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The Lincoln Star
Lincoln, Nebraska
July 29, 1934
Are they the Last Cave Men?
British Columbia Startled by the Appearance of "Sasquatch," a Strange Race of Hairy Giants
By Francis Dickie
It is peculiarly in keeping with the topsy-turvy year of violently varying weather, universal human unrest, droughts, grasshopper plagues and other phenomena that there now comes from various eyewitnesses the report of seeing some of the "Sasquatch," those weird hairy men reported for twenty years to dwell in the tremendous and unexplored mountain region of British Columbia, Canada.
Their reported return is particularly in keeping with this unusual year, as remarkable for the number of appearances of various startling monsters sighted from Scotland to the Caribbean, from the Pacific to the Mediterranean, the reality of which is affirmed by scores of eyewitnesses. Moreover, the statements of some of these people, in so far as curious denizens of the oceans are concerned, have been borne out, for within a short time of each other, at a dozen places on the European coast, the remains of incredible monsters of the deep have been cast up.
Of all these mysterious earthly visitants, perhaps the "Sasquatch" is the least known, by reason of the rarity of their appearance and the reluctance of those who have seen them to talk.
THE existence of a troglodyte race inhabiting the mountains of British Columbia in many of the vast caves is a tribal legend among the Chehalis Indians and those of the Skwah Reservation, near Chilliwack, in the Harrison Lake district, about a hundred miles east of Vancouver. Among the Indians the race has been known for centuries by the name "Sasquatch," or hairy men.
But reports of these creatures being seen frequently at various times over a period of the last twenty years, and more frequently in recent weeks, have caused a number of people to raise the question if these strange creatures may not be more than an Indian legend of the past, and that some of this race of cavern dwellers are still living in the unexplored fastness of British Columbia.
The Sasquatch have been seen, according to the statements from both white men and Indians. The wild, hairy men have mostly been reported in the Harrison Lake district, but also as far east as the mountainous region of Yale, on the main line of the Canadian Pacific Railway.
The repeated reports of eyewitnesses of seeing one or more of the huge hairy men in recent years, and more particularly in the last month, and the mounting number of the reports of eyewitnesses now seem to point strongly that the old tribal legend, long contemptuously flouted by the white man, is true, and that at least a few of this mysterious race may still inhabit the solitudes nearby where once they were numerous. The possibility of this is further borne out when it is recalled that the remains of a giant race of men recently have been unearthed in the mountainous region of Mexico.
The chief difficulty, in fact the whole task of an investigator, in matters of such phenomena as Sasquatch or sea serpents, is, of course, the credibility of the witnesses. If untruthful, what motive lies behind their story? In the case of the Sasquatch, the element of credence is heightened because in most cases the witnesses have been reluctant ones, some of them not revealing their stories for years.
From a careful comparison of all eyewitness statements to date, all are closely in agreement as to the following facts: The Sasquatch are gigantic men, varying from six and one-half to seven feet in height. One, and only one, witness states the nose of them to be very broad, and the arms long, reaching below the knee. All but one are agreed as to the hideousness of the face.
However, as in most instances the Sasquatch were not seen close up, it is natural the descriptions remain very general. Those people who have been close were so terror-stricken that their accounts are vague. Yet, aside from one of the most recent happenings, in only two other cases have the Sasquatch shown themselves hostile.
THE fact that some of these strange people have just been reported close to civilization at this time accurately compares with dates noted by the Chehalis Indians. The Indians have oral records covering three generations. According to them, members of the tribe have seen in the Springtime every fourth year the light of a great fire on one of the highest peaks in the Chehalis Range. The fire burns for four nights, riding in a very high, thin column. Sometimes it is suddenly extinguished, to rise again a little later. That this is some periodic mark of a return to a certain place of worship at some ancient shrine, or a communication with members in some remote mountain fastness, are possible conjectures.
These periodic returns to some ancient gathering place do bring these people close to what are now civilized areas.
A few days ago, a middle-aged Indian, Tom Cedar, was trout fishing from his canoe on Morris Creek, a tributary of the Harrison. He was near a rocky terraced bank. Suddenly a large rock struck the water so close to his canoe that he was drenched by the splash. Looking up, he saw with amazement a huge hairy man above him just as he threw another rock. This also barely missed the canoe. Cedar paddled rapidly upstream to the settlement.
By way of noting an odd coincidence, this particular stream, now called Morris Creek, was known as Saskakau when the white man first arrived, and is so called on old maps. Nearby are caverns which were investigated by Captain Warde, forty years a resident in the district. He states they bear evidence of habitation. Upon the walls are some crude drawings. In this region, according to the Indians, two large bands of Sasquatch fought a long time ago until both were brought almost to extinction.
