Chapter Thirty Seven:     Corridor to Squatchland


Transcribed from dictation, ADAM narrating--
events occurring from December 26th

It was time for me to go to Aket; I hadn't been there since the revolution last August, almost four months ago. We had left in a hurry, violence going on all around us, but by all reports it was now safe again.

Actually, it was time for everything at once: according to our manager and those concerned with the S&F music business, it was critical that we to take the band on a USA tour and to record some new songs before we ran out of money. According to the Anthropology Department at the University of Washington, I needed to produce a treatise for my Masters Degree pretty quick. According to the Nokhon Nation Project it was time to establish a precedent for capable Nokhons becoming integrated into NokhSo society. And of course, the legal problems with the lumber cartel was not going away. There was an endless list of things I should do RIGHT NOW. Actually kinda stressing.

But Aket won out because we were worried about our guys in Shamballah. Dambaraggan had received a telepathic SOS and we needed to respond right away, so that got priority. Magga wanted to go along, she had unfinished Sha-haka-ma business to resolve since she had just barely completed her studies the day before we escaped from the rioting in Aket. We were all ready for it anyway. I figured we'd be gone about a month. Maybe back in time for the 4th of February kha-rat.

Melly had my power of attorney for all S&F business transactions and she was better at it than me anyway. Besides, I knew that going on tour now in the middle of winter was the last thing any of us really wanted to do, having just gotten back from California, Mexico and Nevada. We figured our shows in LA and Las Vegas had been spotlight enough for the moment, and all those music videos we'd made in LA were just beginning to get air time on MTV etc. Si Bintzen was being hysterical, worrying about all the money we'd be LOSING if we didn't do a big show in every American city, but that sounded really grueling and was not something I'd be looking forward to. (Besides, can you really be losing money you haven't worked hard to earn?) I'd rather make another album first, after we write enough songs.

Melly and Lissandra made sure to give me some goodbye loving, warning me to be faithful while I was gone. Which was a joke, of course-- I'm pretty sure they already had plans for their own adventures. Masnia wasn't coming to Aket this time, without her father there she wouldn't have any function; besides, she was just too busy being a celebrity in the USA. But she did find time to give both Dambaraggan and me a sweet & sexy send-off. Magga didn't need to give me a send-off, since she was coming along, but she had me anyway. It was hard to leave all those loving behinds. Dambaraggan and Magga and I finally set out on a Tuesday.

I was bearing a backpack with some forbidden skesk into Squatchland, a guitar and a few items I had promised to deliver for Uncle Wallace. Not supposed to be trafficking skesk, I know, but we were in the process of modernizing the squatch world and I wasn't ready to back off yet. Besides, all the rules were changing since the revolution, Da-starda-hat's fundamentalist regime had lost all footing in Aket. And I just happened to know that the strict Alutna-jii (Daklakht, my father/father-in-law) was momentarily out of town (still in the Himalayas, in fact).

Even so, my home-made backpack was disguised with clippings of my own hair to make it less obvious than fluorescent pink nylon. Sneakable, hopefully invisible. And maybe I could pass as a hunchback. I didn't want to be too blatant about pushing skesk.

Had I been traveling alone I probably would have taken my Squatchmobile and driven up to the same National Forest parking lot I'd used before, well up into the Cascade Mountains. That would have put us within an easy day's hike of Aket, much easier and faster than walking all the way from Mothers Meadow, of course. But it would be a tight fit for the three of us (especially big fat Dambarragan) and I'm not sure my old Chevy could take our combined weight. Besides, I'm pretty sure my beat-up old primer-sprayed Chevy Camaro has become s bit too well known by now-- it's probably the only squatch-modified Chevy convertible in the world, sometimes seen on TV and featured in magazines. So if someone spots it parked in the National Forest for several days it might be a clue as to where the media could/would start looking for us. The location of Aket must remain secret.

