So Long, Chet

I STAND NOW, LOOKING over the ridgeline and scanning the horizon, brushing a large tangle of hair from my eyes. The taking of a life is a nasty affair, even if done for survival, and I must steady myself to allow for the kick from my adrenaline to subside. I stand for a long time, listening, waiting, wondering if there are any more of them. My pulse is quieting and the rush of blood through my ears is gone. It’s over, and I’m alone. The threat has passed.

I look back over the ridge. The setting sun is well hidden behind thick, blue-gray clouds streaking in from the west, and puffs of a chilling breeze have taken on the steady hum of an approaching winter tempest; there’s a blizzard on the way, and by the looks of it, it will be “one for the books”, as valley people like to say. I lift my nose and draw in a deep breath of fresh, clean alpine air, exhaling a cloud of vapor that is ripped away in the mounting winds, and turn back to the task at hand.   

           I begin to field dress my kill. With the approaching weather on my mind, I’ll need to move quickly, but not such that I make a mistake that would taint the meat. I’ll be rid of the guts of my quarry before I pack the rest up for the trek home. I will do as I always do, leave them for the wolves, mountain lions, and any other number of scavengers, but, with the impending storm, I doubt any will dine on them until after it has passed. The extreme cold will keep the spoilage to a minimum, so at least there’s that. My kind doesn’t like to waste.

           Tiny flakes of snow twist and turn around me as I make the first cuts with my skinning knife, and soon I unceremoniously toss the warm, steaming innards next to a small bush. My bone saw makes short work of the remaining bits, and I gather up the now divided and carefully wrapped chunks of meat and bone and stuff them into my pack. I spot a snowbank and plunge my hands in to clean them off, rubbing them thoroughly, turning the snow pinkish red with dark splotches. I hope this is the last time I’ll ever need to do this, but I know deep down that it probably won’t.

           I adjust the straps on my pack to accommodate for the new weight and head out along the ridge, keeping off the top and staying on one side. I learned a long time ago that those who wish to remain unseen should never trek across the top of a mountain. The path here is made up of patches of bare granite, as the snow has yet to cover it completely. I try to confine my feet to these patches as I walk so as not to leave a trail. It’s difficult at times because my legs are so long, and the size of my feet means I need to tiptoe here and there, but I’m used to it. I increase my pace as bloated flakes of snow fly past, carried by the turbulent winds in gusting swirls of white. It feels as if I’m within a giant snow globe. Fortunately, the trip is not long, and half an hour later I’m approaching a squat earthen cabin set back deep under the overhang of a cliff. We live above the snowline, but not so far that certain plants don’t grow, so it’s surrounded by trees and brush that I’ve let grow thick over the years. Even better to keep from prying eyes.  

           The door flings open and warm and welcoming light pours out into the snow. There, silhouetted in that light, stands my daughter, Krikeka. Her eyes shine with an emerald green that astounds me to this day. She inherited those from me!  I brag to myself. I see she’s just finished combing out her long, beautiful downy fur, which is the color of icy pearl upon first examination but shifts to faded violets and blues when the light hits it just right. That, she inherits from her Ma! I must have arrived just after their daily ritual: one hundred strokes of a brush before supper.

           “Dadoo!” she cries as I drop my pack.

           I open my arms wide, crouching down to accept her greeting. She launches herself at me like a missile. Just a few more winters and she’ll be knocking me off my feet! I beam with pride. I bask for a moment in the joy of her hugs and kisses, then set her down. “Let’s head in, kiddo! I smell something wonderful!”

           We enter the house together. I close the door as a strong wave of hunger-inducing aromas strike. Yunkeka, my mate for the last seventy-two years, is placing a pot of thick bean stew on the table. She looks up at me and smiles. “Feet,” she says as she spins to go back to the pot hanging over the fire. There is a tiny tug at my side, and I look down to see Krikeka pointing at the small balls of fresh snow nestled on the tops of my toes. “Fweet!” she demands.

           I shake them off, wipe them on the rug, and await her approval. She nods, takes my hand, and leads me to where her mother is ladling more stew into a bowl. She hands it to me when she’s done. I take it and gently sip from it. She waits patiently as I make a show of swishing it around in my mouth like a fancy food critic. “Well?” she finally asks.

           “It’s wonderful, as usual, my love.” I wiggle my bushy eyebrows up and down and smack my lips. Krikeka giggles.

