Original subtitles

- My name is Ivan Marx.

The film you are about to see is authentic.

It records the last 10 years which has changed my life.

I stumbled on something that I could not believe at first,

but soon realized it had significance on me

and everyone around me,

which could not be ignored or underestimated.

The Eskimos call the subject of my story Bushman.

The Colville Indians of upstate Washington

call him Sasquatch.

The Hoopas of Northern California call him Oh-Mah.

But right now, let's just call him Bigfoot.

(somber music)

(bright music)

This is my country

I've spent all my life in areas like this

as close to the animals as a man can get.

I built my home here.

Bear Ranch, of course, I'm prejudiced, but I think

it's just about the prettiest place I've ever seen.

Then there's Peggy.

She's a rare woman.

She's the only woman I know who'd put up with the animals

I used to bring home, like those coyote pups,

and raised them just like they were her own.

Yeah, we shared more ups and downs

than there are in the High Sierras.

Those were good days, simple, clear-cut.

You see, I'm a tracker, and believe me,

I'm the last of a vanishing breed.

I know tracks like the FBI knows fingerprints.

(dogs howling)

I specialized in renegades,

killers of livestock and sometimes people.

(gun fires)

I didn't kill for sport.

I went after the right animal

so innocent ones might be spared.

I learned trapping from my dad's shoulders back in Illinois.

(animal snarling)

Since that time, I worked for the government,

territories, sheriff's office, federal game warden.

When they had a renegade, they knew who to call.

(snarling) (barking)

There was a time me and the dogs got called up

all the way to Kodiak, Alaska.

There'd been reports that bear had been killing the cattle.

Now, I know bear, and the Kodiak happens to be

one of the most beautiful on god's Earth.

Takes a lot of grub to feed him.

Nine feet tall, up to a ton in weight.

No need for him to be killing cattle, though.

He's as fine a fisherman as you'll ever see.

(gentle country music)

The ranchers were getting $5,000 bounties

on these so-called cow killers,

so I moved in to set things straight.

(gulls crying)

(mooing)

I met a rancher who said,

"It ain't Kodiak killing my cattle.”

I finally found someone I could talk to.

He said Bigfoot straight-faced as could be.

He said, "Bigfoot's been killing my cattle.”

Bigfoot?

I checked the carcass and saw the cow had died naturally.

The bears just fed on its remains.

Found out after, the grass was waterlogged,

not enough protein.

The cattle died of malnutrition.

Kodiak?

Bigfoot?

People always want their questions answered

in such neatly wrapped little packages.

Well, I'd heard about Bigfoot, some abominable snowman

who'd wandered across the Bering Strait before the Ice Age.

I couldn't believe a grown man would tell me

a Bigfoot was killing his cattle.

Huh, what a bunch of hogwash.

(gentle music)

I didn't mind at all putting distance

between me and those crazies in Alaska.

It felt good to be with some sensible folks

like Peggy's brother.

And Arizona University wanted us

to track down a javelina hog for research.

It's a small critter, but vicious.

(hog squealing)

Well, I told my brother-in-law about the wild Bigfoot story

at Kodiak, but he didn't respond as I'd expected.

He said, "Don't be so quick to make judgments.

"There's something I want you to see."

He took me to what Indians called

the land of petrified wood.

There, carved in a rock, were drawings of a creature

with big hands and big feet,

exactly as I had heard Bigfoot described.

The drawings were 700 years old.

They told how creatures the Indians called stickman

had come in the night and stolen the Indian children.

The Indians abandoned the village in fear.

(suspenseful music)

First the ranchers, now my brother-in-law.

My head was reeling with Bigfoot.

Eh, the stories are just so many words,

so I soon forgot about 'em,

till I was up tracking a mountain lion,

and I found these tracks.

And they look much like human footprints,

but they were 18 inches long,

6.5 across the ball of the foot, 5.5 at the heel.