It would take us several days to walk there, but that would also give us time to gear down from the stress and swirl of Modern USA. To a standard American, the sleepy town of Monroe could hardly be considered an example of big city lifestyle, but to a young Nokhon just come in from the deepest darkest woods, Monroe is the Big Apple. Our NNP "office" there is their gateway to a world of new concepts, such as technology and economics and work ethic, those frightening and stressful things that had to be learned to deal with the NokhSo world. Both Magga and Dambaraggan had acclimated rather successfully, better than most Nokhons (some never do and just slip back into the woods) but they were both ready to go visit The Old Country for a break from learning English and comprehending the horrible news on TV and how to use Atli-forbidden skesk. Me too, away from all those demanding duties and obligations I've already mentioned.

So for now a leisurely stroll through peaceful forests was a welcome change. Going slow was just fine. And of course, Dambaraggan was not built for speed-- he was strong, could walk all day and night, non-stop, but not quickly. Magga could move fast, but she was in no hurry either. It was just me, with my NokhSo come-on-hurry-up attitude, who'd even considered driving to Aket in my car at a hundred miles an hour as an "efficient" use of my valuable time.

The route we would take just happened to be part of the new official Nokhon Nation Access Corridor. Squatches have always moved through the landscapes of the Great Pacific Northwest, but secretly, having had to sneak past the impediments of Western Civilization: roads & railroad lines, towns, farms. But now there was a newly dedicated corridor of wild forest legally defined as Sasquatch Territory, leading from Mother's Meadow right up into the Cascade Mountain Range. Of course any squatches wandering that way would simply continue moving along in secret anyway; no one really trusts Men Who Carry Noisekillers, but at least if a normal man does meet a Bigfoot in the woods he should be aware that: yes, (A) they do exist; and (B) this is a path they use a lot, so no big surprise finding them here. They won't harm you, they are generally non-violent, if you will just be the same.


All electronics technology emits an ozone smell, it's faint but we squatches can usually detect it and be aware that NokhSos are in the area, well before we finally see them. Of course, gunpowder and machine oil are a much more immediately alarming smell to Nokhons, but we have come to understand that a cell phone can also cause trouble.

So we smelled the NokhSo couple waiting in the forest ahead of us and were not taken by surprise. We could easily have avoided them, but I knew who they were and had nothing against greeting them. They were Squatch-Watchers.

Now that the well publicized corridor is open to facilitate traffic between Nohons living in the woods of the Great Pacific Northwest and our own Nokhon Nation Project just outside Monroe, Bigfoot enthusiasts know approximately where we can be spotted-- it's a very wide corridor so they can only guess at exactly where we will pass, but they now have a better chance of making a sighting, which is their hobby. It's weird that I happen to be their hobby, but it's kinda okay. Promotes good will between races, defuses contact trauma.

I let the humans know we were coming, did a squatch call: the kind we do to warn our Nokhon friends and family that it's really US who are about to drop in on them, so that they don't need to panic. Many Squatch Watchers have learned the call, like birdwatchers do. They get it from a YouTube video I made last year, in which I demonstrate the call. Some aficionados learn it pretty well, but no NokhSo does it well enough to fool a Nokhon, we can always hear that it's a little hairless NokhSo calling. But that's fine, it's meant to be friendly rather than confusing.

The couple responded, returned my call, came out of hiding just as we were upon them. They were both in their 50's, dressed for trekking and camping, armed with cameras (but no noisekillers). The man wore a bushy beard, the woman wore pigtails, they smelled organic. They approached smiling and enthusiastic, but careful.

They looked at Dambaraggan with wonder-- well, he IS pretty round and huge. And Magga is pretty spectacular, a beautiful and sexy Amazon, especially with her body hair trimmed so close that she looked just as naked as she actually was. And then they finally recognized me.

"Oh My God, Bertram, it's HIM! Oh My God, Oh My God!" The woman became slightly hysterical, almost running in circles, like she'd just seen Jesus.

Bertram attempted to be more dignified, but then he lost it too: "Naw, Karen, that's not-- wait! It IS him! It IS Adam Leroy Forest! Himself!"

"Yeah, yeah, you got me," I confess, a little embarrassed about all the fuss, "it's really me. In the flesh. And hair. But let's not freak out, okay?"

