When I awoke one morning last month, it hit me. Oh my God, I can do this. The next day was Saturday, Sept. 15, practically a holiday in the Humboldt Nation. Opening day of deer hunting season on the North Coast.
The lightbulb moment: I would pose as a deer hunter. While thousands of legit hunters sought only to nail another four-point rack to their garage walls, I’d be aiming to put a 30-.06 slug square into Bigfoot’s skull. A Sasquatch Soldier of Fortune, hidden in plain sight! Popping out of my pickup truck clad in Army camos, then popping the Abominable Snowman right in his furry, black dome. This one’s for you, Grover Krantz, I vowed hungrily. It’s not that I had blood-lust or anything; I gave up deer hunting precisely because I couldn’t kill one. But Bigfoot was different. Providing the scientific community with a specimen would not only solve one of the greatest modern natural mysteries, but would also likely result in endangered species protection. Both man and Bigfoot would stand to gain.
Tremendously. Bigfoot’s habitat: Humboldt County’s Redwood National and State Park. After breakfast I informed my wife that I’d be gone for a couple of days, but not to worry. I soon located my hunting license, which had been gathering dust in a nightstand drawer. It needed only to be renewed at Fish and Game, downtown. One problem: I’d long since sold my deer rifle. A new one and a box of bullets would cost a few hundred bucks, out the door. But I needed it quickly — an impulse buy. Tomorrow was going to be the big day! An hour later I drove dejectedly home from Big 5 Sporting Goods, inwardly conceding that perhaps the 10-day firearm waiting period wasn’t such a bad thing after all.
On a clear, sunny afternoon in northeastern Humboldt County 40 years ago this week, a horseback-riding Bigfooter named Roger Patterson captured on a home movie film-spool a grainy, jumpy flick that depicts a massive, hirsute, bipedal creature ambling along a creek bed. An instantly recognizable pop culture icon, the so-called Patterson-Gimlin Film rescued Bigfoot from the Shocking! Amazing! pages of the tabloid glossies, finally confirming the source of those huge footprints Humboldt County logging crews had been seeing for 10 years. Patterson’s Bigfoot — later nicknamed “Patty” — even left six-by-14-inch footprints in the bluish-gray clay soil. Patterson’s footage, known as “PGF” in Bigfoot circles, is regarded as the Zapruder Film of cryptozoology. (Cryptozoology: The study of animals whose existence has not been substantiated by mainstream science.)
The comparison, however, unfairly neglects PGF’s runaway popularity: While Wikipedia devotes 2,567 words to the 1963 celluloid assassination of John F. Kennedy, PGF is treated to a nearly 7,000-word analysis on the online encyclopedia.
by www.thesupernaturalworld.co.uk
The lightbulb moment: I would pose as a deer hunter. While thousands of legit hunters sought only to nail another four-point rack to their garage walls, I’d be aiming to put a 30-.06 slug square into Bigfoot’s skull. A Sasquatch Soldier of Fortune, hidden in plain sight! Popping out of my pickup truck clad in Army camos, then popping the Abominable Snowman right in his furry, black dome. This one’s for you, Grover Krantz, I vowed hungrily. It’s not that I had blood-lust or anything; I gave up deer hunting precisely because I couldn’t kill one. But Bigfoot was different. Providing the scientific community with a specimen would not only solve one of the greatest modern natural mysteries, but would also likely result in endangered species protection. Both man and Bigfoot would stand to gain.
Tremendously. Bigfoot’s habitat: Humboldt County’s Redwood National and State Park. After breakfast I informed my wife that I’d be gone for a couple of days, but not to worry. I soon located my hunting license, which had been gathering dust in a nightstand drawer. It needed only to be renewed at Fish and Game, downtown. One problem: I’d long since sold my deer rifle. A new one and a box of bullets would cost a few hundred bucks, out the door. But I needed it quickly — an impulse buy. Tomorrow was going to be the big day! An hour later I drove dejectedly home from Big 5 Sporting Goods, inwardly conceding that perhaps the 10-day firearm waiting period wasn’t such a bad thing after all.
On a clear, sunny afternoon in northeastern Humboldt County 40 years ago this week, a horseback-riding Bigfooter named Roger Patterson captured on a home movie film-spool a grainy, jumpy flick that depicts a massive, hirsute, bipedal creature ambling along a creek bed. An instantly recognizable pop culture icon, the so-called Patterson-Gimlin Film rescued Bigfoot from the Shocking! Amazing! pages of the tabloid glossies, finally confirming the source of those huge footprints Humboldt County logging crews had been seeing for 10 years. Patterson’s Bigfoot — later nicknamed “Patty” — even left six-by-14-inch footprints in the bluish-gray clay soil. Patterson’s footage, known as “PGF” in Bigfoot circles, is regarded as the Zapruder Film of cryptozoology. (Cryptozoology: The study of animals whose existence has not been substantiated by mainstream science.)
The comparison, however, unfairly neglects PGF’s runaway popularity: While Wikipedia devotes 2,567 words to the 1963 celluloid assassination of John F. Kennedy, PGF is treated to a nearly 7,000-word analysis on the online encyclopedia.
by www.thesupernaturalworld.co.uk
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