THE other evidence of hostile intention of some of these creatures dates back twenty years and consists of the statements of two Indians, Peter and Paul Williams, of Chehalis. The following is very much a condensed resume:
"On an evening in May," states Peter, "I was about a mile from the reserve, near the foot of the mountain, when what I at first took to be a bear rose up in the underbrush. It was between six and seven feet tall, covered with hair. I turned and ran through the underbrush to my dugout. The hairy man came after me. I paddled across the stream, which is not very deep, and the man waded after. I reached the house where my wife and child were inside. I bolted the door. Presently the hairy man arrived. It was growing dark. He prowled around, grunting and growling, but after a little while went away."
About the same time Paul was chased from a creek where he was fishing. But the giant did not run after him very far, and apparently the action was only to drive the man away to get the fish he had taken.
On another occasion in the next year, Peter and another man came upon two giants so close as to distinguish a man and a woman. Though the Indians ran, they were not pursued.
Charley Victor, now living at Chilliwack, relates that he and a little group of companions, while bathing in a mountain lake near Yale, suddenly looked up to see a huge man, naked and hairy, looking down upon them from among the trees.
"His big eyes looked very kind, and I was about to speak to him when he drew back into the trees," related Charley.
Here we have the only witness who gives a favorable reaction to sight of the mysterious race.
This took place many years ago and at a point about a hundred miles from where the majority of the Sasquatch have been reported seen in recent times.
THE next account of which any fully recorded evidence is now to be seen deals with September, 1927, near the little mountain town of Agassiz, which is very near the points at which all the other Sasquatch have been reported. A party of hop-pickers were picnicking here. On their way to this[,] a man, named Herbert Point, and a girl, Adeline August, were walking when they saw a strange creature approaching. "He was twice as big as the average man, with hands [arms?] so long they nearly touched the ground, and his nose seemed spread all over his face. His body was covered with hair like an animal. He stopped within fifty feet of us. We ran away as fast as we could." The lines in quotes are excerpts from a letter written by the man in answer to a query of what he had seen.
Within recent weeks Emma Paul and Millie Saul, two other members of the Chehalis Reserve, saw one of the Sasquatch near their home on the fringe of the woods. Several nights later he was heard prowling around the home of Millie Saul, and one rubbed his hand over the window frame.
To date, the last report was from Harrison Mills, a small hamlet on the Harrison River.
The woman, on hearing a humming noise, looked up to see a big man covered with hair on the edge of the clearing. She was frightened. Taking a backward step, she fell into one of the half-full laundry tubs at which she had been working. When she had extricated herself and looked again, the man had disappeared.
Such, in brief, are the legendary and eyewitness stories regarding the Sasquatch.
THE scientific board connected with the Museum of Vancouver is skeptical regarding the existence of any such remnant of a race that once might have roamed the forested regions.
An objection that the climate is too rigorous for a naked race, no matter how hairy, might be answered by pointing to the Fengians, who live in a much more inhospitable one.
The eyewitness reports have always been reluctantly given. There may be many more. The chief objection among the natives to telling white inquirers is fear of ridicule. This sensitiveness is much stronger among natives than whites.
Here, for the present, the matter must rest. Perhaps further witnesses may be heard in the future. Remembering, however, in judging the possibilities of the existence of the Sasquatch, how many people have seen sea serpents and that remains of strange creatures have been recently washed on various shores. It is quite within the bounds of probability that just as there are unknown forms of life in the boundless depths of the ocean, equally so may there be in the enormous wilderness stretches of British Columbia wild hairy men roaming.
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ALBERT OSTMAN'S STORY
I have always followed logging and construction work. This time I had worked over one year on a construction job, and thought a good vacation was in order. B. C. is famous for lost gold mines.
One is supposed to be at the head of Toba Inlet — why not look for this mine and have a vacation at the same time? I took the Union Steamship boat to Lund, B.C. From there I hired an old Indian to take me to the head of Toba Inlet.
This old Indian was a very talkative old gentleman. He told me stories about gold brought out by a white man from this lost mine. This white man was a very heavy drinker — spent his money freely in saloons. But he had no trouble in getting more money. He would be away a few days, then come back with a bag of gold. But one time he went to his mine and never came back. Some people said a Sasquatch had killed him.
At that time I had never heard of Sasquatch. So I asked what kind of an animal he called a Sasquatch. The Indian said, "They have hair all over their bodies, but they are not animals. They are people. Big people living in the mountains. My uncle saw the tracks of one that were two feet long. One old Indian saw one over eight feet tall."
I told the Indian I didn't believe in their old fables about mountain giants. It might have been some thousands of years ago, but not nowadays.
The Indian said: "There may not be many, but they still exist."
We arrived at the head of the inlet about 4:00 p.m. I made camp at the mouth of a creek ...The Indian had supper with me, and I told him to look out for me in about three weeks. I would be camping at the same spot when I came back ...