"No, no, of course not," the man assured me, calming down, "we don't mean to... well, we're just surprised. We're from..."

"..Squatch Watchers, I know. I gave a talk at one of your meetings a while back, so I recognize you both, Bertram and Karen." Actually, I'd just learned their names here and now, but they were astounded and pleased anyway. I offered to shake hands with them.

Karen crumpled backwards, frightened by the size of my hand, but Bertram gritted his teeth and dared to put his tiny hand in mine. I was careful not to squeeze and he was relieved when I released it. Then I could see that Karen regretted having chickened out, so I offered her my hand again and she took it in both of hers.

"Oh, we recognize you too, of course," she enthused, "we were just confused because you're not wearing... er...uh..."

"Clothes. No, when we're out in Squatchland we follow the local customs. Kinda like in Rome."

"So are you on your way to meet other... squatches?" Karen asked, eager for some inside information. That was not a question I wished to answer.

"They call themselves Nokhontli, Karen," Bertram corrected her etiquette. I remember having said that at their meeting, so he'd been listening.

"We also call ourselves squatches in English," I said, "so it's not derogatory, if you're wondering."

"That's good, I mean we're Squatch Watchers, after all," he commented. "In fact, we came out here to this newly official Nokhon Nation corridor hoping to make a Bigfoot sighting today. But we didn't dream that we'd bump into YOU."

Magga and Dambaraggan stayed back, letting me speak English for them, patiently waiting for us to continue our journey. I was also ready to keep moving, not interested in a long conversation with these people. They were nice enough, but hardly interesting. Just passing strangers.

But they were excited and enthusiastic. "Adam, may we take a selfie with you?" Karen already had a cell phone in her hand.

"On one condition," I stipulated, "that it only be a private photo, not to be sold to or published by any commercial media. Sorry, but we've got some lawyers who are sticklers about that stuff ever since I got famous."

"Why lawyers? You've always been famous," Bertram insisted.

"Yes, the Bigfoot Baby of Monroe," Karen reminisced, "we watched you grow up on TV!"

"Well, I've gotten a lot more famous ever since the big concert."

"What big concert?"

It seems they'd never even heard about my musical career, which surprised me-- I mean, they were in their 50's, not in their 90's! But I didn't bother to explain.

I've always been easygoing about letting people take selfies and group pictures with me, but it's become problematic ever since Squatch & Friends had become such a commercial success, those pictures had become worth a lot more money and that generated some legal complications. But far more critical under these conditions is that digital pictures are time & place-stamped and can be used to trace my movements traveling around in Squatchland, which I needed to avoid. Especially while going to and from Aket.

I let them take their selfie because we had just begun our journey a few hours before, we were still close to Monroe, not at all in the vicinity of Aket, so there was not yet any danger of time and place being documented. But from here forward we should avoid contact with NokhSos.


I suppose the three of us traveling together is an impressive sight to any wide-eyed NokhSos who stumble upon us. Even if they don't recognize me when I'm not wearing NokhSo clothes, I'm a healthy-sized Sasquatch, big & hairy, etc. But my two companions are maybe even more impressive: Magga, at 7 feet tall, looks like a teen-aged comic book nerd's wet dream of a sci-fi/fantasy superhero chick, especially since (like Masnia) she has trimmed her nipples bare to deliberately be even more sexy. She can be a slam in the face to any NokhSo with prudish tendencies.

But The Great Dambaraggan is another category of impressive: he makes me look small, standing over 7 feet tall and round as a beach ball, weighing over 1000 pounds, not all of it fat. His hair has never been trimmed, is long and flowing everywhere in theatrical swirls; he's like a circus parade all by himself.

Of course, NokhSos can't know that Dambaraggan is the most famous and respected Ayø'ota Ket or "Great Orator" in all of Nokhon society (he says). He and I met in Aket, where I'd been assigned to study Nokhontli Oration techniques under him. At the time it seemed like my misfortune, but since then we've developed a very fortunate and unusual relationship. Most unusual being that we're both Orators and yet are good friends. That rarely happens between orators, who tend to be traditionally uncharitable to one another, jealous of any recognition and attention others get and sometimes even HATE each other. It seems to be a genetic trait-- or flaw --all orators share.

