The Day After, 1100 Hours

I must have fallen asleep for a few minutes before dawn. The snow-laden air was fresh, and I had to shake the two inches of newly fallen snow off me.

Damn, now I won’t see any footprints of the creature, with new snow! My first thought wasn’t I’m alive; I didn’t get buried in snow. No, I immediately remembered the enormous hairy creature that lobbed a rock at me. Now, I couldn’t prove it because there were no footprints.

My stomach growled like a mad dog, so I made instant coffee and oatmeal. A friend had told me about a viewpoint, so I planned to camp there tonight.

The snowpack was deep and soft, and I could see the peak, my goal. I was alone here with the forest breaking occasionally into meadows of snowfields. Sweating, taking a break, and scanning the landscape, dark impressions caught my eye. Slinging the binoculars over my shoulder, I sped up to investigate. Imprints double my eleven-foot size, with a long toe. Spinning in a circle, I surveyed the area for my shaggy visitor from last night.

Rocks above me revealed my visitor sitting on a ledge watching mountain goats. Does it eat those? It let out an eerie cry that echoed from the rocks, and the goats zigzagged up the rocky outcropping, out of sight.

He saw me, and down he came at incredible speed. I threw a snowshoe; he brushed it off. Head cocked, emanating his horrific odor, our eyes locked again.