“If you have been following my escapades in the field of cryptozoology, then you might be asking yourself what could life be like for an individual burdened with the Herculean task that is the relentless pursuit of Knowledge? I was once a tenured Professor at a prestigious educational institution that will remain nameless due to ongoing litigation. On that matter I will only say that most of my colleagues are frightened children, desperately clinging to whatever academic niche they’ve managed to carve out for themselves and once ensconced in positions of authority in their chosen field will defend the scientific status quo to the death, comfortable in their accolades and tenure scribbling away in their dusty offices publishing papers that only reinforce their own scientific prejudices never once daring to go beyond the bounds of current understanding nor even leave the grounds of their own universities.
I was even married once. It might surprise you to hear that my concrete objectivity could be porous enough to allow such things as emotion to cloud my judgement. However, I am after all a human male so the instinctual desire to pass on one’s genetic code is quite difficult to suppress. The arena of academic achievement takes no prisoners which left little time or energy to sustain an emotional attachment to my chosen mate at an acceptable intensity. Apparently, I was “physically and emotionally unavailable” which led my wife to engage in a tawdry affair with the coach of the men’s soccer team. I couldn’t believe she would have any interest in such a primitive representative of the species. My profound intellect and dedication to my field were not deemed sexy at the end of the day.
The last photo I took of my bride on a trip to Los Angeles
She left me shortly after I discovered the affair and confronted them both. After this incident I realized that now that I had put aside the baggage that accompanies normal life that I was free to commit myself wholly to my work having escaped the clutches of “love” a ridiculous notion that has no place in the mind or body of the scientific gladiator and in fact my ex-wife’s betrayal would become a boon to the human race.
I’ve decided to move my camp down into the forested valleys below as winter weather takes hold over these mountains, priorities have shifted from the furthering of human knowledge to the more pressing needs of shelter, fire and food. I plan to continue research efforts from this new location once these necessities have been met. I will also fashion some snowshoes once camp has been established to make travel less taxing. Perhaps some ski’s as well if I can find the right material. As I transport my equipment down the mountain, the flurries of snow greatly reduced visibility but I made decent time following my own trackway back and forth. Still, the claustrophobic environment created by these conditions certainly accentuates my feelings of loneliness which is the lot of the solitary fieldworker. As necessary as this might be towards successful Sasquatch research it’s still a burden. Food is growing scarce and I’m down to my last handful of Pringles despite my adherence to strict wilderness discipline which dictates severe rationing of vital supplies. This means yet another sojourn into town before winter makes the journey too difficult.
The wretched conditions a Bigfooter must face.
11-8-21
Location: Lower Forest of the Gifford Pinchot National Forest
Current Conditions: Below freezing and cloudy but no precipitation.
The past few days I have focused on shelter building which has left me exhausted due to the extreme cold and constant physical activity. It’s frustrating having to manage body temperature to avoid the dangers inherent in sweating. I waste precious minutes of construction on donning or removing layers of clothing. These conditions also require a slow but steady work rate which further restricts progress. Thankfully I can get all the drinking water I need by melting snow which saves the time spent walking to the nearest creek. However, one must exercise precision in the placement of one’s camp latrine area so as to not accidentally “recycle” the body’s waste. Some might laud the health benefits of urine intake, but I can’t vouch for scientific accuracy of such claims (or the flavor for that matter).
