It was awesome. It looked like some sort of monster mushroom, split in the middle with a wide island of stone and a stem of rock that dropped straight down, the water whipping around it and falling in two thundering cascades into a deep blue pool near us. Cool as it was, Granite Falls was a barrier. It took us half an hour to climb it, and when we were done our energy was nearly gone. I was starving too. I’d been so excited it hadn’t even occurred to me what we were going to do for food.
Walter read my mind.
“Hungry?” he asked. Smiling, he set his big backpack down and began digging around in it, one arm thrust all the way up to the shoulder. Moments later he had produced a gourmet mountain picnic. It was amazing to think he had prepared it in the tree fort this morning. There was mixed mango-pomegranate-watermelon juice, red as blood and freshly squeezed, which he poured out of a big container into three elegant teacups; a salad of spinach, fresh vegetables, and sprouts with a tangy mustard dressing; and spicy Italian sausages that we ate inside buttered pita bread just nicely toasted. We cooked everything over an open fire, which he conjured up in no time. For dessert he made carrot cake materialize, with sweet white icing, and finally he boiled some tea, from some wild British Columbia herbs he’d found in the forest. We had a crazy tea party in the wilderness. It was all enough to make me finally relax a little.
But it didn’t last long. Soon Uncle Walter had us back on our feet. From Granite Falls we had to strike out straight east into even more desolate wilderness: there wouldn’t even be a river to guide us.
We had been going upwards since we left the ATV. Now everything opened up, the trees grew smaller, and we went into a valley. It was like entering a new room deep inside a labyrinth. Down we went and back up the other side. Then the ground started to get much steeper. A lake appeared, shimmering blue.
We began seeing more wild animals. Every one we saw seemed frightened of something. And it wasn’t us. We saw a beaver beetling along near the lake and vanishing into it, smacking its tail with a loud crack; a mule deer running across our path, galloping at top speed. Suddenly we stopped in our tracks: a big black bear stood up and stared at us from a distance. We stared back. Then it turned and ambled quickly away, as if it had greater fears nearby. Somewhere, I thought, somewhere out there, whatever that creature is, it’s moving at high speed, and everything in its path is clearing out.
Up ahead, we could see a mountain looming above us.
“Is that the one we have to cross?” asked Alice.
“That’s the one,” said Walter.
I remembered what it said on the map: 1,600 metres. It looked all of it. The sun was almost down and things were growing dimmer. The short trees in front of us looked like dark men, beckoning us as we approached; the lake water was a black skating rink and the open valley behind us a grey, stormy sea, blowing in the wind that was picking up. It was getting colder. Soon we wouldn’t be able to see. Here we were in near-darkness, chasing a monster. We heard something howl not far away. My legs were dead tired. I couldn’t go any farther. I just wanted to fall asleep in my warm bed back home, into a deep sleep where no demons lurked. But how could we sleep anywhere here? And we couldn’t climb that mountain in the night.
Walter read my mind again.
“We’re stopping here,” he said.
He was pointing to a flat spot where a huge rock sat jutting up, a protective wall against the weather and everything else.
“Open up your backpacks.”
Not only did thick sleeping bags come bouncing out, pillows sewn into them, but more food appeared, packed into plastic bags and Tupperware containers—soups, pastas, and all sorts of things.
Walter had his own sleeping bag in that magical big backpack of his and another package, green like everything else he seemed to use in the woods. He pulled it out, unsnapped it, freed up some pegs and strings, and started spreading out the rest. A tent: a big, glorious, green tent for three. I hated every last bit of camping equipment Mom and Dad owned, but Uncle Walter’s stuff, on this dark night deep in the BC forest, was like a piece of heaven to me.
We didn’t even bother with a fire. We put up the tent, laid out the sleeping bags, and crawled into them. It seemed like only seconds later that I heard Walter snoring. Alice was quiet. I had the feeling she was listening, just like me, to all the frightening sounds in the night. But there was a smile on her face, barely evident in the darkness.
