My grandfather passed away seven months ago. He was ninety four years old. He had gone fishing on one of his favorite streams and he happened to fall in. He seemed to be all right after he made it home, but he ended up taking the pneumonia and he passed in the hospital bed five days later. It was the only time in his life he had ever slept in a hospital bed, and probably the last place on earth he wanted his life to end. He lived his entire life on a piece of property that his
grandfather had staked and claimed in northwest Idaho. So my great great grandfather was born in eighteen seventy four. He didn't start putting this place together until about nineteen oh one, but he left home in Missouri in eighteen ninety four. My family wasn't big on remembering and revering when members of my family did what all that. I know that I've learned through my own research and reading, and I wasn't particularly interested in doing any of that until my grandfather passed away.
It was while I was cleaning the personal things from his house after he had passed on, that I found a thing that aroused my curiosity. I was always fond of my grandfather, though I never did get to see him as often as I would have liked. My father chose not to stay on the property when he became old enough to marry and settle down. We moved to Billings and that is where I grew up, but I would spend vacation weekends with my grandfather, especially after I was no longer required to go on
family vacations. They would go somewhere they thought would be interesting, and I would go and stay with Papa for a few days. He would tell story upon story, and I liked hearing every one of them. So it came as a real shock and surprise to me when I was going through his things that I found a platte of acreage that had been created when he had built his house. He had been dated off a certain amount of property at the time, and the platte showed just where his house would be on the property
that surrounded it. His father had also chosen not to stay on the place. Papa had come back to it when he was ready to set up housekeeping with my grandmother, but the platte did show where his grandfather's original house was until I had seen it on the platte. I had never known anything about where my great great grandfather had lived. It had never been mentioned, I guess because no one ever thought it to be important since it had been so
long ago, and I had never thought to ask about it. Like I said, our family didn't talk a lot about familial ancestors, and that is something I regret more and more the older I get. But finding this plat knowing where my grandfather's grandfather lived what stirred a real interest in me just to go and see if I could find any ruins that might remain. I can't
tell you why it had become important to me, but it had. I had driven a jeep fourwell drive, so the next morning I put a few things I thought might be useful into the back of it, and I took off. I loaded an axe and a shovel and a machette, things of that nature. I didn't know what conditioned the old place might be in, but I imagined that if there was anything to find still, it would almost have to be overgrown. So I drove through some very rough terrain for nearly
forty five minutes. My papa owned a rather large track of real estate, but not as large as you might be imagining. It was just so rough that in many places I had to creep the jeep along, and in several places it would have probably been faster walking than it was driving. But I finally came up on a stand of trees that didn't look like the others that I had passed. These trees looked more organized. Well that's not a great way to say it, but everywhere else trees just seemed to grow wherever,
but these seemed different. Since it was right about where I thought the original home place should be, I stopped and had a look around. The trees, for lack of a better word, formed a perimeter, and once you went inside past the trees, it was more or less hollow. That didn't mean that everything was neat and tidy. It was terribly overgrown with bushes and nettles and vines. But even so there was no way to walk forward until
a path had been chewed out. But there weren't any other trees, and I was glad I had thought to bring him a chetty, and I went back for it. For more than an hour, I swung and chopped and hacked until I took a swing and the machete blade hit something so solid that it rang back through my arm so stingingly that I dropped the blade. I thought I had hit some sort of boulder. It was a rock, all right, but not a large one. It was a collection of rocks that
had been mortared together with mud and clay. I just knew that I had found the chimney to my great great grandfather's house. But as I moved limb after vine, the rock structure just kept going. It wasn't the chimney I had found, but instead I had found the house. My papa's grandfather had built his entire house out of stone, and I had finally found it.
I cut where I could, and I inched along until I tripped over more rocks, and I went sprawling into the bushes that obscured any and everything from being seen. Now that I knew the rocks were there, I could see them, and I followed them with my hand and used them as a guide. I had my hands on the front steps of the place. I ducked under the vines that were growing everywhere, and he walked my way up the
steps, and there were four of them. I was exhausted. I was sweating like a hooker in church, and I was bleeding from a thousand scratches. But I was also very excited, and once I was through all the tangle, I could see that the house was still relatively in good condition, at least from the outside. The trees had protected the bushes and vines so that they could grow to immense heights and thickness, and the bushes and vines
had protected the house all of these years. There was no furniture of any kind on the porch, of course, but I sat down on the rock surface, and I imagined that I was sitting there with my ancestor, as he used to sit there when he was tired, like I was. I looked up and behind me, and I saw that there was a window. There wasn't any glass in it, just a wooden shutter to cover it that could be swung open to let the air and the light in the house.