11-10-21
The dampening effect that snow has on sound renders my nights eerily quiet. So quiet that sleep often escapes me. When I do sleep my dreams are often starkly vibrant and feel akin to what some refer to as an out-of-body experience rather than the mind attempting to interpret primitive raw human emotion by placing it into a context we might understand. Last night I dreamed of Sasquatch. In my dream, I was slogging through the heavy snow wrapped in a bear pelt and wearing a beaver hat. I could see a set of large humanoid tracks ahead of me but the blizzard-like conditions constantly threatened to render them invisible. Having passed through a thick section of forest I stumbled out into a clearing and not 15 yards ahead stood a magnificent specimen of an adult Gigantopithecus Blacki. He turned beckoning me as I attempted to sprint forward through the high snow drifts having sighted the quarry, I have pursued for so many years. His massive stride made it difficult to keep up, but I was able to just keep him in sight. After what felt like hours of climbing higher and higher up the mountainside, I found him waiting for me at the entrance to a large cave. I stumbled in my dream exhausted but he held out his hand and pulled me up, helping me over the threshold. The interior was pitch black, but the Sasquatch moved through the darkness unerringly which is to be expected of a primarily nocturnal species. After some time, I could see a light which could only mean we’d passed through and were about to emerge from some deep and unknown cavern. I was at first blinded by the light but once my eyes had adjusted, they were treated to an amazing spectacle. Bright sunlight fell upon a lush valley, a mixture of fruit trees, elms, maples, and massive Redwoods, a beautifully clear slow-moving river bisected the valley which was ringed in on all sides by majestic snow-covered mountain peaks. Hundreds of Sasquatch littered the flower-strewn banks of the river. Hirsute families, foraged, gambled, and played with wild abandon throughout the scene.
Artists rendering of my fever dream
Tears sprang from my eyes, and I looked up towards my hairy companion towering over me and spoke “Thank you, brother! My heart is full to bursting, all these long years of academic rejection and solitude are now but the shadow of dark dreaming”. Overcome with emotion I swooned. I awoke in my bivy sack alone in the darkness, a shrill and biting wind moving through the trees outside my shelter. The tears of my dreams then turned real as I sobbed loudly into my pillow.
As I trudged my way into lucidity, praying for the sunrise to bring welcome rays of sunshine, it occurred to me that my dream was so profound that it could only mean one thing: it was planted in my mind by Sasquatch himself. It is well-documented that Sasquatch is adept at telepathy. It is the mind of a Sasquatch that I am most personally afraid of. Their physical stature can be overcome but their mind tricks are of a particularly nefarious nature.
In the opening moments of the new day, I found that my jet boil had frozen solid and the creek had frozen over so much that it was impossible to penetrate the ice to obtain fresh water. Subsequently, I was forced to drink my own urine, a procedure I adamantly hoped to avoid. Not to be deterred, I was oddly optimistic. Sasquatch mind manipulation is a phenomenon of proximity. His brain is like a wifi router and as with any wifi signal, one must be close to receive his thoughts, no matter how unwelcome they are.
After hydrating with a tumbler of urine which was flavored with Vienna sausages and Pringles, I went to search for traces of my quarry. It is good to focus one’s mind on a task, any task when faced with challenges from the environment. In my case, it was my life’s work: finding Bigfoot. Within 30 minutes, EUREKA! A TRACK. The enormous tracks, pictured below were approximately 20 yards from my campsite.
Location: Gifford Pinchot National Forest Washington.
Research Zone #3
Weather: Sunshine, a slight breeze from the west. Temperature 55F.
Environment: Thick montane pine forest and dense undergrowth
Note: One of the greatest challenges to successful research in the field of cryptozoology is other researchers. Many of these so-called research organizations are essentially untrained hobbyists who only make the work of serious scientific inquiry that much more difficult by employing techniques that yield little to no results and can drive the target species out of the area. For example, setting up a drum kit in the middle of the woods to create a spectacle that will supposedly lure a Bigfoot to venture in close enough to be captured on film. Unless you are a Buddy Rich or a Tommy Lee I very much doubt that a being of such intelligence and refinement would respond in any fashion other than moving far away from a racket produced by some inexpert percussion.
I generally avoid interacting with the groups if I come across them which is rare considering that they tend to explore areas that are closer to the comforts of civilization. It’s the rare Bigfooter that will make the effort to penetrate the unsullied areas in which I do most of my work. However, if one or more of these pesky individuals or groups contaminate my research areas I am forced to take measures to preserve its sanctity.