Next morning I took my rifle with me, but left my equipment at the camp. I decided to look around for some deer trail to lead me up into the mountains. On the way up the inlet I had seen a pass in the mountain that I wanted to go through, to see what was on the other side.
I spent most of the forenoon looking for a trail but found none, except for a hogback running down to the beach. So I swamped out a trail from there, got back to my camp about 3:00 p.m. that afternoon, and made up my pack to be ready in the morning. My equipment consisted of one 30- 30 Winchester rifle, I had a special home-made prospecting pick, axe on one end, pick on the other. I had a leather case for this pick which fastened to my belt, also my sheath knife.
The storekeeper at Lund was co-operative. He gave me some cans for my sugar, salt and matches to keep them dry. My grub consisted mostly of canned stuff, except for a side of bacon, a bag of beans, four pounds of prunes and six packets of macaroni, cheese, three pounds of pancake flour and six packets of Rye King hard tack, three rolls of snuff, one quart sealer of butter and two one-pound cans of milk. I had two boxes of shells for my rifle.
The storekeeper gave me a biscuit tin. I put a few things in that and cached it under a windfall, so I would have it when I came back here waiting for a boat to bring me out. My sleeping bag I rolled up and tied on top of my pack sack, together with my ground sheet, small frying pan, and one aluminum pot that held about a gallon. As my canned food was used, I would get plenty of empty cans to cook with.
The following morning I had an early breakfast, made up my pack, and started out up this hogback. My pack must have been at least eighty pounds, besides my rifle. After one hour, I had to rest. I kept resting and climbing all that morning. About 2:00 p.m. I came to a flat place below a rock bluff. There was a bunch of willow in one place. I made a wooden spade and started digging for water. About a foot down I got seepings of water, so I decided to camp here for the night, and scout around for the best way to get on from here.
I must have been up to near a thousand feet. There was a most beautiful view over the islands and the Strait — tugboats with log booms, and fishing boats going in all directions. A lovely spot. I spent the following day prospecting round. But no sign of minerals. I found a deer trail leading towards this pass that I had seen on my way up the inlet. The following morning I started out early, while it was cool. It was steep climbing with my heavy pack. After a three hours climb, I was tired and stopped to rest. On the other side of a ravine from where I was resting was a yellow spot below some small trees. I moved over there and started digging for water.
I found a small spring and made a small trough from cedar bark and got a small amount of water, had my lunch and rested here 'till evening ... I made it over the pass late that night.
Now I had downhill and good going, but I was hungry and tired, so I camped at the first bunch of trees I came to ... I was trying to size up the terrain — what direction I would take from here. Towards west would lead to low land and some other inlet, so I decided to go in a northeast direction ... had good going and slight down hill all day. I must have made 10 miles when I came to a small spring and a big black hemlock tree.
This was a lovely campsite, I spent two days here just resting and prospecting. The first night here I shot a small deer...
(Two days later) ... I found an exceptionally good campsite. It was two good-sized cypress trees growing close together and near a rock wall with a nice spring just below these trees. I intended to make this my permanent camp. I cut lots of brush for my bed between these trees. I rigged up a pole from this rock wall to hang my packsack on, and I arranged some flat rocks for my fireplace for cooking. I had a really classy setup... And that is when things began to happen.
I am a heavy sleeper, not much disturbs me after I go to sleep, especially on a good bed like I had now.
Next morning I noticed things had been disturbed during the night. But nothing missing I could see. I roasted my grouse on a stick for breakfast...
That night I filled up the magazine of my rifle. I still had one full box of 20 shells and six shells in my coat pocket. That night I laid my rifle under the edge of my sleeping bag. I thought a porcupine had visited me the night before and porkies like leather, so I put my shoes in the bottom of my sleeping bag.
Next morning my pack sack had been emptied out. Some one had turned the sack upside down. It was still hanging on the pole from the shoulder straps as i had hung it up. Then I noticed one half-pound package of prunes was missing. Also my pancake flour was missing, but my salt bag was not touched. Porkies always look for salt, so I decided it must be something else than porkies. I looked for tracks but found none. I did not think it was a bear, they always tear up and make a mess of things. I kept close to camp these days in case this visitor would come back.
I climbed up on a big rock where I had a good view of the camp, but nothing showed up. I was hoping it would be a porky, so I would get a good porky stew. These visits had now been going on for three nights...
This night it was cloudy and looked like it might rain. I took special notice of how everything was arranged. I closed my pack sack, I did not undress, I only took off my shoes, put them in the bottom of my sleeping bag. I drove my prospecting pick into one of the cypress trees so I could reach it from my bed. I also put the rifle alongside me, inside my sleeping bag. I fully intended to stay awake all night to find out who my visitor was, but I must have fallen asleep.
I was awakened by something picking me up. I was half asleep and at first I did not remember where I was. As I began to get my wits together, I remembered I was on this prospecting trip, and in my sleeping bag.