They were the hugest I'd ever seen.

Tracks were so deep,

they had to have been made by at least a 500-pound animal.

And the hair, I couldn't identify it.

The toe prints were spread around small rocks

and dug into the earth, showing whatever made them

could cover pretty rugged country.

And the stride was enormous: 52 inches in length.

Man's only 30.

If they were fakes,

somebody would have had to drag a pretty big machine

over pretty rough country to make them

and they would have left their own tracks.

I saw where a creature had stumbled.

There was a handprint, but no sign of claws.

They were so man like.

I was mystified, so I made plaster casts

and sent them with the hair to a lab for analysis.

Well, I tell you, I was glad to get home.

Our pups were growing and they didn't give us much time

to think about everything that had happened.

(lively country music)

(chickens clucking)

(pup whining)

I was called to chase a renegade bear up north.

This time I wasn't so eager to return to the mountains.

Tests had shown the hair samples and tracks

couldn't be matched with any known animal.

I was uncomfortable.

The animals were even acting strange.

I soon found out why. (somber music)

I found the bear I was looking for

but not in the condition I expected.

Another track just as I'd seen on the mountain.

And there, between its teeth, the hair.

I was astounded.

A 600-pound bear that had stood eight feet tall,

lying by the side of the creek with its neck broken.

Now I wanted to find out everything I could about Bigfoot.

I advertised for any information or leads.

You can't believe the number of stories people had to tell.

My friends laughed at them all.

Okay, I'd laugh too.

But things were different now.

I had to figure out what was fact and what was fiction.

There were reports of creatures 12 feet tall, 800 pounds,

that prowled on two feet.

Now, that's absurd, scientifically impossible.

No creature that size or weight could even stand upright.

And as for tracks, (chuckles)

you can't imagine the number of kids

I found running around the woods making plywood fakes,

tales of hunters being ripped apart,

campers kidnapped and never heard of again.

But four features all the reports shared

were the dark hair, the domed head, the large footprints,

and the glowing red eyes. (ominous music)

Nature's my home.

How could some missing link be wandering around up here

without me knowing it?

I was good to get back in the mountains

and visit a couple of my pets.

I tried not to think about Bigfoot

but it was tough to shake.

It wasn't two minutes

before my friend had vanished in the wood.

Well, I set out after him, but I couldn't find him anyplace.

(gentle instrumental music)

(rattling) (cracking)

I came to a bridge and there beside it,

another track, fresh.

(dramatic music) (leaves rustling)

My legs were moving before I realized what I was doing.

I couldn't believe what I'd seen.

I had to get a closer look.

Nauseating, musky odor made it difficult to breathe,

but I had to find out what I'd seen.

(thunder rumbles)

It was getting dark, time was growing short.

Bigfoot.

I'd seen Bigfoot.

What the hell was I doing?

I was here alone without a rifle,

without anyone knowing where to find me

with a 500-pound, eight-foot tall vicious creature.

I had to get out of here, get some help.

I had to show people what I'd seen.

The footprints.

(animal snarling)

It was just the cat.

I'd never been so scared in my life,

but my friends couldn't laugh now.

Wait till they saw the tracks.

The rains came and washed the tracks away.

- [Man] Hurry, hurry, get your Bigfoot burger.

Two burgers--

- [Ivan] Now people's attitudes towards Bigfoot

made me mad.

(car horn honking)

I'd seenit.

Matter of fact, I felt I'd been singled out to find it.

(gentle guitar music)

Where do you begin?

Jackson Hole, Wyoming, a suspicious set of tracks.

I really thought I was on to something.

Over 500 on the side of a mountain.

The tracks are funny things.

The smallest print can melt, freeze, get snowed over,

and before you know it, it's gigantic.

Here, the supposed Bigfoot was a little old coyote.

The Redwoods, an endless source of sightings.

If this creature were here, where did it hide?

I searched it in the caves

formed by the roots of the ancient trees.