One such group “conducting research”
Over the years I’ve become adept at replicating certain types of physical and sensory evidence which I use to lead them away from the location I’m focusing on. For instance, I use a cast of an authentic track as a mold to cast a silicone rubber “foot” which when applied along with my extensive experience identifying and recording G. blacki prints results in an excellent facsimile that will fool any but the most discerning Bigfooter. Once the sun sets, I’ll circle their position making as much noise as possible while producing “Squatchy” vocalizations and add in the occasional wood all of which is guaranteed to send them into paroxysms of excitement.
Tree breaks and tree structures are a bit harder to manufacture considering the scale of legitimate examples of this particular type of evidence. However, given enough time I can fashion something that will pass the scrutiny of the majority of casual enthusiasts that currently infest this field as they are given to forming unsupported conclusions due to excessive eagerness and lack of technical training. Real inquiry requires time, patience, and the willingness to endure a level of protracted physical and emotional discomfort that most humans of the modern era are incapable of withstanding. I wonder how much of my “evidence” has ended up being included in some YouTuber’s documentary? I fully realize that these actions can be damaging to the legitimacy of this field of study but I have little patience for the enthusiastic amateurs when they impede my work.
Luck and ingenuity are rarely in sync so when this occurs and one is as gifted with natural intelligence as I am the results can be absolutely unprecedented. To explain, whilst scouting the lower valleys between the slopes of Mt Saint Helens and Goat Mountain I came across a dead elk. Unfortunately, the stomach had been ruptured most likely by scavengers. This essentially rendered the meat inedible as it was contaminated by bacteria. However, the divine spark that fuels what we humans refer to as consciousness lit the fires of my imagination and I took on the arduous task of removing the poor animal’s skin. Exercising great care I was able to remove the hide with minimal damage. I made an impromptu shelter since the light was fading and moved the rotted meat some distance from my meager lean-to shelter to attract any would-be predators elsewhere. I decided not to make a fire since the climate was far milder at lower elevation than the mountain slopes and I had plenty of cover from the wind or any rain that might occur.
1/8/21
After a reasonably restful night’s sleep (One does get accustomed to the hard graft that is wildlife biology in its purest form. No comfy laboratories for this professor but I digress) I spent the morning scraping the interior of the hide to which I had left the head attached. Further deliberation led me to punch a smallish hole in the skull and with an improvised “hook” I removed a fair portion of the brain tissue, a similar technique to the one employed by ancient Egyptians when mummifying their dead. For the rest, I harvested sinew to enable me to fabricate some thread and cordage so I could secure it to my body. Sewing up the neck for instance and punching some eye holes with my trusty Multitool (a must-have item for anyone entering the bush). The test fitting was promising so with some minor tweaks and a liberal dousing in Elk estrus to disguise my own scent (which has become rather epic after all these months of roughing it) it should be good to go. This will be called Project Priam in honor of the events that led to the Trojan horse tactic and the downfall of Troy.
1/10/21
I was able to locate a hunting outfitter in a nearby town once I was able to reestablish a cell signal. The day was largely spent trekking into town to acquire estrus of the Cervus canadensis species to aid in completing my handcrafted costume. I hitched a ride into town from a local who completely uninvited informed me that former President Donald Trump was secretly still running the U.S. government from the confines of Air Force One. Donald Trump ever being President of the United States of America came as a surprise to me having been so caught up in the search for G. blacki I’m apparently woefully, no dangerously behind on current events! Note: purchase of newspaper while in town!
10/12/21
I rose this morning and with some haste broke my fast and cleaned up the camp. I carefully rolled up my disguise and strapped it to my pack. The extra load was more than I had anticipated but I was keen to test my hypothesis and thus soldiered on though with no small difficulty.
I managed to pick up the spoor of a herd of Elk and it occurred to me that the best test of this new technique would be an attempt to infiltrate a herd of the species my outfit represented. Who better would know their own kind? If it went well, I could only imagine how effective this might be in beguiling my target hominid species, which in my experience are far less nervous of their fellow woodland creatures than your average ungulate. Utilizing all the woodcraft I could muster, I made silent but steady progress until I spotted the group of Elk I had been tracking. Carefully concealing my pack beneath the Elk hide (for extra bulk) I fastened it to me as quickly and quietly as I could and then doused myself estrus.