When I finally fell asleep, it felt like a deep one, like I tumbled downward into it and let it smother me. Down inside that sleep, I thought I heard footsteps, heavy ones coming up to our tent, pausing. There was loud breathing…then the footsteps moved away in giant strides. I struggled to wake up, but couldn’t.
All I had was that weird sensation again, of looking up at blue sky moving overhead, then falling back to sleep.
In the morning everything seemed calmer. Uncle Walter whipped out these little cereal packs, filled with granola and all sorts of healthy mixes, produced bowls and some milk, orange juice, and fruit. Before long we were off again, this time going sharply upward on the western face of our mountain.
“Mack thought there was a trail here somewhere,” remarked Walter. Soon we found it.
About two-thirds of the way up the mountain the trees disappeared entirely. It was getting much colder, even though the sun was shining. Only our hard work kept us warm. The wind was blowing uphill, lifting us forward.
Partway up we heard rumbling.
“Get down!” yelled Walter.
We all crouched. It grew louder. The ground seemed to shake. After a few minutes it lessened. We stood up and looked cautiously out across the rocky landscape. In the distance a herd of mountain goats was thundering away, a mass of fear on the run.
It took us until well past noon, an hour after another of Walter’s amazing meals, to get to our highest point on the mountain. We followed a winding path near the top and then headed downward again. The view was unbelievable. We were among blue alpine lakes and patches of snow, on land like the moon. Ahead of us we saw a sea of forest: no rivers, no trails, just trees. And nothing moved in those woods.
At first we went down through meadows, but then there were more trees and the forest got thicker and wetter. We were entering a rainforest again, one of those places that looked spooky and green with that thick, moss-filled carpet over everything. It made perfect sense that our creature would live here.
We were getting our directions from Poe, whom we kept glimpsing through the tops of the trees. But deep in this forest, it was becoming harder to see him. We followed as best we could, and walked until the sun began to set. We had to stop again. I was dreading it: this was going to be even creepier than the night before.
We found a spot that was reasonably dry, an opening with trees all around. There were leaves on the ground and we patted them down into a sort of nest, making things as comfortable as possible.
Before I went to bed, I stood and looked out at the land ahead of us again. It looked weird in the twilight, shades of darkness stretching out before us, black then dark, black then dark, like a ghostly chessboard. Our second day was ending. If the map was right, we’d get to where we were going tomorrow. Where on that dark chessboard would we find what we were looking for? And did I really want us to find it?
We snuggled into our sleeping bags. Hours passed and I lay wide awake. Uncle Walter and Alice had become quiet, so I figured they were asleep. It grew pitch black outside. I was thinking about Mom and Dad.
Suddenly, I heard those footsteps again! Then the heavy breathing. As the steps neared they slowed, as if whoever was on those feet was examining our tent. The nightmares I’d had as a kid came back to me in a rush. Monsters chased me or came out from under my bed or slipped out of my closet and crept up to where I was lying. They would loom over me, their eyes glowing in the dark, their claws stretched out towards me.
I was frozen with fear in my sleeping bag. A shadow grew across the tent. It was huge. I could see the outline of a massive beast, standing on two feet, thick hair covering its outline. I smelled a sickening stench.
Cosmos had said that sasquatches are usually following you when you think you’re following them.
It had tracked us. No one would find a trace of our bodies, and if they did, it would be like the remnants of that marmot: severed body parts, blood gathered where the bones were ripped from the skin.
I saw a hand reaching out for the door of the tent.
Then I saw another hand. It was Uncle Walter’s, sliding down the outside of his sleeping bag. I glanced over. His eyes were wide open and his hand was slowly making its way to the sheath he’d left on the ground beside him, the one that carried his big, gleaming…machete.