           “He was closer to us than the last, wasn’t he,” she states more than asks, concern showing in pale-blue eyes ringed in ivory-white whisps of fur. “Was he alone?”

           “I saw no signs other than his.” I sat heavily in the big chair I made twelve summers back from a downed fir. “We should be okay, especially until spring comes.” I should have said it with more confidence. After so many years together, she could read the subtleties in my voice.

           “Well, I hope this time we won’t have to move. I grow weary, Byiluk.” She turned her back to me and gazed out the window. It was frosting fast, and she reached out and tapped the glass, deep in thought. “It’s no way for a young one to grow up.” She dropped her hand, and her shoulders relaxed. “I don’t recall the danger ever being this close.”

           She’s right. Being what the residents in the valleys call a ‘yeti’ family makes us natural targets for not only curiosity, but also more sinister objectives, like fame and fortune. Our family lives on the edge of danger daily, an escape from encroaching civilization thrusting us ever deeper into a vast and unforgiving wilderness. Threats to our wellbeing have become the norm, but we take them in stride. Lately, however, the intrusion of our range has increased, bolstered by upticks not only in people within the valley, but also a bewildering stream of technology that they bring with them.

           I lie. “I don’t think we’ll have to move again. I heard that the mumblings of sightings are dwindling some. Or at least that’s what The Council says.” I don’t tell her, but the latest buzz behind the sightings of large, bipedal creatures covered in long, scraggly fur from head to toe (I love my fur, thank you very much!) is very much alive and well. Some idiot with a cell phone caught a glimpse of one of our neighbor’s kids as he was chasing a deer two winters ago.

           She hugs me tightly and graces me with a gentle smile. “I love you, you big oaf, even if you do try to sugar coat our predicaments.” She stands on her toes and we rub our noses together. She kisses me gently. Krikeka giggles.

           There is a loud knock at the door, causing all of us to jump. The talk of the valley folk had us a bit on edge, even though we’re expecting company.

           I walk to the door and open it, and I’m immediately assaulted by a blast of sub-zero air and a hearty guffaw from the hulking yetikin standing there. I break into a wide, toothy smile. “Sitelek! So happy to see you! How’d you make out with the blizzard?” Sitelek stands shorter than me, but he has me in the width department by at least two hands. The fur on either side of his mouth is braided and hangs down to his shoulders, and he’s wearing a brown knit cap with a big, bushy ball on the top. I think he looks like a snowman whenever he wears it. I step aside so he can enter, just as we hear Kiskeka shout, “Fweet!”.

Sitelek goes through the required ritual and walks to the table. “Sure is a lot of blowin’ ’round out there tonight,” he says as he hefts a cloth bundle onto the table, nearly spilling a bowl of stew. “I’m glad I have the team to get me home. Will be hard to see the tree marks on the way with all this snow.” His team consists of six hearty mountain-bred wolves. They pull a small sled that he uses to carry his goods around to the rest of the yetikin community. Normally he uses our time-honored method of navigation via cairns and tree marks, but like he said, it will be hard to see them tonight. The wolves will find the way, though. They can sense things better than us.

           Yunkeka opened the bundle and poured its contents onto the table. Carrots, potatoes, parsnips, some parsley, a few onions, and a big bundle of garlic bulbs, all along with a large sack of rice. She claps her hands in excitement, her eyes wide. “I’ve been dying to try out a new onion soup! This is perfect, as usual, Sitelek. Thank you so very much!”

           “You’re a strange one, Byiluk,” he said as I helped him tie off the carcass. “Ever thought of eating the meat you caught? Not many of our kind are around who eat only fruit and veggies and such” His face twists in disgust. “It’s downright weird, if you ask me.”

           I’m used to his jabs, so I merely grunt and open the door for him. We shake hands and he picks up the sack. He walks to his waiting sled. The large, white and grey wolves that pull it are well trained, and they stand, stretch, and shake off snow and ice as he approaches. I think I hear him say something, but I can barely hear him over the storm. “…downright weird.” He steps on the back runners and gives a sharp whistle. The wolves pull hard and they’re off and running. Sitelek disappears into the wailing blizzard, his team of wolves howling as they pick up speed. And with him goes the remains of one Chet Cumberland of Wichita Falls, Kansas, business owner, yeti hunter, and a fan of all things mysterious, who will later be laid to rest in an empty casket by his family; a family that’s trying to stay hidden from the dangers of the world, just like the rest of us.