The scent almost made me vomit but I swallowed it back down in the name of science and proceeded forward. I made sure to stop, bleat, and mew, imitating their own vocalizations to the best of my abilities. As I edged closer I could see that this was a herd of young bulls, bachelors that had yet to challenge for a herd gathered together for the relative safety that numbers provided. With some trepidation, I continued my slow but steady approach, looking for signs of aggression or fear. As I entered the clearing, I lowered my head in a pretense of feeding off the lush grasses. They seemed mildly curious. Turning in my direction and scenting the air, a smallish buck, approached cautiously, ears twitching. The strong scent of the estrus must have finally hit his nostrils as the evidence of his new level of interest had become disturbingly erect and was pointing in my direction. Others in the herd, attracted by the hormonal scent of a female in heat were also turning their attention towards my expert theatrics. I decided then and there to execute a strategic withdrawal. He circled around looking to mount me.
The elk who pursued me after having his way with this cow.
I kept the buck in front of me as I backed away loathe to give up this experiment since the results so far supported my hypothesis. Good science requires sacrificing one’s dignity as well as the risk of life and limb should circumstances call for it. Suddenly a commotion among the rest of the herd distracted my paramour enough for me to stand up and make a proper exit. But the sight of one of the other bucks dropping to the ground with a bolt sticking out of its neck stopped me in my tracks. The poor thing made a feeble attempt to climb to its feet as chaos erupted and the bevy of bachelors exploded in every direction. A second buck took another bolt (crossbow bolt, for clarification). To the rump but managed to scamper off. Suddenly I was reminded of my current couture which had been convincing enough to fool the Elk and thus I panicked and started to crawl away. A force struck my pack and I was flung flat to the ground. In my mind’s eye, I could imagine that I would see a bolt jutting out of it through my hide covering.
Hunters that had most likely mistaken me for a sick elk
I decided it would be best to play possum until these poachers had stopped their indiscriminate killing before revealing myself. I waited a few minutes until I heard their approaching footsteps. I slowly reached for my can of bear spray and waited for them to get closer. I heard a comment that this Elk must have been ill (me I assume). I rolled on my side and released the Bear spray up into their faces. Their expressions of shock turned to agony as they dropped their weapons and clawed uselessly at their eyes. I quickly grabbed their crossbows and with not even howdy do I left them to two men to whatever fate the wrathful gods of nature had in mind.
Per a tip acquired through my colleagues in Montana, I went to investigate an incident near Ovando reported by a wine delivery driver who works for United Beverage out of Missoula.
Robert Pinckney, 37 was almost finished with his route on the evening of October 3rd when he started feeling ill. Per the okay of his manager and clients, he drove to his home in Ovando, Montana, 50 miles outside Missoula with three deliveries left on his truck. He arranged to get some sleep, get up early in the morning and finish his route then report to dispatch to begin his next day.
He arrived home, laid down and within 25 minutes, his wife reported to him that she heard a bang and rustling outside of their carport near his delivery truck. Mr. Pinckney was moving slow, with a slight fever and was able to go investigate per more of his wife’s concerned reports after 40 more minutes. Upon investigating, Pinckney found the door to his delivery truck broken into and several empty wine bottles in the forest nearby.
The left image represents 17 empty champagne bottles. Ovando is a rural area, surrounded by several thousand acres of forest land. It is possible that locals were able to break into the truck and empty all the bottles and run away undetected in ONE HOUR. But this is not probable. Note the right image and the prints on this 700ml bottle. There is a clear FINGER print just below the neck that appears to wrap all the away around the 6 inch circumference of this large bottle.
There are many reports by credible sources that Sasquatch is a voracious drinker and eater. Reports of his/her eating are that of a beast laser focused on nourishment, like a shark or bear. The purpose for Sasquatch is to ingest as fast as possible with no regard for table manners or anyone’s repugnance at slurping or loud chewing.
