The Wasatch Behind: Big foot found in south

By Sun Advocate

“Did you hear the news?” I asked Uncle Spud. “A couple of guys in Georgia claim they found Bigfoot.”
“No kidding?” he answered. “I’ve been watching Bigfoot on TV all week. His name is Michael Phelps and he’s won eight gold medals swimming in the Olympics. Did you know the guy wears a size 14 shoe? No wonder he wins so many gold medals. With feet that big it’s like he’s wearing flippers.”
“I’m serious,” I insisted. “This is supposed to be a real Bigfoot, not some big-footed guy in a swimming pool. This Bigfoot was found deep in a swamp and they say he’s seven foot seven and weighs almost 500 pounds.”
“How did they catch him to weigh him?” Spud asked, beginning to show some real interest.
“They say they found ole Bigfoot dead,” I explained. “They told the TV people they brought the body out and put it in a freezer.”
“Have scientists had a chance to study it yet?” he asked.
“Not yet,” I confessed. “All we’ve seen so far is a few pictures.”
“I’d be real suspicious until the DNA testing is done,” Spud smiled. “Most Bigfoots are about five foot nine and weigh around 160 pounds.”
“How do you know about Bigfoot?” I asked with some suspicion.
“All of us old mountain men knew the Bigfeet,” Spud smiled. “They’re close cousins to the Blackfeet. The Bigfeet and Blackfeet tribes used to have family reunions at Moccasin Lake every Fourth of July. I got invited a couple of times.”
“But this wasn’t some Indian they found down there in Georgia,” I insisted. “This was a real Bigfoot. You know, the elusive monster of legend and myth, the creature the Native Americans call Sasquatch.”
“I knew old Sasquatch, too,” Spud grinned. “Sasquatch was a chief of the Bigfoot tribe. In fact, the last time I saw ole Sasquatch he was chief activities director.”
“You’re out of your mind,” I groaned.
“The Bigfoots have a lot of chiefs,” Spud said, very matter of fact. “They have a chief athletic director, chief song leader, chief storyteller, even a chief cook and bottle washer. Chief activities director is an important job. The Bigfoots play Bingo every Saturday night.”
“You don’t understand,” I said. “We’re not talking about a tribe of Indians here. Bigfoot is supposed to be an unknown species of great ape that still roams the world’s most remote forests and swamps. They’ve been seen all over the world. People call them by different names. In China and Tibet they’re called Yeti, or the Abominable Snowman. In the Pacific Northwest they’re called Sasquatch. In the swamps of the southern United States they’re called skunk apes. In Australia they’re called Yowie.”
“Yowie?”
“I’ll bet that’s what some lonesome kangaroo herder said when he first ran into one,” I smiled. “No kidding, look it up. Yowie is famous in Australia.”
“So the Bigfoot the guys found in Georgia is not an Indian but some kind of weird hairy monster that sneaks around in the backcountry and scares the tourists. Is that right?” Spud asked.
“That’s it,” I said.
“Are they dangerous?” “No, they don’t seem to be,” I offered. “At least no one has ever reported being attacked by a Bigfoot that I’m aware of.”
“So how do you tell a Bigfoot from a big black bear?” Spud asked.
“Scientists and Sasquatch researchers say Bigfoot looks like an ape-man with dark shaggy hair, human-like features, a terrible smell, and big bare feet,” I said.
“Holy cow,” Spud sputtered. “I did see one of those creatures after all. It was down by Moab last summer. I was hiking a remote slickrock trail when this big shaggy creature passed me on a mountain bike …”
“Forget it,” I scolded.