I nudged it open. I was afraid it would fall because of how old the hinges were, but it held. What fell was about a thousand half eaten acorns that some animal had packed ratted away in between the window shutter and the house. I opened the window further, and I looked inside. The place was a total mess. Vines had grown up through the floorboards, the furniture had been gutted down to the frames for nest over the past hundred or
so years. Cabinet doors hung by threads or had fallen off the walls completely. But the mantelboard above the huge stone fireplace sat there in such a pristina condition that it would have just been hung the day before. I crossed the porch to the front door, and I pulled down on the latch, and of course it refused to give. I gave the whole door a push and found that it had swelled and warped over time until it was seated firmly in
place inside the doorway. I could have kicked at it until it gave way or splintered, but I really didn't want to destroy anything if I could help it. And I walked back over and waded into the piles of acorns, and I pulled myself up into the window with as much care as I could. I lowered myself inside, and I had no idea how solid the flooring was, and I didn't want to jump down, only to drive myself through
the wood. Many times I had wondered about the possibility of snakes or the hurtful kinds of spiders that might be living in the house, and especially under it. I didn't want to get wedged half in and half out of the floor where they could get it in me and I wouldn't be able to run. I slid on down and found that there was some give to the boards of the floor, but all in all it was fairly solid. The window let in some light, and one light there was underneath all those trees and
bushes, but it was still dim. I looked and found one more window in the main room and one in the kitchen, and I opened them both and I could finally see rather well. There were a lot of cobwebs and dust, but underneath all of that you could tell that at one time it had been a very cozy and unique home. It was empty by and large, but at one time it had been an nice house. And I eased through the rest of it, and there was only two other rooms, and
they were in similar condition to the main room. I looked and saw nothing that would have been worth picking up and keeping as a memento of my visit. I had known there would be nothing as I looked around, but it would have been special to have spotted an old white and I for something like that. I was getting tired of breathing the dust and droppings from animals that had been dead for a hundred years, but I sat down on the hearth so that I could take a last moment to wonder what it had been like
for my grandfather's grandfather to have sat in this very room. And past the evenings, I didn't know when or if I would ever get to come back to this place, so while I was here, I wanted to make the most of it. After some time, I decided that it was time to go, and I still had the jungle out in front to navigate myself through, and then the kidney rattling drive to make before I got back and returned
to work that I had left unfinished. And I suppose I scooted forward a little as I was standing up, and I heard and felt a stone rattle or grind, as if it was loose from its housing. I turned so that I could make sure that it was sitting as it was supposed to be. But nature might claim this old house, but I wanted to leave the house itself in much the way that I had found it. But when I looked, I saw why the stone had been loose. It had been intentionally
left that way. Instead of seeing dusty and crumbling jake leg mortar around the edges of where the stone would have been firmly seated, there was a cast iron rim around the whole thing. It was only then that I noticed that the edges of the stone had been chiseled away to make it more or less rectangular in shape. I quickly picked up the stone and set it aside. Dark and completely lined with iron, was a box. The stone had only
been the lid camouflaged as well. I guess this was my papa's grandfather's version of a safe or a safety deposit box. I was a little afraid to reach down inside hole. It was as dark as the dungeon in there, and I didn't know that something may or may not have made its home in there. But I shifted around and allowed just a little bit more like to fall onto it, or into it, I suppose would be a better way to say it. I could see that something was down there, but I
couldn't see just what. When I finally put my hand down there, I went as deep as my elbow before I finally felt something besides iron sides. I bumped it and I felt it move, and I took a deep breath, and I pulled out a wooden box, not so much larger than a cigar box, a bit deeper and a bit longer, but roughly the size of a cigar box. I wanted to see what, if anything was inside of it after all these years, but I knew that if I did and
something was in there, I would get distracted. I set the box aside and tried to see if anything else was down in the small vault, but I couldn't see anything. And I retrieved the stick from the porch and I began swishing it and prodding it around down in the hole, and I felt the stick hit nothing, and I heard it slap against nothing but those iron sides. Whatever was in the wooden box was going to be the prize to
take from this trip. And I replaced the stone and made sure that it looked just right, and then I collected the box and I went outside again through the window. This was my third time doing that, and I was glad I wouldn't be doing it again. And I could never have made a career out of being a cat burglar. Dawn windows are too hard to crawl in and out of, but I very much wanted to sit down on the stone porch and see what I held in my hands, but I crawled back
down the steps instead. I picked up my machette and made my way back out of the tangle until I could once again see the trees. It was easier getting out compared to what it had been going in, but not by much. I walked to the jeep and I threw the machete in the back and planted myself behind the steering wheel with the wooden box in my lap.
