It took some time for me to recount that summer so many years before, when this land was much younger, as was I. Many ask men like myself, “was the west really as wild as they say?”

I can only nod and reply, that it certainly was, indeed.

People from that time have many fantastic tales to tell. They spin stories of outlaws and gunmen. Of great cattle drives and battles and conflicts, long forgotten. Indians, gold miners and pioneers. So many stories from so many survivors of that distant period in time.

My story was unique, perhaps, in that it dealt with an encounter with something so few of those pioneers, nor they’re descendants, have encountered. For I was one of the only who had encountered one of the country’s greatest legends.

The recent interest in the mythological being known as the sasquatch, has brought my story out from the dust of time and into the present. I had spoken of it little since that time, so long ago. Now, as I get older and my time seems short, it feels appropriate to retell for future posterity.

Not that I expect anyone to believe in such a fantastic tale, but this is a story that I feel that must be told. For however short it may be, this reflection on the legend may be met with more accuracy than others have related in the past and are sure to recollect in the future.

With some difficulty, I attempt to piece together what led me to such an encounter. I remember traveling westward with a wagon train, having joined them half-way through my travels, finding the company more preferable than being alone in the wilderness.

Not sure what exactly caused the train to be disbanded, for as soon as the shouting and shooting began, I found myself knocked unconscious. Shortly after I joined the small group of settlers, it seemed that we were attacked by a war party. Not sure who lived or died, but as soon as I regained consciousness, I found myself on the run. Racing through many well-used trails of thick bushes and tall trees with jagged limbs that would reach out to cut and scrape me, as I continued on running. I had run till sheer exhaustion and found myself near the edge of a stream. My head was bloodied , presumably from a wound I received from my collapse earlier, and my clothes were both torn and dirty. The only tool or weapon that I had on my person, was a buck knife, which remained on my hip in a deerskin sheath.