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The Basahaun Legend. Could it be related to the Snow Man? [30 Apr 2013|07:51pm]

The Basajaun Legend. Could it be related to the Snow Man?

Two weeks ago I visited the Bask Country and I had a chance to discuss with the local people and collect information about the cryptozoological phenomenons of this region.

People told me that there is a legend about the terrible, terrible creature which lives in some mountain regions of this country.

The name of this creature is basahaun! It is extremely powerful! Creature is anthropomorphic, about 2.5-3 metres tall, looks like a geant ape, it is covered completely by long hairs. Interestingly, it often has a read beard and some parts of the body are red-colored.

This description reminds about the stories of the Snow Man, which I have heard when I was a chilled. According the legend, Snow Man lives in Kabarda and Abhazia and other whild regions of the Northern Caucasus.

What if Basahaun is on the last relict from the big prehistoric European population of anthropomorphic creatures?
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Giant Monster in Phillipines! [08 Apr 2010|09:17pm]

Giant Monster in Phillipines!

Giant Monstrous Reptile was discovered by 2 students in the northern Philippines! And this published in Science magazine and you can trust it completely! Unbelievable story! This animal is closely related to dragons, scientists call it Varanus bitatawa.

Local native tribes are actively hunting this (ex-?)cryptozoological creature because of the absolutely astonishing test of its meat.

For 10 years, field researchers in the rainforests of the northern Philippines saw trunks raked by powerful claws and heard local tribes' accounts of the "bitatawa," a lizard whose meat was tastier than that of the well-documented Gray's monitor lizard (Varanus olivaceus). But it wasn't until the summer of 2009, when a pair of graduate students wheedled an adult specimen from hunters.

Read more

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Eh? [05 Oct 2006|01:54am]

No yetis anymore, huh guys?
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10/4/05: Crazy. [04 Oct 2005|08:01pm]

I feel different. Today, yesterday, last week; I feel different. I think about the yeti, and I don't know. I don't know how it makes me feel. I feel something, but--I don't even know if it's real. Sometimes I wonder whether I am pretending and I don't even know it.

I read other posts on this community, and I think I identify with them, but I do not know anymore. I don't even know!

I asked recently how the yeti makes others in the group feel, and the sole response was "Sad. And MAD."

That isn't how I feel. All I think about lately is Mexico, and how close it is to the United States. How easy it would be! How easy it would be to go there, and to see my family, but God, I can't think about that now. The yeti. The yeti. Mexico.

When did I get to be so old?
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Important question [01 Oct 2005|10:27pm]

How does the yeti make you feel?
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Anernerk. [03 Oct 2005|01:08am]
Today, the chief called me into his tent bright and early to help clean some fresh furs. It's messy work and it stinks, but all it requires is some time-consuming brute labor, so I'm suited just fine for it, and have found myself doing it quite a lot.

I followed him through the entry flap and there was that beautiful daughter of his, already scrubbing the inside of a wolf pelt. I sat down across from her and got to work on one of my own. The stench is unbearable at first, but you get used to it soon enough.

Suddenly some commotion broke out outside - it was those two old bastards that always bicker over whose icehole is whose. The chief winced and indicated to me that he'd be a while. He gave me a pat on the shoulder and walked out. He trusts me! In his own tent alone with his own daughter. I felt so honored. I scrubbed the furry flank in my hands with renewed vigor.

She and I worked hard for a while, eyes cast down toward our respective pelts. The commotion had died down shortly, but the chief did not return. Presently, startlingly, she looked up at me, and said something to the effect of:

"He and the [it's an Eskimo word, something like 'old farts'] have probably gone hunting. What's your name?"

Communication was pretty shaky; she doesn't know a smidgen of English and my grasp of the North Canadian tongue remains shaky. But we talked, a little nervously, for some time. I told her my name, what had brought me there. She said that the chief had spoken of me, and told her about the Yeti, and even that he seemed to worry about me, thinking it was foolish to continue pursuit of the beast. I grunted in reply. I don't feel like I could be swayed from that quest -- but, secretly, the Yeti was the last thing on my mind, just then.

