Sasquatch of Downieville

#78 - Spring arrives late in the mountains. In early May the air still has a bite to it and snow has yet to melt from the shadows.

Welcome! - MERRY CHRISTMAS to You, and Yours! 

Sasquatch of Downieville  

Downieville is a small town of a few hundred at the junction of the Downie and N. Yuba Rivers.  

It is quiet and often snowed in during the long winter.  

Spring arrives late in the mountains. In early May the air still has a bite to it and snow has yet to melt from the shadows.  

Always a mining town, Downieville now shares the mountains with bicyclists - mountain bikers. A lot of them. There are miles of trails.  

This is the first big bike ride of the year. There will be broken bones. Everyone will have stories to tell. 

Miners and bikers and vacationers camping in the numerous campgrounds along the North Yuba keep the town bustling. Gatherings and festivals run throughout the summer and fall seasons.  

Today, the town is packed. The sun is warm and there’s little wind. Spring is in the air. 

There have been two items of note here recently. Both involve bears. 

Some bears take a liking to raiding the local communities. They’ll go to the easiest food source. 

A bear that had been removed from the area a year ago, found his way back. He prowls the streets at night, getting into garbage cans and outdoor pantries.  

Following food scents, he breaks car windows and climbs in tearing up interiors looking for the food.  

Two problems – they’re causing damage, and they aren’t afraid of humans. 

Not much of a future for a bear like that. 

The authorities were having a hard time catching the bear. It was wise to the traps. They didn’t want to have to shoot it.  

Someone took care of the situation. One night as the bear was making its rounds, it was shot. The blood trail led through town and just across the bridge, where it had died. No one knows for sure who did the shooting. 

On the other occasion, two bear cubs had run up a sugar pine just as you come into town.  

The cubs were spotted in the morning. Mama bear was nowhere to be seen. Everyone gave the area wide clearance, but onlookers and picture takers gathered at a distance.  

The cubs stayed in the tree all day and into the night. They were gone in the morning.

It’s a town full of history, and characters.  

One curious fellow became known to the locals as “Sasquatch”. No one knows a thing about him, but that he shows up, gets supplies, and then goes back into the hills.  

He has a full pack when leaving town. 

This was his second winter around here. 

Well, Olsen, the postmaster, knows something of him. The name he registered for his mailbox. He doesn’t always check his mail when in town. He gets a package now and then. Nods hello, says thanks, nods goodbye. That’s about it. 

He sells gold to Dale, a local jeweler. At the general store, Jerry lets him pay in gold. Weighs it out right there on the counter. He offers no conversation beyond what is necessary for the transactions and spends no more time than he has to. 

He leaves across the Downie River Bridge and walks up Highway 49, then steps off into the woods going to who knows where.  

That puts him somewhere between the Downie and the North Yuba Rivers. A lot of territory. He’s probably hunkered down only a few miles away. 

It was supposed that he had a cabin, but no one had come across its whereabouts. It had been a hard winter; how did he survive? 

I saw him once. He was headed out of the general store as I was headed in. We nodded to each other in passing. He seemed a friendly sort. 

He was tall and thin. In his thirties or forties. Hard to tell. He had a head full of long unruly hair. And a beard. His moniker suited him.  

We were a few miles north of Downieville to prospect a new claim. Four of us.  

We had maps with claim coordinates, and GPS. We were metal detecting and putting up claim signs.  

We were in the southeast corner of the claim. It is the most rugged area. Rocky and overgrown. It makes me think of mountain lions.  

A stream that runs dry by late summer, flowing into Pauley Creek, cuts deep into its banks during the winter rains and spring snowmelt. It is still running fast. It’ll be a good place to prospect. 

I was ahead of the other guys, beyond a bend, right at the boundary line between our claim and US Forest Service land. 

The stream curves off our claim and then loops back again. 

There at the far curve of the loop, well above storm and snowmelt runoff, was a tent. 

I saw no activity. Though not on our claim, I was curious enough to want a closer look.  

Half the way there, as I rounded a cluster of willows, I heard, then saw, a man at the stream's edge. He was breaking up gravel. A sluice was set up in the stream. A gold pan lay nearby. 

I wanted to neither surprise him nor let him know I saw him.  

I was fortunate not to have been seen or heard already. His attention to his task at hand, and perhaps the sound of the rushing stream muffled my approach.  

From my vantage point I could see he had a well laid out camp. Like he had been there for a while. It was twenty feet or so above the stream on an extended flat, snug up against the hillside. It got good winter sun. 

A woodpile under a camo tarp set up near a nice, maybe two-room canvas tent. It, too, was under camo. It had a stove pipe sticking out of the side. 

He stood up, taking a breather. Then I recognized that head of hair. 

It was Sasquatch! 

The good thing was that Sasquatch wasn’t on our claim. That would be heavily frowned upon. 

He was on Forest Service land. He was their business, not ours.  

Did he spend winter there? Besides being hardy enough for it, it would be tough mentally.  

Was this where Sasquatch was getting his gold?  

He wasn’t on drugs. Seemed to have his act together. 

Was he “on the run”? 

I thought he was where he wanted to be - maybe just seeing for himself if he could brave the elements. Maybe working out something in his head. Who knows? 

We’d check on him through the summer.  

No need to blow his cover. 

He might be gone next time we’re here, anyway. 

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