Monsoon! Heavy, Gray clouds had been drifting northward from Calcutta for days that June. Already early rains, warning of what was to come, had soaked the red dust of the Himalayas. The air was clean and cool. Myriads of tiny blue, white and yellow Potentilla has suddenly blanketed the green tundra above the timberline. It was curious how the colors deepened as we descended the slope. White grew highest, then yellow mixed with white and finally blue flowers dotted the landscape farther down.
The rains weren't bad enough to travel in, but at least they were a welcome change from the snow about 17,000 feet. Gosainkund Pass had been the last high obstacle to Kathmandu on our return trip from the northern border of Nepal. In fact, the day before had seen me sloshing kneed deep in the soft wet snow. I was layered head to toe with my TAD gear. My favorite piece had always been my Shagmaster. I knew layering would be vital. A Himalayan blizzard is no joke even for experienced native porters when slippery rocks and precarious ledges must be climbed.
Black skies, torrents of rain and foggy slippery trails on the sides of the mountains obviously held no love the Himalayan intruders such as me. The trail was less steep now but slick with red mud. Mossy pines closed over us and thrust their sprawling roots across the way. Bloodthirsty leeches, lurking under the rocks and awakened by our sounds, crawled on our boots and up the coolies' dark nude limbs at every step. Only speed and more speed would enable us to leave this dismal, lonely, God-forsaken range of mountains. The forest was deathly still. Fog banks, raw and cold drifted through the tall pines and left their boughs dripping and slimy.
Rounding a sharp turn in the trail, I stopped abruptly. Leaning against a large rock I pulled out my dauntless to extract a leech that was at the point of disappearing over the edge of my boot.
Something had moved, I was sure. There it was again! This time a few leaves rustled, more than mere chance could move. Sensing something was wrong I quickly forgot about the leech and drew my blade up. There was a large boulder by the side of the trail that I eased over to, glad for the protection from the rear that it afforded me. I waited, - tense and expectant. The stillness was awesome.
The fog and mist seemed to form weird shapes writhing and twisting through the dense foliage. Suddenly, from in front of us, a raucous scream pierced the air. Another followed from the right of me. The ghostly quality of the mist and the unreality of the situation had a nightmarish tinge.
My spine was tingling in high gear now. I gripped my dauntless more firmly. About 20 feet away, somewhat in front of my rock was the clump of rhododendron where the first scream broke the stillness. This time it seemed as though it was behind me.
I emerged from the rock to face the unknown and a hideous face thrust apart the wildly thrashing leaves and gaped at me. I shall not long forget the faces. Grayish skin, beetle black eyebrows, a mouth that seemed to extend from ear to ear and long yellowish teeth were nerve shattering enough. But those eyes, beady, yellow eyes that stared at me with obvious demoniacal cunning and anger. That face!
Weird ideas were beginning to force their way into mind. Perhaps, but no, damn it, it has to be! This was the abominable snowman!
A chill sent gooseflesh along my back. The thought of these creatures had often been in my mind when we had trekked over the snows and high places. No European or American had ever proved the existence of the snowmen, although the natives certainly believed in them. No, I insisted to myself, there is no such creature as an abominable snowman or yeti. This face has to be an ape, or a man, or a demon,. . . .- Or the snowman!!
A hand pushed through the leaves. Then a quick movement and a shoulder. There before me, appeared the semblance of a body.
As the creature emerged through the dark leaves, I prepared for a fight.
The creature was about ten feet tall, half crouching on two shaggy legs, leering at us in undisguised fury. Claws, or hands, seemed dark perhaps black, while his bedraggled shaggy body was gray and thin. It shuffled along with a stoop the way a Neolithic cave man might have walked. Well built and sinewy, it could prove to be the most formidable opponent. Teeth bared, it snarled like an animal. Two long fangs protruded from its upper lip. Truthfully, I was more concerned with survival than identification. The band of animals was certainly aggressive, giving every indication that they meant to destroy me. But I couldn't help thinking about the creatures themselves. As to prepare for the battle of my life, I slowly removed my outer layers down to my Shagmaster.
An uncanny and eerie silence pervaded the air. What was happening? The beast moved towards me now with his head in held low placing his hand out almost asking for forgiveness. All the creatures in the background now knelled before me. I outstretched my arm and the beast softly gripped my forearm then quickly roared and all the creature crashed into rocks and quickly retreated into the mist.
What was it that I saw? Why did they retreat? Perhaps…No…maybe. I stood looking down at my shaggy arm.
One thing is certain. Whatever science will some day discover it to be, the creature humankind has called the abominable snowman is there in the Himalayan heights.
I know. I met it there on the pilgrim trail from Tarke Ghyang and they fear The ShagMaster.