It has also been reported that Sasquatch is fond of fermented and distilled spirits. I myself have found flasks and coolers empty upon returning to my camps. These findings are usually coupled with noting that items like trail mix, Kinder buenos and Cheez-its are left unmolested.
It is my professional opinion that it is of high probability that this incident was perpetrated by a Northwestern G. Blacki, otherwise known as Bigfoot to the lay person.
I will remain in the area for the next two weeks with my recording equipment.
I was awakened late last night by a pungent animal scent. After confirming that my hiking boots were not the culprit, I ventured out of my Bivy sack to investigate. Immediately I noted that my campfire had gone out. Upon closer inspection, it appeared that it had been smothered and that my supplies had been scattered around. Once I established that there was no immediate threat to my person within the confines of my campsite I set about rebuilding the fire but to my dismay, I found that all the wood I had spent hours collecting the previous afternoon had mysteriously disappeared. Dispirited, I retreated to my sack and tried to find sleep once more.
1/4/21
The next morning, I spent time putting my despoiled camp back in order. Whoever this nocturnal prankster was had left sign nearby in the form of a relatively fresh pile of scat! I vowed that this evening the perpetrator would find me prepared should he, she, or it visit again. My extensive knowledge of bush-craft includes the fashioning of a variety of traps and snares for game of all shapes and sizes. I found some tough grass and proceeded to fabricate some twine for which to assemble a set of traps which I planned to place around the perimeter of my camp. I based the size and overall construction of my traps on the mass of the intruder’s droppings. This required some large and thick limbs which I spent some hours harvesting with my hand axe. Exhausted from so much physical exertion I took a brief nap before finishing. Later, I took time to examine the offender’s scat in some detail and found evidence of apple pie among his recent meals. Some mad patriot roaming the dark woods? I now sit and enjoy a few more Pringles and watch the sunset feeling more secure now that my camp is protected. My own ingenuity often impresses even myself.
1/5/21
Once again, I was called from my Bivy Sack, this time by the unmistakable sound of wood knocks. As I scrambled into my boots I noted that these sounds were in close proximity to the camp. Grabbing a small log from my refreshed firewood supply I replied, bashing it into a nearby spruce tree. Breathlessly I waited for any reply or sound. Eureka! A clear knock! Seemingly even closer to my position. I grabbed my coat and hat and my instruments, my heart pounding with excitement I moved quickly towards the sound and into the night! Never had I been this close to a live subject and I was determined not to waste this opportunity.
I grabbed my coat and hat and my instruments, my heart pounding with excitement I moved quickly towards the sound and into the night! Never had I been this close to a live specimen, and I was determined not to waste this opportunity. Moving with a level of stealth that would put a cougar to shame, I crept along through the dark listening intently for any sound, The forest was oddly quiet, and no insects or other nocturnal species seemed inclined towards vocalizations at this moment. A large Hairy bipedal anthropoid could easily be the cause.
At this point, my excitement reached a level that felt almost sexual in nature as I continued in the direction of the wood knocks. I was about 15 meters from my camp when an enormous roar sounded not five feet from my current position, in the darkness a large black shape was all I could make out. I admit that my giddy anticipation of discovery and the furthering of scientific knowledge evaporated in the light of this new event and my primal brain took hostage my keen intellect as I beat a hasty and undignified retreat to the relative safety of my camp. Sadly, as I approached salvation with the creature crashing through the woods behind me, I became a victim of my own genius as in my haste I had forgotten about the security measures I put in place earlier. Thankfully the beast gave up the pursuit since I had been whipped up into the air and was now suspended from a tree by one leg approximately two meters from the ground. Luckily, I had my trusty multitool in my pocket so with some effort I was able to reach up and cut the line. As I fell hard to the ground I heard the distinct sound of simian laughter before I lost consciousness. This would not be the last time.
The new year has begun with some promise. Despite the cold, the sun has returned bringing with it a sense of new purpose and energy. I came across some roadkill on one of my infrequent sojourns into what passes for civilization around here, this trip being precipitated by the need for vital supplies. Fresh Opossum meat is a delight to the palate and here acquired without the expenditure of energy and time needed to actively hunt down game.
