IrvingKrebb
TMF Expert
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- Apr 3, 2010
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I sat on the ledge overlooking the trail, watching the hunters haul up their gear; a dozen or so men and women lugging weather-proof cases, winding their way up the mountain. Maybe this year they'll get lucky and take my picture. Maybe I'll let 'em. Over the years there have been a few who got lucky and caught me off-guard but it's a rare thing. The few legitimate pictures making the rounds didn't happen by accident. For reasons known only to those involved - sympathy, curiosity, kicks - those pictures were taken with the subjects unspoken permission.
When the group stopped to catch their breath and quench their thirst I quietly climbed down from the ledge to get a better look at my pursuers: mostly men, a few women, and they looked like every other group I've encountered. Their khaki and camouflage looked vaguely new, and the expensive equipment cases could be a sign of a serious scientific expedition. Or, it could be a bunch of wankers: trust fund babies trying to get famous. It was too early to tell but the smart money is always on the latter these days. Public interest in the un-explained is at an all time high. Maybe because those thousands of new cable channels need programing, or maybe because the more this country's government strips its people of their freedoms, the more distractions they need to manufacture to get away with it. Whatever the reason, these woods are getting crowded.
When I got within earshot I realized it was indeed a bunch of wankers. A small group of self-proclaimed "experts" shadowed by a snickering camera crew courtesy of the Discovery Channel. They usually referred to themselves with some some catchy anagram, and more often than not the group leader is a bored rich-kid whose position had been decided by his ability to pay for the equipment. Their expertise was based on hours of TV documentaries and Youtube videos and sometimes even books - impressive the same way a Trekkie's knowledge of space is impressive.
"Yeah, see that...'squatch been through here...maybe two."
"How can you tell?"
"Those trees over there, the small ones, bent like that - 'squatch sign."
"Really?"
Definitely...they do it to mark their territory, classic sign."
"Uh-huh..."
Classic signs. Everything is a "classic sign." Their absolute certainty of the habits of a creature only ever studied through descriptions of glimpses is particularly offensive. Their cock-sure swagger, custom t-shirts, and unsubstantiated claims might be laughable if they weren't also habitual trespassers. There's a reason these groups never find anything.
The real scientists are far less annoying - not the government scientists but the university people who have a genuine curiosity and inclination towards discovery. They don't talk about me and my kind in absolutes. Rather, they offer educated guesses based on the little information available. Fame isn't their goal, and although success might help fund future research, their goal is discovery, purely and without guile.
Government scientists - armed with the most cutting edge technology and a morality decided by the highest bidder- their job is to keep track of the numbers, to evaluate the impact on natural resources, and manage populations. The government scientists know we're here, know everything about us, and keep it a secret fearing another owl debacle.
Years ago scientists discovered a certain type of owl was on the verge of extinction in part because of an aggressive and lucrative logging contract which would destroy their habitat. The animal rights people went crazy and managed to gather enough support to shut down the project. Not only did the logging company suffer, but he town that had been built around it, and the people who's livelihoods depended on it, became extinct. To this day there is an abandoned town somewhere in northern California slowly rotting out of existence.
For the first time in modern history human beings' weird sense of nostalgia and misplaced sense of guilt over what is actually a completely natural part of evolution had defeated the all-mighty dollar and seriously affected the bottom line. So naturally, if it became common knowledge that there was a dwindling community of enormous, intelligent primates who's migratory patterns spawned two continents full of yet un-tapped resources the consequences would be disastrous.
But who would believe that these enormous primates could exist unseen? Sure, the places they are purported to live are remote and uninhabited, and span thousands of miles of unforgiving wilderness, but the idea that the all knowing humans wouldn't have noticed is inconceivable.
Humans are vain creatures.
The wankers and their crew, sufficiently rested, continued up the mountain. I followed from a safe distance until they reached the top and a clearing where they could established a base-camp. They unloaded and inventoried their infra-red cameras, motion detectors, high-end camping gear, audio equipment, and all the stuff the Discovery crew dragged up. The clearing looked like the inside of a Best Buy, or, at least what I imagine the inside of a Best Buy might look like.
The sun was going down; the group decided to bed down for the night and begin the hunt in the morning. They made a huge fire and sat around telling lies and second and third hand accounts of much older lies. The fat one, the leader of the group, was being especially annoying.
"Five years ago I was on my own, spent three nights alone not far from here. There was a 'squatch following me the whole way, keeping out of sight but I knew he was there, a lot of tree bending, high pitched vocalizations, tree knocks - classic signs. At night I'd hear him just beyond the tree line. They're curious by nature, you know. The next night is when I saw him. He came at me just as I was about to eat dinner, which was weird, because I was cooking meat and we know they're herbivores. So this 'squatch comes at me, shrieking, and I just stared at him, you know, stared him down, and he ran right past me. I probably scared him. See, I know they exist, no ones gonna tell me."
