb on either side of 4 fingers. With a casual nonchalance, he tossed it behind him like it was just a stick and of no consequence. He then stood and continued down the path without as much as a notice in our direction. Remarkably, as he got further away, he just kind of faded out of our sight. He didn’t actually disappear but merely blended into the background as he increased our separation.

          In quiet astonishment, my cousin and I simply stared one to the other for a few moments. Almost as if each knew the thoughts of the other, we both dropped from the tree and made a bee-line directly for the house. In an impossibly loud voice and at a rate only two excited children can attain we related to my aunt precisely what had transpired. To our great chagrin, she
laughed it off as some crazy kid’s story. To add even further to the distress we were suffering, everyone laughed at us and made sport of us for days. As so often happens in such cases, we vowed to never speak of it again. To this day he refuses to discuss it, and I, have not spoken of it to anyone until very recently. As it happened, I noticed another cousin with a bigfoot badge on her profile picture on Facebook. I took a major chance, my heart in my hand and told her of my experience. She then introduced me to my first bigfoot group on facebook.

          Today the old orchard has gone the way of too many such orchards, having succumbed to a housing development but I have many thoughts on bigfoot and I feel my experience has changed me and changed my life. Perhaps I will write a novel on this one day, but for now, I will merely continue my search for my next encounter. Why? The answer to that question is simple… They are real, and they call to me. That is why. Is any other reason needed?

A Time To Answer the Call

It’s TIME!

The time has come. There are no more “ape groups” nor are there “human groups”. If we are to persevere and bring forth a new species into the world (Homo sapiens hirsutii is my choice for a name… you may have your own), we have got to drop such external trappings and embrace what is… not what “may be”… Whatever these beings are, THEY ARE! That they are real is no longer in question. As my friend, Cliff Barackman stated, “They are not fully animal nor are they fully human. They are SASQUATCH!” That is their place in our world.

It matters not to them how we consider them. What is, IS… nothing more, nothing less. The arguments over Science vs. Spiritualism must end today. It is not important… they are what they are. NO ONE, not me, not the finest scientist in the world has all the answers… nor are they likely to have them in the near future. I have my beliefs. So be it. Others have their own belief system. They are entitled to those beliefs as I am entitled to mine. I can agree or disagree as I will. That is proper. It is not proper for me to denigrate, belittle nor disrespect another for how they believe. The time has come to agree to disagree and move forward. Their nature and capabilities are NOT IMPORTANT today. Their SURVIVAL is. Time will show us their capabilities. Time will show us their nature. Stop bickering now.

There is a significant study pending that will answer many questions and pose many more, as is the wont of such studies… be that as it may. We must learn from this study and move forward. We must take the data from this study and use it to gain protection for their very lives. It is imperative on us to do so and to do so with haste and vigor. There are factors that will be made known that will rock millennia old beliefs to their very core. That, also, is at it is.

There is only one division that will remain within the nonce… should we kill one “for science” or should we not. I will remain adamant on this point. To murder one of these beings would be so wrong on so many levels as to be beyond the realm of belief.

Even if they are found to be merely the basest of animals, they do not deserve death. I am a hunter. I have been my entire life past my fourth birthday. This said, I have never before nor do I now ever kill for sport. I kill an animal for food, to protect myself or others or to maintain a healthy population level… there are no other reasons to do so. All creatures fit into the ecology of the biome for one purpose or another. It is not our place to judge this fact.

Please, my friends, come forward and pledge your support to the emergence of our friends of the forest… our Primal People… It is time to stand up and be counted.

Thom Cantrall

Making Your Point About Sasquatch

An Analysis of the Scientific Evidence of the Sasquatch People

By

Thom Cantrall

I.  Introduction:

          A.  Emphasize you cannot PROVE anything… you can only offer evidence.

                    1. When confronting skeptics, ask for sources of their claims and statements

                              a.  Demand that any statement made as a representation be substantiated by a  reference to the person making that statement.

                             b.  If personal opinion is expressed, ask for why/how the speaker is qualified to make such an assumption.

                                      1)  Research time?

                                      2)  Personal experience in what or where?

                             c.  Do not argue with these people.  If they will not listen to a logical presentation, they are totally unconvinceable and are not worth the time and energy expended.  Do not raise your voice… when voices go up, reason departs

                                       1)  Merely state that you do not have time for spurious argument but if they would wish to speak from factual statements, not hearsay and innuendo, you’re willing.

II.  Patterson Gimlin Film:

          A.  Muscle Bulge

                    1.  Early in the film at Frame 5, very clearly a bulge shows in the right quadriceps

muscle on the upper right leg.

                              a.  This is NOT something that would/could be faked in a suit.

                              b.  Dr. Andrew Nelson, Center for Motion Analysis and Biomechanics stated:  “This is probably a rupture of the Quadriceps Muscle… this is something that cannot be copied in a suit.”

                               c.  “After analyzing the biomechanical issues, I find very hard to believe somebody in 1967 could have fabricated the intricacies as evidenced by the soft tissue irregularities seen on the upper leg.  The science at that time was just far too primitive.”

                              d.  John Chambers, Oscar winning costume designer for the 1968 movie, “Planet of the Apes” stated “If this is a suit, it is the finest ever devised for it was beyond our capability in the 1960s.  Every hair would have had to have been individually attached to the model for this to do what it does in that film.”

          B.  Size and Gait, or Walk

                    1.  Professor Jeff Meldrum, Paleontologist, Idaho State University, states that in primates, the normal ratio of foot size to height is 6.5… the measured size of the track of the

creature in the film as independently measured and verified by John Green, B.C. Canada Newspaperman, Bob Titmus, Taxidermist from Redding, CA and Al Hodgson, Businessman from Willow Creek, CA was 14.5 inches.

                              a.  Using Dr. Meldrum’s equation for determining height from foot size yields a projected height of just under 8′

                              b.  Bill Munns, Film Analyst, Graphic Artist, Hollywood Set Designer and consultant stated that by analyzing the Lens and Camera Data and knowing the distance the subject was from the lens, it stood between 7.5′ and 8′ tall as calculated.

                               c.  Using the figure in frame 72 of the film, use the measured foot size of 14.5 inches and apply that to the height of the creature after allowing for her slumped posture.  I measured her at just over 6 of her foot lengths in height or 7’4″ plus or minus an inch.

                                         1)  Using three different measuring techniques from 3 different experts, the minimum height for this being is 7’3″ and the maximum height is 8′.

                    2.  Dr. Reuben Steindorf, using Inverse Kinematics and Motion Analysis created a 3D model of the being in the PGF which he forwarded to Dr. Andrew Nelson of the Center for Motion Dynamics and Biomechanics who graphically inserted a skeleton into the model, determining that the creature moved with a “Compliant Gait”, not the “Stiff-legged Gait” of a human.   Motion capture shows a minimum of   heel strike with a leg swinging stride and flat footed step down.

                    3.  Dr. Scott Lind and Emmy Award winning animator Joe Russo then attempted to train an athlete to walk  with this same compliant gait and were unsuccessful.

                               a.  These professional men concluded that it was impossible for the human body to exactly duplicate the walking motion of the creature in the PGF.

          C.  Costumes

                    1.  Peter Brooke, costume designer for the “Jim Henson Creature Shop:, John Chambers, Academy Award winner for “Planet of the Apes” whose efforts took 4 professional designers 3 months to create and 4 hours each day to apply to the actors involved, performed an analysis of the creature in the PGF.

                               a.  They concluded there are three notable features in the film:

                                         1)  Arm Length

                                         2)  Firm musculature underneath

                                         3)  Hair adheres to body beneath it

                               b.  Peter Brooke – “Such costumes did not exist in the 1960s

                                         1)  The fur adheres to to the form and contours of the body.

                                         2)  Today we make such suits of four-way stretch fur fabric but that did not exist until the 1980s.  the era of the PGF did not have fur that could be form fitted.

                               c.   “It does stretch.  I don’t know how hey could have done that in 1967.”

                                         1)  “Several individual muscle groups are plainly visible on the creature in the film.”

                                         2)  “Tightening and slacking of the Achilles Tendon is evident”

                                         3)  “Shoulder blade is clearly visible and moves during the walk and the look back.”

                               d.  Bill Munns, Graphic Artist and designer said, “You cannot alter where the knees or elbows bend.  She has long upper leg and short lower leg.”

                                         1)  Due to the structure of the creature in the film, “If you could find a suit to match all the criteria necessary, you could not find a human who could wear that suit.”

          D.  Arm length Vs. Leg Length (Intermembral Index)

                    1.  Dr. Jeff Meldrum, Paleontologist at Idaho State, University, has taught a ratio known as the Intermembral Index or IM

                               a.  In 1998 BBC in England financed a program to “disprove” the PGF by

creating a state of the art costume and putting a man inside to prove that it could be done without a creature having to have done it.  Figure 4 shows the result of that effort.  As in all such endeavors, they not only did NOT disprove the PGF, but, in essence, served to prove it even more.  Aside from the fact that the person in the suit could not begin to duplicate the Compliant Gait of the creature, a mere glance shows a very glaring error.  please note the relative arm lengths of the two figures.  the red suited fake has arms that, in relation to the size of its body are HUMAN in form.  The black figure, from the film, frame 352, has arms that are much longer in relation to her body.

                               b.  Dr. Meldrum describes the Intermembral Index as the ratio of the arm, as measured from the shoulder to the wrist, to the leg, as measured from the hip to the ankle times 100.  The 100 factor is simply to clear the decimal from the result.

                                         1)  Mathematically, if one measures the Arm and calls that A, and measures the leg and calls that L, then the IM=A divided by L times 100 or, simply, IM=A/L X 100.

                                         2) Primate species all have a specific IM

                                                   a)  In a Human, the IM is 72

                                                   b)  In a Chimpanzee, the IM is 108

                                                   c)  In a Gorilla, the IM is 122

                                                   d)  In a Sasquatch, the IM is 84

                               c.  Looking at Figure 5, Frame 72 once more, the arm length and the leg length are readily apparent and are easily measured accurately.

                                         1)  The above calculation using the formula provided by Dr. Meldrum yields an IM of this figure of 84, which places it firmly in the range expected for its species.

                               d.  Arm extensions cannot be used to merely lengthen the arm because that would put the elbow out of position in the arm.  the upper arm would be inordinately short as compared to the long lower arm with the extension.

          E.  Know your Players.

                     1.  Do any of those denying the truth of this film know ANY of the players involved?  Do they know any of the people who they quote or any of those who they denigrate?

                               a.  I KNOW Bob Gimlin personally and a nicer, more honest and more plainly humble man has not existed in my lifetime.  I KNOW Professor Dr. Jeff Meldrum.  I KNOW Cryptolinguist, R. Scott Nelson, I KNOW Sierra Sounds recorder, Ron Morehead… and on and on…  Can any detractors say as much?

          F.  Conclusions on the Patterson Gimlin Film:

                      1.  Analysis of the herniated quadriceps muscle by Dr. Andrew Nelson and John Chambers leads them to conclude that “the creature in the film is NOT a fake or a hoax.”

                     2.  Analysis of the size and compliant gait of the being in the film by Professor Jeff Meldrum, Dr. Scott Lind, Bill Munns, Dr. Reuben Steinderf and Joe Russo leads them to conclude that the being in the film is of a height between 7’4″ and 8′ tall and that it walks with a gait that cannot be duplicated by even an athletic human.

                     3.  Analysis of the Costume by Peter Brooke, Bill Munns and John Chambers, all very well known in the costuming world and all are award winners, concluded that the materials needed to produce an effective costume of the type that would be necessary for that film were not available in the 1960s and even if they had been, no human could have physically been able to fill it and perform in it.

                     4.  Applying Dr. Jeff Meldrum’s Intermembral Index analysis to the figure in the film reveals an IM of 84, not the 72 IM found in humans for the 108 IM found in Chimpanzees.  84 is the IM of Sasquatch.