Here were perfect shelters.

Large, dark, secluded, hideaways to recover from injuries.

Refuge for many forest animals from the elements.

Protected privacy when giving birth.

Hundreds of tree caves, but no tracks, bones,

or unusual droppings.

No clues at all.

I had to be wasting my time.

But there was a statue carved in Redwood.

Its image was based on hundreds of sightings

collected over the years.

And it was exactly like the creature I had seen myself.

Oregon Coast.

Reports of Bigfoot feeding during the run of the night fish.

The shore was secluded.

Food was plentiful.

It seemed a perfect place for the secretive Bigfoot,

so I waited.

You don't know what it is to wait

till you've been a tracker.

Finally, a gull came with the first sign of the run.

And right behind it, you've never seen so many fishermen.

My secluded beach turned into Coney Island.

Only way Bigfoot could show up here

was wearing swimming trunks.

One bum steer after another.

How was I supposed to know which lead to follow?

I was running out of time and I was running out of money.

As we left,

I felt like the waves were laughing at our backs.

Then came our hottest tip yet.

We couldn't turn it down.

Snowbird warned us of an upcoming storm

but I was too excited and ignored it.

The area was rich with wildlife, and why not Bigfoot?

Plenty of food, plenty of cover.

This time, remote from man.

There it was.

(dramatic music) My efforts had paid off.

And this time, I was ready for him.

I wasn't ready to find out it was just a bear

staying up past its winter bedtime.

What was happening to me?

Any Boy Scout knows how people's eyes

play tricks on them in the woods.

I was like a gun-happy hunter that makes a 10-foot grizz

out of a charred old tree stump.

Even the snowbird was laughing.

And why shouldn't it?

Here I was, a grown man running around the woods

chasing some fairy tale.

I felt like a fool.

Well, I was out of patience and I was out of money,

so I took a job up in the wilderness

round Bossburg, Washington.

I had to photograph a cinnamon bear in its natural habitat.

You want a bear?

Here's a bear.

Piece of cake.

I always got what I set after, except Bigfoot.

Then I saw it, a deformed version

of the track I'd seen so often.

(suspenseful music)

There it was.

Finally, face to face with Bigfoot.

Here was the domed head just as others had described it.

The thick, dark fur to protect it from extremes of weather

and allow it to pass unnoticed in the night.

I saw it, photographed it,

but scientists challenged my film.

It had stood up under every conceivable test.

Some revealed rugged terrain

as the cause of the skinned heels,

polio as the cause of the limp.

But my documented evidence

wasn't good enough for the experts.

Experts who still asked, "How could such a creature survive?

"Where does it live?

"Show us its remains.

"What does it eat?"

Experts who challenged my word

but claimed credit for my film

and profited by it on lecture circuits.

Well, I didn't care for these people,

but I was haunted by their questions.

What an experience.

Now I had to start finding some answers.

The creature's tracks disappeared

at the edge of a beaver swamp.

Only sign of animal life was the geese

migrating north for the summer.

I wanted the satisfaction

of bringing that unchallengeable proof.

Still, where to begin?

I found several other creatures had passed through the area.

All heading north.

Could Bigfoot be a migratory animal?

I've plotted all the reliable reports.

(gentle instrumental music)

There actually seemed to be a migratory pattern

extended over thousands of miles.

If this were true,

I'd have some means of predicting the creature's movements

and a good chance to find some answers to my questions.

Bigfoot always stayed in very rocky mountains

and isolated terrain.

The greatest number of sightings

and the only ones of the Bigfoot young were in summer,

above the Arctic Circle.

Could that be where Bigfoot migrated to breed?

If I move rapidly, I might find a clue before season's end.

(lively guitar music)

Peg and I took our camera

and planned to document every step we took.

The Lava Beds, Modoc, California.

If Bigfoot were a migratory animal,

my theory had to hold up all along the way.