14
Face to Face
By the time the tent door was unzipped, ripped down by two humanlike hands, Uncle Walter was on his feet, the machete pulled back for a murderous slice, aiming just above his own head, neck-high on the creature before him.
“Hello?”
The creature could talk! It was also wearing a Vancouver Canucks cap. Uncle Walter lowered the machete.
“Everythin’ okay here?” it asked, staring at the machete as it was withdrawn.
He was hairy all right, but he wasn’t terribly big and he certainly wasn’t a monster. He’d just loomed large in the shadow as he’d approached our tent.
“Don’t get many folks in these parts,” he said. “Thought I’d just check up and see if you was alive and well. My name’s Adams: Lion Adams.”
“Uh,” stammered Walter, “where did you come from? I mean, it is the middle of the night…in the middle of nowhere in the mountains….”
“Right. Good question. Must seem a little strange. I guess I’m what other folks call a mountain man.” He swept off his Canucks cap. “A hiker gave me this one day. I understand they’re a hockey team?”
Everything else on Adams was made of animal skin or fur. His hair and his beard looked like fur too. And he smelled like an animal, one that needed a bath. But he definitely had the talking skills of a human being. He quickly made his way into the centre of the tent, sat down right in the middle of us and started to chat. In fact, we couldn’t shut him up. I guess that’s what comes of living in the forest. That, and the smell. Apparently he had a log cabin on this side of the mountain. Occasionally he trekked to Boston Bar for supplies, but for the most part he lived in the wilderness, hunting and fishing, making fish flies and clothes from animal skins that he sold to one of the tourist shops at Hell’s Gate Canyon. He had come near our tent the night before but thought everything looked fine.
So why had he tried to break in tonight? It was hard to get a word in edgewise, but finally Walter succeeded.
“Why did you come back?”
Adams stopped suddenly. He looked like he didn’t want to say.
“I thought you should know.”
“Know what?” asked Alice, who was still sleepy.
“There’s somethin’ strange goin’ on in these parts.”
“Strange?”
“Well, the animals have been actin’ funny since about noon yesterday. I have my own grizzly, you know, and one of those kermode bears that’s white but born to black bears—Ghost, we call him—and seven bighorn sheep, and twelve mule deer, a cougar, and a mountain lion—they play together—and a pack of wolves. Two of the wolves can talk…well not exactly talk, but you know what I mean, and—”
“Adams!” exclaimed Walter.
“Yes?”
“What are you trying to tell us?”
The mountain man paused before he spoke.
“There’s particular danger out there just now.”
“What kind?”
“I don’t know. I thought maybe you could tell me. It isn’t usual either, you know, for a man and two children to be walkin’ around out here.”
“We’re not children,” I said.
“Small fry, at least,” he countered.
“We’re after a sasquatch,” said Alice in a matter-of-fact voice.
Adams looked at her, just stared right into her eyes. For a long time he didn’t say anything.
“A sasquatch?”
“That’s right.”
“Just takin’ a wild stab that there might be one in these parts?” he laughed nervously.
“No,” said Uncle Walter, “we’re tracking it. We’ve found footprints and torn trees. And they’re leading us this way.”
“Well…that’s why then.” He lowered his head, kneading the ball cap. “I thought I smelled somethin’.”
It was hard to believe that he could smell anything other than himself.
“So, you believe in it? You think it could be around?” I asked, feeling breathless.
“Believe in it? I don’t understand. Do you believe in me, young man? Ain’t you seein’ me, smellin’ me, eyeballin’ me?”
Smelling him, yes, for sure.
“So, you’ve seen a sasquatch?”
“No sir, for the most part, people don’t see sasquatches.”
“I did,” said Uncle Walter.
Adams tried to stand up. His head hit the tent ceiling and he fell back down. He was staring at Walter now, his eyes wide. “There’s a reason for that,” he whispered.
“A reason?” asked Alice.