                     5.  It is VERY IMPORTANT to note here that if only ONE of the FOUR facts attested to here is true, the the figure in the film cannot be a man in a suit.  That all four are attested to by qualified experts in their respective fields yields extremely strong evidence of the veracity of the hypothesis that this is, indeed, a real Sasquatch.

III.  Footprints:

          A.  Dr. Jeff Meldrum stated that is not necessary to have a physical body to prove that a species exists when the preponderance of evidence so indicates.

                     1.  Dr. Meldrum has in his possession the largest catalog of track casts from a large, bipedal primate collected from all across North America known to exist.  this library consists of of well over 200 casts.

                               a.  The most important feature found on the best of these castings are dermal ridges.

                                         1)    These are the “fingerprints”, the lines on the skin that make each track individual and distinct.

                                         2)  Ridges on Humans are horizontal to the long axis of the foot.

                                         3)  Ridges on Apes are diagonal to the long axis of the foot.

                                         4)  Ridges on Sasquatch are vertical to the long axis of the foot.

                              b.  An important aspect of examining a trackway in the wild is to note that there are changes  in the shape and positioning of the individual toes, etc, from track to track.

                                         1)  This indicates motion of the toes, suggesting that the subject is flesh and blood and not merely a rigid material used to fake the footprints.

                    2.  Jimmy Chilcutt, forensic print examiner stated, “My testimony puts people in jail, so it is important that I be complete and accurate in my examination of prints.”

                              a.  Mr. Chilcutt has analyzed prints of all the great apes ans  has verified the facts stated as to the orientation of the lines of the dermal ridges.

                    3.  Dr. Henner Farenbach of the Oregon Regional Primate Research Center has

hypothesized that any population of tracks should have a natural distribution of sizes, widths and areas as would any animal species, including the human species.

                              a.  Using the data he garnered from Dr. Meldrum’s library of foot castings along with 100s of other verified castings from various sources spanning over a hundred years and geographically spanning North America, he created histograms of the data accumulated

1.  As can be seen from the graphs in Figure 7 and Figure 8, Dr. Farenbach has

demonstrated that the raw data histograms yield in analysis to standard Bell Curve distributions indicating that across centuries and a continent, the data comes from a living population rather than having been faked.

          B.  Conclusions:

                    1.  Jimmy Chilcutt, Forensic Print Specialist, stated after analyzing his data from his investigations:  “There is a Sasquatch (species) living in North America.  The prints are neither human nor are the ape in origin.”

                    2.  Dr. Henner Farenbach stated after his analysis of the statistical data:  “In all likelihood, there is a large primate walking about in the North American Forests.”

                    3.  Dr. Jeff Meldrum stated that:  “My personal collection of over 200 footprint casts suggest that there is a large, bipedal primate in North America.”

IV.  DNA Evidence:

          A.  DNA is probably the least understood and most misrepresented facet of Sasquatch

Research.

                    1.  DNA does not “PROVE” the existence of anything.  It is a statistical database that, when a specimen is compared to the base, can be matched and identified… provided there is a match within the database.

                              a.  Any DNA found from an unknown or uncatalogued, heretofore unidentified, primate species will simply come back as “Unknown Primate”.

                   2.  There are two major sources of DNA in the cell.

                             a.  Mitochondrial DNA or mDNA is found in the mitochondria in the cell’s nucleus.

                                        1)  mDNA comes from the female side of the mating.  It is the signature provided to us by our matrilineal line… mother, grandmother, great grandmother, etc.

                                        2)  mDNA is the easier to obtain, lasts the longer and is the less likely to be corrupted by outside factors.

                            b.  Nuclear DNA is found in the cell’s nucleus as well, but outside of the cell’s  nuclear Mitochondria.

                                        1)  Nuclear DNA is not limited to just the female factors and markers so can show the genealogy of the male side of the ancestry.

                  3.  Dr. Craig Newton of B.C. Research in Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada was provided hairs from the Skookum Cast taken in South Central Washington.

                            a.  Dr. Newton found his hair samples to be so human-like that he suspected contamination from either the collectors or from him in his handling of the hair samples.

                                        1)  Talks with the collector, Richard Noll, yielded his certainty that he was extremely careful in the gathering of the hair samples… that they were gathered by the use of tweezers from the plaster used to cast the impressions and were kept isolated in suitable containers prior to turning them over to Dr. Newton.

                                        2)  It is inconceivable that a professional lab like that which Dr. Newton runs would contaminate any sample in their care.

                  4.  In 2009, Dr. Jeff Meldrum and Microbiologist Dr. Kurt Nelson of the University of Minnesota journeyed to a remote cabin in upper Ontario, Canada on Snelgrove Lake.  At that cabin they found a screw board that had been stepped on by something with an 18 inch foot, leaving a quantity of dried blood on the board.

                            a.  Dr. Nelson was able to isolate DNA that varied by only one marker from that of human DNA.

                                        1)  That one marker was one of the five markers that differ from humans in chimpanzees, our formerly closest relative.

                                        2)  It was determined that the DNA was 99.4% to 99.6% identical to human DNA

                                                   a)  Chimpanzee DNA is 98.3% the same as human

                 5.  Early in 2011 Dr. Melba Ketchum of DNA Diagnostics in Texas completed DNA analysis on over 100 specimens at some 11 different DNA laboratories across the nation and has completed a fully scientific report that is in the Peer Review process prior to being published in a major scientific journal.

                            a.  While the results have not been released to the public yet, my conversations have yielded the fact that the outcome is very human.

                            b.  That fact that there have been over a hundred samples available from all over the country yields credence to the existence of this creature.

                 6.  Dr. Ketchum did not believe in the existence of Sasquatch when her work on his DNA began.  She found that, as time passed,  her samples were showing more and more mDNA as being human, she decided they must, indeed, be a real species.

                             a.  Dr. Ketchum has since had her own encounters with the living creatures.

          B.   DNA Conclusions:

                  1.  Dr. Craig Newton prematurely, I think, dismissed his results considering that which has come later in the field.

                  2.  Dr. Kurt Nelson is convinced he has isolated DNA from our closest relative as a species.

                  3.  Dr. Melba Ketchum is poised to rock the scientific world with her impending release of a report that will link us inexorably to a heretofore unknown species.

VI.  Conclusions:

          A.  From Dr. Jeff Meldrum, Professor of Paleontology, Idaho State University, Pocatello, Idaho:

“I have weighed and considered the evidence… I have now reached a point that it seems more incredible that all of this (the century long series of sightings and tracks, etc.) is a series of spurious hoaxing spanning decades if not centuries than it is to entertain the likelihood that a new species of high order primate may exist and may soon join the family of the ranks of primates…”

Ho Nubbie 2011

Ho – Nubbie 2011
By
Thom Cantrall

The Gathering

I met my family this week! Oh, I knew were the Cadre, the core… but between 9-28-2011 and 10-2-2011, I learned what that meant.
In the far southeast corner of a difficult to reach state there lies a virtually inaccessible

microcosm of civilization largely untouched by modern technology. If you venture into that beautiful region of mystic subcultures do not expect to use your cell phone. There is internet service available to a choice few with ample funds to make it happen but forget such amenities as Wifi or other temporary access connections… they simply are not.
What are here in abundance however, are two fold… There are beautiful people and even more beautiful populations of our Primal People. Now, whether these Primal People are here in such quantity due to a gathering or if the population is universally elevated in the remote corner of Mid-America, I cannot, in truth, address for I have been here but this one time and have no experience on which to draw. The regular people had, in fact, gathered here to teach, to learn and to share.
I had been invited to share my experiences in this land of the Choctaw some months before and had flown in to Tulsa in the Sooner State where I was met by my mentor and special Sister. We rendezvoused with another pair of lovely persons and we journeyed and a bit east from the mid-American oil capitol through the land of the Creeks, the Cherokee, the Choctaws and the Chickasaws to the tiny town of Honobia, OK… how this is uttered commonly as Ho-Nubbie, I have not the foggiest idea, but, as with most such anomalia, I merely accepted it and reveled in the difference I felt here soon on. Arla shared the sights as we traveled… from

Collett Hill to Coalton Road… from the site of her first encounter with her Sasquatch to the nearly dry Canadian River. I saw one such great river that, if one were to attempt to fish it, that one should expect to catch more than sand shrimp for there was no water!
We traveled through a geologically interesting area of low hills covered, where natural, in a low growing variety of oak tree… Black Oak I would guess but since I did no dendrological analysis, it is merely a supposition on my part. Interspersed on occasion were pines. They were a three needle pine, meaning that each leaf follicle had been divided into thirds. Due to the relatively long length of these leaves, I believe them to be long leaf pine but, again, I did not attempt to analyze them.

 

The hills, having come from the mountain west, as I would describe them are actually the roots of an ancient mountain range that had been reared by tectonic activity several hundred million years ago and have since been, with cessation of that tectonic pressure, eroded to the more lowly stature they hold

today. That said, understand these Kiamichi Mountains with bands of sedimentary rock strata and pelt of green with vistas long enough to boggle the very mind are a beautiful and exciting place to be.
It was into this new and strange biome that I, a person reared into the bosom of Redwood trees exceeding three-hundred-fifty feet in height and more than eighty feet in circumference and Douglas Fir trees nearly as tall came to share. The first thing I learned was that the altitude of the mountains has nothing whatsoever to do with the depth of one’s soul. How tall the tree is no determinant of the love and reespect that dwells in the hearts

of those gathered.
From the first minutes there in the presence of those gathered to the last lingering moments of departure… a departure no one wanted effected… I was Honored! I was loved! I was cared for! But, most importantly, I was respected. I was the eldest so I ate first. I was a guest

so I was given the first and the best… I am of limited mobility, so I was placed in the best, most comfortable seat and I was served my dinner from the loving hands that prepared it. My needs were addressed… my opinion was sought… my bed was warm… my heart was warmer.
We had no lodges, wickiups or tepees. There were no herds of ponies feeding on the silver hazed meadows… but there could have been. Perhaps there even should have been, but those days are irrevocably gone and maybe it is meet that they be so for surely, this gathering could not have occurred had those

been our only options. We were peoples from across the breadth of this land… from the far Pacific Northwest to the very end of the great Southeast… from the heartlands to the saltwaters we had gathered here. But, those days were missed.
Some months ago I came on the idea of creating a near life-sized figure of my Teacher. This idea mutated through several intermediate steps as I

discussed it with person of artistic persuasion until I met Alex Evans from far off Indiana. When she heard of my wish, she took it and began to run with it. I looked at

her work and was highly impressed by it, so I sent her ideas and we talked even more. She sketched and we talked more. We made changes and we celebrated successes.
On Tuesday, 27 September, 2011, Alex left Indiana bound for our gathering. With her rode Akanumba Akanneesha… Red Stripe… My Teacher. She had painted him in three sections, each approximately thirty-two inches high and up to forty-eight inches wide to yield a finished painting eight feet high by four feet in width at its widest point. Neither of had seen him in his entirety prior to our arrival at our gathering cabin. With the help of many, we held

him up against the cabin wall where we, for the very first time watched him come alive in his completed form.
With misted eyes, I looked at Alex with eyes aweep and we embraced. Together we had created something larger than the combination of our individual selves. I held her tightly, her diminutive self holding me even more tightly as we felt out creation consume us and meld our souls. It was at that moment that she became my beloved Celtic Sister… where she will remain from today through perpetuity and into eternity.

The Conference

Upon arrival I realized that my preplanning was not to come to fruition. There was no way for me to tap into the internet to retrieve my illustrations I had worked so hard to prepare.