The fat man's story put me over the edge. I stifled a growl, picked up a rock and threw it, hitting the man between the eyes and knocking him off his collapsible, camouflaged chair.
"Rock throwing." I thought. "Classic sign."
When the group stopped to catch their breath and quench their thirst I quietly climbed down from the ledge to get a better look at my pursuers: mostly men, a few women, and they looked like every other group I've encountered. Their khaki and camouflage looked vaguely new, and the expensive equipment cases could be a sign of a serious scientific expedition. Or, it could be a bunch of wankers: trust fund babies trying to get famous. It was too early to tell but the smart money is always on the latter these days. Public interest in the un-explained is at an all time high. Maybe because those thousands of new cable channels need programing, or maybe because the more this country's government strips its people of their freedoms, the more distractions they need to manufacture to get away with it. Whatever the reason, these woods are getting crowded.
When I got within earshot I realized it was indeed a bunch of wankers. A small group of self-proclaimed "experts" shadowed by a snickering camera crew courtesy of the Discovery Channel. They usually referred to themselves with some some catchy anagram, and more often than not the group leader is a bored rich-kid whose position had been decided by his ability to pay for the equipment. Their expertise was based on hours of TV documentaries and Youtube videos and sometimes even books - impressive the same way a Trekkie's knowledge of space is impressive.
"Yeah, see that...'squatch been through here...maybe two."
"How can you tell?"
"Those trees over there, the small ones, bent like that - 'squatch sign."
"Really?"
Definitely...they do it to mark their territory, classic sign."
"Uh-huh..."
Classic signs. Everything is a "classic sign." Their absolute certainty of the habits of a creature only ever studied through descriptions of glimpses is particularly offensive. Their cock-sure swagger, custom t-shirts, and unsubstantiated claims might be laughable if they weren't also habitual trespassers. There's a reason these groups never find anything.
The real scientists are far less annoying - not the government scientists but the university people who have a genuine curiosity and inclination towards discovery. They don't talk about me and my kind in absolutes. Rather, they offer educated guesses based on the little information available. Fame isn't their goal, and although success might help fund future research, their goal is discovery, purely and without guile.
Government scientists - armed with the most cutting edge technology and a morality decided by the highest bidder- their job is to keep track of the numbers, to evaluate the impact on natural resources, and manage populations. The government scientists know we're here, know everything about us, and keep it a secret fearing another owl debacle.
Years ago scientists discovered a certain type of owl was on the verge of extinction in part because of an aggressive and lucrative logging contract which would destroy their habitat. The animal rights people went crazy and managed to gather enough support to shut down the project. Not only did the logging company suffer, but he town that had been built around it, and the people who's livelihoods depended on it, became extinct. To this day there is an abandoned town somewhere in northern California slowly rotting out of existence.
For the first time in modern history human beings' weird sense of nostalgia and misplaced sense of guilt over what is actually a completely natural part of evolution had defeated the all-mighty dollar and seriously affected the bottom line. So naturally, if it became common knowledge that there was a dwindling community of enormous, intelligent primates who's migratory patterns spawned two continents full of yet un-tapped resources the consequences would be disastrous.
But who would believe that these enormous primates could exist unseen? Sure, the places they are purported to live are remote and uninhabited, and span thousands of miles of unforgiving wilderness, but the idea that the all knowing humans wouldn't have noticed is inconceivable.
Humans are vain creatures.
The wankers and their crew, sufficiently rested, continued up the mountain. I followed from a safe distance until they reached the top and a clearing where they could established a base-camp. They unloaded and inventoried their infra-red cameras, motion detectors, high-end camping gear, audio equipment, and all the stuff the Discovery crew dragged up. The clearing looked like the inside of a Best Buy, or, at least what I imagine the inside of a Best Buy might look like.
The sun was going down; the group decided to bed down for the night and begin the hunt in the morning. They made a huge fire and sat around telling lies and second and third hand accounts of much older lies. The fat one, the leader of the group, was being especially annoying.
"Five years ago I was on my own, spent three nights alone not far from here. There was a 'squatch following me the whole way, keeping out of sight but I knew he was there, a lot of tree bending, high pitched vocalizations, tree knocks - classic signs. At night I'd hear him just beyond the tree line. They're curious by nature, you know. The next night is when I saw him. He came at me just as I was about to eat dinner, which was weird, because I was cooking meat and we know they're herbivores. So this 'squatch comes at me, shrieking, and I just stared at him, you know, stared him down, and he ran right past me. I probably scared him. See, I know they exist, no ones gonna tell me."
The fat man's story put me over the edge. I stifled a growl, picked up a rock and threw it, hitting the man between the eyes and knocking him off his collapsible, camouflaged chair.
"Rock throwing." I thought. "Classic sign."
