If you drive the
Oregon Bigfoot Highway, at some point during your travels a sasquatch
will watch you pass by. At least that is according to the book aptly
titled 'The Oregon Bigfoot Highway' by Joe Beelart and Cliff Olson.
As soon as I read that line, I knew it was time to plan a trip.
Since I was a kid
growing up in the humid, muggy, weird Midwest of America (I comment
on the weather because it's hot as the surface of the sun plus the collective heat of all the world's religious hells in
Portland right now, where I currently live), I have been intrigued by
the mystery of the unknown. I would wake up early every morning in
the summers to watch the Scifi channel reruns of the show 'Sightings'
hosted by Tim White. I would stay up late and listen to Art Bell or
George Noory on Coast to Coast AM on the radio. They would discuss aliens,
Bigfoot, ghosts, cattle mutilations, poltergeists, demons, and the
Men in Black, encounters with 'high strangeness'.
It's all something
we can relate to, right? Who isn't awed by the sublime horror of the
first Matrix film? In that sense, we are all attuned to the idea that
there is something not right with reality as we perceive it. And
these supernatural sightings are an example of that.
At the end of the
day, modernism has boxed in our ideas of what the universe is and
isn't, what we are and what we aren't, as any older mythology has. In
'modern' societies, most of us are so distracted by fake sport
tribalism, fake political tribalism, student loans, bills, work,
bills, work, taxes, netflix, the Bachelorette Rachel and her denial
of the perfect, man-god sex symbol whaboom!guy, super hero hyper-universes (hello Grant Morrison!),
social media, gossip, porn, bills, work, bills, taxes, the ghost of
Johnny Depp's career, you get what I'm saying right?
Cue video
of hamster running around in a wheel too fast and getting spun out.
Or to quote Pink
Floyd, 'we are two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after
year.' We really are limited by what we perceive the universe to be.
This is the age of Saturn, baby—the scythe god rendering us all the
useless matter of giants. We are trapped, and none of us know it.
'High strangeness'
encounters are Lovecraftian cosmic horror because they render the
experiencer at a complete loss—to put it another way, it's like
watching a television program and having one of the characters turn
to you, the viewer, and say, “You! Yes you! Save me, I'm trapped in
here!” It's impossible. It's horrifying. It destroys your sense of
reality. Your sense of self. But it also has the potential to render
YOU free of your 'box' of what is possible.
What if?
That was the first
question. And close second is:
How? How are these
strange paranormal sightings continuing to happen with no tangible
proof? And if you can have an 'experience' yourself, will you be set
free of the Matrix?
Currently I live in
Portland Oregon, not too far from the picturesque byway no. 5 that is
known on the maps as 224 and to Beelart and Olson as the Oregon
Bigfoot Highway. It takes you through Estacada, up into Mt. Hood
National Forest and the Willamette National Forest, and will deposit
the driver into a little town by a lake of the same name, Detroit. It
is also a hotbed of bigfoot sightings and high strangeness
encounters.
Our journey started
around noon on June 24, 2017 and took us southbound on 205, off exit
13 going east, and then southward towards Estacada. It was, as I have
mentioned earlier, a hot as the combined hotness of the sun plus the
world's religious hells kind of day (over 100 degrees Fahrenheit).
Our rented half of a duplex, like so many in overpriced PDX, has no
air conditioning, so being in an A/C enabled 2014 Mazda CX-5 was
actually a relief.
By the way, check
out the back of my car:
Now you know I am
serious.
The path down the
Clackamas highway, which as the name suggests, follows the Clackamas
river up into, you guessed it, the Clackamas river watershed. The
hottest weekend of the year so far drew more people than usual out of their
homes to relax, raft, and meander in the river. It was also the
Lavender festival weekend throughout Oregon.
Emily and I stopped
by an Eagle Creek ranch. It was chill.
A band played folksy laid back rhythms.
There was lavender
soap for sale. Lavender honey. Lavender jam.
Now things get fun because we drift into the Daimonic reality, the great Cosmic joke. We are entering a new world, folks, where, if you can believe, the impossible becomes the possible.
Our trip was taking us into the heart of bigfoot country, where anything can happen.
Lavender lemonade.
Lavender bath salt. Lavender you-cuts.
Emily purchased a
bbq rap from a vendor. I got a pulled pork sandwich. We reclined in
the shade of an oak tree as we ate our meals, the band jamming out, the ranch house behind us, the Clackamas river in front.
Swallows dived into the dark lackadaisical water of that particular
section of the river. Rafters competed with ducks for space in the
moving water. I think it was the exact kind of atmosphere that would
draw sasquatch in.
Perhaps before I go on, I should explain what the gentle giants are, to me at least. Though I am someone who has never had an encounter, but I have read several books on the topic.
Perhaps before I go on, I should explain what the gentle giants are, to me at least. Though I am someone who has never had an encounter, but I have read several books on the topic.
Bigfoot
is the Willy Nelson of
nature spirits. He's hairy. He stinks. He probably smokes weed. He
takes a lot of late night trips to taco bell. He votes strictly
Democrat unless it's
Hillary Clinton, then it’s Green
Party all the way,
baby. He’s the nowhere man in that Beatles song. He walks around
like a bare footed hippy. He's
a nudist. He's covered in hair, not fur, like
the burly overweight Eastern European guy who likes to go to hot
springs shirtless. He
enjoys the simpler
things in life. He likes kids because their
innocent. He is your lazy cousin who spent his
summer living inside a redwood tree with a group of similarly minded
nowhere people.
I’m
overpaying this hippy thing a
bit—I think it’s true, but every truth has a 'but'
(just like every person has a butt). Bigfoot, as a people, are
actually more like local organic farms that
are celebrated by urban hipsters
so much. They aren’t afraid to kill deer for
food. They aren’t above throwing rocks at
intruders (I’m pretty sure bigfoots arent a fan of guns, or fire
for that matter). Also bigfoots appear to be voyeurs. There are
accounts of them staring at people as they sleep in their truckbeds,
peeking through windows
into bedrooms as the occupants slumber, even watching human
television through same said windows.
Emily,
for one, says bigfoots scare her. I don't blame her. They
are reportedly 6 to 12
feet tall by eye witness accounts (all we have I suppose). They are
physically intimidating. Think of what violence
a chimp can, and have done, to people. They
are, to our knowledge, exclusively encountered in their own
domain, so they always have home field advantage. Though,
it is to be said, that often these encounters do happen in the
liminal spaces on the edge of society-- homes near the woods, farms
with orchards, ranches just outside a nature preserves. Like
people, personalities among the sasquatch are likely to vary. They
are not all Willy Nelson types—like humans, there are likely to be aberrants.
Like I said earlier, these fears are justified. But deep down, my perhaps unjustified belief is that to see the impossible would set me free.
Like I said earlier, these fears are justified. But deep down, my perhaps unjustified belief is that to see the impossible would set me free.
Bigfoot
are people, if you didn't pick that up.
They are as smart or smarter than us.
Bigfoot
are also a supernatural people. I do believe they have abilities to
communicate with us and each other
without words, as in they are likely
telepathic.
I also believe, if they exist, they are
able to enter other worlds through some sort of portals. It is impossible that they have existed this long without us finding them if they do not have some paranormal abilities.
Now things get fun because we drift into the Daimonic reality, the great Cosmic joke. We are entering a new world, folks, where, if you can believe, the impossible becomes the possible.
Our trip was taking us into the heart of bigfoot country, where anything can happen.
to
be continued...
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