And sure enough, both Dambaraggan and I had felt that way about each other at first. (Hey, I couldn't help it, that fat old bastard was just so fucking pompous and arrogant!) But we got over it, learned to like each other and respect the other's abilities. In fact, we developed a partnership. Now we share what amounts to a stage act that we perform together. It's pure absurdist theater: he plays the pompous old-fashioned guru, pedantic, stodgy but erudite; I play the upstart punk whippersnapper kid, irreverent, impatient but clever. We insult each other: that's it, the cheapest comedic trick there is. Nokhon cultural needs are simple. Crowds eat it up. We've become very popular, a MUST at Nokhon gatherings, like at a kha-rat or at the Town Square in Aket. We've become stars.

So we honed and rehearsed our act as we walked to Aket:

(punk) "Can't you step it up a bit, fat old man? It will take a season-cycle for us to get there if you cannot stumble and bumble along faster than that."

(stodgy) "O unreasonable brat, we are in no hurry whatsoever to arrive anywhere whensoever. Your impatience annoys me."

(punk) "That is only fair, blubberously heavy one, since I become impatient with your annoyance. I just want to get there. Fast. Quick. Hurryitup."

(stodgy) "Such haste and waste. While I, however, am intent upon enjoying the journey itself. Smelling the flowers along the way!"

(punk) "Smelling the , you mean, we're still too near that last dump you made."

For us it's fun, we make word-play jokes, cheeky insults, entertaining ourselves. Magga can get tired of hearing us reworking our jokes again and again. Oh, we sometimes get an occasional titter out of her, although she more often offers useful criticism when the gags get too silly.

But there is also a higher purpose to our performances: to expand the vocabularies of our audiences, who are sometimes challenged to understand the concepts we are introducing to them. Your average Bigfoot is not very literate or cultural, even though everyone is required to learn Atli (their version of a Bible, their Holy Word, spoken in the oral tradition). That's the only way Nokhons can learn a vocabulary, there are no other "books" nor could they read them if there were (I'm dyslexic myself).

The Atli is presented by Sha-hakas or Orators, usually in a linear progression of chapters, but it's an incredibly long and complex litany and not every Nokhon manages to learn or comprehend the entire text. So Damabaraggan and I borrow words and phrases from parts deep inside the Atli that most people might never come to hear, rephrasing them as funny insults that the audience picks up on and later on might even use the phrases themselves. We're raising the public consciousness. We tell ourselves.

I now have an impressive Nokhontli vocabulary, and I'm sure I've learned more than half of it from Dambaraggan, who (insists that he) can recite the entire Atli. Which he has currently been recording in video sessions at our NNP Studio. It will take years to finish, but there's no hurry.

He has also acclimated and adapted from the traditional Nokhon fear and disgust of skesk to embracing the possibilities of modern media and telecommunications. He's helping us produce an English-Nokhontli video dictionary: we film him performing the language. He pronounces and demonstrates useful phrases, including the hand-and-body language signals that are crucial to understanding Nokhontli.

Dambaraggan is also learning English, and progressing fairly well: like most orators he has a good instinct for languages, so after four months among us he can easily say what he needs to when dealing with NokhSos, videotaping the lessons, discussing the presentation. He has a natural sense for dramatics, Nokhons don't have theater but they do have that oral tradition and Dambaraggan is the expert of that.


Bertram and Karen were not the last squatch hobbyists we encountered along the way. Now that the general location of an NNP Corridor was common knowledge, professional photo journalists and occasional Bigfoot Tourists are often scattered throughout the National Parks, hoping to take photos or films of Bare-Assed Squatches in the Wild. I guess the more easily available sight of Nokhon immigrants walking around Monroe (wearing their white campesiono outfits as provided by the NNP) had become too common and were no longer exotic enough. We must have slipped by six or seven groups of humans out there in the woods, none of whom ever saw or heard us.

