In mid-September 2008, I was conducting a 10-day investigation expedition around Squanga Lake and Little Squanga Lake, some 125 km southeast of Whitehorse, along the Alaska Highway.
The aim was to check out a number of occurrences that had been reported to me from around these lakes.
I had spent time around Little Squanga Lake and the connecting river for a few days. I noted a few interesting locations, but no specific activity or signs of our bushman. On Day 6, I moved on to Squanga.
I checked out campsites close to Hall Creek; nothing to my satisfaction. But I did find a dry piece of land on the west side, across from Hall Creek, where I planned to spend the last four days mostly observing the creek.
This campsite was about a metre above the waterline with enough room for my tent, a campfire and a chair, open on the lake side and a boreal type forest around the other sides.
All was quiet during the first couple days and nights. I had spent some time gathering wood for the fire, fishing for pike–that sort of thing. However, on Day 7, I heard movement to the west side of my campsite, in a deeply forested area of spruce trees. This movement did not bother me; probably a moose, I figured.
During that evening there were a few movements as well, closer it would appear, but I could not make out any specific details. I was under the impression that something was trying to check me out, to see what I was doing. Still, it did not bother me; I just kept on my guard.
That night was quiet, or at least I did not hear anything. At about 7 a.m. on Day 8, my first breath of cold air resulted in coughing. Then something coughed as well–just inside the forest line it seemed, not about the lake, nor an echo.
I coughed a few more times. Sure enough, mimicking coughs responded to mine: more and more refined, clearer and closer, it seemed.
While at camp during the previous days I had yelled on a few occasions, checking for an echo, and basically letting any possible bushmen know of my location … a trick often used by investigators while out in the bush.
I went about my business, lit the campfire, put on the coffee, sat by the fire to keep warm, and ate my breakfast in silence.
A while later I could hear movements once again … soft shuffles in the near vicinity. What could it be? My mind went through the list of possible animals, to no avail. The movement came from a bipedal entity, something heavy was clearly walking on two feet, ambulating.
Sensing there may well be a Sasquatch close by, I placed my camera within easy reach, just in case this might be my lucky day for a photo.
But things changed, and quickly; for some unknown reason a confused feeling came over me, I gradually acquired a strange, deep feeling of uneasiness, a sense of fear for no apparent reason; hairs became erect on the back of my neck, and I was not feeling good at all.
I tried to put my mind at ease, to consider all possibilities, trying to make sense of it all. But to no avail; it seemed to get worse.
By now, I sensed I was not wanted in this location–a sort of sickening apprehension that something bad would soon happen. I became dizzy, moving slowly, totally confused. I decided it was time to leave, got busy taking the tent down, packing the gear in my canoe, killed the fire and got going.
More than two hours had passed since I started feeling uneasy. Where did the time go? Was it so bad that I lost my sense of time?
As I slowly paddled back to the main campground where I had left my truck, my mind gradually started clearing. But the questions still remain: what had happened? What was doing the mimicking?