My first thought was — it must be a snow slide, but there was no snow around my camp. Then it felt like I was tossed on horseback, but I could feel whoever it was, was walking.
I tried to reason out what kind of animal this could be. I tried to get at my sheath knife, and cut my way out, but I was in an almost sitting position, and the knife was under me. I could not get hold of it, but the rifle was in front of me, I had a good hold of that, and had no intention to let go of it. At times I could feel my packsack touching me, and could feel the cans in the sack touching my back.
After what seemed like an hour, I could feel we were going up a steep hill. I could feel myself rise for every step. What was carrying me was breathing hard and sometimes gave a slight cough. Now, I knew this must be one of the mountain Sasquatch giants the Indian told me about.
I was in a very uncomfortable position — unable to move. I was sitting on my feet, and one of the boots in the bottom of the bag was crossways with the hobnail sole up across my foot. It hurt me terribly, but I could not move.
It was very hot inside. It was lucky for me this fellow's hand was not big enough to close up the whole bag when he picked me up — there was a small opening at the top, otherwise I would have choked to death.
Now he was going downhill. I could feel myself touching the ground at times and at one time he dragged me behind him and I could feel he was below me. Then he seemed to get on level ground and was going at a trot for a long time. By this time, I had cramps in my legs, the pain was terrible. I was wishing he would get to his destination soon. I could not stand this type of transportation much longer.
Now he was going uphill again. It did not hurt me so bad. I tried to estimate distance and directions. As near as I could guess we were about three hours travelling. I had no idea when he started as I was asleep when he picked me up.
Finally he stopped and let me down. Then he dropped my packsack, I could hear the cans rattle. Then I heard chatter — some kind of talk I did not understand. The ground was sloping so when he let go of my sleeping bag, I rolled downhill. I got my head out, and got some air. I tried to straighten my legs and crawl out, but my legs were numb.
It was still dark, I could not see what my captors looked like. I tried to massage my legs to get some life in them, and get my shoes on. I could hear now it was at least four of them, they were standing around me, and continuously chattering. I had never heard of Sasquatch before the Indian told me about them. But I knew I was right among them.
But how to get away from them, that was another question? I got to see the outline of them now, as it began to get lighter, though the sky was cloudy, and it looked like rain, in fact there was a slight sprinkle.
I now had circulation in my legs, but my left foot was very sore on top where it had been resting on my hobnail boots. I got my boots out from the sleeping bag and tried to stand up. I found that I was wobbly on my feet, but I had a good hold of my rifle.
I asked, "What you fellows want with me?" Only some more chatter.
It was getting lighter now, and I could see them quite clearly. I could make out forms of four people. Two big and two little ones. They were all covered with hair and no clothes on at all.
I could now make out mountains all around me. I looked at my watch. It was 4:25 a.m. It was getting lighter now and I could see the people clearly.
They look like a family, old man, old lady and two young ones, a boy and a girl. The boy and the girl seem to be scared of me. The old lady did not seem too pleased about what the old man dragged home. But the old man was waving his arms and telling them all what he had in mind. They all left me then.
I had my compass and my prospecting glass on strings around my neck. The compass in my lefthand shirt pocket and my glass in my right hand pocket. 1 tried to reason our location, and where I was. I could see now that I was in a small valley or basin about eight or ten acres, surrounded by high mountains, on the southeast side there was a V-shaped opening about eight feet wide at the bottom and about twenty feet high at the highest point — that must be the way I came in. But how will I get out? The old man was now sitting near this opening.
I moved my belongings up close to the west wall. There were two small cypress trees there, and this will do for a shelter for the time being. Until I find out what these people want with me, and how to get away from here. I emptied out my packsack to see what I had left in the line of food. All my canned meat and vegetables were intact and I had one can of coffee. Also three small cans of milk — two packages of Rye King hard tack and my butter sealer half full of butter. But my prunes and macaroni were missing. Also my full box of shells for my rifle. I had my sheath knife but my prospecting pick was missing and my can of matches. I only had my safety box full and that held only about a dozen matches. That did not worry me — I can always start a fire with my prospecting glass when the sun is shining, if I got dry wood. I wanted hot coffee, but I had no wood, also nothing around here that looked like wood. I had a good look over the valley from where I was — but the boy and girl were always watching me from behind some juniper bush. I decided there must be some water around here. The ground was leaning towards the opening in the wall. There must be water at the upper end of this valley, there is green grass and moss along the bottom.
All my utensils were left behind. I opened my coffee tin and emptied the coffee in a dishtowel and tied it with the metal strip from the can. I took my rifle and the can and went looking for water. Right at the head under a cliff there was a lovely spring that disappeared underground. I got a drink, and a full can of water. When I got back the young boy was looking over my belongings, but did not touch anything. On my way back I noticed where these people were sleeping. On the east side wall of this valley was a shelf in the mountain side, with overhanging rock, looking something like a big undercut in a big tree about 10 feet deep and 30 feet wide. The floor was covered with lots of dry moss, and they had some kind of blankets woven of narrow strips of cedar bark, packed with dry moss. They looked very practical and warm — with no need of washing.