A track, centuries old, preserved in the lava.

My theory was working,

but I wondered how Bigfoot survived the violent eruptions

that brought the lava rock.

As usual, nature provided me clues.

I saw these two little ground squirrels so much in love,

they took no notice of me or the dangers around them.

(gentle instrumental music)

(dramatic music)

(eagle crying)

The male's natural instincts drove him to cover.

These same instincts started up into wounded squirrel.

(gentle instrumental music)

Nature was reminding me of her basic law: survival.

The same will to survive

must have somehow kept Bigfoot going

throughout all these years.

But where did the creature go if it were injured?

The caves, Mount Lassen. (gentle guitar music)

The Hat Creek Indians believed they were inhabited

by an evil ape-man.

Now I was hot.

Every step along the way brought me new clues.

It's too late in the season to find the creature here now.

But I'd soon catch up with him above the Arctic Circle.

(thunder rumbles)

Peg and I found the people up north different.

They encouraged me, took my search seriously.

Like the lumberjacks, mountain men like myself,

the first into the midst of the wilderness,

which meant first with stories of Bigfoot.

Most of their sightings

came at the time of year I'd anticipated.

They were sure when Bigfoot passed

because strange happenings followed in a nearby valley.

Herds of goats come and perform a ritual suicide.

Sure enough, the goats were there,

looking as if they were grazing normally,

but actually eating pounds of dirt.

With one gulp of water,

the earth turns to cement and they die,

lying in the shadow of Bigfoot etched in rock 26 feet high,

and the wolf, his only known traveling companion.

What went on in this valley, Bigfoot passed through,

went against all the natural laws of survival.

And the rock formations,

too massive to have been shaped by man,

presented another totally unexplainable natural phenomena.

To those who cried for Bigfoot to exist

goes against every bit of scientific data known to man.

I could now say, how much more there is to know.

I felt close to the adventurers

who'd left their calling cards at Watson Lake

as they crossed into the Yukon,

and even closer to those who'd made a similar journey

at the turn of the century,

folks who set out after something

they didn't know where to find

but knew was out there someplace.

With so many pouring into the Yukon during the gold rush,

it's no surprise

there'd be such a rich source of stories about Bigfoot.

(gentle instrumental music)

For the first time in my life,

I understood what made people like that tick.

It's more than gold.

I guess we all need a frontier to explore.

You don't necessarily have to go off into it.

Just makes you feel kind of good knowing it's there.

Thousands of these people came from everywhere.

Tent cities sprung up where no man had ever even walked.

If Bigfoot came here to keep clear of man,

its seclusion didn't last for long.

Such a rich source of information had to bring new leads.

Sure enough, an old miner story told

how the glaciers out there

were the burial grounds of the Bigfoot.

That would explain why there were no remains.

The creatures carried their dead over thousands of miles

just to deposit them in crevices

that open up in the spring thaw.

Can you imagine?

(rumbling)

I went there searching for some remains.

I did find tracks, so I had to be close.

I found bones that told many different stories,

but none of Bigfoot.

The constant movement of the glaciers

could either crush the remains or wash them to the sea.

Burial grounds of the Bigfoot.

I thought of the people

who were the source of these stories.

Their friends called them crazy,

and some of them might have been,

but you wouldn't believe the extremes they went to

for their fortunes, romance, and the unexplored.

(gentle instrumental music)

I guess it wasn't so tough to believe

Bigfoot could have gone to similar extremes

for a far more instinctive, basic drive,

as burying his dead.

So many questions.

Well, I sure understood what drove those miners

as they sailed up the river in pursuit of gold,

for I'd soon ride the same river in pursuit of Bigfoot.

The miners were gone now,

but I knew Bigfoot had to still be around.

The frequency of current sightings meant he somehow survived

the diseases the white man brought into the wild.

The tuberculosis, measles

that wiped out whole tribes of Indians and Eskimos.

