out. Then the animal released Clark from its visual grip and casually shuffled off.
“It walked into the bush in just a few strides,” he said. “It didn’t run. It just calmly walked away like it couldn’t care less. They tell you not to be scared, but I was afraid.”
Clark had known about these creatures his whole life. Nuxalk traditional tales, passed down through the generations, speak of a pair of supernatural beings known as Boqs and Sninik, humanoids that are analogous to Sasquatches. Some in the community considered the animals to be a bad omen. Others claimed the creature’s very gaze could trigger a coma—or even death. As Clark stood stunned in the aftermath of his sighting, his mind flooded with scenario after terrifying scenario. Was the monster still watching him? Was it planning an ambush? Had it already cursed him? He’d heard that some people who had looked into the creatures’ eyes had gone mad. Maybe his spiraling fear was evidence that he too was now losing his mind.
The mortifying possibilities swirled into a vortex of dread. Clark had to flee. He tore off all his clothes and in an adrenaline-fueled feat of endurance crossed an ice-choked Bella Coola River delta, while holding his shotgun and clothes aloft to keep them dry.
Back in town, Clark’s uncle and grandfather found him slumped at the doorway, frazzled, wide-eyed, and teetering on the brink of hypothermic collapse. When they asked Clark what had happened, he tried to relate his story. But his speech was garbled and nonsensical. What little they did understand of his chattering gibberish was enough to alert them to what had happened.
The men did all they could to warm Clark up and calm him down. Later they burned sage and sang traditional chants to purify him of any negative emanations absorbed from the creature.
“I was naked during the ceremony,” Clark said. “They took my clothes and smoked those too—so the creature wouldn’t bother me. So it wouldn’t haunt me. But it still did.”
Clark’s fear and anguish deepened, and he was hospitalized for anxiety. After being discharged, days later, he underwent a complete transformation. Clark quit both smoking and drinking. He started going to church, and he took up drawing and painting. For a year he refused to go anywhere near the forest. Until he led me on the hike that afternoon, Clark had not once returned to the spot where he’d seen the creature three decades earlier. Neither had he climbed the nearby bluff where the animal, looking down on him, had so deeply altered the course of his life.
“I’d heard lots of Sasquatch stories before,” Clark said. “I used to tell people: ‘I’ll believe it when I see it.’ I never disbelieved it. I just said: ‘I’ll believe it when I see it.’ And when I did see it, I said: ‘Why me?’“
Ten days before meeting Clark, I had traveled from Toronto to British Columbia to work on a magazine story about the Great Bear Rainforest. After gaining a small amount of environmental protection in 2006, this lofty stretch of rugged coastline (best known for the white Kermode bear, or “spirit bear”) had been insinuating itself into the mind of the outside world. I had come to write about the area as an up-and-coming travel destination for those interested in seeing grizzly bears, going on hikes in primeval forests, and learning about the first peoples, who have inhabited this coast for at least fourteen thousand years.
But as is often the case with plans, little went as intended.
In the town of Bella Bella, on Campbell Island, the seat of the Heiltsuk First Nation, I found myself more interested in the people—and local goings-on—than in taking part in any touristy adventures on offer at the nonindigenous-owned local fishing lodge. While engaging with residents, I heard about a frightening incident. Months earlier, a monstrous humanoid had been seen on the edge of the community’s youth camp, located nearby at the mouth of the beautiful Koeye River on the mainland coast. It wasn’t the first such incident at the camp, I was told.
Deeply intrigued, I talked to two of the key eyewitnesses, a brother and sister in their teens, and implored them to tell me their stories. The mere mention of the incident caused them to stiffen and etched onto their faces something of the visceral fear they had experienced. They were hesitant to speak at first, but then they agreed. What stood before them that night, they insisted, was not a