The first day not much happened. I had to eat my food cold. The young fellow was coming nearer me, and seemed curious about me. My one snuff box was empty, so I relied it toward him. When he saw it coming, he sprang up quick as a cat, and grabbed it. He went over to his sister and showed her. They found out how to open and close it — they spent a long time playing with it — then he trotted over to the old man and showed him. They had a long chatter.
Next morning, I made up my mind to leave this place — if I had to shoot my way out. I could not stay much longer, I had only enough grub to last me till I got back to Toba Inlet. I did not know the direction but I would go down hill and I would come out near civilization some place. I rolled up my sleeping bag, put that inside my pack sack — packed the few cans I had — swung the sack on my back, injected the shell in the barrel of my rifle and started for the opening in the wall. The old man got up, held up his hands as though he would push me back.
I pointed to the opening. I wanted to go out. But he stood there pushing towards me — and said something that sounded like "Soka, soka." I backed up to about sixty feet. I did not want to be too close, I thought, if I had to shoot my way out. A 30-30 might not have much effect on this fellow, it might make him mad. I only had six shells so I decided to wait. There must be a better way than killing him, in order to get out from here. I went back to my campsite to figure out some other way to get out.
I could make friends with the young fellow or the girl, they might help me. If I only could talk to them. Then I thought of a fellow who saved himself from a mad bull by blinding him with snuff in his eyes. But how will I get near enough to this fellow to put snuff in his eyes? So I decided next time I give the young fellow my snuff box to leave a few grains of snuff in it. He might give the old man a taste of it.
But the question is, in what direction will I go, if I should get out? I must have been near 25 miles northeast of Toba Inlet when I was kidnapped. This fellow must have travelled at least 25 miles in the three hours he carried me. If he went west we would be near salt water — same thing if he went south — therefore he must have gone northeast. If I then keep going south and over two mountains, I must hit salt water someplace between Lund and Vancouver.
The following day I did not see the old lady till about 4:00 p.m. She came home with her arms full of grass and twigs and of all kinds of spruce and hemlock as well as some kind of nuts that grow in the ground. I have seen lots of them on Vancouver Island. The young fellow went up the mountain to the east every day, he could climb better than a mountain goat. He picked some kind of grass with long sweet roots. He gave me some one day — they tasted very sweet. I gave him another snuff box with about a teaspoon of snuff in it. He tasted it, then went to the old man — he licked it with his tongue. They had a long chat. I made a dipper from a milk can. I made many dippers — you can use them for pots too — you cut two slits near the top of any can — then cut a limb from any small tree — cut down back of the limb down the stem of the tree — then taper the part you cut from the stem. Then cut a hole in the tapered part, slide the tapered part in the slit you have made in the can, and you have a good handle on your can. I threw one over to the young fellow, that was playing near my camp, he picked it up and looked at it then he went to the old man and showed it to him. They had a long chatter. Then he came to me, pointed at the dipper then at his sister. I could see that he wanted one for her too. I had other peas and carrots, so I made one for his sister. He was standing only eight feet away from me. When I had made the dipper, I dipped it in water and drank from it, he was very pleased, almost smiled at me. Then I took a chew of snuff, smacked my lips, said that's good.
The young fellow pointed to the old man, said something that sounded like "Ook." I got the idea that the old man liked snuff, and the young fellow wanted a box for the old man. I shook my head. I motioned with my hands for the old man to come to me. I do not think the young fellow understood what I meant. He went to his sister and gave her the dipper I made for her. They did not come near me again that day. I had now been here six days, but I was sure I was making progress. If only I could get the old man to come over to me, get him to eat a full box of snuff that would kill him for sure, and that way kill himself, I wouldn't be guilty of murder.
The old lady was a meek old thing. The young fellow was by this time quite friendly. The girl would not hurt anybody. Her chest was flat like a boy's — no development like young ladies. I am sure if I could get the old man out of the way I could easily have brought this girl out with me to civilization. But what good would that have been? I would have to keep her in a cage for public display. I don't think we have any right to force our way of life on other people, and I don't think they would like it. (The noise and racket in a modern city they would not like any more than I do.)
The young fellow might have been between 11-18 years old and about seven feet tall and might weight about 300 lbs. His chest would be 50-55 inches, his waist about 36-38 inches. He had wide jaws, narrow forehead, that slanted upward round at the back about four or five inches higher than the forehead. The hair on their heads was about six inches long. The hair on the rest of their body was short and thick in places. The women's hair on the forehead had an upward turn like some women have — they call it bangs, among women's hair-do's. Nowadays the old lady could have been anything between 40-70 years old. She was over seven feet tall. She would be about 500-600 pounds.