Mostly, squatch watchers are polite and non-invasive, but some are not, feeling that native Nokhons are obliged to pose and cooperate. Of course, those people usually never ever see a Bigfoot and are sometimes offended about that, even complaining to the NNP over their cell phones. One group we passed by was carrying weapons: three young guys with assault weapons and pistols, we could smell the gunpowder stench a mile away.

Not that we got into conversations with any of them, passing them by, invisible and unnoticed, like squatches do. Although I was tempted to accost those guys with weapons, since hunting was not allowed in a National Forest-- but we did not want to generate any kind of documentation of our journey, such as where we'd been at what time, so we simply avoided them.

There were also other folk in the woods not so easy to slip past unseen: Nokhons like ourselves. As we neared the vicinity of Aket we must have met 10-12 squatches, some in small groups of 3 or 4, just hanging out in the wilderness together. A few of them I recognized from Aket, some recognized me, but these were not necessarily friendly meetings. They'd been kicked out of the city after the revolution and were now exiles, wandering around more or less lost, not knowing where to go or what to do.

A few exiles were openly hostile to me, blaming me for causing all their troubles: "Kha, it's HIM, The accursed Negotiator! And look, he's even got skesk with him!" But nobody was interested in getting into a fight with the highly-respected Great Orator Dambaraggan standing beside me; probably afraid he might just roll over them and squash them flat. Others were simply sad and confused. Some had lived too long in the comforts of the city and had lost the knack of surviving like a natural Bigfoot in the wilderness, so they were pretty miserable.

We informed them about our Nokhon Nation Project, told them how to get to our "refugee camp" at Mother's Meadow, where they could try their luck at adapting to the NokhSo way of life, since they were locked out of the Nokhon city anyway. But most of them were too anti-NokhSo, anti-skesk, hard-core Atli fundamentalists to consider that as an option. They had all been devotees of the fascistic Starda Faction, which is why they were exiles now.

As we went higher into the Cascades our route took us in the vicinity of Dannat's bakhl, so of course we had to pay him a visit, even though we'd all been together at the last kha-rat in the Mother's Meadow. As it was, he wasn't home, doing his rounds as healer, but my Aunt Mawa and his other mate Malla were happy to see us. Especially since I had brought them some beer, which they've both learned to like while spending time with us. I had a six-pack for them to share with Dannat when he came back, so they put them all in the local creek to drink cold together later on.


We did not stay long, since we wanted to get to Aket. Also to avoid... well, I may as well admit my silly little problem among Nokhon women, since it keeps popping up (so to speak). Just don't laugh, ok?

As you know, Nokhons have those wild shyøma-sex orgies every full moon at the kha-rat, so most squatch males are sexually satisfied--if not worn to a frazzle--for the rest of the month. Most guys are accustomed to sex being so over-the-top intense that they've become jaded and lost any interest for normal everyday lazy-cozy quickie sex. Or maybe their sex drive is affected by phases of the moon, as are the women's. Or maybe it's cultural, who knows? Well, I was raised to be your typically horny American guy, so I'm pretty much interested in some sex every day, especially with those four girls I love. My problem is that ALL the squatch women want me to do that for them too-- and I'm not really into it.

I mean, I've got four "wives" at home and we've found a rhythm to make that work out okay for everyone, I like that a lot. We all do, it's wonderful! But at the NNP we get these fresh batches of squatch girls showing up all the time, who've heard about me and want to try being serviced every day, just like Magga and Masnia. I really don't like to reject anyone, but I'm becoming reluctant to servicing females I'm not in love with.

Okay, I do love Mawa, she's my mother's sister (there's no such thing as incest among the Nokhontli), but still not the way I love Melly, Liss, Magga and Masnia. Making love with any of them is pretty much a holy experience every time: my four goddesses. And I suppose I kinda love Malla too, we're old friends anyway, and I'll gladly do them both at a kha-rat (along with every other female), but otherwise, I'd rather be faithful to those four girls I love. Hmmm, maybe that sounds kinda crazy. Oh well.

Besides, I was traveling with Magga anyway, and we always have sex at least once a day. Okay, a bit more often when it's only us two. I'm kinda used to getting it 4 times a day now, every day, even if my other three wives aren't here. And Magga's learned to like a sprinkling of quickies over the span of a day, so I'm certainly not sexually frustrated from doing without.

