Messing with Sasquatch

One night, dad and I were on our way back from putting boats in at Dagger Falls. Our route took us past Stanley into some of the most beautiful country in Central Idaho. Dagger falls is a cascading waterfall over giant boulders. It is located near the headwaters of the Middle Fork of the Salmon River. The most magnificent feature of the falls is when you hit it right, you get to see Salmon jumping. Anyone who has witnessed that will stipulate that the overall experience is mesmerizing.

Every time I went with dad to put boats in the river, whether it was on the Main Salmon or Middle Fork, I felt sad I couldn't go on the trip. Inflating the boats, loading up the food and supply boxes, and all the other details of preparation were all part of the great adventure into the unknown that each trip presented. Everyone looked like they were having fun–because they were!

After helping the boatmen, dad and I loaded up the truck with odds and ends and headed out. Our experience in the truck was also a great adventure into the unknown. Every trip on the road offered something exciting or intriguing or both. Riding along mountain highways and lonely dirt roads was exciting just by itself. The truck used in those days was a flat-nosed Ryder box truck. It was not huge, but to a young boy, it was plenty big. I enjoyed riding along and being up high where I could tower over everyone else on the road. Dad also bought treats for the road that made the trips fun.

In retrospect, I chuckle about those treats that dad bought. At home, dad was continually on a strict diet of salad and other “healthy” food that mom seemed determined to make him eat. On the road, health food seemed not to be allowed. He bought licorice, old-fashioned stick candy, potato chips, and pop. Dad’s favorite pop was Pepsi. He said that it calmed his upset stomach. It seemed his stomach was always upset! My favorite was Mello-Yellow. Drinking that caffeinated beverage made me feel like I was living on the edge.

On our way back, it became late and there was no moon. The night was pitch-black–so black you couldn't see your hand in front of your face. Riding in the truck was cool because I could follow the contour of the road quite a distance because of the headlights beaming out, especially when they were on high beam. Seeing the dark shapes of the trees and terrain in the periphery of the headlights was haunting. I imagined what could possibly be out there in the forest, lurking in the shadows. I shivered at the thought. No doubt, bears and mountain lions were out there just waiting for a chance to chew my leg off!

Just as we passed Clayton, a small bump-in-the-road town along the upper Salmon River, we rounded a bend in the road just as a creature stood up from a crouching position on the right side of the road. The river was on our left. When we first spotted the creature, it was at the furthest reaches of the headlights out in front of us, but dad hit the brakes and slowed down quickly.

Damn! What is that?! dad yelled. I was speechless.

The creature looked our direction and then walked across the highway. His face was level with mine. The creature’s body was dark and appeared to be covered in long hair. He had long arms and as he strode across the road, his arms swung at his side in long, methodical movements. The creature seemed to be bored with our presence even though he looked at us for a moment and then looked in front of him and seemed intent on getting across the road.

At the other side of the highway, the creature disappeared into the trees. Dad was silent for a moment and then he said, “Jeff, did you see that thing we just passed?” “He strode across this two-lane highway in only about six steps!”

All I could muster were a few words and grunts of affirmation. Not only did I have shivers going up my spine, the hair was standing straight up on the back of my neck. “That had to be Bigfoot,” I said.

“No doubt about it,” dad said in a stern voice. I could tell he was nervous and a bit mystified. “We just saw Bigfoot!”

Western Rivers

The river was a central focus in the life of everyone who lived in Salmon, Idaho. Lewis and Clark, the early American explorers, walked through the Salmon River Valley on their way to the Pacific Ocean. They hoped to use the river as a means of travel which would assure a quick passage through the high mountains and on to the ocean. The Indians warned them that the river was not passable because of the rough waters. It would swamp their canoes. They called it the “River of No Return.”

When I was around 12 or 13 years-old, I floated the river from the Shoup Bridge by our house down into town. I wore no life jacket and used only an inner tube. We didn't even own a life jacket. Safety measures were not high on our priority list at that age. Even though we played in the river and swam in it often, the idea of wearing a life vest was lost. It would be too cumbersome and would get in the way! Luckily, nobody died.

Dad began a summer job in the summer of 1974 when I was ten years-old. Because he was a school teacher and did not make enough money to support a big family on just that income, he had to take summer work every year in order to make ends meet. That year, he went to work for Western Rivers Expeditions, a company owned by a man named Jack Curry from the Salt Lake City area.

Jack was an early pioneer in the river running business. He invented a type of boat called a “J-Rig” that used a series of ‘J’ shaped neoprene pontoons hooked together side-by-side. They were used on the rivers in Idaho and Colorado and even used on the ocean where Jack leased a small island in Truk in the Eastern Carolines. I knew that dad thought a lot of Jack and liked him, as he often talked respectful of him when it came to river-running.

