The green-eyed monster inside of me has been itching to come out because some dudes have found a way to make money at a career I didn’t think was possible. I’m referring to the four Sasquatch searchers on Animal Planet’s “Finding Bigfoot” television show who are making mad money looking for a creature I had hoped as a kid I could spend my adult life finding.
I was obsessed with Bigfoot as a kid, most likely because I watched a lot of “The Six Million Dollar Man” whose epic battles with the creature defined my television viewing experiences in the 1970s. While Steve Austin may have revealed Bigfoot was actually an alien android, I wasn’t quick to fall for that theory. I agonizingly studied any book I could find on the subject, and watched everything on television about it. Plus, I saw “Harry and the Hendersons” three times at the theater, instantly making me the world’s foremost expert on the legendary beast at the time.
Set on being a Bigfoot hunter (a term I use loosely because I could never bring myself to harm one should I find it) as a kid, I figured I simply needed to move to the West Coast states when I got older and then spend my days in the woods searching for it. I assumed some college education in science would give me enough ability to track it, and the government would be happy to pay me to do so.
Others pointed out the government would never pay anybody to search for Bigfoot, so I should give up this unachievable dream. The government certainly pays for less worthy endeavors, I thought, but as I got older, I realized these people were probably right. I then turned my attention to becoming a journalist and columnist, probably so I could write about these foolish goals. I do get paid to do so, but probably not much more than I would have as an unpaid Bigfoot hunter.
Over the years, my once undying belief in Bigfoot has disappeared. I’ve asked myself one question: In today’s technological world in which nearly everyone has camera and video camera abilities through their smartphones, why hasn’t anyone captured definitive proof of the beast? Go on YouTube and search for “Bigfoot.” With one exception, all you will find are horrible videos that all appear fake, blurry or distant.
The one exception is the 1967 Patterson-Gimlin video. This video is the famous one almost always shown during Bigfoot documentaries. While nobody has been able to prove it’s definitely authentic, no one has also demonstrated it’s fake.
Whether or not it’s real, it’s definitely better than anything those bozos have filmed on “Finding Bigfoot.” The three men on the show are all big believers in Bigfoot, some having encountered it before they began the show. The female on the show is the skeptic, who argues against nearly everything they bring forth as proof.
The weekly show follows them as they go to known Bigfoot sightings to investigate. They talk with the witnesses and then go to the location it was spotted. They recreate the scene for the witnesses, and use the recreation to determine if they did indeed spot Bigfoot.
At night, they return the scene to see if the creature will return. Using night cameras, some of which are equipped with heat sensors, they attempt to find the beast. Often they’ll make Sasquatch calls, some of which they claim are returned. Once in awhile they’ll point out night noises as coming from possible Bigfoots in the area, and sometimes they claim something is throwing rocks at them, because apparently Bigfoot has nothing better to do.
In the end, they leave believing they’ve uncovered enough evidence to claim Bigfoot was in the area. Viewers, like me, think otherwise.
Then again, I’m probably too jealous. Why didn’t I think to grab a camera and take to the woods at the start of the reality television boom to pursue my former dream? Back then, nearly everyone who proposed a reality show got one. These guys did well at the end of the boom.
I guess I should have been a little smarter. Then again, I’d like to think Bigfoot is really an alien android sent to Earth to spy on humans. It would definitely have the capability to avoid my clumsy pursuit.
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Originally published in The Portage County Gazette on Friday, March 24, 2012.
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