Of course, us traveling three together, it would have been rude of Magga to not also offer Dambaraggan a friendly yøramma too, but he's old and fat enough that he-- like most other squatch males-- hardly bothers with sex except at a kha-rat. He and Magga are also good friends and he understands that Magga would always rather yøramma with me, so he doesn't intrude. Although he would definitely want his share if we were traveling with Masnia, but then they have a special relationship.

However, upon entering the City of Aket there will be no more hanky-pankey since it's not allowed. Aket is a university for Sha-hakas and sexual release is considered a waste of too much potential magic energy, so students are required to be celibate and live like monks while staying there. Actually, with so much sex going on in my life these days you'd think I'd be looking forward to a pause... but I'm not. I'm hardly tired of yøramma with Magga, which seems so much more romantic since it's only me and her for the while. Oh well, we've endured celibacy before, I guess we'll survive.


I may not offer any clues concerning Aket's location, like how many days it took for us to walk there, but I can say that we approached the secret entrance to the underground passages just before nightfall. It was beginning to snow heavily at the time, so it was nice to get out of the weather. As always, a couple of Alutna guards stepped out of hiding to challenge us, since everyone must have an appointment to enter Aket. But they'd already recognized us and were aware that we were expected by the Three Elders themselves.

At first one of the Alutna guards got all cop-like when he saw my backpack with guitar, which was obviously forbidden skesk and could absolutely not be taken into the Holy City of Aket. "O'skogome!" he shouted. In fact, it was highly illegal just having it with me, like getting busted for pot in USA. That Alutna agent got excited about getting to arrest a hardened criminal, like cops do.

But another guard, who happened to be a guy I'd studied with named Dalzinet, stepped in and said, "Hey no, Dadamet is on an assignment for the Three Elders Themselves, and he is to bring that bag with him. We’ve been instructed to let him in." No trouble after that, although the first guard was disappointed he couldn't wail on his authority.

We were instructed to follow a guide, who was Dalzinet. He led us through the first section of the confusing maze of caves and tunnels that end up inside the hollow mountain containing Aket. "We've rearranged the route since last time you folks were here," he told us, "blocked off some tunnels, opened up some passages that had had been closed before. Ever since the revolution there are lots of kronoke (exiles) from Aket and they keep trying to sneak back in. Some of the old-timers really don't like being out in the weather."

"Ra, we met some of them," Magga said, "is there a plan to do something for them?"

"Sk,, why should we? They were trying to make life rough for everyone not in their own elite faction; they're just getting what they deserve."

"Just how many people were exiled?" I asked. Which was a stupid question to be asking a Nokhon: they're usually quite vague on the concept of numbers.

Sure enough, his answer was Et (many, big amount). It occurred to me that the hidden city of Aket might have a security problem if a hundred disgruntled squatches were hanging out in the vicinity and trying to sneak in.

It's a long walk into Aket, hours, often through absolute darkness, then along ancient man-made (?) tunnels dimly illuminated by the ghostly phosphorescent moss, with checkpoints and more Alutna stationed along the way. We had to change guides a few times because no one of them is supposed to know the entire route, that's how the squatch city has remained hidden for maybe thousands of years.

Eventually we came to the switchback-stairway chamber, from which we could pass through the last checkpoint, on through the last crevice and into the big open chamber that houses Aket. There's a broad granite shelf or platform from where we can finally look down upon the city itself. Not that we could see much; it was late at night in the middle of Winter, so all those crystal rods that illuminate the ceiling in the day had no sunlight to shine down until dawn. The only lights far below were a few small Sha-haka torches on the Town Square and those dim blue-glowing moss patches scattered between buildings. The three cliffside waterfalls occasionally glinted in the dim light.

It was quite beautiful, but also too dangerous to descend those steep and well-worn stairs in the dark, so we made camp for the night on the platform. We were the only travelers at that time, so we had plenty of room. There were even some leafy pine branches available to sleep on, always better than cold hard granite.







Chapter 38

Adam Into Babylon