She had very wide hips, and a goose-like walk. She was not built for beauty or speed. Some of those lovable brassieres and uplifts would have been a great improvement on her looks and her figure. The man's eyeteeth were longer than the rest of the teeth, but not long enough to be called tusks. The old man must have been near eight feet tall. Big barrel chest and big hump on his back — powerful shoulders, his biceps on upper arm were enormous and tapered down to his elbows. His forearms were longer than common people have, but well proportioned. His hands were wide, the palm was long and broad, and hollow like a scoop. His fingers were short in proportion to the rest of his hand. His fingernails were like chisels. The only place they had no hair was inside their hands and the soles of their feet and upper part of the nose and eyelids. I never did see their ears, they were covered with hair hanging over them.
If the old man were to wear a collar it would have to be at least 30 inches. I have no idea what size shoes they would need. I was watching the young fellow's foot one day when he was sitting down. The soles of his feet seemed to be padded like a dog's foot, and the big toe was longer than the rest and very strong. In mountain climbing all he needed was footing for his big toe. They were very agile. To sit down they turned their knees out and came straight down. To rise they came straight up without help of hands or arms. I don't think this valley was their permanent home. I think they move from place to place, as food is available in different localities. They might eat meat, but I never saw them eat meat, or do any cooking.
I think this was probably a stopover place and the plants with sweet roots on the mountain side might have been in season this time of the year. They seem to be most interested in them. The roots have a very sweet and satisfying taste. They always seem to do everything for a reason, wasted no time on anything they did not need. When they were not looking for food, the old man and the old lady were resting, but the boy and the girl were always climbing something or some other exercise. A favorite position was to take hold of his feet with his hands and balance on his rump, then bounce forward. The idea seems to be to see how far he could go without his feet or hands touching the ground. Sometimes he made 20 feet.
But what do they want with me? They must understand I cannot stay here indefinitely. I will soon have to make a break for freedom. Not that I was mistreated in any way. One consolation was that the old man was coming closer each day, and was very interested in my snuff. Watching me when I take a pinch of snuff. He seems to think it useless to only put it inside my lips. One morning after I had my breakfast both the old man and the boy came and sat down only ten feet away from me. This morning I made coffee. I had saved up all dry branches I found and I had some dry moss and I used all the labels from cans to start a fire.
I got my coffee pot boiling and it was strong coffee too, and the aroma from boiling coffee was what brought them over. I was sitting eating hard tack with plenty of butter on, and sipping coffee. And it sure tasted good. I was smacking my lips pretending it was better than it really was. I set the can down that was about half full. I intended to warm it up later. I pulled out a full box of snuff, took a big chew. Before I had time to close the box the old man reached for it. I was afraid he would waste it, and only had two more boxes. So I held on to the box intending him to take a pinch like I had just done. Instead he grabbed the box and emptied it in his mouth. Swallowed it in one gulp. Then he licked the box inside with his tongue.
After a few minutes his eyes began to roll over in his head, he was looking straight up. I could see he was sick. Then he grabbed my coffee can that was quite cold by this time, he emptied that in his mouth, grounds and all. That did no good. He stuck his head between his legs and rolled forwards a few times away from me. Then he began to squeal like a stuck pig. I grabbed my rifle. I said to myself, "This is it. If he comes for me I will shoot him plumb between his eyes." But he started for the spring, he wanted water. I packed my sleeping bag in my pack sack with the few cans I had left. The young fellow ran over to his mother. Then she began to squeal. I started for the opening in the wall — and I just made it. The old lady was right behind me. I fired one shot at the rock over her head.
I guess she had never seen a rifle fired before. She turned and ran inside the wall. I injected another shell in the barrel of my rifle and started downhill, looking back over my shoulder every so often to see if they were coming. I was in a canyon, and good travelling and I made fast time. Must have made three miles in some world record time. I came to a turn in the canyon and I had the sun on my left, that meant I was going south, and the canyon turned west. I decided to climb the ridge ahead of me. I knew that I must have two mountain ridges between me and salt water and by climbing this ridge I would have a good view of this canyon, so I could see if the Sasquatch were coming after me. I had a light pack and was making good time up this hill. I stopped soon after to look back to where I came from, but nobody followed me. As I came over the ridge I could see Mt. Baker, then I knew I was going in the right direction.
I was hungry and tired. I opened my packsack to see what I had to eat. I decided to rest here for a while. I had a good view of the mountain side, and if the old man was coming I had the advantage because I was up above him. To get me he would have to come up a steep hill. And that might not be so easy after stopping a few 30-30 bullets. I had made up my mind this was my last chance, and this would be a fight to the finish ... I rested here for two hours. It was 3:00 p.m. when I started down the mountain side. It was nice going, not too steep and not too much underbrush.
