This wasn’t the first time I’d gone in search of that indomitable creature that stalks these misty hills, creeping through rain-soaked and moss-drenched nurse logs. The aloof man-ape known to some as Bigfoot. Others call this mystic beast the sasquatch, yeti, a shaggy guide to a higher consciousness and secret wave breaks. No sir, it wasn’t the first, as anyone who has shared a fire with me knows.
But it was one of the better trips. Sometimes a sortie into sword ferns and driftwood pileups ends with wet socks and a messed up knee. Especially when you’re taking off in the middle of February. Our destination was LaPush, deep along the Olympic Peninsula. It was uncharted territory for myself and Andy. But sure enough the sun was out, we skated the Forks Municipal Skatepark, Ando got some waves and I found some giant footprints.
As night settled in, we heard a banging of sticks coming from Bigfoot Island. You true believers know that a night time stick jam is textbook crypto megafauna behavior. As much as I wanted to make the 2am low tide crossing under a full moon, I was also recovering from a cold. True, I didn’t make contact with that bewhiskered rapscallion on this journey. But everyone knows this won’t be my last trip either.