I kept reminding myself that even if nothing was inside of the box but ruined scraps of something in the skelter remains of insects, the box itself was an incredible find, especially given how I found it, But truthfully, I wanted to see something amazing inside of it. I wasn't even thinking about stacks of antique money or deeds. No one in my family I had ever heard about
had been wealthy, but I wanted there to be something. One of the small nails that was holding the latch onto the box had completely rusted, away, so I was careful upon opening it in case the latch just fell away. I didn't want to lose any part of my find. The first thing I saw was a very badly cracked photograph of a fairly young man standing behind a plain looking woman that was wearing a light colored dress. It was mounted on something as thick as cardboard, but it was more rigid. It reminded
me of the photos that you always see in the Civil War documentaries. But underneath the photograph laid a handkerchief that had yellowed with age, and when unfolded, you could see that originally it had been white. Someone had embroidered a capital A onto it in very fine curse of stitching. My first thoughts were whose name had started with the letter A, and whilemast's handkerchief so important to my ancestor. I turned the photo over carefully and saw that it read a
faint script Leander and Amelia Munroe, wedded seventh May eighteen ninety three. My last name is Munroe, and my family's middle name is Leander. I was looking at the only photograph that I was aware of of my great great grandparents. I knew this to be a prize that I had been hoping I would find or I thought I knew that, but then I saw the sack of papers laid neatly in the bottom of the box. I pulled at the corner
of the first sheet and it broke off in my finger tips. I was so mad that I was going to have to wait to find out what was on the papers, but I couldn't take the slightest risk of destroying them just to try to read them. So I put everything back in the box and I made myself focus on getting back to my grandfather's house in one piece, and once there I could learn what was on the papers. The way back to my Papa's house was rougher than I had remembered, even though it had
only been a couple of hours, but I finally made it back. The rest of my family. My parents and my wife were going to come and help with the clean out. For now, I was just glad that I had come for the day or two to work without them, because he gave me some time to myself with the contents of the box. Unless I was taken completely by surprise by what was inside, I will tell them all about finding it when I saw them, but for now, whatever was inside was
all mine to spend time with. My Papa had a work bench of sorts and a spare bedroom of his house. It's where he used to work on and tweak all of his fishing gear. On that bench sat one of those big magnifying lenses with the light bulbs set in the housing so that everything you've looked at was very large and bright. And jewelers used them for watch repair and such, and Papa used his for tying flies. He used it a
lot during the last twenty years of his life. I moved all of his bits and Bob's a site so that I could have a clear and clean place to look at. It was in the box, and with a lot more care than earlier, I lifted the papers from the box and laid them on
the bench so that I could see them plainly. There weren't many sheets, but he had written them pretty full, and the first page was the hardest one to read it, seeing that the lower and the stacke went the more sheets were protected somehow, But with the light and the big lens, it wasn't so terrible reading what he had written. He wrote about him taking work. Soon after he and Amelia had married. They both took jobs. He was cutting timber to be used in the making of cross ties for the railroads,
and she was working as a chambermaid. They were living in Shelby, Montana, after they had gone west from Missouri. He said that every time he would go into town, all anyone wanted to talk about was where the latest big gold strike had been found. I guess Leander got the edge, and he told him that he was going to go and give looking for gold to try. They hadn't been married a year yet, but he was going to leave her and see if he couldn't find a way for them to live
without working themselves to the bone every six days out of seven. If Amelia argued about his leaving, he didn't write that down. And to the east and north of Shelby was still where a good many Blackfoot Indians made their home. Relations weren't at all that great between them and white people. But Leander didn't have anything against any Indian, and he doubted that he would run into any anyway, And if he did, surely they wouldn't have a problem.
