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.
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.
👾
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