All five senses come alive in the wilderness. Hearing and smell tend to be the most sensitive though. Tonight, I hear an orchestra of frogs and crickets backed by a babbling brook. As I take deep breaths, the smells of pine smoke and lake water take hold of my nostrils. It occurs to me how closely smell and taste are linked when I also recognize both of those smells as flavors on my tongue while eating the fried trout I made for dinner tonight. Though sight can be hindered by firelight, the full moon casting its heavy glow across the lake helps bring my surroundings into focus. It is a warm summer night out here in Northern Idaho, but a cool breeze over the water brings goose-flesh to my skin. I shiver as I raise a hot mug of pine tea to my chapped lips. This is my element.
I am halfway through my backpacking trek in the panhandle. There have been several beautiful mountain lakes and kind people I have met along the way. As I was searching for somewhere to make camp off the beaten path today, I made a discovery. It was starting to get dark, so I was in a rush to find a decent spot for the night. In my haste, I kicked up something buried beneath pine needles as I was stringing my hammock between two trees. I picked up what looked like a leather journal of sorts, perhaps a lost travel log of a previous hiker. Curiosity plagued me momentarily, but I decided it would have to wait until morning. There was a fire needing to be sparked soon if I was to eat tonight.
The rising sun shifting through the soldier pines was as bright headlights through a window at night. You wake easier and earlier in the woods though, almost like a fairy tale. After shedding my cocoon of blankets and sleeping bag, I stretched my arms to the sky and stepped out from the swaying hammock. Last night’s embers came back to life easy enough and soon the percolator came to life as well. I sat in my three-legged camp chair, breathed in the earthy aroma, and flipped open the journal I had found.
My face scrunched in confusion as I beheld broken English amid cave-like drawings on the first page I turned to. The handwriting was the worst chicken scratch I had ever seen, like a child learning to write but with more violence. What I could make out was, *Woman saw me. She screamed. I be more careful. A signature followed, Kooten, Son of Esau.* Underneath were crude drawings of trees with stick people in the distant corner of the page. Near the signature, behind the furthest tree from the stick figures, was drawn a taller being than the rest. Long hair cascaded all around this being and I realized the page was stained with tears.
Wild theories began spinning in my mind. Overwhelmed, I closed the journal and poured myself some coffee. I sat stunned awhile, staring off into nothing. My coffee grew cold in my hands, so I chugged it when I came back to reality. The remaining coffee in the percolator was dumped over the fire, then I got to work cleaning up my camp. I was aiming to trek another thirty miles today and had a feeling my newfound reading material would make quick work of the day.
The path winded downhill for a while which made for a less grueling start to my long day. I had hardly looked up from my recent obsession when I noticed the trail had flattened out into an open area surrounded by a plethora of large boulders. It led to a marsh on the right and I saw a wooden bridge in the distance. An eerie feeling of being watched washed over me. You have to be wary of mountain lions in situations like this since they have the high ground hidden behind the monoliths. I tucked the journal in my belt and whipped out my hiking sticks from the sides of my backpack like an archer drawing arrows. My breathing slowed, but my heart raced as I darted my eyes throughout the area. Feeling more at ease seeing nothing in my search, I pressed on through the marsh, over the wooden bridge with a few missing slats, then out the other side without incident. This part of the trail led back uphill into another part of the forest. I was grateful for the cover, but I made sure to keep my head on a swivel.
It had been a couple of days since I had seen anyone else out here, so when I saw someone approaching from the crest of the next hill my heart was elated. As they approached, I rehearsed my passing comment in my head. Most hikers do not like to stop for chit-chat since they too are on a mission to hit their predetermined mileage for the day. This particular hiker did not seem to have a pack on, but it was hard to tell from this distance. *A local perhaps?* I thought to myself. When they got closer, I noticed their outfit seemed out of place for the current weather. I was rocking shorts and a tank top while they were in pants and a sweater with the hood pulled over their head. A ball cap was pulled down over their face, so I guessed they preferred the extra cover to keep the bugs and nefarious plants from causing trouble. All I could distinguish was a long brown beard peppered with gray and long brown hair flowing from their hood down onto their chest. Unable to get a better look at them as they passed by, I said something dumb like, *Nice beard bro!* They kept silent as we continued our separate ways.
Feeling a bit foolish, I turned to yell something more thoughtful like *Happy trails! or Be safe out there! Watch for mountain lions that way!* Before I got a word out though, they had turned back my direction too. They looked me straight in the eyes but pointed down and grunted at me. That is when I realized their hands were hairy too.
Frozen in the moment, I did not know what to do next. *Do I run away? Run at them with my hiking sticks? Cry?* My body chose to stay put as I filtered through these thoughts. I gripped my hiking sticks tighter as they walked towards me with cautious steps and arms raised in front of them.
“You found book!” they growled. “Give back?”
I took a glance down at my waist where I had forgotten all about the journal I had found. “You’re S-Sasquatch.” I stammered. “B-Bigfoot.”