Dad’s job with Western Rivers was to drive truck. The first few years, dad took the boats to the put-in point on the river, and then he waited a few days when he picked them up at the end of the trips. Every trip that dad went on, he took one of us kids with him. Those were great adventures riding in the truck with dad and working on the river.

There were a lot of colorful characters who worked for Western Rivers. Some of them I learned to like a lot. Guys with names like Goldy, Zack, Scott, Steve, Sid, and Clay were boatmen and worked every week on the river with very little time off. They were all young men who were in excellent shape and had giant, bulging muscles. Being around those men was what prompted my drive to stay in good physical condition and work-out in order to build big muscles of my own. Dad used to say that Goldy’s arm muscles were so hard and defined that a fly would slip off his biceps. He was probably right!

Those ten years or so that dad worked for Western Rivers was full of adventure and intrigue. I watched the evolution of a company that was built by Jack and later on, bought by his son, Steve and a few other guys who had a different vision for how it should be ran. Changes were made and some of those changes resulted in operations that were not quite as efficient as hoped. 

I watched dad’s resilience as the company changed and his roles were tweaked. I heard his comments made at times on how he didn't think the company was being run right, but he was always loyal to his boss. That was a lesson for me. Always be loyal to the company even when things are not going as you like. Work for change within the system through proper channels and you will have your job as long as you wanted. Dad was always well-liked and respected by his co-workers.

I remember well the day dad came home and announced that he was going to work for the river company. I was excited! He was going to be a river guide and take dudes on float trips every week. As I recall, he went on a training trip and was gone for a week. When he returned, he announced that he was not going to be a guide. Instead, his job was going to be as the truck driver who put the boats in and then drove around to pick them up. I think that is what he wanted to do in the first place.

In those days, Western Rivers ran the Main Salmon River, the Selway, and Middle Fork of the Salmon. Put-in for the Main was a Corn Creek at the end of the road past Shoup. For the Middle Fork, it was at Dagger Falls. And for the Selway, put in was at Paradise. Riding in the truck with dad, I witnessed some of the most beautiful country on the face of the planet. I also experienced the scenery from the boats as each year, I had chances to float along on various stretches of the rivers.  

Gift Giving: Trials and Tribulations

Mom always made a big deal of celebrating my birthday.  There were times I thought she was just looking for a reason to buy goodies and have a party. Fact is, proof is always in the pudding and evidence indicated she really did love her kids and wanted us to feel loved, important, and extra special on our birthdays.

She also hoped for the same on her birthdays. I remember at least one time that dad fell short of mom’s expectations of birthday festivities, and she could let her angst be known. Mom had a way of exhibiting her displeasure without coming right out and saying, “I’m mad as hell because nobody made a big deal of my birthday like I expected you all to do!”

Fact is, dad tried, but he was handicapped by his maleness, in addition to chinks during his upbringing. His side of the family was not big on birthday celebrations and therefore, he didn't take them seriously…until mom lowered the boom on him and trained him up proper.  He got a baptism by fire on the subject!

After some of us kids got older and had resources of our own, we took the hint many times and multiplied dad’s birthday offerings for mom, with some of our own. There was at least one time when my gift-giving was not well-received. One particular time is branded into my memory, never to be forgotten. It occurred one year when I was eight or nine years-old and got ten extra bucks for my birthday money. I felt charitable and decided to spend it on mom’s birthday gift. Her special day was four days after mine, except on Leap Year.

I stuffed the cash into my Sears Tough Skins and walked down to one of the local clothing stores. I wasn't sure what I would find for my mom's birthday present but was sure there was something in that store that would please her immensely. After wandering aimlessly in the store for a few minutes, I noticed a rack of snow boots and they were on clearance! As far as I was concerned, a pair of good winter boots was a god-sent gift fit for a queen! Those particular boots were not your average run-of-the-mill boots. They were snowmobile boots with extra-thick felt liners, heavy duty rubber uppers topped with drawstring nylon leg huggers. And they were only eight bucks! My mind was so numb with excitement, I almost forgot to collect my change after I bought a pair for mom.

I was so elated I could hardly contain myself as I hauled those boots across the street, anxious to show them off to their new owner who was currently shopping for groceries. I walked into the store, all the while admiring how great those boots looked. It was beyond my ability to comprehend how anyone could not leap for joy at the prospect of having them. I was already coveting mom’s awesome gift!