Then, I suppose to accentuate that this was not to be, my laptop computer rolled over on its back with its little feet in the air, figuratively speaking. So, here I am on Thursday with no access to even my data files… A major address due in the first speaking slot after the opening remarks of the 2011 Honobia Bigfoot Conference and only the notes I have written for reference. “You paint your pictures with worlds anyway,” Arla stated…
I let that sink in far enough that I realized she was right… that in my writing I often did not

have the option of using pictures to illustrate a point and had to rely merely on the written word to convey that scene. Thus, I thought, could not the same be done by the spoken word? Immediately, I went back to my notes and determined that Friday’s presentation would probably be alright in such a scenario although Saturday’s presentation would not, as it needed the use of comparative photos to be effective in its showing.
Although my surface tension had eased, I still had concerns.. There were tensions being caused from outside by people who, for some reason or

another, wished the conference and its organizers ill will. Their physical threats were a matter of concern as well to some. I was unsure as I am usually unsure before a major address. I did not feel it required major conciliation so I ignored my discomfiture and enjoyed the evening.
Akanneesha, Red Stripe, was complete. I had used Thursday to attach the mounting hardware that would make him free-standing and he had enjoyed his day watching our

antics from his secure place in the kitchen area of our cabin. Often, I would catch my Celtic Sister just staring at him and I would move to her side, place an oversized arm around her diminutive waist just to help her in the observance of this magnificent painting. I could not believe just how wonderful he had come out. It was as if I was standing there looking at him in person!
Eventually, fatigue prevailed and my bed called. Because so many had joined us and the cold nights had curtailed sleeping out… especially for the ladies, floor space had become a precious commodity for sleepers. To do my part in alleviating the shortage of said space, I had offered the floor at the end of my bed to Alex… an offer she gratefully accepted. On this night we were both safely ensconced in

our respective beds. We had said our goodnights and had each drifted off into our own dream world.
At 3:30 am, I awoke to the feeling of a presence next to my bed. Initially, I thought it might nave been Alex enroute to or from the bathroom. As she is so completely polite, she does this by navigating her way without turning on the light. This usually resulted in at least a few bumps and thuds in the night, especially when I tried it, that were readily identifiable as to their source. This time, however there was no telltale thump or bang and I could hear the soft night sounds Alex made as she slept calmly in her bed. Instead, I felt my Teacher’s ambiance. I knew at once that my Red

Striped Friend, or his representative, was beside my bed! Immediately, since I had been sleeping on my right side, I raised my left arm straight vertically. After a pause such that I might have counted to eight slowly, I felt it… I felt my hand being engulfed in his giant hands.
I am not a small person and I have hands commensurate with my body size so to find my hand being held as I might hold the hand of my two-year-old great granddaughter as startling to me

to say the least. I gasped a small bit, I believe as I felt his grip tighten just infinitesimally and I relaxed… As I did so, a peaceful calm descended over me and I knew I would be ok on Friday. “Saturday,” he said quietly into my mind, “will be a challenge. Trust me and I will quicken your mind that you might say the things we need taught.”
At this point, I was devoid of the power to resist him. He is powerful and can be enervating. I felt him squeeze my hand slightly and I asked him if he would allow my sister to see him. “Not at this time,” he replied. “She is not prepared to know

us this way yet and it would frighten her fearfully to be awakened so. Please tell her we are pleased with the work she has done and she will be asked to do more. It is important that she be able to do so.”
I could not, nor did I argue with him. I merely reclaimed my hand as he released it, offered my profound thanks for his intervention and immediately dropped off to sleep. I didn’t get to see him go, but I was not concerned. I had not seen him arrive either so I guess we were even and I was sure that, since he had found his way in, he could find his own way out!
Friday went swimmingly well. We had arranged to have Akanneesha on stage but covered as the morning session began. As I began, I spoke of my history with the Primal People we call

Sasquatch. When I reached the point where I had described my Teacher and his role in my life, I asked my audience… about one hundred strong at this early morning juncture, if they would like to meet him. Of course, heads bounced up and down as they responded. I asked Alex Evans to join me on stage where I introduced her as the artist she is. Together, we unveiled him to an awestruck audience! The applause Akanneesha and Alex received was profound but the looks on the faces of those viewing his image was of the stuff from which legends are spawned. I watched with a kind of wry amusement as those assembled realized they were looking directly at the body representation so perfectly

rendered that had Akanneesha stood onstage in the flesh, these people would not have known who was whom… he was that well done.
My Red Striped friend stayed with us on stage for the remainder of the Friday session and all day Saturday. At every break, people took the opportunity to have themselves photographed with him. Questions were rampant and he was a total success in my assessment.

As my presentation proceeded I could, indeed, feel his push in my mind to lead me to ways around the lack of illustrations. It was to this end that, when I began to discuss Electro-Motive Force (EMF), I utilized the whole width of the room to describe the band width. By so doing, I was able to show the relationship between audio sound and visible light. We found where the broadcast frequencies lay… both AM and FM. By moving across the stage, I could point out the radar band as well as X-rays. Most importantly, we could see where the visible light

spectrum fell and then, by expanding just that portion of the entire EMF range, show how we and how animals see… and, possibly, even how Sasquatch sees his world.
We went on to describe how our Primal People mate, have children and even how they perform rituals. Amazingly, it seemed like we had but started when the timekeeper signaled that my tenure had grown short. It was not before, however, we talked a bit about the forces closing in on his world and the level of protection he needs from us to live successfully and happily. My session on Friday ended as it had

begun… with a call for respect and adherence to the message for RESPECT for ourselves, RESPECT

for others, RESPECT for the Primal People and Respect for our earth.
My time was followed by people of considerable worth. Friday’s Conference continued with presentations by Arla Willians, Robert Swain, the cartoonist and one of the funniest illustrators ever and a leading crypto linguist, Scott Nelson. Of these, I was able to partake of only a little. With the arrangement of the facility as it was wherein my table with my books and other items was

outside the presentation hall, I was called out time after

time to attend to people wanting information. Since my purpose in attending was to dispense this information, I gladly attended these people. As much as I would have loved to be able to listen to the entire conference. This was, alas, not to be.
This said, circumstances permitted such that I was able to hear much of Scott Nelson’s presentation on Sasquatch language and phonetics. Scott has spent a great deal of time studying this phenomenon and explained the genesis of his interest. “My son came to me with a request for help in choosing a

subject for a paper on one of his classes in school,” he explained. “When he expressed a specific interest in Sasquatch, we went to the web and to Google.” Scott went on to say that their search led them to Ron Morehead’s “Sierra Sounds” site. On listening to the recorded sounds of multiple Sasquatch done in 1972 and 1974 high in California’s Sierra Nevada Mountains while Ron was there on a hunting trip Scott was very impressed.

 

“This is language!” Scott told his son on hearing the recordings. He explained that what he was hearing had all the earmarks and requirements of a spoken language.
Scott was calling on his thirty years of experience in making this call. He had retired from the U.S. Navy as a crypto linguist and now taught at a Military Academy in central

Missouri. He had spent these years studying language and cryptology prior to his discovery of this new and thrilling data. Although I did not get to hear all he had to say, what I heard was fascinating and inspired within me a desire to learn so much more.
Saturday began early with a wonderful session leading up to my most awaited presentation of the weekend… a recorded interview with Dr. Melba Ketchum of the “Sasquatch Genome Project”.

of course, the presentation had barely begun and Tim Jones was asking his preliminary questions when I was again called out of the hall to answer questions as before. I was able to return just in time to David Paulides recap the interview and present data on the collection of the hundreds of DNA samples gathered.
During David’s talk and the question and answer

session of he and Scott Nelson that followed, I was impressed to make changes to my Saturday afternoon dissertation. As Scott was telling the story of his trip with Ron Morehead into the mountains, I was told by my Teacher, Akanneesha, that my planned talk would not be appropriate so I began rewriting. Since I had about sold out everything I had brought with me, I was afforded time to now write while enjoying Scott’s story of his upside down horse and all the travails that befell them on their ill-fated trek. Somewhere in the midst of his presentation, all of southeast Oklahoma lost electrical power! Like the trouper

he is, Scott continued and completed his delivery, leaving just one person to speak…
Now I knew why I had been urged to alter my data. But, with my Teacher by my side, figuratively, if not literally, I took the stage and began. My second presentation was more simple and more direct than my first on Friday had been.
We now talked about hoaxes and why people perpetrate them. The conversation went to

fakeries that had occurred and the purposes behind them. Next we talked of tracks and of track ways… of steps, strides and paces and what constitutes each. We talked about ways to identify fake prints and especially contrived track ways. Most importantly I explained the factor of Intermembral Index and why it is so important in identifying fakes and hoaxes.
Intermembral Index (IM) as taught by Dr. Jeff

Meldrum is a technique of comparing arm length to leg length and attaining a ratio of the two. I explained that in man, the ratio of arm length to the length of the leg times one hundred is Seventy-Two. In chimpanzees, this ratio is One Hundred and Eight and in gorillas it is One Hundred and Eighteen. The most important comparison for us this day was that of Sasquatch at Eighty-Four. With these data, any photo that purports to show a Sasquatch where the arms and the legs can be seen can be verified or disproved with a high degree of certainty.
We closed the day with a question and answer session featuring all the speakers and our beautiful Artist, Alex. Question were varied and came quickly and were uniformly well

thought out and well delivered. “Since we have never even found a body of these creatures, how can such data be determined,” came the question from the floor.
“No, sir,” David Paulides responded. “You have never found a body. That does not mean that a body has never been examined.”

Saying Goodbye

          It began on the drive back to our cabins. A feeling of impending gloom was present. Moods were light and joy

rampant in our group as a greatly successful conference was now history. The Tahlina Chamber of Commerce representative in charge of the festival told us it was the most successful festival ever held by them… that conference attendance was the highest they’d ever known.
Dinner that Saturday evening was greatly celebrated. The Spirit Plate was delivered with reverence and an evening of fun began. Many of our core group had departed now to their varied destinations

but some remained. By now, after days together, even those of us who had arrived knowing only one or none of the others had had time to bond. Special spirits came forth this night and our love forged a bond so tight that none would dare try to deny.
Talk lingered long that night as all were reluctant to say

good night… but good night eventually came. From a special, ritual healing of the lesions on my neuropathetic shins to raids on the refrigerator and jokes and teases among friends, the night advanced. People moved onto the night trails in the surrounding forest as they had every night, but this night to say a special goodbye to the locals who had spent their time interacting with us this special weekend until, finally, I had to retire to my bed. My roommate had chosen that time as well to make her retreat to her pallet on the floor… where

it all began again. We talked!
For hours that seemed like minutes, we shared our hearts. We are so similar, she and I. Each in our own way, we create. As such, we have very similar feelings and drives. Oh, yes, it’s not precisely exact… she paints with oils and brushes and I with thoughts and words but the result is the same… a work of love on a canvas of

life! Is there really any measurable difference between us then? Are we not two equal in our vision? I think we found somewhere during that night that Alex Evans became my sister… my Celtic Sister. She created within my heart a special, warm place where I can forever go to feel her beside me. Are we lovers? No… certainly not in this life though perhaps in another. But we are in love! Make no mistake about that and doubt it not! The petite, beautiful and talented Lady from the north is loved by the giant from the West. It seems a bit like the “Beauty and the Beast” to me, but I am never one to deny fate.
It was well past three-thirty am before we finally said goodnight and one or the other of us fell

asleep before the remainder could restart our conversation as had occurred many times prior. Night was short for sure, but that made no difference as we knew it was all we had… and it was enough!
Sunday dawned cool with a bright silver haze on the meadow… a haze that told us today, something real, something worthwhile was ending. Breakfast, lively as it was, had an atmosphere of impending reluctance about it. It seemed as though even the

inanimate things that made up our morning repast knew that the idyll had passed and the time for separation was near. Conversation, though fun and alive, held an overtone of what was soon to be.
Breakfast went, packing was completed and plans were discussed, changed, agreed upon and finalized… I was to ride back to Tulsa with Cyndi and Cathy, two people I’d really come to love, on their way home. This worked out well since their route home to Kansas would take them through the city and this plan would free Arla from the rigor of having to drive those hours north, deliver me to Tulsa International and return the hours back south to her home. She would get Alex’s now disassembled painting of my Teacher to the UPS store for me and send him on his way west. I really wanted her to ship Alex to me as well in the manner she had offered prior, but could not ask.
Then, it was time… all was loaded. There were only we gathered who remained outside our