He'd even survived the violence

reaching out from the boom towns.

Now I understood why Bigfoot steered clear of man.

He had to in order to survive.

However vicious the creature might be,

I gained a lot of respect for the elusive Bigfoot

and its ability to endure.

But if we were to find it,

we'd have to get to the furthest outpost of civilization.

When we ran out of road,

we saw the remnants of the old pioneers

giving way to the machinery of the new.

Thousands were now pouring back up to the new gold rush,

for the Black Gold: oil.

How much longer could Bigfoot avoid all these people?

Where would he go next?

I gambled on him heading north.

Well, traveling had been tough,

so we treated ourselves to the fanciest hotel in town.

There, Yukon Frieda, her sketches were based

on recent sightings and descriptions of Bigfoot

from that very area.

(somber music)

As we started our journey of the river,

I thought of the statues and drawings I'd seen in Arizona,

California, Oregon, Washington, British Columbia, the Yukon,

and now above the Arctic Circle,

all of them resembling the very creature I saw myself.

They were too similar over too vast an area

to be coincidental,

but these images weren't good enough for the experts below.

I still had a lot of questions to answer.

There were no grocery stores up here,

so we ate off the land or purchased fish from the Eskimos.

I knew I could get my answers from these people

'cause stories of Bigfoot were as plentiful as the food.

One man told of a strange day his mother died.

In a cabin like this,

family and friends gathered

to await the passing of her spirit.

At night, they heard a soft scratch at the door.

There was Bigfoot chanting in a strange tongue.

Everyone was terrified.

The spirit of his mother

was speaking through the voice of Bigfoot.

They must abandon their homes, which they did.

The next day, an ice floe changed the river

and waters now flow where the village once stood.

I asked to see this area hoping for a sign of Bigfoot.

The man said, "If you wish to see the king of the animals,

"he breeds in the mating grounds of the Alaskan moose."

(suspenseful music)

The moose came as if a sign, reaffirming the man's words.

Up the river, by a salmon wheel,

a lone Eskimo greeted us with the words,

Bigfoot is not here.

How did he know what we were after?

He told a tale about a trapper

who killed a creature in the early '40s,

bringing the wrath of Bigfoot down upon his people.

(gentle instrumental music)

He said, "One night, I was caught out on the trail

"with only a few minutes of twilight left.

"The lights began to shine in the sky.

"They were bright, traveling was good,

"then the snow turned red. (suspenseful music)

"The north, south, east, and west,

"rivers of blood flowed across the sky

"and down into the snows.

"It seemed to be the last day of the world.

"Bigfoot was punishing us for bringing its sorrow.

"But then, the good white light rose from the north.

"What followed was a battle of 1,000 warriors.

"White light was the spirit of Bigfoot

"left to die by the trapper.

"It returned in the form of a white raven

"to protect us from the red wrath of its grieving brothers.

"If you travel the river, you may see him.

"And if you do, he will bring you luck."

(dramatic music)

Then the native gasped, pointing to a bird soaring above us,

the legendary white raven.

The fisherman said, "Bigfoot smiles upon you.

"You will bring word of him to the people below."

(bright music)

My mind was reeling.

At the next village, the natives were waiting for us.

They had heard about the white raven

and wanted to show us their secret sacred figure.

Here it was again.

He told us how Bigfoot was their friend.

Their friend?

How do they think such a violent creature

could be their friend?

They told how Bigfoot carried the bodies of men

killed and lost in the Arctic winter

to the edge of the nearest village

to be buried by their own kind.

When I asked where I could make contact with their friend,

they said, "In the land of shining eyes.”

But they they warned me not to violate Bigfoot's domain.

I reminded them of the white raven,

so they taught me a chant to sing

on the night of the full moon,

and promised I would see the glowing eyes of Bigfoot.

(chanting) (drum music)

Well, I wasn't gonna have a thing to do with any chanting,

so I set up walkie-talkies 300 yards from the tent

to monitor any movements on the tundra during the night.

