In the Valleys of the Noble Bey - John Zada Page 0,24

climbed into the bunks in the loft area of the cabin. After dark the campers started hearing something moving through the bushes outside. They thought the smell of food had attracted a nearby bear. But whatever had come around soon crawled beneath the cabin, which was raised on stilts.

“The floorboard has cracks in it,” Mary says. “And we were overcome by this incredible stench. You know how a dirty, wet dog smells, right? But this was like ten times stronger. It was so stink.”

Aware of the bad smell associated with the creature, the campers concluded that the Sasquatch had returned and was now just a few feet beneath them. They became terrified. Seeking protection, the adults climbed up onto the bunks with the girls. For over an hour nobody moved, as they all listened to the animal beneath the cabin shifting around and occasionally knocking and scratching at the floor. It remained there and seemed to have no intention of going away.

“And then Marilyn lost it again,” Mary says, chuckling. “She screamed, ‘I can’t handle this anymore! Grab the gun!’ She ordered her husband to confront the Thla’thla. So the poor guy climbs down and takes the gun out of the case. He’s literally shaking, trying to load his twenty-two. He then swings the door open—and I swear he probably had his eyes closed because he was so terrified of what would be out there—and shoots his gun into the darkness. Bang-bang-bang-bang-bang! He then slams the door, pushes the dining table against it, and piles any movable objects on top to barricade us in.” Mary, engrossed in her own story, bursts into laughter. “As if that was going to help us,” she says. “If that thing wanted to get into the cabin that night, it would have.”

But it worked. The animal retreated from beneath the cabin, taking its rancid odor with it. At the crack of dawn, the terrified, sleepless campers took their things and piled into their boats and returned to Bella Bella.

When I ask Mary what most sticks out in her mind about the experience, she tells me it is the creature’s face. Its expression, she says, showed no intent to harm. Instead, it revealed only an intense curiosity.

“I think the only reason we were scared is what we learned growing up,” she says. “As kids we were told stories in which the Thla’thla—a wild woman of the woods—kidnaps children and puts them in a big basket she carries on her back. Those tales were used as cultural teachings—to teach the kids to listen to and respect their parents. And to discourage them from wandering too far off.”

“Do you think the Sasquatch is a supernatural being?”

“No, they’re normal flesh-and-blood creatures. The others would probably agree. I think they’re just smart and cautious animals that live deep in the woods. Nothing more.”

In my new capacity as the impartial Sasquatch investigator, I try to be detached as I consider Mary’s story, to play the devil’s advocate, as I had done with John Bindernagel. But there are few loose strings with which to pull the story apart.

I ask if she’s sure they hadn’t seen or smelled a bear.

“A hundred percent,” she says.

Did they look for tracks the next morning?

“No.”

Why not?

“There was no time. We were running for our lives. Plus we knew what we’d seen.”

I am fascinated by Mary’s story. It makes sense, concordant with all I know and have heard before about the animals: the typical crouching posture, the bad smell, the sometimes mischievous behavior. Plus, four witnesses were involved in the initial sighting. It is all too compelling.

I go over the arguments for and against the creature’s existence in an attempt to ground myself. In doing so, I’m reminded of how intractable the debate is. On one side you have the disciples of the rational notion that anything that can’t be shown to exist physically cannot exist. On the other is the view that when something can’t be seen, or can’t be shown to exist, this doesn’t prove it’s not there. As with the scripted debates between parliamentarians, the Sisyphean back-and-forth between the two always reaches an impasse: just when one side seems to get the upper hand, the other has a comment or answer that parries it, or a maneuver to deflect it, and everyone is back to square one.

Alvina’s place becomes a home away from home. Lots of people pass through on a daily basis. Grandchildren drop in, at any and all hours, for a snippet of