Big Feet

They say there is always that decisive moment where you know. When the incessant tug of passion turns into a whiplash until you bash into an epiphany. That's where you find your calling.

​There it sat, a sixteen-foot-long chalky white plaster mold, complete with a rendition of softball-like toes at the end of its sole. Propped bare behind a cube of museum glass bigger than a rich man's fish tank.

​Made in the mud of the Bluff Creek construction site in Humboldt County, California, in the summer of 1958. The track was found by one Jerry Crew, a bulldozer operator, who spotted it before clearing out some land.He thought it was a joke when no foul play was confirmed he plastered the print to show all the other non-believers. From there, the myth would grow, cryptids and esteemed biologists alike hunting for the missing link, sasquatch, or, as it was so aptly named, based on the massive size of the discovery, Bigfoot.

​Alex’s father would later denounce his decision to become cryptic and to search for the elusive creature himself. “There's no money in that, son.” He'd snap his newspaper. Funny to think you were the one who took me to the museums that sparked my fascination. To appease his parents, Alex would earn his master's in biology with a minor in zoology, all the while flirting with his true destiny. He was going to venture out someday, starting at the known hot spots in Northern California, and work his way up. Make sure to bring a quality camera and a clean lens. No more blurry photos

​He found himself in Willow Creek at the sight where it all started. There would be no better place to begin. He had brought the big guns. Thermal cameras, drones, and video surveillance. Everything a good creature hunter would need. Still, the journey was lacking. The expedition didn't warrant more than a few fly-by animals on the thermals. A few footprints, but nothing that would scream to Alex that he was on the right track. If anything, it generated caution; the tracks might be from a bear.

​With the land thoroughly explored, he moved on to navigate the wild woods and jagged mountains of the west coast. Of all things, at least the sites are breathtaking.

​His passion-fueled journey brought him to Boring, Oregon, a town famous for its fascination with Bigfoot lore, despite no known sightings. He saw it as an opportunity to gather information and, if nothing else, finally speak to another person. As the journey wore on, his regret for not inviting company grew, his hunger for human interaction intensifying.

The gift shop was lined with memorabilia. Plagues and information slides all about the giant in question. Hulking ten-foot models of the squatch towered over the entrance. Alex took time to photograph himself with every model. Still, it only afflicted a rolling warm sensation. A hopeful prelude to what would become of his true temperament if he found the actual North American yeti himself.

​He sparked some conversation with the locals, which might lead him to something more substantial. Talking with a handful of people saw that growing warmth dissipate. They treated the myth like a joke. Even considering trapping the monster (their words) and using him as an attraction to bring in more money. This displaced his genuine wonder and dimmed his luster for a moment. It would only grow fainter when he saw how they treated the grounds. Trash and graffiti that would say Bigfoot has a big dick. Wrappers and discarded beer cans. This was a joke to people; it wasn't anything special.

​This made Alex feel like he was home again with his disapproving father. “Nothing would come of these frivolous adventures; might as well be chasing your own ass.” A visible and distant recall should have swayed his position; he should have just gone home. But it did the opposite; he was more determined than ever. He had come up with nothing so far, so he had to look another way; he had to search and think differently, he had to find somebody who knew more than he did on the matter.

​He scoured the internet for plausible relations. More cryptozoologists and lucky stumble upon finds. He reached out to as many as he could with little to no luck. The search went on all afternoon. Splaying out possible leads on the desk of the hotel's business room like a detective screening their biggest suspects.

​He kept finding himself in a small circle of magnetic destiny; he kept going back to Jerry Crew. (long since passed) It was a long shot, but Alex reached out to his immediate family, hoping to entice one of them to a chat.

​The promptness surprised him. The meeting was set. Like his grandfather, Tommy Crew owned and operated an excavating company. He was working on a site not far from where Alex lived in Cali. Considering this was his best lead yet, he took off and headed back home.

The dig was monstrous, yards worth of soft sediment packed into mountains over a tightly packed sod, making room for an office building, he said.

They took a spot in the clearing, a compost picnic table at the far end of the excavators. “Thank you so much for meeting me here,” Alex said enthusiastically, feeling as bright as he did when he first started his expedition. “Well, I'll be honest, Alex.” Tommy took a hearty sip of his from his stainless steel thermos. “I get contacted constantly. Mostly by enthusiasts like yourself. But it would seem they were never that serious about the matter. Really just fluffery from a journalist. Or people having their fun, it sometimes gets too close to prank calls.” His voice was groggy as he spoke, probably the strain from speaking over the hydraulic moans for the machinery. “But Alex, I gotta say I haven't seen your type of passion in some time, not since the early days, so I was more than happy to meet you, ecstatic in fact, so how can I help? What would you like to know?”

​They spoke for hours, long enough for Alex's coffee to turn ice cold. He spoke of his interest early on. The sightings throughout the years. Tommy's grandfather. Alex expressed his displeasure with how the legend had been recently treated, citing his experience in Oregon.

Tommy filled him in as best he could with whatever little information his grandfather had given him. But Alex sensed a stirring like a revelation was about to break open; he could feel it.

​“Listen, Alex, why don't we do this? Come by my house later tonight. There is something I think I should show you that will answer all these questions better than I can.”

​Alex bound his way towards Tommy's front door, fevered elation in each step. He felt like he did the day at the museum; he felt like he was going to discover something amazing.

​“Great, you made it.” They shook hands, and Tommy led him to the basement of the grand estate. He flicked a switch at the landing, a small beam of light hit a resin case, a spotlight glowing in the dark foreground. “There is the footprint for the great North American ape.” Alex was perplexed by what lay before him in that nearly empty box: a cast of a footprint, but it was really no bigger than an average man's foot. Alex peered at his own Nikes for comparison.

​“What do you mean, this has got to be wrong? I've seen the actual footprint, it's... well, it's big.”

​Tommy just smiled, knowing that this was a setup rhetoric to start the revealing conversation.

​“Or so they want you to think.” Tommy stuck out his index finger.

​"My grandfather found the creature first—the story got it wrong. He was big, that's for sure—nearly ten feet tall; that much was true. The creature was humanoid and bipedal, something like a gorilla-human hybrid, he said." Tommy sighed lightly.

​“My grandfather was privy to the goings on of human nature; he knew that this discovery would lead to experiments and trashing of the woodland. The creature was gentle, non-threatening, and didn't bother anybody. So he devised a plan. Simple in theory. Plaster a giant foot. All over the world, people thought the giant animal they were searching for had enormous feet. It seemed to work.” Tommy giggled.

​“He had a kind heart, my grandpa, much like yours, that's why I don't mind sharing the secret with you. I have no next of kin, so I know at least the story lives on, well, the true one at least.” He paused for a moment, “Here, I want to show you something.”

​Tommy unlatched a drawer at the bottom of the display. He pulled out an 8x10 frame, wiped it lightly, and handed it to Alex.

​The crystal-clear photo showed the image he had been waiting his whole life to see. 10 foot dark, thick fur humanoid creature standing at the edge of the forest, leaning on a redwood. He seemed to be smiling.

​“Gone now for sure. My grandfather said, "Did he have any offspring?” he asked the question out loud. “Who knows for certain. But maybe that's something you can find out.”

​Alex stood there in awe. He couldn't decide which was the more startling revelation: that he'd likely seen the actual Bigfoot, or that Bigfoot didn't have big feet at all.

​