The chief returned in the late afternoon. She and I had just finished cleaning, and had laid all the pelts in a neat pile at the side, when he arrived back in the tent and saw us sitting there, awkwardly, across from each other. He gave us the most suspicious glance. Looking straight down, she started to crack up, and then I did too. The chief softened quickly, thanked me for the chore, and I felt so warm, accepted. I didn't push my luck, though; I headed back to my tent, hungry for dinner.

She told me her name, too.

Anernerk. Anernerk, Anernerk. I feel that if I repeat it in my head, the harsh Canadian night will feel as warm and comforting as a swim in the hot tubs back home. She is so gorgeous.
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Back! [02 Oct 2005|04:57am]
Sorry I've been so slack in posting lately, everyone. The satellite connection is a little shaky, up here in the Great Canadian North, and we've had a bit of a blizzard, so people have been mostly holed up in their huts.

I've had some trouble with getting food for myself, as you might imagine by my ice-fishing tales, but I think the chief of this tribe is taking a shining to me. He's provided me with some fish in times of emergency like this, and he always seems amused by my foreign ways. The other Eskimo have seen more fit to shun me, and I can tell they don't like how he favors me, but I think he sees something of value in me, and for once I feel a little appreciated. I haven't had someone believe in me like that...not since Marco...

But with his occasional companionship and some time inside his hut, I've been surprised to find my mind drifting from the pursuit of the Yeti altogether. He and his daughter have really been extremely welcoming. I try to be as helpful as I can - boning fish, as best as I can, and so on - and I think they appreciate the thought, even if I'm not always successful.

His daughter, actually, has been especially kind to me. She's...she's very attractive. Sometimes, when she looks at me, I think...I think she'd like me to know what's under those thickly layered furs.

But that's crazy. An awkward foreigner like me?

Needless to say, though, my mind is on her quite a bit.
More soon.
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Our journey progresses [01 Oct 2005|06:00pm]

Lately, I've been feeling like everything is falling apart. It's the like the whole world is on fast forward, and I just watch as it decays.

No, that isn't right. It's like I'm running headlong into it. The decay.

Seu Paulo and I made our way to Brazil, to the place where the Juruá meets Brazil. There, we found a man I once knew. He is named Jorge Teixeira, and he is a good man.

Phineas Hannigan is the name of the man that brought us there. Paulo and I searched, on foot, for five days before we came upon his home. We knew immediately that we'd found him when we entered his village, a small group of adobe houses gathered near a spring; it is called Cacuero, and the only remarkable thing about it was the shabby car parked in the decaying leaves.

We found him inside his home, and we asked him to help us. He was happy to, but I do not know why. I suspect only that our talk of the yeti sparked something inside him.

Phineas and I took turns driving; we drove nine hours each every day. He is an aging white man, but his endurance is surpring. There is something very curious about him, this white man who chooses to live in a village so small and primitive that it appears on no map.

Having arrived in Brazil, we parted ways. I will miss his company; I bid him farewell, but he only met my eyes and smiled.

His absence has widened the rift between Seu Paulo and I, or at least called attention to it. Over the past few weeks, we have spoken barely a hundred words to one another.

We arrived last night at Jorge Teixeira's home. He welcomed us with warmth, and we brought our sparse belongings into seperate rooms. It feels so strange to be in this house, elegant, air conditioned, wired. It practically glows.

He is arranging our voyage to Mexico, presently.
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Another day. [25 Sep 2005|02:42am]
September 25 - Today I thought a lot about how much I hate the Yeti. Stupid thing.