A wonder of nature yet tasty with a dash of pepper.
I peeled it off the road with my camp knife and proceeded to process it only a few feet removed from the two-lane highway much to the concern of passing motorists many of whom took great pains to insult my person as they drove by, doubtless on their way home to what I will assume to be a trailer park, the natural habitat of the willfully uninformed. Busy in my work I ignored their jibes only scurrying into the tree line when I noted the flashing lights that normally presage the arrival of local law enforcement. Needless to say, this was well worth the embarrassment as I sit down to some possum stew and a fresh batch of Pringles.
Weather: Overcast with intermittent showers. Temperature 42F.
Environment: Thick montane pine forest and dense undergrowth.
Overview: The weather continues to limit research activities and it’s a challenge to keep my instruments from succumbing to the constant dampness. I have set up a base camp on the slope of the mountain and plan to reconnoiter a five-mile radius from this location in hopes of picking up a fresh trail or better yet obtaining photographic evidence of the subject. Based on the data points I’ve collected and marked on my geographic survey maps of the area, my camp is strategically placed in a high-traffic corridor for any species desiring to traverse the mountain.
Detail of activity area
To increase my chances of successfully capturing irrefutable evidence of the continuing existence of G. blacki I have determined to adopt all the characteristics and habits of the species that are so far known to me after more than twenty years of research. This includes constructing rudimentary shelters, adopting their theoretical diet, methods of food collection as wells habits of activity (Diurnal vs nocturnal). I’m keenly aware that my physical attributes are in no way comparable to the subject of study but I have the advantage of possessing a keen intellect and advanced technical training that when combined with years of experience in the bush should make this an achievable goal.
Note: I never carry weapons of any type on these expeditions, preferring to rely solely on the overabundance of synaptic prowess I have been endowed with.
Having left camp at dusk without any supplies or clothing aside from my boxers (which I retained purely for the sake of modesty) I made steady progress surveying this sector of high activity. Once the sun had disappeared behind the mountain, I found myself in the pitch black of a thick forest and couldn’t see my hand in front of my face. I resorted to crawling over the uneven and often rocky floor until I found an acceptable spot to camp. I spent the long night huddling under a tree, shivering and sleepless.
An example of the beauty and terror of the wildlands at night.
I have been unable to make much headway or maintain proper notes over the past twelve hours. An error in the identification of some wild berries as evidenced by the copious quantities of watery stool that began to emanate from my posterior a short time later has rendered me Hors de Combat. As fortune would have it the rain continues so at least I can stave off the dehydration associated with such an affliction. ( Full disclosure. I may have skipped more than a few of my botany classes during my college days as the study of non-sentient organisms struck me as a dull affair at the time. This is an attitude I have come to regret).
Beware nature’s bounty, occasionally it bites back!
Despite this setback, I am still determined to pursue this immersive approach. To that end, I will conduct all reconnaissance/foraging activities at night and without the aid of an artificial light source or other technological crutches to test my hypothesis that this species is largely nocturnal. “To understand the beast, one must become the beast” (note: Title for my biography?). Montezuma’s revenge made an unwelcome return that night and I was forced to remove my only article of clothing so I could attempt to sleep through the periodic bouts of cramping and defecating.
At sunrise, I found that I didn’t recognize any nearby landmarks. I staggered around in my weakened condition desperately searching for my own spoor. The humidity became extreme by midday, so I toweled myself off with my soiled underwear and choked down some wild onions. The elation I felt at discovering my own tracks from the previous night was only slightly dampened by the raw condition of my backside.
12/09/2020
Finally! I made it back to camp after spending almost 48 hours lost in the bush. The following entries cover my activities for the duration. I fear that exhaustion precluded timely updates to this journal. This whole affair demonstrates the constant danger one must accept in pursuit of knowledge and the rigors of scientific research.
Dr. Milo Meeker’s Field Notes 