When I got near the bottom, I shot a big blue grouse. She was sitting on a windfall, looking right at me, only a hundred feet away. I shot her neck right off.
I made it down the creek at the bottom of this canyon. I felt I was safe now. I made a fire between two big boulders, roasted the grouse. Next morning when I woke up, I was feeling terrible. My feet were sore from dirty socks. My legs were sore, my stomach was upset from that grouse that I ate the night before. I was not too sure I was going to make it up that mountain. I finally made the top, but it took me six hours to get there. It was cloudy, visibility about a mile.
I knew I had to go down hill. After about two hours I got down to the heavy timber and sat down to rest. I could hear a motor running hard at times, then stop. I listened to this for a while and decided the sound was from a gas donkey. Someone was logging in the neighborhood.
I told them I was a prospector and was lost ... I did not like to tell them I had been kidnapped by a Sasquatch, as if I had told them, they would probably have said, he is crazy too.
The following day I went down from this camp on Salmon Arm Branch of Sechelt Inlet. From there I got the Union Boat back to Vancouver. That was my last prospecting trip, and my only experience with what is known as Sasquatches. I know that in 1924 there were four Sasquatches living, it might be only two now. The old man and the old lady might be dead by this time.
From: Sasquatch: The Apes Among Us by John Green
(1978, B.C. Canada: Hancock House)
Hi Elvis,
Yes, those are the classics. The Ostman story is pretty compelling and his detailed description is consistent with what people describe today. From his account they do appear to be as the native Americans describe, a primitive people that do not use fire. It was the use of a language and the woven mats they had made that support that idea. Ostman stood by his story for a lot of years after that, even to his death.
Cosmo
Hey Elvis, no early BF tale to report but this from Wisconsin here from BFRO group.
I decided to hang a couple of glow sticks from some saplings for the heck of it. I hung the green one approximately two hundred and fifty yards south of the truck. I put some red hots candy on a stump below it. After coming back I took the red colored stick and hung it about a hundred and fifty yards directly west of the truck. I placed two mostly eaten apples on a stump below that one. Rosie gave me a candy bar to place on a stump next to the path just north of the truck. By then it was completely dark and Rosie had moved to the truck and started up R2D2. I sat in the chair next to the fire and relaxed for a few minutes. I keyed up the radio to ask how my little buddy was doing. In a hushed voice he said he was fine. About fifteen or twenty minutes later we had the same brief contact. The radio was quiet as no plans for whoops or knocks was supposed to take place until after midnight. It had been a little over an hour when I asked Rosie if she could see the red glow stick west of our truck through R2D2. She said she couldn't, so I told her that I would walk down there and point it out. About three quarters of the way there, the hair on my neck and arms stood up and I felt like someone was watching me from the woods just to my right. I started to whistle the rest of the way to the glow stick and pointed it out to Rosie who was watching on R2D2. I whistled all the way back to the truck. I told Rosie that that was an extremely uncomfortable walk.
It wasn't ten minutes before I heard the following on the walkie-talkie..."I GOT EYE-SHINE, I GOT EYE-SHINE!" Then "F##K THIS, I'M OUTTA HERE!" I was still outside of the vehicle at that time and I took off on a dead sprint north towards Bears location. I met him about one hundred and fifty yards down the path. As he was running I grabbed him and we both continued back in the direction of the truck. He was shaking uncontrollably, and he said "THAT'S F##KED UP DAD, NOTHING LIKE THAT SHOULD BE IN THESE WOODS. IT WAS MASSIVE!" I told him that I had him now and I wouldn't let anything hurt him. We got back to the truck where Rosie had been waiting with locked doors and her eyes on the thermal down the path. Bear jumped in the back and started taking off his gear. By then Mr. BFRO had already jumped in his vehicle and was on his way to the location of the encounter. He asked if Bear could come back and point out where he was laying. So back down the path we went. Bear had two fists full of my jacket in his hands as he was leaning on me and shaking the whole way. We met Mr. BFRO and the two other guys on the path near where Bear was originally located. Mr. BFRO wanted to know what he saw. Bear said "I was just lying there propped up on one elbow looking around when I saw a pair of amber colored eyes, then they switched to white, and then they switched to red." "I picked up the thermal and saw a MASSIVE body leaning out from behind the tree and then I said I'm outta here." Back at the truck I gave him a sleeping pill to calm him down and told Rosie to talk to him. I went back down the trail to look around with the other guys. The two gentlemen on the other side of the trail saw nothing, and heard only Bears transmission and him crashing through the brush on a mad dash to get out of the woods.
Now back in the truck, Bear was finally sleeping, and Rosie was getting tired so she called her boyfriend to pick her up and take her back to base camp. I took over the controls of R2D2 and didn't go to sleep until dawn.
http://s2.excoboard.com/BFRO/150505/2058259
That is from around the Phillips Wisconsin area I believe. I actually spent a day or two up there with a group back in 86.