“Most times folks say they seen a sasquatch, it’s a hoax. When it isn’t…it either means you ain’t right in the mind, sir, or the sasquatch has some reason for showin’ himself to you.”
“I think I saw one, too,” I said.
This time Adams nearly ran out of the tent. He backed himself up against a wall so that he could see both Uncle Walter and me, as if he wanted to keep an eye on us at the same time. He looked back and forth.
“Never heard that before. Never met two people in the same room, two friends, who’d seen a sasquatch at different times. I don’t like this. Somethin’ is goin’ to happen.”
“Let’s hope so,” said Alice, smiling.
“Don’t say that, child, don’t say that.”
“We plan to film him, see him up close,” said Walter. “And we plan to stop the others from getting near him.”
“Others?”
“We think someone from Harrison Hot Springs wants to kill it.”
With that, Lion Adams let out a weird noise. He just put his head back and howled into the night like a wolf.
“Are you, uh, okay?” I asked.
“No. No, I’m not,” stuttered Adams. “No one can videotape a sasquatch and no one—NO ONE—can kill it! It’s meant to live in the shadows. It just wouldn’t be right for folks to see it, to touch it, to see it lyin’ dead somewhere, or stuffed. Somethin’ would be wrong with the world. And there’s enough wrong as it is. That’s why I live where I live.”
“But someone has already filmed it.”
“That’s a fake. If you get any real evidence, that will be the first. Footprints, pieces of hair, video, they all can be faked. But I’m tellin’ you, don’t do it. Don’t do it! If you so much as see him again, just leave. In fact, you should leave now. Go home, I’m warnin’ you. You don’t know what you’re gettin’ yourselves into.”
And with that he slipped out of the tent and was gone into the night. His whole appearance had seemed like a dream.
When we woke in the morning there wasn’t any evidence that Lion Adams had been there. And none of us spoke about him. It was as if our mountain man never existed. He had been as nutty as an acorn anyway.
But we all seemed to feel what he had said. We started out on the last leg of our trek in a tense mood. We were about to cross into the rainforest where Walter saw his creature, and enter the Hell’s Gate area. We had been preparing ourselves for this
ever since we left.
It wasn’t long before we came to Scuzzy Creek. It was perfectly named. It was a little waterway deep in the woods, winding around over stones and more green moss. Trees had fallen over it and strings of branches hung in the air like they’d been placed there by ghouls. Mosquitoes were out in packs, pursuing us through the woods. We could hear marmots, their frightened whistles echoing in the thick, damp air. We followed the waterway for a couple of hours, this time keeping it to our right.
We were desperate to find Green Ranch Road. It was the last piece in our trek and it would lead us out to the town of Boston Bar, the highway, and Hell’s Gate Canyon. We knew there was an abandoned logging road beside Scuzzy that met Green Ranch, but had no idea where we would start seeing it. It didn’t look like there’d been any logging done here in a long time. The trees were gigantic again.
Then, as we walked along, Walter said something that surprised us.
“I think I saw the creature right about here,” he began, his voice sounding serious. “I can feel it. I doubt it’s running now. This is its home. It’s here…somewhere.”
He stopped and sat down. We gathered on a fallen log beside him.
“There’s a place somewhere not far from here where the forest opens up and there’s a swamp. I was going down a hill with the swamp in front of me. I leaned against a tree, I remember, to rest, and looked out across that swamp. That was when I saw it. It looked to be more than eight feet tall, and its shoulders were more than a metre across; the muscles in its back were unbelievable; its arms were hanging down to its knees; and it was covered from head to foot with dark brown hair. It kind of froze just when I did, like it sensed something. It turned, looked my way, black eyes glaring, and then vanished into the woods. The second it disappeared, I tried to convince myself I’d been hallucinating. But I know I saw it. I know it.”
His voice was quiet now and his eyes were red.
“Did it scare you?” asked Alice.
“Yes. But not because I thought it would hurt me.”
Monster in the Mountains Page 10
