In the Valleys of the Noble Bey - John Zada Page 0,17

in Montana. The man, it turned out, was impersonating a Sasquatch in a botched practical joke meant to frighten people.

“Hoaxing is taken as an explanation for all reports because it’s considered more plausible than a hidden animal,” Bindernagel fires back.

“But it does seem much more plausible an explanation.”

“Not when you know the facts,” he says. “These hoaxes would have to have been happening for centuries among the indigenous people before the Europeans arrived. And today they’d have to occur in the most unlikely places and times. During downpours, in the middle of the night, in places where there are hardly any people. Places you can only get to by floatplanes. Explanations of hoaxing are sometimes more far-fetched than explanations of a Sasquatch!”

By questioning Bindernagel, I feel myself becoming the personification of the skeptical establishment and doubtful general public. And that emboldens him. He is no longer addressing me but speaking to the rest of the world.

“When people see a Sasquatch walking,” he says, imitating a Bigfoot stride, “they realize they are not looking at a human in a fur suit. They see huge size and displays of extraordinary strength. They see great speed across the landscape. They’re also seeing fluidity and muscles rippling. People say, ‘This couldn’t just be a human in a fur suit.’“

“Yes, but how can any animal be so elusive as to completely avoid physical capture?” I say, shifting to what I take to be firmer ground. “Surely that must mystify you.”

Bindernagel shakes his head.

“No?” I say.

“The animal’s just hard to see. If you read about Jane Goodall in the early days with chimpanzees, or Birute Galdikas with orangutans, you’d understand that these primatologists didn’t just start observing chimps and orangs in the wild. They heard noises. And when the researchers approached them, the animals ran off. They didn’t get good views of these animals until after months of following them and getting them partly habituated. It’s the same with the Sasquatch.”

“But some researchers have been trying to habituate Sasquatches for years. And there’s still no firm proof.”

Bindernagel shrugs. “I can’t speak for everyone’s methods. These are very smart animals.”

The biologist’s conviction is unshakable. He has answers for everything and speaks as if reading from a memorized script. I decide to launch a bunker buster to pierce through his scholarly facade.

“Aren’t you afraid you’ve wasted your life?”

Bindernagel’s face drops. It’s a punch below the belt, and I regret asking the question. His calm and composure begin to break down.

“Deep down my work is about helping people who are mentally distressed by what they’ve seen. It’s about being able to say to them, ‘I understand your distress.’ In the meantime, yes, it’s difficult. And my wife, Joan, has suffered even more than I have.”

I refrain from responding, wanting neither to set him off nor to concede. But when his last answer fails to elicit any acknowledgment from me, the floodgates open.

“Gee whiz, John! Thousands of people are seeing this animal—and nobody wants to talk about it! All I’m saying is, there’s a conservative way to explain it: this simply is an upright great ape. Great apes exist on the planet!”

Later, as we drive along the gravel road that leads out of the forest, a red pickup truck emerges in the distance. Bindernagel, who has been quiet, pulls his vehicle to the right to make room for the other to pass. The truck creaks to a stop beside us. The driver, who is rolling down his window, is a young man in his late twenties. Sitting beside him is a blond woman of about the same age.

Bindernagel, coincidentally, knows him—a family friend named Carl. And for several minutes a conversation ensues.

“I’m still doing my Sasquatch research,” Bindernagel says at one point, changing the subject with a smile. “I’ve got trail cameras set up all around here. I’m getting some great wildlife shots.”

Carl and his girlfriend stiffen at the mention of the creature and glance at each other. “It’s funny you mention that,” Carl says. “Just the other day, a guy I know told me he saw a Sasquatch on Sonora Island last winter.”

Bindernagel’s jaw drops. His eyes nearly jump out of their sockets. “Oh, my goodness!” he growls, turning to me in amazement, his face contorted with gladness. “Well, go ahead, Carl! Do tell, do tell.”

“My friend was doing construction work alone outside at the wilderness resort there. At one point he glanced to his side and saw a huge hairy thing on two legs walking between him and