We were poking around on chukar spots my buddy had marked the season before, and between huffs and puffs, shots and misses, I wondered: Could you spend an entire season chasing the Sasquatch icons? What might you learn about wild birds, untamed places, dogs, intriguing people and especially about yourself?
That day was about quiet, isolation and stunning scenery, volcanic castles looming, us darting among the ramparts and the chance of falling off cliff. A life-threatening descent as we pursued that imaginary beast lent savor to the first bottle of beer that night, and every step, all the climbs, each vista made the risk worthwhile.
We crossed from one state to the next busting valley quail, Huns and chukars. Sasquatch was absent but for our imagination.
That was my first acquaintance with the legendary creature that was my running buddy all season. On that trip, I marveled at Huns in all the wrong places. Crisp, dry cheat grass slopes held them. So did sandy creek bottoms and boulder fields.
I never saw a giant footprint, but I did see three-toed tracks galore, often followed by the whir of wings and that squeakygate screech of theirs.
The following week, I hauled out my old-school paper maps and scrawled Sasquatches here, there and oh yeah, there too. I marked a tangled draw north of a honey hole, a lush prairie where wild horses graze. I recalled the vague tale of a lost covert someone related over a glass. Like a magnet, it pulled me toward the unknown. Bigfoot was the perfect symbol for my season-long search for what?
On that trip, I found beauty and spectacle and learned a little more about myself.
Author André Gide said, Man cannot discover new oceans unless he has the courage to lose sight of the shore.” He was right.
This story is from the Winter 2022 edition of The Upland Almanac.
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This story is from the Winter 2022 edition of The Upland Almanac.
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