Close Encounter of a Hairy Kind.

The Province of BC has many regions that are very rugged, wild, and generally speaking, remote. However, some of these are a lot closer to populated areas than we might think. A good example is the area around the town of Hope. The region consists of high mountain ridges slashed with steep sided valleys and gorges with numerous creeks and rivers. Huge coniferous trees top out at well over 100 feet in height, and wild Pacific Dogwoods, with spreads of over 50 feet, are scattered throughout. Numerous ferns and shrubs, including wild Rhododendrons, grow in abundance. It is majestically beautiful, and, when I worked in the area, was quite uninhabited.

Back then, in 1957, I worked for Northwest Telephone Co., the ‘radio’ division of BC Telephone Co. The radio group handled the new Microwave and VHF systems that were becoming necessary due to the huge increase in volume demands for telephone and telex traffic services. I had three locations to keep on the air and service on a regular basis: 1) Sumas Mountain; at the top of the mountain just east of Abbotsford; 2) Hope; located high up Thacker Mountain (I believe that was the name) and overlooking the Fraser River gorge just north of Hope, and 3) Harrison Hot Springs; a relay station just outside of town serving the logging and mining camps in the Harrison Lake area. Hope and Sumas were ‘main line’ stations, as a rule I visited Sumas every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, and Hope each Tuesday and Thursday, with side trips to Harrison as needed. I was on-call 24/7 in case of emergency, and I lived in Chilliwack because it was centrally located in relation to the three sites.

One Tuesday, early in March of 1957 as I recall, I headed east along the Trans Canada Highway toward Hope; it had been snowing quite a lot over the past few days. The further east and closer to the mountains I got, the deeper the snow. At Hope there was about 2 feet of fresh, wet snow on the ground. I pulled into a gas station to ‘chain up’ all four wheels of the company Jeep 4x4. That chore completed, I headed up to Kawkawa Lake on a back road, then turned off away from the lake and followed a couple of old logging roads that were accessible only via 4-wheel drive vehicles. This route took me for several miles up to my equipment shack where I would spend the day.

When I turned off from the Lake road, I tried to coax the Jeep through that deep, wet snow, but the bottom of the machine rode up onto the snow and left the wheels spinning in air. I got out the shovel and dug around underneath the Jeep in order to free it, but it was just too hard-packed under the front end. I did manage to get the rear wheels onto solid ground, but there was no way that Jeep was going to go any further in a forward direction that day.

Time to put on the snowshoes, which I carried in the Jeep for just such an occasion. I had no choice but to go up to the site as there was a noisy equipment blower motor ready to seize up. Now snowshoes are not my favorite mode of getting around, but there was no other way to get up there, so off I went up the mountain with a new 20 lb. blower motor and some lunch in my pack.

It had started snowing again, and after I had I trekked along uphill for a ways, I noticed another set of tracks had joined the trail. Who on earth, I wondered, would be dumb enough to be out here in this wilderness in this weather (besides me, that is). Must be a bear, I thought, however, on closer inspection, I saw that the prints, deeply impressed into the new snowfall, seem to be made by a two-legged critter. To make sure, I checked closely for front paw marks in the same impressions, but could find no evidence of a four-legged track. Bears don’t walk along on two legs; they will stand up for a better view of something, but they seldom, if ever, will walk more than a few meters on two legs. And, at this time of year, early March, they would still be denned up in hibernation. So, who, or what, had preceded me along the trail a very short time previously? Better check closely, it was starting to snow pretty hard. I stooped over again for a closer inspection. The tracks were down quite deep into the snow indicating a big and heavy critter, and they resembled the rear paw of a bear, but they were about 15 or so inches long, had five distinct toe marks but with no sign of any indentations from claws. No bear here, not this guy. The stride, distance between the footprints, was about 30 inches or more, too long for a normal human, and we were going up hill, so the other thing or whatever he was, would be using a shorter than the normal stride. I looked ahead up the old creek bed, and the tracks just kept going and disappeared into the gloom of the falling snow thirty or so yards ahead; we were both going the same direction, no doubt about that.

Suddenly it dawned on me, could I actually be looking at the tracks of a Sasquatch, the mythical, wild and hairy ape-like creature said to live in the mountains of southern BC and in the US Pacific Northwest states where he is known as Bigfoot? As luck would have it, the camera I had borrowed a couple of weeks ago to take some scenic photos of my Sites was presently snugly resting at home on the shelf in Chilliwack, and I began to think that I should be keeping it company.

There was a little voice in my tummy telling me that I really, really didn’t want to meet up with whatever had been along here just prior to me. But, there was that noisy cooling motor, and I had a job to do, so onward and upward it was, with the fervent hope that he/she/it hadn’t stopped to rest against a tree somewhere. That doggone critter apparently was heading straight for my building. I pressed on regardless, wound up like a clock spring, watching and listening very intently, heartbeat well above normal, and feeling pretty nervous about all this. When I came to the turn-off to my equipment shack, the other tracks kept heading along the logging road and over the top of the next hill; wow, how do you spell relief?

I went in the shack and locked the door and sat for a moment to catch my breath.
Then I changed out the faulty blower motor, did the necessary tests, and finally ate my cold sandwich. I figured I had better get back to the Jeep before dark, so I strapped on the snowshoes again and headed back down the mountain. The other tracks were now just depressions because of the fresh snow; there was little definition to them. It was eerily quiet, getting dark, and snowing hard, and I was not feeling very brave. I was alone on the trail, but my imagination kept suggesting that a huge Sasquatch was following just a little distance back; this served to speed me on and scare the dickens out of me. Jogging on snowshoes is normal, but when one is going down hill it is more difficult, and worse when you are constantly looking back over your shoulder instead of watching where you are going. I took several tumbles, but was up instantly and on my way again. I must have made it back to the Jeep in record time. Thankfully, the Jeep started right away, the rear wheels took hold, and we backed out of there at full speed and took off down the hill toward Hope. I went back on Thursday armed with the camera determined to obtain proof of what I had seen, but the warm wind that came along after Tuesday’s snow had done it’s work. All that was left of those magnificent pedestals were a few little spikes where the prints had been.

Over the years I have often wondered what it might have been like to actually see or meet up with him. I shall never know, but regardless, it was quite an adventure for me and I will never forget it. In spite of all the myths and stories out there, I take a personal satisfaction from the fact that I am one of a small, unique group of people on this earth who can say with absolute conviction; “Yes, Virginia, there is a Sasquatch!”

END