I been mapping a ride from Green Bay back up to that area and the place I am focusing on is called CLAM LAKE where the navy has that ELF program operating. Clam lake has its own BF reports.
Thanx for the great input guys. Im gonna be adding to this bit by bit as I find stuff.
Fell free to add any thoughts or pieces along the way.
cheers
Elvis.
THE STORY OF MUCHALAT HARRY
According to the Indians, there was once a large number of Bigfoot living on Vancouver Island, a large island, 12,408 square miles in area, off the west coast of British Columbia. The Indians knew about them, feared them, and respected them, but granted that they were harmless. One of the Indians of the Nootka Tribe, who lived at Nootka in 1928, claims to have been carried off by them and held captive for some time.
The story, told to me by Father Anthony Terhaar of Mt. Angel Abbey in Oregon, is a curious one. Father Anthony, a much-loved missionary priest who traveled the west coast of Vancouver Island for many years, was living at Nootka at the time of the story and he knew Muchalat Harry very well. Muchalat Harry was a trapper and something of a rarity among his fellow tribesmen. He was, according to Father Anthony, a tough, fearless man, of excellent physique.
In the course of his trapping; he was wont to spend long weeks in the forest alone, something that the average Indian did not do in those days, The Indians of the coast were apparently a rather timid people and they seemed to regard the deep forest as the home and territory of the Bigfoot. When they went into the deep inland forest for any reason, they never went alone. Muchalat Harry was different from other Indians. He went in the forest alone and feared nothing.
Late one autumn Muchalat Harry set off for the woods, with his traps and camping gear. His plan was to set out a trap line and stay in the woods for several months. He headed for his favorite hunting area, the Conuma River, at the head of Tlupana Inlet. From Nootka he paddled his own canoe to the mouth of the Conuma. There he cached the canoe and headed upstream on foot. Approximately twelve miles upstream he made his base camp and, after building himself a lean-to, started to put out his trap line.
One night, while wrapped in his blankets and clad only in his underwear, he was suddenly picked up by a huge male Bigfoot and carried off into the hills. He was not carried very far, probably a distance of about two or three miles, at the most. When daylight came he was able to see that he was in a sort of camp, under a high rock shelf and surrounded by some twenty Bigfoot They were of all sexes and sizes. For some time, they stood around him and stared at him. The males to the front of the curious group females behind them and young ones to the rear. Muchalat Harry was frightened at first and his fear grew to terror when he noticed, he said, the large number of bones lying around the campsite. When he saw these he was convinced that the Bigfeet were going to eat him.
The Bigfeet did not harm him in any way. Occasionally one came forward and touched him, as if feeling him, and when they discovered that his "skin" was loose — it was in fact his woolen underwear — several came forward and pulled at it gently.
While they looked at him and examined him, Muchalat Harry sat with his back to the rock wall and did not move. He was cold and hungry, but his thoughts were only on escape. Some time in the late afternoon, curiosity on the part of the Bigfeet seemed to slacken and with most of the Bigfeet out of camp, probably food-gathering he thought, there came the opportunity that he needed. He leapt to his feet and ran for his life, never looking back. He ran downhill, toward where he guessed the river to be and sure enough, he soon came to his campsite. In what must have been blind panic he bypassed his camp and ran for twelve miles to where his canoe was cached at the mouth of the Conuma.
Father Anthony describes the story of Muchalat Harry's arrival at Nootka as follows. It was probably three in the morning. He and his brother Benedictines were asleep and the village was quiet. Suddenly there was a series of wild cries from the waters of the inlet. Lights were lit and he and others hurried down to the water's edge. There, near-frozen and exhausted in his canoe, lay Muchalat Harry. He was barefoot and clad only in his wet and torn underwear and he had paddled his canoe through the winter night 45 miles from the mouth of the Conuma River.
Father Anthony and his companions carried the almost lifeless form up from the water's edge. It took three weeks to nurse Muchalat Harry back to sanity and good health. Father Anthony, who took him into his own care, did the nursing and he told me [Peter Byrne] that during the course of these three weeks, Muchalat Harry's hair turned to pure white.
The story of the kidnapping came out slowly. At first Muchalat Harry would talk to no one. Then he told Father Anthony what had happened and, later, others. When he was fully recovered to health he was asked when he planned to go back to collect his belongings, the camp equipment, his pots and pans, his trap line and above all, his rifle, at the lean-to on the Conuma. In 1928 a trap line and all of its pieces must have been worth a great deal to an island Indian. A rifle alone would be regarded as a highly prized possession. But Muchalat Harry never went back to the Conuma. Not only did he never return there; according to Father Anthony, he never left the settlement at Nootka, never went in the woods again for the rest of his life. He preferred to lose all of his valuables and probably hard-won possessions rather than risk another encounter with the Bigfeet.
Peter Byrne, The Search for Bigfoot
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