Frank wasn't lost, because he knew where he was, and how to get back- but he didn't want to even think about returning yet. He was out here by choice, three weeks walk into the wilderness of the Canadian coast range- The last sign of another person he had seen was a trappers line, and a trail leading to an unseen cabin, sixteen days before. He sighed contentedly, and adjusted the straps of his backpack.
The frozen ground made his journey possible, because the numerous creeks, swamps, muskeg and lakes would have made this same journey take almost all of the short summer. He alternated between his short specialy made telemarking skis, when the weather was cold and the snow hard enough, and his snowshoes when the temperature softened the snow too much. He had waited out a blizzard of two days, huddled in a snow shelter, nursing his fist sized fire, and keeping the smoke hole from freazing closed and suffocating him. He had slept in short naps of half an hour at a time, his mind going elsewhere in a kind of trance, thinking of nothing, or at times remembering a snapshot of the hustle and bustle of civilization.
Those thoughts almost always made him uneasy, and he had to listen to the silence, and the easy breath of his lungs, calming again into his waiting trance, like an animal in his burrow. He had three months to spend as he wished, and he wanted to get so far away from everything civilized that he could go for days without thinking about it. Every evening before setting up camp, he would set four snares, and some days he caught some small animal, and others he had to content himself with concentrated freeze-dried rations.
He didn't pay much mind to what he caught, being perfectly willing to eat weasel as well as snowshoe hare.
Certain varieties of moss made a good tea, full of vitimins, and luckly grew on trees, instead of under the snow.
He grew lean and fit, and had to adjust his pack straps to account for his increased shoulders, and decreased waist.
He let his tiny fire go out, and snuggled into his warm bag, hat protecting his head, and lean-to only blocking part of the brilliant starry sky and dancing northern lights.
Frank woke up, and wished he hadn't. He was in the bottom of his sleeping bag, which was being thumped rythmicaly against a slightly resiliant surface, jostling him, over and over. The slight resiliancy made no difference, after a short while, because it went on, and on, and on. It almost seemed he was being carried, but that was impossible, because there was noone who could carry a full grown man- Well, at seventeen he was man sized, anyway- like a sack of potatoes, while running full stride through the snow. Perhaps there were a few men who could accomplish that for fifteen minutes, but as he kept waiting for whoever was carrying him to tire, take a rest, start breathing with the exertion, the steady bouncing continued. Perhaps he lost track of time, but if that was the case, wouldn't it seem like less time, if he passed out on occasion? But it kept on and on, his bladder telling him it must be after nine in the morning, finaly he could not contain himself any more, and managed to releave himself into the bottom corner of the sleeping bag without befouling himself too much- and the odor wasn't much worse than it had been before. The stuffy air of the sleeping bag had been rank with a very strong musky odor from the moment he had become aware of his pecular circumstances.
The tireless running pace never slackened, and the timing of the footfalls and jostling was strange also, if anything could be said to be not strange about his position. He had thought at first it might be a bear, hauling him off, but what bear would keep running for so long? Bears were only good for short sprints of exertion, and didn't run upright. He had an idea, that kept growing despite his unwillingness to believe, after about the fourth hour of his nightmarish confinement within his formerly contentment inducing sleeping bag. The zipper was out of reach, bunched up in the cinched fabric from which he was dangled like a sack of apples. He was dizzyed by the swaying, and the lack of fresh air, the musky odor, and brused by the repeated pumling and jostling, cramped by his position, terrified by the growing acceptance of just what it was carrying him, changing his former beliefs and understandings with a new view of a creature he had formerly thought of as only a myth. There was only one answer, and it was beyond all his previous comprehension. He had to believe, because he was experiencing it- There was such a thing as Bigfoot, and he was now it's captive.
Frank must have passed out at some point, when he woke up it was daylight.
He lay still, and when he didn't hear any noise, he slowly parted the end of the sleeping bag, and breathed in the blessedly fresh air.
He could still smell the musky scent of the bigfoot, but had become almost used to it, and had become so acustomed to being carried that the stillness of lying on the soft branches his bag had been placed on that he felt like he was still rocking along the forrest floor.
He froze when he heard a rumbling sound, then he realized it was a deep soft snoring. Listening further, he became aware that it was actualy several sets of snores. He cautiously folded back the flap of the sleeping bag, and found himself looking into a pair of inquisitive dark eyes! He recoiled at the same time as the owner of the eyes, and huddled under his bedding like a frightened child, after all, these creatures were more tangible than imaginary monsters under the bed. His mind reviewed what he had seen, and slowly, like a developing instamatic photo, the image resolved into a curious face, with intelligent and curious eyes, covered with white fur, possessing pink shell like ears, powerful shoulders, broad hands with large strong fingers, wide black fingernails, flatish fur covered breasts with naked patches surrounding large pink nipples the size of his thumbs- Yes, the creature was certainly a female!
It didn't seem to be as large as the one which had carried him here, being only about half a foot taller than him, as near as he could tell from it's crouched position nearby. He wondered about the lighter coloration, and smaller size, it- She, he decided to think- had dark eyes, so it- She, he reminded himself- wasn't an albino. He wondered if she was a yeti that the bigfoots had adopted, and had to stuff part of the sleepingbag into his mouth to stifle his hysterical giggles.
As he lay there shaking silently, a gentle hand pulled back the flap of fabric which was covering his face with gentle concern. The look of confusion on her face set him off even more, and he was practicaly spasming with delayed hysterics, making snuffling snorting noises in his losing attempt to keep his laughter silent. She cautiously touched him, trying to comfort him in his supposed distress, and he couldn't hold his insane laughter anymore, breaking the early morning quiet with whoops and caws like a demented crow. She retreated to a safe distance, with such a look of alarm and startled bewilderment, that Frank did the impossible, and laughed even harder. The other Yeti woke up, and he saw that there were three others, A large male, a slightly smaller male, and a large female, all colored a dark brown, with black noses and palms and skin. Even their tongues were black, and their eyes were dark brown. They all looked at him in amazement, and he continued to disturb the morning with his hysteria.
When Frank finaly stopped laughing, mainly because he was too weak to continue, and his guffaws had long since turned to silent sobs of dispair, he dozed off in utter emotional exaustion. He roused enough to open one eye every once in a while, his subconcious mind keeping track of his danger level, staying somewhat aware of what the bigfoot family was up to. They also kept a wary eye on him as well, as they went about their business. They groomed eachother, combing through eachother's fur with their fingers, cracking any parasitic insects they found between their broad front teeth.
They seemed to have vegetarian teeth, broad flat molars, the front teeth flat and suited for chopping vegetation. He saw them eating evergreen needles, the young tender spring green shoots of new growth. That might have something to do with the powerful odor they exuded. They seemed to have a language that consisted of soft hooting, grunts, and arm waving.
Frank imagined that with such a simple existance, there might not be all that much to discuss. Once he got up and went into the bushes to pee, but they didn't pay him much attention, and there wasn't anywhere he could really go anyway, his boots were who knows how far away, back at his previous camp.
He finished his business and returned to his sleepingbag, under the rock overhang, on the soft pile of branches.
.... There is more of this story ...