many vehicles. The tents were but memories and the cabins were empty of all but fond reminiscences of five days of Heaven. The sun was near its apex when an unheard tone resonated in announcement of the hour of dispersal. Almost as one, we began our final good-byes.
While most of us were in a small group, there were a couple of individuals who had moved off alone… one of these, Josie, was someone I felt a special need to tell of my feelings I had gained for her. I moved in her direction as she turned to await me. As I approached her, our arms raised almost involuntarily and, at last, our hands grasped… and it was as if lightening had struck us! The knowledge was instant and we hugged tightly… words were said… and energy was shared… we held sway for only a few moments, but the effect was eternal. Tears were coursing down our cheeks as we separated, not knowing if we would ever meet again in this life, but knowing for certain that we had known each other before… and would again. With this level of emotion flowing we parted… and I moved off to the last person from whom I had to separate.
Alex had left the knot of people about the same time I had left to approach Josie and she

moved to her car to wait. One of the longest walks of my life was from where that red truck was parked, up the hill to where Alex was preparing to get into her car. As I neared her, she turned and we embraced… no words were needed… our hearts were as one and my Celtic Sister was welded into my psyche forever. We said words then… what they were is highly unimportant as it was the emotion that was important not the verbiage. We spent but a few minutes there in that emotion charged atmosphere when time on our dimension expired and we had to part. Walking back to Cyndi’s car and away from that beautiful Red-haired lady was a hard as anything I’ve ever had to do in my life, I do believe.
Indeed, I had arrived as a stranger… as much as anyone is ever a stranger to this gathering of warm, wonderful people, but I was leaving as family. It had happened. This dynamic group had taken in an orphan and made him a part of their hearts. I shall be forever grateful for this love and this loving time.
Our time was up… Honobia 2011 was complete… and five days in Heaven had ended. Thank God 2012 is only a year away.

H.E.R.O. Report

In all the years I’ve been associated with Sasquatch Research, it never occurred to me look at from THEIR point of view… My friend Beth sent this to me and I felt is was far too good to not share….

H.   E.  R.  O.

Human Evaluation and Research Organization

Interim report of Expedition 041206.

When the Sasquatch Intelligence Agency (SIA) learned that the ‘Happy Wanderer Hiking Club’ of (deleted) had planned a three-day outing to a primitive campground in area known to us as Honeybear Mountain, the decision was taken by the Investigation Committee to send a team to cover the event. The general location is in the southeastern United States (Exact location undisclosed due to the potential for ongoing investigation). Our team #3 was given the assignment.

Team Members:

Males:

Harold (me)

Herschel

Nigel

Morris

Females:

Cassandra

Elvira

All team members are experienced and highly trained researchers/investigators.

Equipment:

At times, we find it to our advantage to make our presence known to humans without showing ourselves. For this we rely on ‘The Stench’. We obtain this from Simply Nauseous InFusions (SNIF), Ltd., who make the product available in handy aerosol cans and in a number of custom blends. Our choices for this exercise were:

Females: Cass and Ellie chose “FEMME” (damp forest, day-old garbage and honeysuckle)

Males:

Herschel, Nigel and I selected “MILD MALE” (wet dog and musk with a hint of rotten cabbage)

Morris, our extrovert, opted for “BARF!” (skunk, ammonia, rotten eggs, open sewer, rotten meat,

rotten fish and gorgonzola)

All investigators also carried an aerosol can of SNIF’s tried and true “Narcissus Pheromone”.  One whiff of this odorless compound gives humans an uncontrollable feeling of ‘being watched’, causes the hair on the back of their necks to stand up and makes ‘goose bumps’ rise on their arms.

Objective:

As we have been observing humans for centuries, we believe we know most of what can be learned about them. However, we continue the program to keep pace with any improvements in their equipment and also to document any previously unobserved human characteristics. It should be noted that, although their stress levels are purposely elevated from time to time, particular care is taken on our part that no injury comes to any human during these exercises.

All investigators were cautioned that they were not, under any circumstance, to allow themselves to be photographed by humans as anything more than amorphous blobs in the wilderness. It is realized that some of our kind think it would be to our advantage to allow ourselves to appear crisply and clearly in photographs. However, we are staying with our principles. This policy will remain in effect until humans relent and guarantee us fair and reasonable compensation for our time and effort in posing for them.

Preparation:

It was known that the humans would begin to arrive mid-morning on Friday. In order to re-familiarize ourselves with the terrain and trail/ campground layout and condition, we arrived Wednesday afternoon. The area was in excellent condition so we were able to complete our preparations by Thursday afternoon leaving sufficient time for an evening of fellowship. Beginning with a rousing sing-along, we then spent the rest of the evening telling human stories and jokes.

“Why did the human dash across both lanes of the busy Interstate?”

“Because he saw Morris on his side of the road!”

(Morris laughed so hard at this that he choked and a piece of the rattlesnake he was eating came right out of his nose!)

Before dawn the next morning (Friday), Morris was dispatched to the paved road to obtain some specimens of suitably-aged roadkill for use in an experiment we wished to perform. He found several excellent samples. In spite of eating  most of them on his way back to our position, a sufficient amount remained for our purposes.

At 0930 we gathered to coordinate our first evolution.

The Arrival

At 1030 A.M. the club members began arriving. We observed carefully in order to evaluate their camp making and general forest skills.

Observed:

Fifty percent displayed average abilities

Fifteen percent received above average marks.

Ten percent were deemed to be superior.

Twenty-five percent should not have been allowed in the forest unaccompanied.

Conclusion(s):

These data conform closely to previous observations. Nothing new was learned from this exercise

The next exercise was to evaluate the human powers of observation and determine gastronomical preferences. After the campers had finished their evening meal and were gathered for informal social activities, Herschel, quietly and unobserved, made his way to the edge of the camp clearing. He tossed a portion of Morris’s properly-aged roadkill into the clearing, made a couple of bird calls and silently withdrew. Immediately, three campers (obviously avid birders) wandered to the edge of the clearing to try and determine why a Tennessee warbler was up and singing at 10:30 in the evening. They located our bait and soon all campers were gathered to examine the properly-aged roadkill.

Observed:

Ten instances of audible gagging.

Seven cases of reflux.

Eighteen ‘tossed cookies’. (Samples were carefully gathered and were submitted for analysis.)

Conclusion(s):

These data closely conform to previous observations. Nothing new was learned. Humans possess extremely weak stomachs.

We spent the remainder of the evening carefully observing the camp in order to prepare for tomorrow’s first exercise. Finally, our well-honed powers of observation and hearing paid off as Ellie and Nigel discovered a group of six males who were planning a morning hike to the top of the mountain via a remote trail. We quickly crafted our detailed plan of observation.

The First Encounter:

Our plan (like all of our plans) was simple, yet masterful. Cassie and Nigel would remain to observe the campsite while Ellie, Herschel, Morris and I would accompany the hikers.  When the humans were an eighth of a mile from the camp, Ellie and Herschel began to ‘pace’ them. (This is a maneuver in which we accompany the hikers – in this case, Ellie on the left, Herschel on the right – and remain unobserved but make no effort to conceal the sound of our footfalls. When the hikers stop, we also stop, after being careful to take one additional step to ensure that the humans are aware of our presence.) After three quarters of a mile of ‘pacing’ Herschel and Ellie reverted to the concealed/silent mode to allow the hikers to relax.  Meanwhile, at a point on the trail a mile and a quarter from the campsite, I took position behind a large poplar tree. When the hikers approached to within ten paces of my position, Ellie signaled by bird call (blue jay). I then went into a crouch, stepped into the trail, turned to face the oncoming humans, rose to my full height of nine feet and eleven inches, threw my arms into the air, did a nifty little dance step and said, “WHASSUP, DUDES?!” (Now, I realize that, due to the difference in out languages, this may have sounded like a growl. In fact, due to the enthusiasm with which I spoke, it could have been mistaken for a ROAR! But I can’t be blamed for that.)

Observed:

For an instant, time seemed to freeze as the hikers absorbed what had transpired before them. Then action began apace.  First, there were six, near-simultaneous human scat samples provided. (Unfortunately, since all humans were wearing jeans, none of these were collectable.) Then, in a shower of discarded equipment, the hikers whirled and started back towards the campsite as fast as their pathetic little underdeveloped legs would take them. Herschel gave chase but had to pull up after three strides to keep from getting ahead of them.

Meanwhile, Morris, Ellie and I took inventory of the discarded equipment:

Six water bottles

Two camcorders

Three still cameras (one film, two digital)

Five pair of binoculars

Six backpacks

Five hiking boots

Three GPS receivers

Since very little of this equipment was of any use to us, we simply noted the location of each item, the brand names and condition and left them where they lay. There were, however three exceptions:

1. Morris ate one of the hiking boots. Although it had a pleasant aroma of properly-aged roadkill, he found it to be somewhat tough and not entirely to his liking.

2. Ellie thought that the knapsacks could be modified for useful service as handbags or fanny-packs, so she retained two of those.

3. We ALL enjoyed the glazed donuts and chocolate bars. (At least those we could keep from Morris.)

After our former hikers reached the campsite, they breathlessly told their story. Their fellow campers quickly convinced them that their eyes were playing tricks and all that they had seen was an opossum. (After hearing this, all the researchers began to call me ‘Haropossum’. I became so angry, I didn’t speak to anyone for twenty minutes!)

Conclusion(s):

These data closely conform to previous observations. Nothing new was learned. Human are the SLOWEST vertebrates in the forest.

The next encounter was, as happens from time-to-time, an unplanned and spontaneous experience. Yet it was an encounter which provided more information than we have been able to gather in quite a while.

The Second encounter:

At dusk on Saturday, a female (we later learned her name was Alicia) left her campsite to answer a ‘call of nature’. Cass was in her sector at the time and accompanied her (unobserved/silent mode) on her trek. When Alicia found just the right spot and assumed the position to ‘take care of business’, Cass stepped into the open in front of her, gave her a friendly smile and uttered a low, “Whoop!” (our language for, “Gotcha!”)

Observed:

ALL investigators were extremely impressed by Alicia’s speed and agility. According to Herschel (Expedition Statistician), she covered the 109 yards back to her campsite in ten seconds flat! (This is even MORE impressive considering the fact that Alicia accomplished this with her jeans around her ankles!) At one point, we looked on in horror as she was headed directly for a large blackberry patch. If she encountered those vicious briars at the speed she was moving, she would seriously injure herself! As it happened, we needn’t have worried. NONE of us had EVER seen a human – or any animal for that matter – run across the TOPS of blackberry bushes!

Upon reaching her campsite, Alicia breathlessly related her story. Her fellow campers quickly convinced her that her eyes were playing tricks and all she had seen was a raccoon. (All researchers began referring to Cass as ‘Cassaraccoon’, whereupon she became so angry she wouldn’t speak to anyone for twenty minutes!)

An excellent scat sample was carefully collected and submitted for analysis.

Conclusion(s)/Recommendation:

After close examination of all data, we learned that Alicia’s demonstrated speed was only four percent slower than the legendary Simon (‘the Slug’) Snailfoot, the slowest sasquatch known to history. Congratulations, Alicia girl! You are now, officially, the fastest human we have ever clocked and a part of sasquatch history!

It is hereby strongly recommended that we closely study Alicia’s technique for running across the tops of briar patches. If we can master this maneuver, it could well be used to our advantage in the future.

After this encounter, we retired to the deep forest to allow the humans to enjoy their supper while we planned our next exercise, ‘The Serenade’.