Every boy, at some point in his life, crosses the threshold of his comfortable transcendental male reality and wanders into the dark and precarious realm known as gift-giving to women. He may initially learn the hard way that there are gender-specific gifts. He may learn through painful trials that generally, women prefer jewelry, nick-knacks, flowers, and things that will enhance their beauty. Men generally prefer knives, tools, hats, guns, and stuff for their cars. And maybe a man might settle for a pair of well-fitted winter boots for a birthday gift if the right pair is offered. Present a woman with a birthday gift of heavy, felt-lined winter boots and you might as well get into the “atomic position.” That is to say, you should bend over as far as possible and kiss your butt good-bye!

Running up to mom at the grocery check-out, I held up her spanking new birthday boots. “Mom, look at these great boots I got for your birthday!”

Her immediate reaction caused confusion and a wee bit of consternation. I had to do a double-take to make sure she was serious. I got that “look” followed by words indicating those boots would just not do.

How could any person who loved life and enjoyed playing in the snow turn down a pair of good winter boots!?  For a few seconds, my cranial head fuses misfired. This was the first time in my life that one of my gift offerings had been refused, and frankly, I didn't know what to do.

Dad, who was standing nearby, could see the cerebral dissonance written all over my face and he reacted quickly. Later, I supposed that he was good at that sort of conundrum I was feeling, probably from his own past experiences. He grabbed my hand and, with a big smile, offered to walk back to the store with me. On the way, he said a few soothing words that contributed to the re-building of my emotional wreckage. I don’t remember exactly what he said, but I do remember they were words related to coping with the mystery of gender gift-giving.

“Jeff, when it comes to clothes or shoes, just let women buy their own–it’s a lot safer that way." I've remembered that sage advice and followed it explicitly since that day, over forty years ago.

Generosity and Christmas Presents

Even as a three year-old, I doubted the Santa myth, but all the beautifully wrapped presents were quite convincing.

The first Christmas I have any coherent recollection of was the year I was three. That means I was three and would turn four in exactly 2 months from Christmas day. I was sick with a bad cold and tremendous ear aches. That was natural for me. Sinus and ear problems were as common for me when I was a kid as getting up in the morning and playing with my friends. Mom would hold me on her lap and try to console me. But how does anyone get consoled when their inner ears are attacking them? The spoonfuls of hot oil that mom tried, did nothing but take the dull throbbing aches to sharp levels of excruciating pain.

I walked out into the living room of our little Boise house and the first thing I saw was a giant piece of plywood that dad had nailed train rails on and painted roads and a giant, two dimensional city. He put train cars on the tracks, plugged in the power, and suddenly the train started moving around the track. I was mystified! The train emitted a pungent odor of hot electrical wiring that I will never forget.

I grabbed a few cars and began driving them along the black painted roads so beautifully brushed on the board. Dad was really creative and he didn't spare any expense to make his little boys really happy. Like most dads who buy their toddling boys big toys, he had as much or more fun playing with our new toy as we did. In fact, he was still playing with “his” new train set long after Mikey and I lost interest and went on to playing with the boxes that our toys came in.

Christmas was a time when we drove up to Pine Top and looked at all the Christmas lights. We sang Christmas carols as we drove along. It was family togetherness. Mom was a decent singer. Dad sang alright, but he made-up his own pitch to every song. Many years later, dad joined the Church Choir because “they needed more voices.” Barbara Young stopped midstream during one of the first rehearsals and invited dad and Steve __ to quit the choir. Apparently they didn't need more voices in the group; they needed more singers.

I remember the pretty combinations of red, green, blue, and white during the holiday season. There was always something magical about this season. Decorating the house and putting ornaments and lights on the Christmas tree was exciting. We always had a live tree that made the house smell like a forest. Sometimes mom bought tinsel and draped it on the tree to go along with the other decorations.

When I was around ten, for Christmas dad bought Mikey and me some leather craft kits. We each got the same kit with a wooden hammer and a number of metal leather tools for carving and decorating leather. With the kit came a number of projects like a key keeper, wallet, and comb protector. I didn't know there was a need for a comb protector until that year I got my leather craft set.

Most Christmases, mom and dad would have us kids give them our wish list. I seldom filled out my wish list because I liked to be surprised on Christmas morning. I was surprised at some of the gifts I ended up getting. My favorite gift of all time was a cassette recorder/player that I got on the Christmas when I was eight years-old. I had myself pegged to be the next great country western singer like Jim Reeves. Recording my song of “Billy Bayou” accompanied with my guitar that was missing two strings, was a hit with my mother.

