Dr. Milo Meeker’s Field Notes

1/1/2021

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.

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.

12/05/2020 Dr. Milo Meeker report# 210

Location: Mt. Baker-soqualmie National Forest.

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. 

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.

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).

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.

 

November 25^th, 2020 

Another holiday in the bush. It’s good that I have no familial attachments that might interfere with my research. Yet like all Homo sapiens, I occasionally crave the company of my own species on these (albeit arbitrary) days of celebration. A break from discipline here should be forgiven as this is the sixth month of my most recent expedition to collect evidence of the primate species commonly referred to as “Bigfoot”. I decided on a fire tonight to mark the occasion of the arrival of those bloodthirsty Puritans all those years ago. Perhaps the warmth and light will call one of these elusive hominids to join me by my little campfire and finally put an end to my endless pursuit. 

Field notes: This morning’s precipitation managed to eradicate the spoor I had identified and been tracking late in the afternoon of the 24^th.

Based on my calculations the individual appears to be making an ascent of MT.  Saint Helens. Collected mammalian hairs from the bark of a branch overhanging a well-trodden game trail.

Noted the presence of tracks belonging to Canis lupus (pictured above), most likely a breeding pair judging by the size difference in the tracks. I will secure the perimeter of tonight’s camp with my own urine.  (note: Pine Needle tea is excellent for this process).

My name is Dr. Milo Meeker. I was born the first son of four to Elizabeth and John Meeker of Kansas City, Missouri in the fall of 1958. My father taught English at Elder Covenant Catholic School. My mother was a homemaker in the era when that was fiscally possible.

As a teacher, my father had summers off and would take the family on long, grueling road trips primarily to the inter mountain west of the United States. We had a fourteen foot Nuwa travel trailer which could not house the entire Meeker clan. Being the eldest, I was tapped to sleep outside in my canvas tent. Far from feeling ostracized, I honed in on a keen sense of freedom in this situation and found myself pitching my tent further and further away from my family.

It was on one such trip to Conejo Pass, Colorado where I first encountered what would turn out to be my life’s passion. My encounter was not due to my isolation from my family in the evenings as one might think. It was due to a practical joke that my youngest brother, Mortimer, played on me as he was wont to do. It wasn’t so much a joke as an act of violence. We were eating s’mores around the camp fire one beautiful summer evening when Mort yelled, “XYZ!” And jammed his molten chocolate and marshmallow into my open fly. Upon feeling the intense pain of having piping hot confection on my genitalia, I rose to my feet and ran to the banks of the Conejo River.

I submerged into the icy river without even taking off my shoes or dropping my pants. As the relief poured over me, I heard what sounded to me like stifled laughter. It was, rather, a wheezy, unearthly sound of amusement. As I opened my eyes, I saw a dark figure, approximately eight to nine feet tall on the opposite bank. It had almost luminescent, yellow eyes and I could make out a vague smile.

And then, almost as quickly as I saw it, it vanished.

My mother had followed and more than likely scared off the creature. Mortimer was never punished and later became the Sheriff of Huerfano county, Colorado.

I, on the other hand, became obsessed with the figure I witnessed on the banks of the Conejo River and pursued every bit of information I could find. It was an excellent time for my studies as the legend of Sasquatch was becoming a part of the American zeitgeist due largely in part to the Patterson-Gimlin film of 1967.

While often mocked by my peers through my high school years, I found the solace of like minded people while attending the University of Kansas. I obtained a degree of Anthropology in 1978. I pursued a masters degree at the University of Tulsa then moved to Utah State to pursue my doctorate in zoology. I chose this institution because the program offered significant elements of cryptozoology. I soon found to my chagrin that Utah, being somewhat of a theocracy, offered what amounted to straw man representations of cryptozoology and any class offered that touched upon it was only designed to debunk. I was driven underground into fringe groups of believers. Fortunately, it was the 1970s and the height of interest in the paranormal.

It was during this time period that I had my second distinct encounter with what I feel very strongly was Sasquatch. I was camping in the High Uintas. My counter culture peers had reported a flurry of Sasquatch activity in the region and I wanted to see for myself. Back then we used topographic maps to pinpoint locations and my destination was the eight thousand foot range of Bear Mountain.

According to my Timex Indiglo, it was four AM when the three tins of smoked oysters I had for dinner developed into a vicious gastric disturbance in my colon. Squatting over the latrine I dug, I suddenly heard rustling in the darkness. Before I had a chance to do anything, a five pound trout came swinging out of the darkness and struck me upon the right side of the head.

Before I lost consciousness, I heard, quite distinctly, that ethereal sound of amusement from the incident at the Conejo River. I regained consciousness at dawn. My pants were around my ankles and I was smeared with my own filth. The trout that had struck me was next to me and had attracted a black bear which was shyly milling around. Upon my stirring, the bear lowered its ears and prepared to charge me. As I got to my feet, it did so, knocking the wind out of me as I was trying to pull up my soiled pants.

It was almost as if the bear was disgusted at my condition and relented. It grabbed the trout in its jaws and bounded into a chokecherry bush. I finished pulling up my pants and scampered back to my campsite. On my very unpleasant hike back to my vehicle, I calculated that I was at least a mile from any lake that supported a population of trout. And there was no way a bear or large feline could use a fish as a weapon and strike me with such force as to knock me unconscious. Further, I had not seen traces of another human soul around a good 100 yard circumference of my campsite. My discomfort, which included a broken rib, turned to euphoria as I was quite certain that I had had another encounter with a mysterious hominid that inhabits the vast expanse of the American inter-mountain west.

My fervor and belief was at a fever pitch when I accepted a teaching position at Hastings College in Nebraska. This was the institution closest to the part of the United States where most Sasquatch encounters were reported and that would offer the best professional package for my career. In the interest of full disclosure, it was, in fact, the only offer I received.

As the profile of Sasquatch developed more distinctly for me, the topic of the existence of large, secretive hominids found its way into my instruction. This drew the mockery of my colleagues and the ire of my superiors. This boiled over into an unfortunate confrontation which led to my dismissal from Hastings College.

Since my departure from Hastings, it has been my sole mission in life to validate my theories and prove the existence of what can only be described as my nemesis.