The Serenade:

This event, also known irreverently as ‘The Whistle in the Thistle’ is employed as an after-dinner entertainment to reward our human subjects as much as anything else. Herschel and Ellie would observe the campsite while Nigel and Cassie would perform a serenade of whistles, whoops and howls. Morris provided percussion accompaniment with tree and rock knocking. Meanwhile I ran noisily through the nearby forest breaking large limbs and small trees. (This is NOT my favorite part of any expedition as I invariably get pine sap all over me and my hands are sticky and yukky for a week!)

Observed:

Shock                       100 percent

Awe                         100 percent

Conclusion(s):

These data are consistent with previous results. Nothing new learned.

After our performance, we again retired deeper into the forest to compare notes and discuss our next move. It was unanimously decided that nothing further of any significance would be learned from this group and it was decided to proceed with ‘Operation Termination’.

Operation Termination:

After our concert, we allowed our humans to relax and retire to their tents after a full day of activities. Then, at 1:30 a.m., all six of us entered the camp, making no effort to conceal our footsteps, and walked among and around the tents, occasionally grunting, snorting and picking up and noisily discarding various items of camping equipment. (It never ceases to amaze us that, during this exercise, no human is anxious to leave his tent and join us.) After twenty minutes, we quietly retired to the forest and took our positions to observe the humans’ camp-breaking techniques.

Observed:

The last club member entered his vehicle in forty-five seconds. The last vehicle squealed onto the paved road in four minutes.  (Not a bad time for transiting three miles of rutted logging track!) We left the tents and other equipment where they were. Morris took care of all remaining comestibles.

Conclusion(s):

Although their departure was somewhat more expeditious than the average, our observation did not significantly differ from previous expeditions.

Overall:

Some things, thanks mainly to Alicia, were learned from this expedition. However, we have studied humans for so long that there is, frankly, little left to learn about them.

We hope to have the laboratory results back within two weeks and have the final report out within a month.

Pictures and maps will be made available as Nigel finishes drawing them.

NO HUMAN WAS INJURED DURING THE COURSE OF THIS EXPEDITION. (However, there was minor to moderate suspension damage to nine vehicles during the exit phase and six mufflers were lost.) (We are still not certain as to what use the humans make of ‘mufflers’ but we find that, when they are banged together or hit with sticks, they make sounds that we find pleasing.)

/s/  Harold Harefoot

Chief Investigator and Lead Scientist

Counterfeit Cryptids

Counterfeit Cryptids

and

How to Recognize Them

By

Thom Cantrall

It is a sign of our times that anything good will be counterfeited and offered to the public at a reduced price or for reduced credibility.  For some reason it has become camp to be a naysayer and to belittle the efforts and experiences of others.  I suppose there are myriad reasons for this to happen but among the uppermost are profit and notoriety.

It seems that virtually any time someone comes on the scene with “irrefutable proof” of Sasquatch that “proof” comes with a price tag attached to it.  Only recently we had a case of two men in Georgia, at least one of whom was a former deputy sheriff, who had a “body” in an ice chest.  This body was for sale to the highest bidder with no takers.  Just prior to that was a “must see” video coming out of Canada… for the highest bidder… In both cases, it was nothing more than a hoax and why those involved were not prosecuted for fraud is beyond me.

Another form of hoax that I know personally of being perpetrated was done repeatedly by one of the major timber companies in the Pacific Northwest.  To understand why this company would perpetrate hoaxes on its own land, one must look at the actions of our government in the face of controversy as pertains to timberlands and private entities.  One only has to look as far as the Spotted Owl fiasco and what is happening in the Central Valley of California with a tiny fish, the Delta Smelt, that has a major portion of the irrigated farmland lying dry and fallow.

The last thing this timber company wanted was an obscure species being discovered in the middle of their prime timber so they went to the trouble to fake tracks and sightings for no purpose other than to create doubt in the minds of the public.  After, all, if one case is proven a hoax, doesn’t that prove that all reported sightings are also hoaxes?  I know the logic is faulty, but nobody ever went broke overestimating the gullibility of people.

In light of the fact that we know hoaxes exist and are often reported as the real thing, I feel it is important to investigate some of those ruses used and arm ourselves with a set of benchmarks by which we might measure for ourselves the probability of a sighting, still photo, video or track in the soft earth being actual.  There are certain things that many valid researchers use as criteria for determining the validity of the various claims that come before us.

The first thing I look for in a photograph is an overall view of the creature.  If it is very far removed from the appearance of Patty, the creature in the Patterson-Gimlin film, I’m immediately suspicious.  The sightings I have had are as near in overall appearance to Patty as one crow is to another.  Perhaps I do disservice to creatures from other areas of the country, but until some better similitude comes along, I’ll maintain my bias and test all visual images against the one I know best.

A careful perusal of the image shown in Fig. 1 above shows too manyanomalies for me to be comfortable with its authenticity.  First, there appears to be wrinkles or folds on the “creature’s” back.  The shoulders are just too square.  The stature, though wide, does not appear tall and lastly, the arms are much too short.  Without knowing more that this, I would label this to be a fake.

In this day of PhotoShop and other great photo manipulation software pieces, almost anything is possible.  A good technician can work wonders with photographs to create many illusions. Compare

the two individuals in Fig. 2 and Fig.

3.  At first look, the creature in Fig. 2 would appear to be a new, unseen photo of a Sasquatch in a forested/brush biome.  The first look at the animal meets all the criteria I presented above… until you look at the view of Patty in Fig. 3… It would appear to me that someone has borrowed this image of Patty and placed it into a new background create a new scenario for one reason or another.  One can even see the same reflected light patterns on each photo as well as the muscle ripple on the upper leg, just below the buttocks.  The same “shiny nose” syndrome is evident in both instances.

Tracks:

We are blessed with many pictures of purported Bigfoot tracks.  Many are, obviously, very proper in appearance and what we would expect to find in a Cryptid footprint.  Others really tax our imagination.  Some things I look for in any picture of a purported track include the regularity of the prints.  Where was the print found?  How are the individual prints arranged on the trail?

I recently found a photograph of a supposed trail in the snow.  This photo is shown here as Fig. 4.         Look closely at the individual

“tracks”… they are absolutely identical.  They are identical in shape, in form and in placement.  There is no slippage and each of the four (?) toe prints are unique and separate.  The line of prints shows a definite left and right foot orientation.  This is so wrong on so many levels that I hesitate to even lend credence to this by denying its existence.  Fig 5 and Fig 6 show how a real Sasquatch walks… one foot inline with the other.  There are imperfections in the prints.  When we walk, we do not do so without making smear marks and slip marks.  If one should doubt this, I would advise him to take his shoes off and walk down a wet sandy beach then examine the resultant

prints.  There are variations.  Not all steps are

exactly as the previous ones.  Prints in the snow are relatively simple to forge, as it takes no great amount of weight to sink to the bottom of two inches of wet snow.  This is not the case, however when walking in more solid soil, or even in mud.

Recently, i.e. within the past few years, I watched a program on Discovery Channel, I believe, wherein Autumn Williams, noted researcher and blog manager, escorted a group of TV types into a place in Oregon where Sasquatch was known to frequent.  One of these people was the designated naysayer.  He was the “skeptic from New York” who was certain he could don a costume and leave tracks that would fool anyone.  As part of the program, he attempted to do just that… and failed miserably.  First, once he had the suit on, he could not maneuver.  He had difficulty even walking, let alone traversing rough terrain. But, the ultimate failure was that his prints did not show well in the soil.  He simply was not heavy enough to sink far enough to leave a viable print.

Following is an excerpt from the Essay I wrote about an encounter I had in the Dickey River country of Washington’s Olympic Peninsula.  After the creature left, I made careful measurements of all aspects of his being… this illustrates why that doubter could not duplicate real tracks…

The last measurement I wanted was the depth of his footprint in the soft ground as it compared to my own.  I knew that my shorter, narrower foot should penetrate

deeper than his long, broad feet.  To test my hypothesis, I removed my boots and socks and walked as he did over the same ground, just being careful not to obliterate his tracks.  I was amazed that my foot did not sink deeper nor, interestingly enough, did his sink deeper than my own.  In fact, we made very similar tracks separated only by size.  Both showed the balls of our feet, five distinct toes, a marked arch and a round heel.  The only real difference was in the fact that he seemed to place his foot more evenly on the ground than did I, not rolling from heel to toe as I did in my paces.

As I sat and replaced my boots, it struck me to measure my foot and compare that to that of my non-existent visitor.  When I did so, I made what was, to me, a startling discovery.  I computed my foot to have covered approximately thirty square inches. And, since I weighed two-hundred-twenty-five pounds fully dressed at that time, I was exerting approximately seven point five pounds per square inch of pressure on the ground.  When I measured my imaginary guest’s footprint, I judged it to be approximately eighty square inches and, while I did not know exactly what he weighed, as he didn’t seem prone to staying around while I found a set of scales, but I could estimate the weight of cattle quite accurately and I felt I could be just as accurate with this myth.  When I divided my estimated weight of six-hundred pounds by the eighty square inches of his foot print, I came up with an identical seven point five pounds per square inch!  No wonder we sank so nearly the same in the ground, we were exerting virtually the same pressure per square inch on it as we walked.

Notice, please, in Fig 7 that there are natural perturbations in the appearance of the print.  It is not even and perfect by any stretch of the imagination, but shows the vagaries of a track in a muddy

bottom.  Compare this with Fig. 8 and notice that the person standing next to the purported track does not even leave a mark on the soil whereas the animal print is sunk well into the soft ground.

Another part of the tracking of this animal that is difficult to counterfeit is the stride on the animal.  He is huge by our standards and his stride is commensurate with his leg length.  I have, on three occasions, had the opportunity to compare my stride to Sasquatch.

In my capacity as a professional Forest Engineer I developed my stride to the point that I could cover long distances using nothing but my stride length to measure that distance.  My former partner used to be amazed at my accuracy.  One particular such trek involved setting the boundary between a piece of property we were buying and Olympic National Park.  In order to do this, I had to lay out a line from one section corner to the next, a distance of one mile.  Normally there are posts set every half mile, but they were seldom found in this heavily forested ground and did not show on the survey maps from which we were working.  In that traverse, when I had paced out what

I felt was a mile, I told him that we should be very close now.  He uttered an incredulous laugh and pointed to an iron stake about thirty-five feet from where I stood.  I say this only to let all know that I understand strides and pacing.  I have developed mine so that one full pace, left foot and right is exactly five feet.  Every twenty paces equal one-hundred feet.

In all three instances to which I referred, the creature’s pace exceeded eight feet and one was nearly ten feet.  No mere man is going to make that kind of stride without leaving some kind of marking.  To do so would require leaping from one foot placement to the next and, in softer materials, would be readily apparent.  Consequently, I am very skeptical of any mention of stride in a photo where no means of measurement are provided for comparison.

Fig. 9 illustrates all that is right in a good representation of tracks in the snow.  The tracks are in one line, they are not uniform in appearance and one could determine the stride by measuring the individual print and computing a ratio of that figure to the distance from one left foot to the next.

Limb Length

In 1998 the BBC in England aired a show to refute the veracity of the Patterson-Gimlin film.  Their hypothesis was, simply put, that it was possible today to produce a suit that would be so life-like that it could not differentiated from a real animal.  Certainly, they postulated, Hollywood could create such a costume that would exactly simulate life itself.  After all, these were the people who had given us Wookies,

Jabba the Hutt and the Apes on their planet.  Just to look at what Hollywood could create would convince the world how easy it would be to fake such a creature.

Many thousands of dollars were spent on this pursuit and the result was, as expected, stunning.  Just to look at the results would be enough to amaze even the most ardent witness of the Sasquatch phenomenon.  A mere glance at Fig. 10 would tend to convince anyone that, indeed, it would not be difficult to simulate a Sasquatch in the wild… until one compares it with the real thing.