“Not my name. My foot not that big!” they replied as they showed off their normal-looking feet to me. “Me Kooten, Son of Esau.”
He then gestured towards the journal again, so I unhooked it from my waist and handed it over with a tremor in my hand. Kooten grabbed it with care and hugged it to his chest.
“Thank you, friend,” he said.
As I turned to get out of there, I tried with desperation to convince myself this was some odd hallucination. I shook my head like an Etch-A-Sketch in hopes of clearing my mind of this madness, but I felt a gentle, large hand on my shoulder. Fear invaded my entire being as I turned back around, submitting to the fact it was not my imagination.
“Hungry?” Kooten asked. “I feed you in my home.”
That idea sounded even more preposterous to me, so I shook my head again in polite decline. He insisted though with the urging of one trying to get a toddler to do something they do not want to do. Against my better judgment, I gave in to his pleading and followed him off the beaten path deeper into the wild. I had a sinking feeling this would be my last trek through the woods, but at least I would get to dine with Bigfoot.
After an hour of walking, we ended up in a small, lush clearing near the mouth of a cave. I was surprised to see some livestock grazing in the meadow. Instead of scattering at our arrival, they looked up and greeted us with bleats and moos before returning to their lunches. *Sasquatch is a shepherd!* I thought to myself in disbelief. He removed a lid from a large vase-like vessel and drew the animals some water. They gathered at his feet and drank with contentment. Kooten then drew a flagon for us both, set the lid back in place, then led me inside.
Away from the entrance, down a long hall to our right, a faint light was shining. Kooten led me to an open cavern roughly the size of a small warehouse. The walls were lined with lit sconces and there was a large fire pit in the middle bringing a nice warmth to the large room. We sat at a table set near the fire which looked hewn by hand. He poured some water into wooden cups, then fetched an assortment of berries from a nearby wicker basket.
“So, why did you bring me here?” I asked before touching anything offered to me.
“Drink! Eat!” he replied. “Not poison. You friend!”
“We don’t even know each other. Why do you call me friend?”
“Forgive my English. No practice in long time. You friend for finding book and for not running away.”
“Okay, well how do you know English, or even how to write or draw?”
“Old friend teach. Gave me book, then leave. I also learn from hearing the pack people like you.”
“Why do you hide away here instead of making more friends?”
“I try, but people scream and run. Old friend give me clothes. They help hide in open. Like I normal.”
“Ah, like today. You lost your journal and came to the trail to find it.” I said putting it all together.
“It worked at first, your disguise. A lot of men wear long beards and long hair, especially in the woods.” I subconsciously scratched my chin, self-conscious of my shaven face.
“Yes. Thank you for finding and giving back. Your face okay with no beard.” Kooten chuckled and tossed some berries in his mouth.
I half-smiled and partook of our humble meal myself, feeling much more at ease than when I first arrived. “Are there more like you Kooten? There are other legends of the Yeti and I have heard of some circus folk back in the day with your condition.”
“Yeti?” he grunted inquisitively. “What is cir-cus?”
“Basically you, but in the snow. A circus is harder to explain, but they did call them freaks sadly.”
“Oh! Must be far-off cousins,” he said with elation. “We are alone and spread far now. Long time ago, we all big family.”
“You called yourself Son of Esau. Like from the Old Testament?” I asked.
“I know no Old Test-a-ment. My family tell me story. Their family tell them story. Those family tell *them* story and—”
“Okay, I understand.” I laughed. “A family story passed down through history.”
“His-tory? Yes! Old story. Some in book. Some on walls here.” Kooten walked me to a tall wall on the other side of the room.
Sure enough, there were cave-like drawings. Some looked like boats on the water. Others looked like groups of hairy people wandering long distances. I also noticed something resembling writing.
“What does this say?” I asked.
“Family curse. Father Esau tricked by brother with smooth skin. We left to wander with no home.” he explained.
“Wow! That’s how the rest of the world remembers it too!” I exclaimed in awe. “When you tried to find a home, people rejected your family?”
“Yes. We look different. We are cursed.” Kooten got choked up and turned away. “Now, no more Sons of Esau when I die.”
“I am so sorry.” I instinctively reached out to hug him, my bias being torn down by empathy. To my surprise, he accepted the embrace and squeezed me hard.
“You listen. Thank you, friend. You take book and share story? Maybe it help find me mate!” he said with a big-toothed grin.
“I can try!” I laughed. “I don’t think anyone will believe me though.”
“You believe and you try. That is enough. Makes me happy.” Kooten handed me his journal and led me back outside.
I handed him my walking sticks to remember me by. He thanked me and said they would help him pick high fruit. We laughed and embraced once more. Then, he pointed me back toward the path we met on. Kooten went to tend to his animals as I walked away. When I turned to look at him, still in disbelief this was real, he turned to me also and waved. I waved back, then returned home a more changed man than I ever thought I would be when I first set out this summer.