With one man out in the woods washing a few pans of dirt and a creek, he told Amelia that everyone finding some gold, there wasn't any reason why a bit of it couldn't be theirs. And so he gathered a few things and set out to get rich, and Amelia stayed behind, and she kept working. He traveled until it seemed that he was walking nearly uphill all the time, and that was where he had wanted to go. He wanted
to be close to the Canadian border. He traveled until he had gone two weeks without seeing another soul, and that was when he figured he was alone enough, and he started trying to make his fortune. He wrote that he had panned and dug test holes for many days before he found the first bit of color, and after he found that, he began to see it more and more often, not much, just a few flakes now and then, and wants a little nugget about the size of a sweet pea, but mostly
dust. He said that after a month he had almost enough to fill a thumble, but the knowledge of that gold was out there hadn't left him, and he kept on looking all through the remainder of the spring and through the summer months he worked. He said in his writings that the only time he stopped his search for gold was when he finally slept or checked the trap that
he had fashioned fort fish. He caught some small animals from time to time in a steel trap, and he fished the rest of the time, and that's what he lived on, sleeping when he had to and eating when he could. Everything else was all about finding a way to give more to his wife than a future as a maid, and he wanted her to have a
life of ease and to be free from worry. Once he returned, he wrote that he had started to notice some frost in the mornings, and so far he had been living in a lean to made from a sheet of canvas that he had brought. It had worked well enough during the warm months, but with fall approaching, he would have to do it differently or he would
have to return home. There wasn't a way to survive the cold months with the little that he had, and he wrote that even though he desired to see his dear Amelia again very badly, he dreaded going back and showing just what a failure that he had proven himself to be. Demated that his accumulated goal to weigh less than half a pound far from enough for his wife to
abandon her work. He wrote that even when he could see ice formed on the edges of the stream, he was working, and he was still trying to find a way to stay and work until he had made a success of himself. He was fearful that if he went back was so little to show for his efforts, his wife would think lowly of him, he wrote. And when he had finally resigned himself to going back, he packed up what
few belongings he had so that he could leave. The following morning, he wrote in the saddest words of how he lay there, regretting his having to leave, so much so that he was unable to sleep. And he wrote that he had laid there and he heard the sound for the first time. That he had been in that place or near it for almost six months, as far as he could tell, and he had heard many things, but he had ever heard anything of the likes of what he had heard. That
night. He sat up, and he listened more intently, and even crawled outside of his lean to shelter so that he could hear better. And it came to him again on the breezes, and once every three or four minutes it would begin as a rumble, like someone breathing with their lungs full of the cold, but much louder, and then it would increase in volume and pitch until it became a keening, the kind of keening that humans can't make.
Only animals that are in pain make those types of sounds. He wrote that he picked up his knife in his axe, and he wanted to be able to defend himself if he needed to, but he was prepared to put the animal out of its misery if he found it and saw that it would be for the best. But he searched in the darkness for nearly two hours and walking a few steps and then listening for the whaling. The last time
he heard it he almost ran all the way back to his shelter. The sound had come from only a few feet away, and in the darkness caused by the night in trees. He had brought himself very close to the animal without even knowing it was there. He stood trying to know what he should do next, and he wrote that he could hear it breathing. He knew he was very close, and he was very afraid a bear was what he had been assuming this animal would be. But when he moved a branch so
he could see what he saw laying there. Was nothing resembling a bear or any other kind of animal he had ever heard of. It lay there under the cedar bows, breathing shallowly. It was looking back at my ancestor with large eyes filled with fear and pain. He wrote that if this thing could have, it would have either run away or assaulted him. But it didn't either because it couldn't. But he wanted to stand there and simply marvel at the sheer size of the beasts. But once he saw the wound, that
was where his attentions gathered. Now this thing lay there half again, as long as any man, and was covered head to heel with a coarse, matted hair or fur. And when it would snarl from the pain, he could see two massive rows of blunted yellow teeth surrounded by thick, swollen lips. It was brutish looking, but it was also helpless. It had thighs the size of a man's waist, but a large section of a tree limb
was buried into one of them. Only a few inches of it was visible, but that part looked as big around as the handle of a shovel. And the part that protruded pointed downward towards the thing's huge and grotesque feet. He knew part of that limb had been driven in and also upward into the thing's thigh. Heaven alone knew how deeply it went, or what calamity had
befallen this thing for it to have been injured so terribly. And my grandfather's grandfather wrote that if this beast was ever going to walk again or even live, that stob had to be removed. But what he didn't know was how the thing would react if that stob was touched or pulled on. One swipe from either of those massive arms could recommend snack, and God help the fool