Fig. 11 below is the same picture of the suit produced by the BBC program in 1998 alongside one from of the Patterson-Gimlin film with Patty in a similar pose as the fake.  This photo appeared on the

website BFRO.net and is used with permission.  The differences are obvious.  Just look at the length of the arms as compared to the body length and the length of the legs.

Not so long ago, in a paper I read with great interest, Professor Jeff Meldrum of Idaho State University in Pocatello, ID addressed this issue.  In his essay Dr. Meldrum introduced to me the concept of the Intermembral Index or IM Index.  This Index is the ratio of the arm length (Humerus plus the Radius) to the leg length (Femur plus the Tibia) times one hundred.  Typically in humans this yields an IM Index of Seventy-two (72).  It should be noted here that this index remains constant when persons of various heights are tested.  The fact that this ratio is height independent makes it a valid

determinant of interspecies parameters.  It also makes it possible to take measurements off a photograph to make the calculations so long as these measurements are done on a portion of the photo where the limbs are flat to the plane of the camera to reduce the effect of foreshortening of the limbs.

Professor Meldrum indicated further that the Index for a chimpanzee is one hundred six (106) and for a gorilla a whopping one hundred seventeen (117)!  Fig 12 shows Patty in a retreating mode.  This is included because it is a pose where the limbs are vertical and therefore in a flat plane with the camera.  This would yield a situation where foreshortening is eliminated and accurate measurements can be made.  After careful examination and measurement of this rendering I ascertained an IM Index of eighty-four (84).  This places our large friend directly between humans and apes on the scale.

Quite recently I was watching a report wherein the IM Index was dismissed by two Hollywood movie costumers as being quite immaterial as all they would have to do to gain the required length would be to add arm extensions.  Yes, they are correct that this action would increase the overall arm length but it would introduce a further anomaly that they chose to ignore.  If one watches the Patterson-Gimlin closely they would see that the arm articulates

normally.  There is a wrist, an elbow and a

shoulder that all move, bend and flex independently and as needed.  I am six feet four inches tall (6’4”) and to achieve the IM Index that Patty displays, I would have to add approximately eleven (11) inches to the length of my arm.  Any arm extender that I could use to achieve this would mean that my Humerus would remain the length it now is and my Radius would be increased by ten (10) inches.  My arm would now measure approximately twelve (12) inches from the point of my shoulder to my elbow and another twenty-three (23) inches from my elbow to my wrist.  Since my humerus and my radius are now approximately equal, I would then be a bit disproportionate.  That is, unless they can also install an new elbow about five (5) inches below where my elbow now resides!

Fig 13 and Fig 14, left and right here demonstrate graphically the concept.  I performed the aforementioned exercise on both of these photos and came up with IM Indices of seventy-one (71) and seventy-three (73), respectively.  It does not take a lot of imagination to figure out what these two pictures portray.

It is my fervent wish that no one would ever perpetrate a hoax such as that pair in Georgia did along with a known researcher.  It gives every person involved in this research a black eye and sets us back in our efforts.  Even though prominent people stepped forth quickly to refute their claims, damage was done to all our reputations in the view of the press and the public.  Autumn Williams was one of the very first to deny the veracity of their claims, but I still saw her name in print in a negative tone from people who should know better but were too lazy to do their own research.

With this group of people, the thought of personal gain overshadowed integrity and, as such, the field was soiled.  I trust that by invoking some of the techniques I have passed on here, this can be minimized in the future.

I have been asked often why I would continue to speak out when I knew how strong and intransigent the opposition really is.  Let me relate something I learned many years ago and told of in my book, “Ghosts of Ruby Ridge”.

When I was much younger, I lived on Washington’s Olympic Peninsula in the town of Sequim (pronounced skwim).  Being located

on the Straits leading from Puget Sound to the Pacific Ocean, seafood was a major part of my diet.  One of my favorites was Dungeness Crab.  On a minus tide, when the water fell below the mean low tide level, I would walk the tidal flats inside Dungeness Spit and pick up the crabs from the eelgrass that grew there in profusion.  It was but a matter of an hour to capture a limit of ten crabs.  As I was wading in the water, I used a wash tub floating on the water to contain my catch.  I’d simply pick up the crab with my catch pole and drop him into the tub.  I tethered the tub to my belt so it simply floated along and was no impediment to me in any way.  The only problem with this arrangement was after catching the first crab.  That first critter had to be watched closely or he would crawl out of the tub and escape back to the water.  Believe

me; I lost several in this manner.  The solution was very simple… catch another crab and put it in the tub.  As soon as there were two or more crabs in the tub, none could ever escape because as one would begin to climb above the others, they would immediately pull him back down to their level.  They would never allow one to rise above the rest.

So it is with people.  As long as no one attempts to stand above the others, peace is maintained, but let one person try to get ahead and the masses will do all they can to pull him back down to their level.  That is what we see in this field as well.  There is a huge segment of the population that does not believe, therefore, NO ONE is allowed to believe and they will scoff and deny facts forever while doing all they can to pull that person back to their own level.  For over twenty-five years, I never mentioned what I knew… what I had learned.  I kept strictly to myself the encounters I had had with these wonderful creatures when, one day, it dawned on me.  I KNOW what I know.  I don’t even care if another person knows that or not.  If they do not know then they can either learn or keep their mouth shut.  It is no concern to me which.  If they choose to do neither and, instead, become a naysayer or impediment, they are to be pitied.  That in no way changes what I know is true or the experiences I have had.

I associate now with others who also know what I know… not to PROVE the existence of these creatures, but to share our common bond and to revel in the joy of our own knowledge.  It is my fervent prayer that each and every reader can reach this point in his own pursuits, be they what they are.  Have the courage to know that what others scoff at, they do not understand. Pity them… offer them help… and if they refuse… ignore them for, after all, though the dogs bark, the caravan rolls on.

Del Norte Encounter – A Family Affair

Prologue to Ghosts of Ruby Ridge

By

Thom Cantrall

In the spring of 1978 I worked for a timber company located on the California-Oregon border at Highway 101.  My job required that I drive from the mill yard inland to our logging jobs west of Orleans, CA.  To get there, I had to drive a huge circular route.

Leaving the yard, I drove south on US 101 for just over sixty miles through the coastal Redwood groves to the Bald Hills Road just north of Orick, CA.  I followed the BaldHills Road for about thirty-six miles to Weitchipec, CA and Highway 96 where I turned north for approximately fourteen miles.  At Orleans, I turned back to the west and drove for about twenty five miles to our job sites.  Since much of this was driven on gravel roads, the trip required four to five hours to complete, depending on the amount of traffic on the highway.  I was required to make this trip an average of three times a week.

There existed at that time a road that ran directly from the small town of Gasquet, CA, up the south fork of the Smith River and past Doctor Rocks and on into Orleans.

This direct route shortened my trip to about ninety minutes and was

known as the Gasquet-Orleans Road, or more familiarly, the G-O Road.  It was paved on both ends, but there was, in the middle, from east of Blue Creek to the west of Doctor Rocks a stretch that had never been constructed beyond a bulldozed trace through the timber.  The U.S.

Forest Service had plans to finish this road, but was being fought vigorously by the lunatic fringe preservationists who pretty much control California, it would seem.  The final result being that, looking at a current map of that area, it shows that road still not being completed.

Much of this primitive section of the road was at sufficient elevation that winter snows drifted deep and kept the track closed until early summer, at least, under normal circumstances.  This particular spring, the shortcut being so important to us, we hauled a D-7

Caterpillar as far in the west end of the road as we could before the snow stopped us.

There, we unloaded the Cat and let him clear snow across the ten miles or so until he broke out of it on the east end.  We used a rubber tired road grader to clear what drifts were amassed on the paved section east of the primitive road.  At the beginning of the pavement, we reloaded the Cat back onto its trailer and hauled it on to our road construction site.

With the G-O Road open to Four Wheel Drive vehicles, our crews could leave home two hours before time to be at work on Monday

morning, work their time, spend the week in Orleans at a logging camp we’d set up there and return home after work on Friday.  If there were something sufficiently important to do at home, they COULD make the trip in midweek, though this was frowned on.  On the week in question, I had meetings scheduled with the U.S. Forest Service Sale Administrator on Thursday to set where the roads into the next unit would be located.  I then had a conference with our road construction boss set for Friday morning.  I determined to drive over on Thursday, have my USFS meeting, spend the night at our camp in Orleans, meet the road boss on Friday and drive home Friday afternoon.

I was meeting with government workers on Thursday so I knew I could sleep in a bit longer as they would not leave their office in Orleans any sooner than 8:30 am.

Since I knew I would be staying over, the pack I always carried with me in my truck in case of emergency was especially plush that Thursday morning as I pulled out of the mill yard at 7 am.  The sun was well above the eastern rim when I reached the snow line on the G-O Road.  That I was the only vehicle to cross this morning was evident in the icy slush that was on the road in various places.

I had traveled about a half mile from the point the snow began and was on a slight uphill grade traveling west to east.  I spotted tracks in the snow.  The tracks came from the north, dropped down into a

shallow swale that opened onto the road in a very muddy stretch.  They continued on south, up the slight bank on the south side of the road and disappeared into the distance.

My first thought on seeing the tracks was that a bear, just out of his winter’s sleep had been on a trip of exploration, probably for his morning meal.  I am always interested in locating sizable critters, and especially since there were no cub tracks I could see, it would most likely be a lone boar, I stopped short of where the tracks crossed in the mud of the road to measure this bear.  As I walked up to the tracks, my jaw dropped like a rock!  There in the muddy slush was not the bear tracks I expected to see, but a very large, very human shaped foot print… not just one, but a whole series of them.

For several moments I just stared!  Bare, humanoid foot prints that measured just over eighteen inches in length with a stride that I, at six feet, four inches could not begin to emulate.  For me, a full stride, left and right is exactly five feet in length.  I’ve measured it time and again in my capacity as a forester.  The stride on this creature was well over eight feet in length!  That was an awesome stride!  My first inclination, after regaining mobility, was to follow them to see where they led, and, hopefully, what was making them.

I had but little time to devote to this.  A multi-million dollar logging operation could not be left to falter because I wanted to chase a

Sasquatch.  I did flag the spot well, so I could find it easily on my return trip.  I knew I could be done by noon on Friday because I did not have to wait on the USFS and could meet the road boss on the job at six am.

Noon Friday found me in my little truck, climbing the last grade out of Blue Creek Canyon that led to the crossing… not that I was anxious or anything. When I reached my markers, I found a secluded spot without much snow where I could park my truck out of sight of the road.  I knew the cutting crew, the logging crews and the road building crews would be passing through here tonight and, knowing that most knew my truck, I did not want them to know what I was about doing here.

When I was ready to travel, I set out on the now day old tracks with little hope of catching up with this particular creature, but I had to follow.  Down the ridge we went in the snow.  Within a half mile, we

broke out of the timber onto a sunny, south-facing slope that was clear of snow except in the very shaded areas.  Every few hundred yards there would be a patch of snow varying in size from a few feet across to some that probably covered more than an acre.  Although it was not difficult tracking in the bare trail that varied from damp to muddy, these snow fields served to let me know I was still on the same animal.

Very late in the day, when I felt I had hiked about eight or nine miles from the G-O Road, hunger was beginning to rear its demanding head so I decided to look for a good campsite, enjoy my dinner and take a little time to explore my immediate area before dark spread its tentacles and drove me back into camp.  The area I was in was populated with stands of magnificent old-growth Douglas Fir of huge proportions.  Some of these were more than seven feet in diameter and it was obvious that they had survived many, many fires.  Between the stands, especially on the south facing slopes, the scars of those fires were very evident.

When I dropped down onto a flat gravel bar adjacent to a beautiful, clear running stream, I thought I had probably found my campsite and when I noticed that several of the huge old behemoths had their trunks burned out, leaving a warm, dry, cave-like den, I determined that I was at home for the night.  This had everything I normally look for in a campsite, level ground, cover from possible lightening storms that the current increasing clouds could certainly deliver, and abundant fresh, clean water.

