I was sitting on the couch last night with the 7-year-old hurricane boy and 8-year-old princess, watching Animal Planet’s “Finding Bigfoot.” I’m not much of a believer in Bigfoot but I must admit that I do have at least a passing infatuation with the subject and perhaps a small percentage, let’s say 10 percent, belief maybe he exists.
“Finding Bigfoot,” in case you are unaware, is a weekly, daily or hourly show, depending on how often Animal Planet decides to air the numerous different shows attempting to find Bigfoot.
“Finding Bigfoot” episodes always follow the same pattern. First, a group of supposed “Bigfoot experts” travel to a place where Bigfoot has purportedly been sighted. I’m not sure how you become an expert on Bigfoot when, to my knowledge, no one yet has any real proof Bigfoot exists. Nevertheless, the show has Cliff, the founder of a Bigfoot organization that hunts for Bigfoot which has a name I have forgotten; another big mystical fellow Bobo, who claims to have seen Bigfoot on several occasions; another fellow Matt who probably has some Indian blood or other type biological advantage, which should help in connecting with Bigfoot, and the fourth person is a female biologist, Ranae, who is skeptical of the claims, although on every episode she at least pretends to be somewhat swayed.
After arriving at the location, the crew will usually meet with townspeople who will tell about an encounter and, based on these encounters, the crew will go to a particular place and film their attempt to find a Bigfoot for part of one night. I don’t mean to be a pessimist, but people have been trying to find Bigfoot for at least 50 years and, according to historical accounts, probably 3,000 years. A one-night stay in the woods, even if it is a supposed Bigfoot hotspot, does not seem too likely to produce results.
After staying in the woods all night, at some point the crew will think they may hear, smell or perhaps just sense a Bigfoot. Often, they will hear a twig snap or claim a rock has been thrown into the woods or some other event which is not recorded by film but seriously considered by the Bigfoot expedition. Invariably, about this time, Bobo will announce that “there’s a Squatch in these woods somewhere.”
Now, you see, you have to be a very experienced Bigfoot hunter to refer to Bigfoot not only as Sasquatch, the Indian name for Bigfoot, but to use the shortened version, Squatch. One should never refer to Bigfoot as Squatch unless they have gained great familiarity with the beast, because legend has it that calling a Bigfoot Squatch without these credentials, could result in one becoming an Ice Road Trucker or River Log Diver.
The 7-year-old hurricane is uniquely interested in the search for a Squatch. He, too, calls them Squatches, since when he was about 4 years old he claimed, as he was riding his John Deere around our backyard, that he saw a Bigfoot lumber toward the edge of the pool and he barely managed to make it back into the house.
Quite frankly, I never really considered a Bigfoot might be living in the three-acre woods beside my house, but then again I never considered my health care plan would be forced to pay for people to have sex change operations either. I mean, a little further down the road we actually have a creek with a rather large swamp area, but who would have ever thought a “Squatch” might be living right there?
I plan on calling Finding Bigfoot next week, so maybe they can plan an expedition in our back yard. They can hide in the bushes, turn all green with their night vision cameras, and maybe catch a Squatch. If not, I think there’s a pretty good chance they can catch an 80-pound rumbling hurricane.
Contact columnist T. Gamble at email@example.com.