Mythical Beast or Shy Giant?
Musings on Yeti and His Kin
When I started reading up on the Yeti and it’s
American cousin, Bigfoot, in preparation for this article, I wasn’t
surprised to find loads of information on the Internet. Predictably, there
were long lists of documented sightings, and vigorous arguments from the
naysayers. Some of the sightings are familiar, such as the 1951 discovery
of footprints by Eric Shipton. Shipton and his partner Michael Ward led
the Everest Reconnaissance Expedition that year. They were in Yeti
country. Very specific accounts of the creature have been common there for
generations. At about 18,000 feet they found footprints 18 inches long and
13 inches wide. Shipton took photographs and the team followed the tracks
for a mile before losing the trail.
The debunkers are quick to point out—practically in
unison—that melting snow can make a footprint seem to grow as it melts
from the inside out. Well, no kidding. But in Shipton’s account he goes
out of his way to describe the prints as clear and crisp, not blurred and
soft as melting prints would be. Plus, Shipton wasn’t alone up on
Everest that day. The past forty-odd years have given his companions ample
time to discredit his account if he were fibbing. But the thing that
boggles my mind is this: If the prints were human and simply expanded by
melting snow, who the heck was walking around two-thirds of the way up Mt.
Everest barefoot in the snow for at least a mile?
Much of the information on the Web is like the Shipton
example. On one hand are enthusiasts earnestly arguing for the validity of
well-known sightings, and on the other are skeptics gleefully poking holes
in the evidence. But the tales that really caught my attention were the
first person accounts from regular people who could relate their stories
with the relative anonymity afforded by the Internet.
Unlike some of the celebrated accounts, these witnesses
were not out in the woods hoping to meet Sasquatch. They didn’t have
cameras ready and they didn’t rush to sell the story to the tabloids.
Most of the accounts come from hunters or fishermen who were in remote,
thickly wooded, locales. Many say they didn’t notify local authorities
for fear of sounding like a kook. Their stories are plaintive and simple.
One couple was fishing near the Everglades. They heard something big in
the sawgrass and looked up expecting an alligator. Instead, they were
horrified to see something tall and hairy wading through the swamp a few
yards away. When they finally gathered the nerve to tell someone about the
experience, they found out they aren’t the only ones to have seen a
Skunk Ape, the backwoods Florida vernacular for whatever it is that
quietly inhabits the area.
Another account comes from a group of four
dove hunters. Out in the woods, they arrived at a strip of land cleared
for a line of high-tension electrical towers. Looking down the cleared
strip, one of the hunters saw something big, dark, and shaggy-looking out
in the open. He alerted his companions who assured him it was a burned-out
tree. Then all four watched speechless as the thing strode purposefully
across the clearing and disappeared into the forest.