The only disconcerting thing about my campsite was a rather putrid smell that wafted through from time to time and, in searching the den burned from the tree trunk, there was a large number of long, black hairs lodged in the bark and wood.  I thought I had probably found a bear’s winter den and, since they were out and doing now, they would not mind sharing quarters with me, since I was determined I would not be there when next they needed it for hibernation.  This area, as I have described it here was the model for

the second Sasquatch camp in my book, “Ghosts of Ruby Ridge”.

The first thing I did after getting out from under my pack was to hike up the stream for a couple of hundred yards, checking closely for dead critters lying in the water.

The coming night was just beginning its tenure when I heard from the timber the most god-awful, gut wrenching, piercing, high, ululating cry.  It was absolutely stunning and bone chilling to hear.  I had, at the time, absolutely no idea what could be singing that song and I wasn’t really sure I wanted to know.  I had heard descriptions of the call of the Sasquatch, but, believe me, no description I had ever heard even began to prepare me for the reality of it.  The first call went on, varying in pitch and modulation for what seemed like minutes, but which was probably between thirty and forty-five seconds.  It then ended by fading away in volume to zero.

I was sitting by my fire, completely at attention, eyes and ears under full strain to learn more when it began again though not in the same place.  Where the first call was to the south, this call was from the northwest.  Again, the same high ululations, almost a warbling sound followed by a steady tone only to be varied again.  This time I was able to be a bit more clinical about it as I was not quite so in awe of the sound in and of itself.

I timed this scream at twenty-five seconds when it again faded away. When the calls ceased, there was not a sound to be heard from any source save two.  The bubbling of the small creek which was wholly unimpressed with the nocturnal display I had just witnessed was one sound.  The other was the thumping of my heart in my chest.  I judged the calls to be just up the ridge from my lair, not over two hundred yards away from me.

After these two calls, nothing more was forthcoming.  I built my fire up slightly so that it afforded more light.  When about two hours had elapsed with no more contact, I noticed a shadow flicker across one of the openings to my den.  A moment later, another shadow.  They were not really close to my tree, but just at the edge of the light cast by my fire.  I quickly searched my pack for the flashlight I always carry there.  Unfortunately, when I found it, I could not get it to work.  My pack seldom leaves my truck so that I always have it in an emergency.  Normally, I remove the batteries from the hand light and store them separately in a plastic baggie to prevent what I had just discovered.  Evidently, at some prior time, I had broken my own rule.

Without artificial light, I was relegated to making the most of the light my little fire afforded.  By sitting near the opening with my fire at my back, I was able to see my “guests”.  There were three of them that I watched most of the night.  Evidently, I had unwittingly commandeered their den and they did not appear overly pleased with the prospect of sharing it with me.  At any rate, they were with me all night long, a night that lasted, I might add, approximately one hundred and seventy seven hours.

Towards morning, I dozed in short catnaps that were often interrupted by the sounds of woofs and yips that I heard from outside my nest!  Somewhere near dawn, these sounds stopped and, my fire built up to last a bit more, I slept soundly for a time.

When I woke, light covered the land, my fire was burned down to coals and the only sounds to be heard were those common to the mountains in the daylight hours.

On emerging from my retreat, the first thing I saw were myriad tracks.  From these tracks, I discerned that there where, indeed, three separate creatures of three separate size classes.  My assumption is that it was a family group, however, that is strictly an assumption on my part.  As soon as I had completed my breakfast and morning ablutions, I hoisted my pack and my butt and hied out of there and back to the road and my waiting truck.  I have always wanted to go back in there and check that place out, but I left that job and that area within a month of this incident, and have not been back in that area for any period of time since this occurrence.

This incident is factual and is reported here exactly as it occurred.  The memory has remained bright in my mind though more than thirty years have elapsed since that night.

Thom Cantrall

Dickey River Encounter – Eye to Eye in the Timber

Who Is Sasquatch?

By

Thom Cantrall

Olympic Peninsula October, 1977

He was large, over eight feet tall and easily weighed six-hundred pounds… he was covered with long, dark hair.  His massive head seemed to sit directly on his broad shoulders with little or no neck between.  Oversized crystal-brown eyes surveyed me diligently as I stood transfixed.  We watched each other at a range of less than

twenty-five feet with my mind cataloging all I was seeing even while my brain was telling me this was an impossibility.  “This creature does not exist and anyone who states otherwise is either lying, perpetrating a hoax or is misidentifying what they are seeing,” the so-called expert had said with authority.

Well, at this moment, deep in the swampy morass known as the Dickey River country, I wished fervently that I had this “expert” with me.  I was over two miles from the nearest road and more than a mile from anything that could be considered even a ghost of a trail on a trek that no one other than my partner knew I was taking.  My partner was nowhere within reach.  He was probably sitting in my truck on the road eating my sandwich and drinking my coffee.  One thing I knew for a fact.  He was not going to be anywhere near this far from a soft seat and dry cab.  I knew that no one was going to know anything of what I was seeing except I tell them.

I was here in the capacity of a Forest Engineer to do a bridge site survey for a local timber company who planned to build a road into this stretch of virgin timber.  As that road crossed a salmon spawning stream, a hydraulics permit was going to be required to satisfy the requirements of the state in order to obtain the necessary permits to

build this road.  A bridge site survey involves measuring the size, width and depth of the stream as well as the soil types that are found.  In short, everything that will go into the design and construction of the bridge and adjacent road was to be enumerated and recorded.

Sasquatch… Bigfoot… Swamp Ape… Yeti… they were the same creature and they did not exist.  I was told so by experts… So, why was something that does not exist standing there watching me so intently?  Didn’t he know he was an imaginary creature… a myth?  This was evidently not true, for he began to move slowly away from me.  He was walking upright, just as I do.  He began a slow retreat towards the nearby timber and away from the berries he had been feeding on when I first spotted him.  He did not totter in a lumbering fashion as a bear does when he walks on his hind legs but walked smoothly with a strange little hitch in his gait.  In abject awe, I watched as he walked surely and directly to the heavy cover.  As he went, he turned occasionally without stopping to assess my actions.  He need not have worried for I was not moving from where I stood.  It was as if I had taken root on that spot.

This encounter etched itself into my brain as I realized that this was probably what that expert called panic hysteria induced by some event in my childhood that caused me to hallucinate and think I actually was seeing what my eyes were recording… but, why wasn’t that expert here?  In fact, I wondered if that expert had ever been here… or any similar place anywhere in North America?  Somehow, I don’t really believe he had been.

When this creature of my imagination disappeared into the darkness of the timber I stood and watched as his image seemed to be burned into my retina.  When a few minutes had passed and this after-image abated, I decided to see if I had actually been hallucinating and moved to where he had been eating berries.  Unfortunately for my reasonable expert, the first things I saw were tracks… large, wide

tracks there in the soft ground.  Five toe prints were clearly visible and from heel to toe, the track measured seventeen inches in length and was approximately five and one-quarter inches in breadth across the ball of the foot.  It tapered to a width of about two and three-quarters at the heel.  I could see a series of his tracks between where I now stood and the timber across the way.  The first thing that struck me was the length of the creature’s stride.

I was a Forest Engineer and, as such, had taught myself to walk with a measured pace. I was able to measure long distances by pacing and be accurate within fifty feet in a mile.  I had done so many times, often to the amazement of my partner.  My pace, left foot then right was exactly five feet.  I could maintain this pace accurately uphill and down.

Using my calibrated paces, I carefully measured the stride of my visitor and found his pace, from the heel of his right foot to the left and back to the heel of the right again was within two of my paces or over nine feet and below ten feet.  As I had watched the creature walk away, I knew he had not been alarmed and was not running, but merely walking steadily on his way.

The last measurement I wanted was the depth or his footprint in the

soft ground as it compared to my own.  I knew that my shorter, narrower foot should penetrate deeper than his long, broad feet.  To test my hypothesis, I removed my boots and socks and walked as he did over the same ground, just being careful not to obliterate his tracks.  I was amazed that my foot did not sink deeper nor, interestingly enough, did his sink deeper than my own.  In fact, we made very similar tracks separated only by size.  Both showed the balls of our feet, five distinct toes, a marked arch and a round heel.  The only real difference was in the fact that he seemed to place his foot more evenly on the ground than did I, not rolling from heel to toe as I did in my paces.

As I sat and replaced my boots, it struck me to measure my foot and compare that to that of my non-existent visitor.  When I did so, I made what was, to me, a startling discovery.  I computed my foot to have covered approximately thirty square inches. And, since I weighed two-hundred-twenty-five pounds fully dressed at that time, I was exerting approximately seven point five pounds per square inch of pressure on the ground.  When I measured my imaginary guest’s footprint, I judged it to be approximately eighty square inches and, while I did not know exactly what he weighed, as he didn’t seem prone to staying around while I found a set of scales, but I could estimate the weight of cattle quite accurately and I felt I could be just as accurate with this myth.  When I divided my estimated weight of six-hundred pounds by the eighty square inches of his foot print, I came up with an identical seven point five pounds per square inch!  No wonder we sank so nearly the same in the ground, we were exerting virtually the same pressure per square inch on it as we walked.

Armed with all this data, I continued on to complete my bridge site survey and began my hike back towards my truck…  When I arrived, I was right… my lunch had been ravaged and my partner was sleeping contentedly in his corner of the truck.

My First Encounter… Tracks in the Snow

Winter’s Wonderland

By

Thom Cantrall

First off, let me say that I am pretty much a “live and let live: kind of guy.  This is especially true of God’s small creatures.  If I am out hiking and happen upon a rattlesnake, I’ll simply back up, tip my hat

to him and wish him happy hunting.  The fact that for the next hour or so I jump about a foot off the ground if even a small branch should happen to snap against my leg in no way compromises my calm demeanor in these matters.  It’s simply that in some things what the brain knows logically is not necessarily retransmitted to the reactive nervous system, let alone to the feet and legs that cause these leaps of unfaith.

Probably the worst case of this “Induced Reaction Syndrome” as I like to call it occurred in a good friend of mine who is now passed on.  This latter fact making it much safer to relate the tale as it occurred without fear of reprisals or at least, a swift kick to the posterior.

Frank and I had decided to take advantage of the late elk season on the very north end of Washington’s Olympic Peninsula.  The weather was ideal for this January outing… snow, snow and more snow.  It snowed all day the day of our evening departure from our Port Townsend area homes.  By the time our gear was loaded, the trailer attached and we were on our way, there was more than a foot of fresh, white tracking snow on the ground with more on the way.  Frank, being from Missouri and unaccustomed to the rigors of tracking elk while ploughing through hip-deep snow, was positively jubilant at the prospect.

Throughout our four hour drive to the Hoko River country, normally about a two hour drive, sans snow, he regaled me with tales of his misspent younger years in the “Show Me” State.  If I were believe one-tenth of the antics he related to be “gospel true”, his companions had to have had intellects such that, by comparison, an earthworm would be considered an over-achiever and a cucumber could graduate high school with honors.  Some of these tales made Paul

Bunyan and his Blue Ox, Babe, seem absolutely plausible by comparison.  All in all, though, it was a delightful drive through falling snow with Nirvana waiting for us at the end of our trek.

It was fully dark by the time we arrived at our planned destination, the end of a logging road that led to two clearcuts, one freshly logged and the other about three years old, affording perfect feed for many head of deer and elk.  This little road wound its way up the mountain a mile (1500 m) or so to the older unit, then on through standing timber to the freshly logged unit at the end of the road.  My original plan had called for us to drive in on this road past the first unit to a wide spot by a small stream where we would set up our trailer.  Clallam County Road Dept., being reluctant to expend time and effort clearing private logging roads, forced us to alter these plans and camp just off the paved road, blocking all access to the snow-choked logging road.  After setting up camp which, for us, consisted of unhitching the trailer, making it somewhat level fore and aft, turning on the gas and lighting the pilot lights on the stoves and refrigerator, the work of about twelve minutes flat, we retired for the night.

