Page 7 of Squatch Out!
I wedge myself between him and Darren to squint up at the map.Damnit, he’s right.
Honestly, I’m skeptical ofanyvehicles being allowed up the private trail. But it’s getting late, and hauling all our gear on foot is definitely less appealing than riding with the guys and chancing breaking a rule.
Blowing out a sigh, I shrug. “It’s fine.” Then I head back to unload my car.
The drive upto the campsite is…
It’s breathtaking. I thought the drive through the mountains was beautiful, but this? It’s… absolutely magical.
On either side of the dirt road that’s not much more than a vague path, patches of late-season lupines and avalanche lilies dot the green rolling hills that rise to meet the jewel-blue sky before falling to kiss dense woodlands filled with evergreen and spruce.
The campsite is nestled along the aptly-named Windy Ridge, with lots of room for tents and a central firepit. Tucked several yards away inside a small shack, I spy the pit toilet. It’sexpectedly windy as I zip up my jacket over one of my favorite t-shirts that says,I can do anything with a little sarcasm and profanity.Then I jump in to help unload our gear.
We each have our own tent, and while I’m setting mine up, Tony starts a fire. By the time we’re all settled, and our dinner is roasting on the grill, the sun has started to set. I lean back in my camp chair, a lightweight fleece blanket draped around my shoulders, as I watch the sinking sun set the sky on fire. While we eat, the thready clouds turn from vibrant orange with streaks of purple and magenta to royal blue before fading to a star-speckled black.
“When was the most recent sighting in this area?” Brian asks. He’s on the opposite side of the fire from me and cast in shadow.
It’s the first mention of bigfoot since dinner last night, and I don’t like the way my chest tightens. But then I remind myself this is why we’re here.
“There was a big one last summer.” I pull out my cell phone. There is no service up here, but I saved some screenshots of the article I found. “A hiker was chased off the mountain.”
The story had garnered a lot of attention when it hit the media, before it was quickly beat down. The witnesses were discredited, and it was called a hoax or misunderstanding before it faded away, like they all do. But it was the main reason why I chose the Olympics rather than the more popular forests in southern Washington and Oregon.
“Did it say anything else about what happened?” Tony leans forward expectantly.
“The article listed all the usual specifics,” I reply. “The hiker was backpacking across the Olympics when he started noticing that sticks and pinecones were being thrown at him. Then there was the foul smell.” I’ve always been curious why sightings are often preceded by a pungent scent. I don’t recall noticing one when I was a little girl, but maybe I wasn’t downwind? “Whenthe hiker wasn’t easily frightened off, the bigfoot charged at him from the trees. It was howling and making all kinds of noise as it chased the man back down the trail the way he’d come.”
“That must have taken ten years off his life,” Tony chuckles.
“Did the article mention what the howls sounded like?” Darren asks.
Brian turns to his friend. “Dude, you keep asking about noises. What gives?”
Darren presses his lips together, and for a minute, I don’t think he will answer, but then he comes to a decision. “I have a theory, and I want to try something.”
Before any of us can say anything, he’s out of his chair and rifling through the back of the SUV. When he comes back, he’s got his cell phone in one hand and a speaker in the other.
“I have a recording of a sasquatch mating call,” Darren says, dead serious.
I’ve heard of hunters playing sounds they believe are from bigfoot, but their results have been mixed, and I’ve never heard of them producing any solid proof.
“How do you know it’s a mating call?” Brian sounds skeptical, and the firelight that dances across his face makes him look like he’s starting to question his decision to bring Darren along.
Darren stares down at his phone at the sound bite he has queued up. “I trust my source,” is all he says.
Something about this has my stomach twisting with nerves. “I don’t know—” I start to say, but he ignores me and flips on the speaker.
A low hum fills the night just before he pushes a button and the mostgod-awfulscreaming cuts through the silence. It’s so sudden, it startles me, and I slap my hands over my ears, but that’s not enough to keep it out.
“Stop!” I shout.
But he’s not listening. Instead, he’s scanning the trees with a hopeful expression that smooths out the harsh lines he’s worn since yesterday.
“Darren!” I yell as loud as I can, jumping up from my chair and stalking toward him. “Turn that off!”
The screams coming from the speaker send all the hair across my body standing on end and makes my stomach clench. Behind me, the other guys have also started yelling at him to turn it off.
When he continues to ignore us, I march up to him and snatch the phone from his hand. My fingers fumble with the smooth surface but eventually I hit the stop button, plunging us back into a thick, blissful silence.