Even though money was tight, mom and dad always tried to make Christmas special. I suppose it was because Christmas for them as kids was not that special. Dad talked about feeling happy as a kid to get a pair of new socks and an orange at Christmas time. I always felt sorry for him that he didn't get cool toys and trucks. I also felt sorry for all the poor kids in Salmon that I knew did not have a Merry Christmas. The kids with alcoholic fathers or out-of-work parents (and there were quite a few) were the focus of my sorrow.  

When I was around six or seven, I knew for sure that Santa Claus was a fraud. Nobody tried to talk me out of it because I didn't say much about my epiphany. Also, even though I knew it was a sham, I liked to play along. Fantasy, even though the real truth was evident, was still fun. Looking out the window on the night of Christmas Eve and imagining I saw Santa’s sleigh flying through the air was exciting.

Christmas was also a time for TV. Cartoon Christmas specials were a big hit in the Hicks House. Even though I had seen the same specials every year, they were still fun to watch. Watching the numerous commercials during the programs even had an element of excitement.

One year, Grandma and Grandpa Henry came to visit for  the holidays. I suppose I was around nine years old. I knew that mom's folks were wealthy and mom and dad threatened us kids to adhere to proper decorum. That means we were forbidden to ask for money or to accept it if offered unless it was authorized by mom or dad.

Dad was a school teacher which meant that payday for him was always at the end of the month. This particular Christmas, it was a few days until there would be any money in dad's and mom's bank account. Grandpa Henry offered to spot dad some cash for Christmas. He could reimburse him on payday. Dad accepted. Grandpa pulled a giant wad of cash out of his pocket that was held together with a diamond-studded money clip. He rolled out a handful of $100 bills and handed them to dad. That was the most money I had ever seen.

That was the first time that “generosity” had meaning in my conscious. Merry Christmas to us.    

Lost

Camping was a big deal for my family. Every summer and clear into the fall during hunting season, we braved the wilds. I looked forward to camping. This was a chance to go far from home and be close to nature. Playing close to a lake or river was always a thrill. Roughing it was a favorite pastime. Dad taught Mikey and me how to cook in a Dutch Oven, build a decent fire, fish, hunt, and how to sleep comfortably when there was no bed present.

The summer of 1972, we drove into the Idaho back country and camped in the Yellow Jacket country. This is the area where many decades earlier, Grandpa Harry lived with his dad who drove a team of horses in supporting the mining effort in that area. Grandpa mentioned Yellow Jacket many times in his life history.

Going into this rough country was a problem for our Ford van. It simply wouldn't go over some of the steep mountain passes we needed to climb. Fortunately, Cousin Vic had his four-wheel drive jeep. He towed us up a few of the steeper mountains.

The first night, we camped next to a high mountain lake. Dad, Vic and Mikey went down to the lake to do some fishing. Mom stayed back at camp and started preparing dinner. I grabbed my fishing pole and headed down the trail that I thought dad and the others had taken. After walking for a few minutes, I realized that I was all alone and all about me was absolutely quiet.

I stopped and looked around. I tried as hard as I could to hear any sounds of other human beings. Suddenly, I felt a huge panic set-in. I had not felt such an overwhelming feeling of fear ever before in my life. My phobias seemed to compound and I felt I would never see another person again. Even though I was probably only a few hundred yards from our camp and from dad who was fishing near the lake, I transformed into a crazed nut! I threw my pole down and ran as fast as I could down the trail, screaming all the way.

Mikey, who was near dad’s location, heard my distant screams. He ran in the direction of the sound. It’s a good thing he could run fast and was nearby. When he finally caught up with me, I was running in the wrong direction and had lost all sense of coherence. He grabbed and held onto my jacket until I had calmed down. Even though I was sure Mikey was my enemy much of the time, at that moment, I was happy he found me and stopped me from running into the forest and far away. No doubt I would have really been lost if he hadn't come after me.

It was during this period of my life that I often felt like a timid whelp scared of my own shadow. I had a phobia of being lost and separated from familiar surroundings and family members. Even though I carried a Buck knife on my belt, it did not alleviate the incredible fear I felt most of the time. Mom and dad tried to pry out of me the cause of my fear, but I had no way to adequately tell them what I was feeling. In addition to that, I felt ashamed  and didn't want them to think I was less of a person. I knew deep down inside, I had problems, but didn't know what to do about it.

The next day, we traveled up to the Yellow Jacket mine and camped there. Dad and Vic panned for gold and found a bit of color. Littering the ground was refuse from the mining operations from a bygone era. Here and there, we found bits of dynamite. Dad warned us not to play with the stuff and to report anything that looked like a giant firecracker. Like most kids, we just ran around and did what we wanted. Fortunately, we were not killed or maimed and had an abundance of fun.