Excerpt from book 1 of the Conversations With Sasquatch,  series The Encounter.  

5

     On my return to Big Creek, I am aware of some recent activity by other humans.  It is not only the physical signs, like the matted down grass and discarded cigarette butts, but also the remnants of their auras.  People leave in their wake good or bad vibrations that can hang around and be felt from here to eternity unless cleansed from the emotionally disturbed space.  What I am feeling at the moment is not good, and it isn’t long before I find a half dozen empty beer cans and several Twinkie wrappers scattered about.  

     I have never known beer and Twinkies to mix well with the forest.  I am hoping it is just a sign of some rebellious teenagers getting away from the claustrophobic demands of their parents, and what I am seeing is discarded pieces of their rebellion and carelessness that have been shed like the skin of a snake.  

     My hopes get permanently dashed when I find more cigarette butts and a game camera locked in place to a small sapling of birch.  There is a generous pile of untouched corn a few yards away from the lens that snaps my picture.  I stick out my tongue and give it the finger. 

     Tecumseh would throw a fit if he saw this disrespectful approach to the fine art of hunting.  I can literally hear one of his angry rants echoing through the forest as I decide what to do.

     “They leave their ugly scent behind like mangy dogs that seem to have a purpose to piss on everything,” Tecumseh rails.   “They are thankless of all but their own gratification.  I weep when I think about how the ancestors of such vile men invaded our tee-pees with their spirits of evil.   I pray our eternal wills continue to be reborn without such an abominable weakness for whiskey.”

     I look around and heft a broken hardwood bow about the size and shape of a baseball bat.   I contemplate and weigh it for my purpose.  Knowing I have been captured on the camera, I have decided prudence would be my best course of action.  

     I wind up and take a healthy cut and catch the camera square in the face.  It explodes into different pieces and is not easy to gather back together, but I find the photo chip and slip it into my pocket.  The rest of the camera pieces and every other sign of human presence, I put in my gathering bag.  All that is left is the cable and lock still wrapped around the birch.  I apologize in the name of Tecumseh and cut the cable free.  

     I then backtrack and gather the beer cans and Twinkie wrappers, finger-rake the grasses back to standing the best I can, and collect all the cigarette butts.  I am happily gratified to feel the forest rejoice.  

     With the area cleansed of trash and bad vibrations, I am able to return to contemplating my original purpose.  I had been looking forward to another philosophical melding with my Bigfoot friend, Loquius.

     I have been pondering, that if the Sasquatch are immortal beings that have roamed this planet since the beginning of time, then they have survived the endless disasters of climate change, including ice ages, volcanos, earthquakes, drought, famine, asteroids, and even pandemics.   

     Man is relatively new to the game, and what is most important in this age of narcissism, are the symbiotic relationships that have and can be further developed between man and nature; each one can enhance the other when common sense and basic ethics are applied to such things as forestry, farming, housing, and industry.  Even cities can be redesigned with regenerative energy and agriculture in mind.  Man is basically good and will strive for the greatest good for all concerned when he realizes that one lifetime is but a growing and cleansing journey for his immortal soul.  To survive, you have to learn that you do not shit in the bed to which you must return.  

     I hope to garner much more insight into what answers Sasquatch might have to help the human race as it seemingly hurtles unawares towards oblivion.  

     As I trek, I am elated to have removed the footprints of the litterbugs and their bad vibes.  The forest has returned to its harmonious songs within itself.  I hear the distant drumming of a partridge, the chatter of squirrels, and the peeping of some snipes at the edge of a meadow filled with dancing grasses.  A porcupine scuttles over a log, parks it itself in a defensive posture and raises its quills as I pass nearby.  

     The walk to meet Sasquatch is over two miles of ever changing terrain.  The forest is rife with organic smells and subtle changes of temperature.  I have come to recognize many sun dappled openings verdant with ferns as well as groves of various trees.   I am traversing the edge of the hardwoods that are easier to navigate than the thick cedars, tag alders and small pines that thrive next to the creek.  

     It is on the ridge where the hardwoods turn to cedars that Sasquatch appears.  I am immediately struck by the aggressiveness portrayed in his muscular stance.  There is nothing soft or serene in his posture towards me.  My first instinct is to cut and run, but I will myself to keep my poise and hold my ground.

     He vocalizes an unearthly bugle of screeching sounds that all but rattle my bones.  Instantly, there is movement to his right and another Sasquatch appears at his side.

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