I crash through the dry, thorny underbrush, despite my efforts to stay silent, all the while questioning why I’m here. The constant uncertainty of “why I’m here” keeps my mind distracted from the dark midnight wilderness around me, and gives me a purpose as I move forward. I’d be lying if I didn’t want to prove all the doubters wrong, but that isn’t the main thing pushing me forward. I have something to prove to myself, also.
I tear my thoughts away from the “why” and turn them to my surroundings, for they are dangerous. It is near midnight, and the dark woods around me hold many things that could be dangerous. Not that I am overly worried, because I am prepared, but I still must be careful. I’m high in the Cascade Mountains of the Pacific Northwest, home to the elusive sasquatch. One of the families of sasquatch, at least. Contrary to popular belief, the sasquatch species are spread throughout North America and even parts of Europe. To most people, Sasquatch is just a joke and the mascot of a beef jerky commercial. To me? Sasquatch is a rare, intelligent beast that needs to be…what does he need? Exposure? Help? Honestly, I don’t know what I would do even if I did find a sasquatch. I want to protect them of course, but I would also want to share my discovery. Would anyone even believe me?
As I hike up the loose gravelly hillside, I look for potential spots to place my game cameras. These motion activated cameras are a useful tool for a Squatcher, someone who actively searches for sasquatch, allowing us to have eyes in multiple locations at once. The only trees at this level are pines, and there are no defining features of the landscape other than the slanted-growing trees and the shale beneath my feet. I am far from any trail. Sasquatch wouldn’t have stayed hidden this long if they hadn’t been avoiding trails, so to find them I must avoid trails as well.
I wrap the strap of one camera around a tree, flicking the on switch and quickly moving on. Part of what sets me apart from other Squatchers is I don’t go looking for sasquatch; I let them come to me. I move a few more yards, then place another camera. I go on for a while placing cameras in a diagonal line across the Valley. Trudging through the underbrush, pine branches continuously scraping my shins and bashing my arms, I quickly grow tired. Traversing across the Valley along the base of the cliff, I place another diagonal line that eventually meets at a point with the first. These two lines, combined with the base of the cliff that serves as my vantage point above the Valley, form a triangle. This will allow me to see anything that passes into or out of the upper part of the Valley, either with my own eyes or through the cameras. I started using this method to simulate a visual trap, which allows me to know if anything breaks the barrier of cameras.
••••••••••
I hope my cameras are angled well. We don’t need any more Blob-Squatches. Blob-Squatch is the name given to photos of “Sasquatch” that are unidentifiable. They could be a tree stump, a shadow, or simply nothing. I setup my game cameras an hour ago, and I’m now waiting silently atop the bluff overlooking the valley. Same program as always: setup cameras, take position at the overlook, and wait for the valley to quiet itself. Obviously my crashing through the woods would scare away most animals, so I wait for the woods to come back to life.
As I wait for the resurrection of the valley, I get a chance to stargaze. This might actually be the best part of these trips. Could the magnificence of a sasquatch even compare to the majesty of the heavens? Obviously the answer is no. Sasquatch, despite his elusiveness and mystery, is still a mortal beast. The heavens, on the other hand, are infinite and eternal. Sometimes, the woods feel the same way.
The time for world-brain and philosophical inquiry is not now. Now, it is time for Squatching. I may differ from other Squatchers in how I look for a sasquatch, but I’m the same in how I call for them. Sasquatch vocalizations are very specific to their species but are also extremely simple. The main ones are tree knocks, whoops, and screams. They are pretty self-explanatory, aside from tree knocks. A tree knock is basically taking a very large branch and smacking a tree. Hard. Sasquatch do this a lot when they come upon campers, either to draw attention to themselves or scare away the intruders. A tree knock can draw other sasquatch in, as well, because it is somewhat of a distress signal. Most people don’t understand how curious sasquatch are, despite their elusive nature. Many times, you are being observed without even knowing it. Sasquatch have a natural ghillie suit, which most people don’t understand makes them effectively invisible unless you know they are there.
I grab the biggest branch I can firmly hold in my hands, a log about 5 feet long and 6 inches in diameter, and pick a tree. I want a tree that’s separated from the rest around me on the edge of the bluff, so the sound isn’t immediately deadened. There is a nice large pine, leaning out over the edge of the hillside, about 45 inches around. I ready myself for the abusive sound I’m about to create and swing the branch like I’m in the Homerun Derby.
The sound is heart stopping. It echoes through the valley like a blow to the heart of nature itself. I freeze immediately after the swing and listen for any sounds from the valley below. I never expect to hear anything after a tree knock because it isn’t necessarily a friendly call. There is a two-tone chirp from the East side of the valley, to the left from my viewpoint on the bluff, but I disregard it. Sure, the two-tone whistle is a common sasquatch vocalization. Everyone knows that. But any bird can make that noise as well. I need to not be so quick to jump to conclusions. At this point, it’s easy to shrug off certain sounds. After years of visiting these mountains, I’ve built a shield against hope. The skeptic in me comes out more and more, but my faith in the reality of sasquatch has never wavered.
I wait until the valley quiets again before moving on to more vocalizations. I start with the scream because it is much louder and travels further. Scream is somewhat of a misnomer; it is more of a bellow. This is another unusual call that is very specific to sasquatch. Puffing my chest out and steeling my nerves, I scream. I scream a scream so raw and primitive that I question whether it even came from me. My heart races as I listen for a response other than the echo of my own voice tearing itself apart through the valley.
Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. THERE!!! I hear a whoop, again to the East, and something crashing in the trees. I try to subdue my excitement, but the barrier I’ve built over the years is failing. Rarely have I ever heard two clear calls in one night, and there is definitely something moving down there.
What do I do?! Should I move? Should I stay? It is coming closer…I need to call again. That movement should be close enough to one of my cameras that I’ll know what it is when I retrieve them. I call again, this time switching to a whoop. It is a more tonal version of a scream, and is much quieter. I hear another whoop in response and can barely contain my excitement. I want to move, but the sasquatch is coming to me, just as I had always planned. If I move positions now, I might scare it off. The only option is to get as far out of the open as I can without making too much noise, but at this point it almost doesn’t matter. I can hear the beast crashing through the underbrush, storming up the valley towards the bluff. It is not trying to be stealthy.
I never thought I would be faced with an actual face-to-face encounter. I never really planned on what to do. Now realizing I about to meet this humongous beast, I realize that I am entirely incapable of defending myself if it feels threatened…there is no running, however. I can’t hide; it will find me for sure. Their sense of smell is much too strong. I can’t run; they can run much faster, up to 40 mph. There is only one choice. I must hope it perceives me as friendly. I stand in the clearing as the crashing grows closer. The first thing I see is a mass with no shape, lumbering through the brush and pushing branches out of the way. It quickly gains a humanoid shape, and just as more features start to come into focus it stops. It knows something is not right. I am not a sasquatch. It takes a few tentative steps towards me and its eyes become visible. They are a rich dark brown, more majestic than the heavens, and more divine than the forest. I ought to be entranced, but I only feel fear. This is not a friendly being. It only knows violence and pain, and I am an enemy in its territory.
Tyler is a Senior at Lindenwood University graduating December 2021 with a BA in English Lit with an emphasis in Creative Writing. He works full-time as a freelance Project Manager specializing in the nonprofit sector, and spends time volunteering in his church and for Alcoholics Anonymous.