At the first sound, I'd have a jump on the creature.

Then the wait.

The land was lush with vegetation, a perfect feeding ground.

Berries, lichen, gnats, bugs, millions of fish,

not just a land of ice and snow.

I understood why Bigfoot and so many animals

flocked to the Arctic to breed and raise their young.

But this land was strangely silent.

Where were the animals?

(sound waves crackling)

My transmitter had been thrown 15 feet

and the tundra held no tracks.

Days passed, I felt like a fool,

but now I'd go to any ends to conjure up the creature.

(drum music)

Soon, Peg saw what she thought

were two car lights approaching.

(suspenseful music)

I was caught in the darkness

but Peg guided me toward the lights.

I had to find out what it was.

And we realized they were the shining eyes.

This time I couldn't let Bigfoot escape.

But dawn broke and it disappeared behind a rainbow.

This was too much.

I felt like I was coming apart at the seams.

Here I was, an experienced mountain man all my life

acting like a spook tenderfoot.

I still had 1,000 questions and so few answers.

I couldn't concentrate.

My head was spinning with tall tales and folklore.

I no longer knew what to believe.

I had to get away from the others and be by myself.

There were the salmon,

back after 10 years of living in the sea,

to spawn in the exact place of their birth, and then to die.

They reminded me of those I'd seen at Kodiak

in the days when I was a pure tracker, stuck to nature signs

and wasn't so confused

with all the legends and stories of man.

And there were geese,

my first clue to Bigfoot's migratory pattern.

I began to feel close to nature again.

I knew that's where I'd find the answers to my questions.

And the caribou.

The shining eyes.

Scratching velvet off their antlers,

released swamp gas from the tundra

to glow in the night.

I saw what must have been the monarch of the North.

I was terrified.

He could crush the likes of me with one swoop,

but it was the most magnificent animal

I think I've ever seen.

He didn't seem to notice me as he made a clearing.

He sharpened his horns as if to prepare for combat.

I thought he'd come for me now.

Instead, he dug a pit and marked it with his scent.

This attracted cows from all over the area

and seemed to warn other bulls to keep away.

The cows declared themselves his

by covering themselves with his scent.

I'd made it.

The mating grounds of the Alaskan moose,

where no man had ever been before,

and possibly the breeding grounds of Bigfoot.

Some young bulls seemed a little overeager

and found the monarch defending his territory

against all intruders (dramatic music)

while others waited for the right moment to move in.

Then he saw me, but luckily a match for the monarch

challenged him for his cows and territory.

Those who'd waited now moved in.

While the bulls were fighting, nature made sure

there'd be a good crop of calves come spring.

Finally, the monarch triumphs.

Now, too preoccupied to give any notice to me,

he gathered his cows, and according to the law of nature,

the strongest began to breed.

I was deeply moved by what I'd seen,

but still no sign of Bigfoot.

The salmon lay dying in the streams

signaling the end of the breeding season.

Time was running out, so we took to the air.

(gentle guitar music)

The Arctic winter could close us in at any moment,

so we had to move fast.

Why couldn't I find this creature?

Was my theory wrong?

When I saw the expanse of space below, I laughed.

Anything could be out there.

They'd found Stone Age men in New Zealand.

There were prehistoric fish

being pulled out of the Persian sea.

My god, the primitive man walked out of the mountains

70 miles from the capital of California.

There's so much territory yet to be explored.

We found undiscovered wrecks of men

who tried to break into this wilderness

and were never heard of again.

I couldn't think of the risks.

Everything I believed in was on the line.

Suddenly, the pilot whipped around.

There he was, a young Bigfoot frozen like a tree.

We raced back to the river but he slipped away.

Seeing the young Bigfoot confirmed my theory.

I could now roughly predict the creature's movements.

The crew celebrated the sighting

but it wasn't enough for me.