who let his head get caught between both of those enormous hands. But the thought of turning around and allowing this creature to die crossed his mind, but his conscience would not permit him to do that. He wrote that he felt the fool by asking the thing if it could any way understand him when he spoke, because he knew that it was only an animal of some bastardized variety. And the beast snarled and then relaxed again as the pain overwhelming it once
more. Leander told the beast that he would return in short order. Was supplies to help, and he knew that the thing did not understand, but he felt better for leaving the animal with the knowledge that he would be coming back. He would have preferred taking the thing to where the shelter was, but that was out of the question, and he doubted that three men could
have budged the creature. Being as all of his things had been packed away for what was to have been his departure, Lander thought it best just to move the shelter to the creature. Now that he knew where the animal was, he knew that it wasn't so far from the stream. He had been working for months, and to find the creature he had walked in a variety of patterns, and now he walked in a straight line back for his belongings. Once back, he laid all that he owned off to the side,
and he stared at the beast. His better two shirts were in his pack, so he removed the one from us back and tore it into a few strips as best as he could. His eyes never left the eyes of the beast, who stared constantly at Leander. It was slow, easy movements. He eased himself between the creature's long, thick legs and he touched the wound as gently as he could. The creature howled, but Leander would not move his hand. The creature eventually calmed, as if in resignation of what was
going to happen. He had a canteen full of water, but there wasn't an endless supply, and he decided washing the wound beforehand would be a waste, and he wrote that he patted the thigh of the uninjured leg until the creature breathed more easily, and then closed its eyes. Having no idea if the creature would gush its life blood and expire or grab Leander and a fit of pain and rage, he began to pull out the limb that was stabbed
into the thing's thigh. He pulled more than half a foot of bloody wood from the leg, with the creature bellowing and hirling the whole time, but it never raised a hand in protest. And when the stab was out, Leander washed the wound and bound it tightly with the strips he had made from his shirt, and he wrote that the hole should have been sown closed, but he had neither the light nor the material to do that, And once he had bandaged the leg, he poured some of the remaining water into the
thing's mouth for it to drink. And it was lying very still in an effort to control the pain, and Leander took his canvas and spread it over the creature as a blanket. Fever was still a threat, and he would ward it off if he could. Only when he saw that the animal was sleeping did he retrieve one of his shirts, and sitting back against a tree, to watch over the beast. For four days he tended to this thing, and bringing it water to drink, and bringing it fish to eat when
he could trap one, and cleaning the bandages and redressing the wound. He did all of this in silence, and he wrote that he had tried talking to it the first day, but that only served to confuse and enrage the creature. So each day, when his nursing details were completed, he would
sit and study the small amount of gold that he had collected. The thing would lay there and watch Leander sift the goal from one palm to the other, And on the fifth morning, after having found the creature, Leander awoke to find that this monstrous animal was gone. How anything that size could move so silently was a complete wonder. But it had. But it hadn't just left. It had left and come back and left again, all while Leander
was totally unaware. Atop the canvas that had served as a blanket for the creature were more than a dozen stones, made up mostly of gold. Some weren't much larger than apples, but a couple were the size of a man's fist or larger, and when the trash bits had been cleared, he had more than twenty pounds of gold. For more than two hours, Leander's searched for the creature, but not even a track could be found. He assumed
that the creature considered its debt repaid, and further contact was needless. My grandfather's grandfather began the journey home feeling quite wealthy in a way that had nothing to do with the gold he was carrying. Eventually, he used his reward for the assistance to purchase this property in Idaho. I do not know if Amelia or anyone else ever heard how Leander came upon the funds to begin his life here, but judging by the way it was written. I have to
believe this was something he kept to himself. I debated long about sharing this story with you, and I've shown the papers to one in my family. They have seen the photograph and the handkerchief, but not his words. Those words I will keep to myself, the way I believe he kept the story to himself. I was able to go back to the stone house one more time before all the work was completed at Pap Paul's place. I wasn't expecting
to find anything additional, and unfortunately I was right. I found nothing more. Even though I prodded and jiggled every stone that I could put my hands on. I wanted there to be more to the story. I wanted to hear his thoughts on what he believed the creature to be. And now we call them bigfoot. Most of us want to see one, even if they would be terrified. At the time, my grandfather's grandfather did more than see one, and while he may not have been friends with one, a partnership
had been formed with one, if only for a short time. I would have enjoyed hearing what Leander would have said to those who were certain that no such creature exists. Maybe the very few and rare times that one is spotted now is because my grandfather's grandfather saved the life of one, and maybe that act of kindness allowed a species to continue. I like to think about it in that way. I think Leander would also