Shasta-Trinity National Recreation Area, Prime Bigfoot Region
Off we went, our trio of explorers, on an expedition to the mountain forest of the Shasta-Trinity National Recreation Area. Off we went, expecting little, hoping for so much--hoping to find evidence of the elusive Bigfoot. Off we went, armed only with a pair of binoculars, a pair of night-vision goggles, our sharp minds (debatable), our extensive previous generation high-tech evidence recording equipment (three two-year-old smart phones), our knowledge of tracking (theoretical to non-existent), and, for one of us, a more comfortable bra than last time (also theoretical to non-existent).
We had no sightings our first night, but then again, we were busy setting up our temporary surveillance station. But the next morning, before we had even gotten our camera phones ready, I spotted it! Surprisingly, it was balding and wearing a plaid shirt--it seemed the elusive Bigfoot had adapted to modern life! But before we had a chance to get a picture, it quickly disappeared back into the trees. Almost as quickly, we formulated a plan to lure it out again: woo it with a burlesque performance. I made the first attempt, shimmying and gyrating in what I thought was a sexy manner to the classic "I'm a Little Teapot," but my colleague's awkwardly lumbering dance to "My Bologna Has a First Name: The Oscar Meyer Song" was by far the most successful; almost immediately we spotted not one but TWO elusive Bigfoots (Bigfeet?)! Both were wearing plaid shirts--could they have been mates? It was too difficult to determine gender. I managed to capture photographic evidence, but once again, they quickly disappeared back into the trees.
But our discovery of a possible mating pair of elusive Bigfoots (Bigfeet?) paled in comparison to the discoveries yet to come. Whilst on a scouting trek, we encountered yet another elusive Bigfoot! Or possibly one of the same ones we'd seen earlier; I can't stress enough how much they all looked the same to me, with their plaid shirts. But this time we were face to face with him, her, or it! And it spoke to us--in English! Tragically, none of us recorded the incident, as we were all too shocked, and it quickly disappeared back into the trees. We did document our subsequent sightings of golden and bald eagles, but we felt our earlier failure keenly, so since our spirits and our conversation flagged, and also because it was supposed to get down 34°, we headed off to bed.
The next day, we were determined to make the most of the few hours of research time we had left. And soon enough, we found another example of the elusive Bigfoot's adaptation to 21st century life: we saw one of them--whether a new one or not I can't say, because they are impossible to tell apart in their plaid shirts--approach the campsite dumpster and, after a few attempts, successfully open the lid and put something inside! Once this one, too, had quickly disappeared back into the trees, my other colleague cautiously made his way over to the dumpster. After a few attempts of his own, he too successfully opened the lid and looked inside. What he saw there is hardly to be believed: it was a microwave! The elusive Bigfoots (Bigfeet?) have microwave technology!
At this point, we were forced to wonder if we had gotten everything wrong. What if the elusive Bigfoots (Bigfeet?) are in fact the more technologically advanced race and are in fact observing us? Our minds were so blown by this that we failed to take pictures of the elusive Bigfoot's microwave in the dumpster. After we'd calmed down, I went to the dumpster to look for myself, but my mind was once again blown, this time by how easily I was able to open it when both the elusive Bigfoot and my colleague had had difficulties. I understood from this that our microwave dumping elusive Bigfoot was indeed a male! I laughed, re-hooked my bra, and then celebratorily shimmied and gyrated my way over to the Porta-Potty one last time before we began our long drive back to civilization with very little to show for our weekend's work.