I knew I needed to document Bigfoot's habits.

The young Bigfoot's tracks led me from the river

to a lush meadow.

He passed through a herd of grazing musk ox.

I wondered what Bigfoot fed on.

Maybe he ate vegetation too, or fish.

I'd seen him by a river.

Of course he could have been cleaning himself or drinking.

Of course he could be a predator.

One of these oxen would last him half the winter.

Bigfoot's behavior still held many mysteries,

but now it was just a matter of time before I solved them.

(men chattering)

(somber music)

Winter now closed down on us in earnest.

We were forced to move south just like the animals.

The caribou gathered for their migration.

They'd be the source of food

for all the meat-eating animals that followed.

If Bigfoot were a meat eater, he'd feed on caribou too.

If I could prove that he did,

I'd have a clue to the place he held in nature.

If I could film it,

I'd have the kind of documentation the experts demanded.

Whatever his habits,

I knew the road would be paved with danger.

(howling)

(gun fires)

I was devastated by the slaughter of the caribou.

I kept thinking of Bigfoot and its migration.

It had to be protected.

It could be wiped out before I had a chance to study it.

But how could I get protection for something

so few believed existed?

I needed that unchallengeable proof I'd first set out for.

There was no sign of Bigfoot with the caribou.

It must eat vegetation or fish.

The perfect place: beaver swamp in the spring.

I got there early and planned to stay as long as I could.

I used every trick I learned over my years as a trapper,

and carefully covered my scent with ammonia.

Beaver swamp, the geese.

If my theory was right, Bigfoot would follow shortly.

I searched for the perfect place to set up a blind.

(croaking)

When I found it, I moved in and set up my cameras.

Day after day I waited,

and soon grew jealous of the other animals' freedom.

I was stiff, chilled to the bone,

but I was determined not to make a move

that might warn Bigfoot of my presence.

What if he didn't come?

Then a movement in the woods.

The sun hadn't come up yet.

It was hard to make out what I'd seen at first.

(dramatic music)

There he was.

Bigfoot standing no more than 100 yards from my blind.

I began to shake all over.

I could barely keep hold of my camera.

He was awesome.

Then, behind me, another one, smaller, possibly younger.

How many of them were there?

Was I surrounded?

They were the most extraordinary creatures I'd ever seen.

I now knew why the Eskimos called Bigfoot

the king of the animals.

The older, larger one was seven feet tall,

450 to 500 pounds.

His domed head and long dark hair

just like the other creatures I'd seen.

His odor was overwhelming,

the same thick musky scent that first led me to Bigfoot

so long ago.

The young one was no more than 5.5 feet tall, 250 pounds.

If my guess was right, probably on its first trip away

from its northern breeding grounds.

He'd probably never seen a man before.

If he saw me, he could panic and attack.

Then I looked around

and realized the other animals were carrying on normally.

If danger was around, they would have fled.

Just as the Eskimos had said,

Bigfoot is a benevolent creature.

It doesn't even attack or feed on other animals.

It seems to eat only vegetation or sometimes fish.

Here it was before me,

pulling up the tender swamp grass with its hands,

remarkable huge hands that seemed capable

of grasping, scooping up drinking water,

and splashing to rid itself of parasites.

I had done it.

Here I was again with Bigfoot,

unchallengeable proof, my theory had worked.

It is a migratory animal,

and I now have the documentation of its habits I needed.

Now we can begin to understand

the place this creature holds in nature.

A raccoon came out to start his day's hunting.

I knew the nocturnal Bigfoot would soon return

to the cover of the forest.

I once again said goodbye to this mysterious creature

that has somehow outlived its natural role,

endured the tests of time,

now left to wander the land elusively

with a strange will to survive.

Oh, I still have plenty of questions.

And I'll continue my search for the answers now.

But I assure you, I'll no longer get so caught up

in the problems of my research

that I'll lose touch with the wonders it reveals.