
My parents and my two sisters were
going to Yakima for some kind of Indigenous roundup and pow wow. Since I was 18
years old they gave me the choice of coming along like a kid or staying home.
Of course I elected to stay home. I had an idea which I had be formulated for
some time. I thought a nice free weekend without family would be just about the
time I needed.
At one time, my peeps, the Snohomish
people had a village on Hat Island, a tiny spot of land out in Possession Sound
between Everett and Whidbey Island. The village which was washed away by a
tidal wave had been on the north end of the island. This was where I wanted to
spend a night. I was curious as heck. I wondered if there was anything of them
left there. I mean something intangible. Not ghosts, or anything silly. I just
wondered if I could feel them after all this time.
There is a little ferry that goes
over there on weekends a few times.
I gathered my gear on Friday after
the family took off. I was loaded. I had a one man nylon tent, hotdogs, instant
coffee, energy bars for breakfast, sugar, cup and a roll of paper towels, spare
socks, and anything else I could think of that might come in handy. I had a
modern flashlight too. I was not armed, unfortunately, but most of us aren’t
carrying around here with the law the way it is. I had a good knife for utility
purposes. Coat, hat, and high topped sneakers. I may have forgotten to list a
few things here.
Oh, my name is Bob Jones. An almost
invisible name. It seems like I should have an Indian name, but my grandparents
were long dead before I was born, and nobody was handing out Indian names to
kids born in the 2000s.
Thus prepared and loaded, I boarded
the small passenger ferry at the Everett Yacht Club and took the short trip over
to the island. Fewer than 30 people live there year round, but Hat Island does
get visitors. Heck, I was one!
It’s a short walk from the ferry
dock to the north end of the island. It was still daylight; it’s early summer
right now. The weather was warm, but felt like rain was coming. Clouds were
starting to cover the sun. Well, that’s fine. We know about rain around here.
I was pretty tickled that nobody knew
where I was. I carry a phone like everybody else, in case of trouble. I didn’t
expect trouble. Who does?
By the time I got to the north end
of the island the wind was kicking up. There were some white caps out on the
water. I started looking around for a good camping spot. I thought I’d like to
be on the sand, but up near the trees for cover from some of the wind and rain.
I mean, if the storm that seemed to be coming did come.
The place I liked was close to the
forest but still down on the top of the beach. There were logs scattered
around, very big logs. My spot was kind of down in a sandy dip between two of
those logs which were high enough to provide some shelter. It just felt right.
So, I popped the tent up there. I stuck my backpack just inside the opening,
out of sight.
A fire seemed like the next thing.
There was smaller driftwood all over the beach. It was an easy job to haul a
bunch of it up by my tent. It was starting to get dark, so I went ahead and made
a good hot little fire on the sand. My lighter is one of the things I forgot to
list up there at the top of this story. I lit a Camel. (Yeah, I know, Mom.)
Then, I decided that it was dinner
time. Hotdogs are easy. You don’t even need a pan. A stick will do. I ate three
in a row and drank a bottle of chocolate milk. Didn’t list that either.
It got dark and started raining a
little. I checked my phone. No messages. I was feeling pretty good. I thought that
yes, this would have been a good place for a village back then in those days. I
did sort of sense a presence there, in a light way. Of course that could have
been my imagination.
What was not my imagination was a
guy I saw down at the edge of the water. He was walking out of the Sound like
he had been swimming out there. What the heck? I couldn’t see much about him,
except that he was big. Real big, and he was heading straight for my fire.
Maybe he wanted to get warm and dry off.
I watched and waited, not knowing
what kind of guy would be swimming out there at night. I thought about saying
something, but the wind was loud and I didn’t know what to say.
When this guy got to about 50 feet
away and was approaching the firelight, I could see that he was not a regular
guy. Of course, I knew about Sasquatch. You’d have to live in a cave not to
know, right? This guy was 7 feet tall, covered in almost black hair, and must
have weighed nearly 500 pounds. OK. What next? His move.
He limped up to my fire and stood
there dripping. I saw that he had a wound on his left foot.
“You’re kidding,” I said reflexively.
I think my mouth might have been hanging open.
He smiled and shook his head. He
held up both palms to me and then to the fire. So maybe he did want to warm up.
Not knowing how to communicate, I
just patted a spot on the sand near the fire. He sighed and took a seat. I had
never been near such a large person before. Maybe he was hungry.
“You hungry?” I said, not knowing
what else to say.
He nodded, and smiled again. So I
demonstrated how to roast a dog on the fire and put it into a bun. I gave it to
him. He took it delicately in between his right thumb and forefinger and ate it
in two bites. Then he smiled again.
I indicated with my hands that he could
help himself. He was a fast learner. He roasted three more hotdogs and tucked
them carefully into rolls and ate them quickly. So, I gave him my other bottle
of chocolate milk, having demonstrated that you drink from the little bottle.
I bet you thought this was going to
be a scary story. Surprise!
“Do you have a name?” I said after
we had been just sitting by the fire for a while.
He looked amused. Finally, he said, “Big.”
I will never know what he thought I had asked him.
The wind kept blowing, the rain got
heavier. I put more wood on the fire once in a while. It was nice to have
company, even if we couldn’t talk much. I noticed that the gash on his foot
looked deep and painful.
We were doing fine, but then
something weird happened. The tide had come in, so that the water was closer to
my campsite. Something was crawling out of the water. It was low and long, like
15 feet long. I pointed it out to Big. He frowned and stared. He jumped to his
feet and started screaming. It just about blew me over. He grabbed my arm and pointed
to his foot and then pointed down the beach at this slithering thing. I got the
point pretty quick.
Big grabbed a log and headed down
the beach. I followed him. What I saw was horrifying. It could only be
described as a Sea Monster. It had bulging eyes and vicious teeth, and it was
hissing as it headed up the beach.
Big hit him square on with the
section of log he had armed himself with, then he started grabbing rocks and
piling those in on the monster. I grabbed all the rocks I could find and threw
them too.
The beast kept hissing and trying to
reach Big, but it was too late. Its body was broken.
The monster died there on the beach
while the wind blew white caps up on the waves and the rain beat down.
Big dragged the dead thing down to
the water of the Sound and threw it in. It floated there, barely showing in the
dim light of the sky.
We went back up to the fire. I piled
on some more fuel, then we ate the energy bars. Big indicated that he would
stay by the fire to sleep. I was beginning to think that I could hear him
thinking. I crawled into my tent and went to sleep in my wet clothing.
In the morning, the sun was shining
from over the mountains to the east and Big was gone. I saw no sign of the dead
monster out on the Sound. And when the Saturday morning run of the ferry came,
I was on it. I sat there among the few other riders, squinting into the light
and wondering what any of them would think of my story.
The only person I told was my younger
sister who knew how to keep her trap shut, and would believe me. She did, and
she was sorry to have missed it herself.
πΎ