I should note at this point that the reason for choosing this particular area was that a good friend of mine had logged that back unit and had seen elk nearly every day feeding in the front unit just at daylight.  Our plan was to be in that unit just above the Hoko Road well before first light and see if we couldn’t ambush one of the big Roosevelt Elk that live there.  To that end, we were up well before daylight, had a bite to eat and were headed up the road, climbing the mountain in the diminishing snowfall.  Just about the time we were leaving camp, our bowstrings safely tucked into an inside pocket where they would stay warm, dry and serviceable, the falling snow changed to rain.  It was not a heavy downpour like that ultra-wet country is capable of generating, but a soft, steady drizzle.  It soaked everything… Snow… Trees…. Hunters….

On and on we slogged through the white expanse, climbing the steep grade that led to our goal.  Although there was no moon out, the glow off the now melting snow afforded us ample light to see into the dark night without the use of flashlights.  Careful we were to not get off the edge of the roadway for a fall into the adjacent canyon in the gloom of night could prove fatal.  We were reluctant to show any light lest it be visible ahead of us and into the clearcut.

About thirty minutes before dawn, we reached the edge of the

clearcut and decided to wait there where we could see the entire unit and await daylight.  There were no tracks on the road, but we had expected none as we had the end of that road blockaded by our camp.  The light, steady drizzle was doing its very best to work up into a full-blown downpour and the temperature had risen to well above freezing.  That alone would make any tracks encountered to be very recent, indeed.  In fact, I don’t believe a track in the open would be at all crisp and delineated after as little as a half-hour in these conditions.

Slowly, the skies began to grow brighter with the promise of a new day, a new creation, even.  Stumps began to emerge from the black of night to belie Frank’s profound belief that they were a herd of elk feeding in the pre-dawn air.  Just as one particularly majestic six-point bull disintegrated into its component parts consisting of a very nice Western Hemlock stump, a short length of cull log left as useless by the loggers and now sticking out of the snow at just the right angle to make a beautiful elk body topped with an advantageously placed branch pointing skyward in just the right place.

While watching the disintegration of the nice bull, a deer came off the bank behind us and walked slowly and quietly between Frank and I at a range from me of less than thirty feet (10 m).  It was as if this deer knew that his season was closed and, hence, he was safe.  More likely, the heavy air and falling rain did not allow our scent to travel far and I doubt he ever knew either of us was there.

He was not a large buck, merely a forked-horn, probably a two-year-old that weighed not more than a hundred pounds (45 kg) soaking wet, which he certainly was, along with everything else in these environs.  These Columbian Blacktail Deer are not large deer

under the best of circumstances and this particular animal was a youngster to boot.  Slowly and cautiously he ventured step by precarious step past us and into the snow covered brush that was the clearcut.  He was being extra cautious in his trek.  I assumed then it was because of the poor conditions.  Many times I have seen animals in similar diminished conditions behave in a like manner.  When scenting and hearing conditions deteriorate, they become ultra-wary and extremely reluctant to trust their usually keen senses. Often they will lay up tight and not move until conditions improve for them.

When this little buck had placed enough distance between us that he was beginning to blend in with the stumps, he suddenly came to a stop, his head up, his ears erect as he stared into the darkness before him.  What he was seeing, I had no clue.  But, seeing something he certainly was.  As he peered intently before him, he slowly raised one front foot then quickly stomped the snowy ground before him while emitting a quick snort through his nose.  This is a behavior I have observed many, many times when a deer has spotted something out of place before him, but cannot decipher what he is seeing.  Personally, I believe it to be one of two things… either it is an attempt to get whatever it is seeing to move, the easier to identify it… or, it is a warning to other deer in the area that something is amiss.  This would be similar to the stotting of the Mule Deer, the stiff-legged bounce that can be heard for a considerable distance, putting every deer around to flight.  Perhaps it is a combination of the two, but whatever it is, it was effective in this case as there came a “woof” out of the night sounding like, but not precisely the same as the huffing of a bear as he feeds his way among the rotted logs and such.  I heard it quite clearly and I have heard the wuffing of many bears and the point must be made that, while it was reminiscent of that, it was not that!  It was enough different that I immediately shot straight up off my stump/seat.  The deer, too, was alarmed as he wheeled quickly and sped back towards us, passing so close that Frank had to dive behind a stump into the snow to avoid being hit by the escaping deer.

Frank hurried over to my position as fast as he could negotiate the snow.  “What in Holy Hell was that?” he yelled loudly with his eyes approximately the size of dinner plates.

“Shush,” I admonished him.  “I don’t know what it was, but I do know

that deer didn’t like it, so I think we should stay right where we are.  It will be light enough to see within the next thirty to forty minutes to possibly an hour, depending on the density of the cloud cover.  We can see what’s up then.

Reluctantly, Frank retraced his steps to his stump and resumed his vigil.  It was a vigil, he later related to me, “that took so damn long that I was sure I’d have a beard down to my belt line before it ever got light!”

When light covered the land sufficiently, I whistled to him to come to my position.  When he got there approximately one and a half seconds later, I was moved to ask if he had been shot there by a large rubber band.  Frank was shaken, I could see that.  It was so much so that I asked him if he wanted to go back to the trailer.  His head bobbing up and down so hard that I thought his wool stocking cap was going to shoot right off his head told me that he’d done about all the hunting he was up for on this morning.  I told him to just follow the road right back down the mountain and he’d run right into camp.

“You’re not coming?” he asked plaintively.

“Oh, heavens no,” I answered.  “I came out her to arrow an elk and the conditions are almost perfect for hunting, so I’ll be danged if I’ll quit now.  Besides, I want to find the tracks and see what it was that made that sound.”

“Damn it, Thom,” he pleaded, “don’t do that!  It’s just too spooky.  Let’s go back to camp now.”

“Go ahead, Frank,” I suggested, gesturing down the trail, “but I’m going on.  There are elk here.  I’ve caught their odor a few times this

morning and I want one.”

With that, I simply turned and started walking up the road, intending to cross the cutting unit and then glass it from the far side.  Also, if my deductions were correct, whatever had made that noise should have crossed the road either coming or going.  I was a bit amused to hear a thoroughly exasperated Frank immediately behind me… so close that if I’d have reached into my hip pocket for a handkerchief, I’d have shaken hands with Frank!

We had moved less than a quarter-mile (400 m) further into the snowy expanse when I spotted something on top of the snow just ahead.  As I made my way to it, I wondered what it could be.  What I discovered amazed even me.  What had caught my eye was fresh mud on top of the snow.  And, what had been the source of the fresh mud were fresh tracks in the snow… Humanoid tracks… approximately seventeen inches (43 cm) long and a third to a half as wide.  The distinct impression of five very human-like toes so clearly defined told me that these tracks were no more than an hour old, probably less.

Investigation told the story.  This humanoid creature was carrying/dragging something with him.  The hairs I found indicated it was, most likely, a deer.  At the base of the fill over the culvert at the intersection of his trail with the road, he had stepped into a muddy spot, sinking deeply into the slushy muck found there.  Obviously, he had stopped on reaching the level surface of the road, placed his burden on the ground and had taken time to clean some of the mud from his lower body.  It was this mud he had cleaned off himself that had drawn my eye.  He then recovered his load and, stepping off the road, continued on to the south from that point.  His stride was tremendous, nearly twice mine and I am six feet four inches (193 cm) tall and cursed by those that hike with me for my long strides.  Yet, mine were as a child’s when compared to his!

I had been talking softly to myself while working out this scenario as is my wont at such times.  Finally, satisfied that I knew all there was to know about this, I turned to Frank.  The specter that greeted me was absolutely hilarious.  He was as white as the snow itself.  His

mouth was opening and closing seemingly of its own volition, with no discernable effort on his part.  Poor Frank looked very much like he was trying to articulate great words and thoughts but nothing was coming out.  It was as if his mouth had been disconnected from the rest of his being and was left on its own.  The poor guy looked very much like a goldfish without the bowl!  I’m sorry now that I did it.  At the time I had no real choice… it was all I could do… I laughed… Oh, how I did laugh!  My sides hurt and my eyes ran with tears.  It is a small wonder that I did not wet my pants, such was my laughter… I was totally beyond control.  I have never in my life, before or since, seen such a sight.

When I finally calmed enough to control my mirth, I said, “Well, Bud, there is the source of our “woof” from earlier.”

He just looked at me, his eyes wide.  Finally, at long last, he found words and uttered a shaky, “I-is t-t-that what I t-think it is?”

“Yes,” I responded with a grin, “It certainly is!  Exciting, isn’t it?”

With a look of sheer dread in his eyes, telling me he knew the answer to his question before he asked it, he said quietly, “Can we go now?”

I explained to him that he was free to go if he wished, but I was following those tracks.  I simply wanted to learn more and this was the closest I had ever been to one of these creatures.  I was not about to lose this opportunity.  I had him close and had perfect tracking conditions.  This was my best opportunity to get much closer to the creature we knew as Sasquatch.  While this news did not seem to rank among the top ten things Frank wanted to hear just then, he was not about to go off by himself any time soon, so I was blessed with a partner in my quest… at least for the near future.

As I could see the direction of our creature’s travel led back to the standing timber very near the point where our road entered that timber, I chose to follow the road to that point, intending to leave the road there and enter the dark timber on his track and see where it took us.

One positive aspect of this state of affairs, I suppose, was that at no time did I ever have to wonder where Frank was or to where he had wandered.  I don’t believe he was ever more that six feet (2 m) from me and this was on wide open ground.  It was to be expected then, I guess, that when I stopped suddenly he would ram me from behind.

This is precisely what happened when, just at the edge of the timber, I spotted a cougar track and stopped to point it out to Frank.  In retrospect, I probably should not have further burdened his already over-taxed central nervous system with this rare and chance find.  He did not take the news well.  I never thought, however, it would

cause the reaction that followed for the track was hours old… only still there because it was back under the protection of the canopy of snow-laden trees, safe there in a pocket away from the falling water.  Already, nearly all of its mates were gone.  A few were mere smudges in the snow, recognizable for what they were only because of the presence of that one clear print.  As I started to explain to Frank, this was a younger cat, not yet full grown… probably just on its own away from its mother.

All this logic and calm thinking was lost on poor Frank.  That the track was many hours old did not even register in his over-fevered mind.  All he could do was begin muttering, “GET me out of here…Get me OUT of here… Get me out of HERE…”  The volume rising with each iteration, of which there were at least ten.

At this point with a half-crazed man in my care, I had no choice but to abandon my search and see to Frank.  Besides, by now, he was shouting at the top of his lung capacity, causing snow to fall from the

branches of the trees around us.  He had obviously reached the limit of his endurance.  To continue further could have been dangerous, if not to me, at least to him.

“OK, Frank,” I smiled calmingly at him, “let’s head on out.  You stay close behind me (some of the most superfluous instructions ever uttered… somewhat akin to ‘take cover’ on December Seventh in Pearl Harbor…) and we’ll head back for breakfast.  I think every critter within five miles (8 km) knows exactly what and where we are after that outburst.

By this time it had rained sufficiently that the snow load on the brush and trees was beginning to slip off, allowing the weighted down shrubs to spring back to their “pre-snow” positions.  Each time this happened there was the sound the snow falling off and the whoosh of the branch popping up.  This is what triggered that involuntary reaction in poor, overwrought Frank… With each release, he would utter a loud, sharp yelp… somewhat like what one would hear upon inadvertently stepping on the tail of small dog… and he’d jump straight into the air while simultaneously executing a perfect 360 degree spin while airborne.

“At least,” I smiled to myself and thought silently, reluctant to share negative thoughts concerning his demeanor with Frank just now, “I don’t have to worry about anything sneaking up on us from behind!”

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