Still no goddamn fish. Every time the old men see me making a new hole, they turn away. I think they joke about me.
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Long day [24 Sep 2005|02:34am]
September 24 - I'm still stationed up in the Great Canadian North, but since Marco's death I've been pretty stationary for a while. I know the Yeti's out there, but I guess he's not really going anywhere. I'm at a settlement in North Inukshuk, and the natives are pretty used to me being around, now.

Today I spent a while watching some TV, but the reception's not really great, up here. I always feel like the natives don't really like me that much; they just kind of look at me sternly when I'm wandering around. I'm worried that I might have said something offensive when I last talked to the chief's daughter - my grasp on their language is minimal, and she seemed a little put out when I suggested we go icehole fishing sometime. I'm not really great at icehole fishing, though, so I guess I can see why she wouldn't be too thrilled at the thought. I tried a little more today, but it just got boring. Is anything even alive down there? These withered old geezers from the town seem to sit there all day and all night - I never walk past and not see them in just the same damn spots. I never see a live fish, and yet they've always gotten a few by the time they go in! I haven't caught anything yet, but, I guess I'll work on it.

So I had some bread and melted snow for dinner, and I'm just in bed with the computer, now. I might try fashioning some anti-Yeti weapons tomorrow, if I feel like it. I got this awesome song, Fu Manchu's "Grendel, Snowman", and it's about the Yeti, I think, and it's gotten me pretty pumped. Maybe I'll get hunting again soon.
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Smelling just like lumber... [12 Sep 2005|08:34pm]

My journey is progressing smoothly. Yesterday, Seu Paulo and I spent several hours preparing for our trip before retiring to our camp. We meant only to eat a small meal and go to sleep; actually, we spoke in whispers through the night, our voices barely audible over the crackling of the fire.

Some hours into our conversation, Paulo asked me why I am fascinated with the yeti. I started on the elegance and mystery of the creature, but he raised a hand. "Tell me why. Why do you chase this beast, senhor?" My mind racing, I looked to the stars for an answer, and they remained curiously silent.

I told him, "Maybe...maybe I just need to." Seu Paulo gazed off; I could not tell whether the spark in his eye was from the fire. Eventually, he said, in perfect Spanish, "Senhor... you are very lonely." He paused again and said "Maybe--maybe you are chasing not the yeti, but yourself."

We sat for while as the fire dimmed, and I fell asleep.
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New here. [13 Sep 2005|12:26am]
Hey, fellow Yeti hunters!

I'm so glad to see that finally some kind of organized community has sprung up for us folk. It's easy to feel alone in a job like this.

As much as I do feel we should stick together, I think it's always had to be a lonely sort of job, though. Yetieers (as we call them up here in Canada) are so few and far between, and the unspeakable violence that this job can wreak in your life...you learn not to make close friends.

Up until recently I had a partner, Marco. He and I trekked through the barren North Wilderness together for years, carefully mapping out areas of potential Yeti habitat. We felt we were closing in, and Marco, thinking he was hot on the trail, went into the Frozen North Canada Woods one fateful night as we camped out at the border. When I awoke and saw he was gone, I dashed into the icy woods, and found him dead, gutted -- and caught a glimpse of the yeti's back, dashing away into the night. It moved like nothing I've ever seen before.

Ever since then, I haven't known whether I'd photograph the Yeti, or kill it, if I saw it. But I know more than ever that it is my mission to find this creature.

Just a reminder, Yetifolk - it's not always fun and games, to track the Yeti.
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A new friend, a new destination... [12 Sep 2005|11:47pm]

Growing weary...

By and large, the men and women of Casica will not meet my gaze any longer. In the past week--month? Year?--I've traveled all over Lima, but to no avail. In my limited Portuguese, I've inquired as to the whereabouts of my great white whale: the yeti. Grande-Pé...

I found a village, Vedonero. The people there live in a very primitive fashion, homes made of dirt and rock. There, they do not meet my request with blank expressions, but with grimaces and silent screams. One man, Seu Paulo, has asked to join my expedition. His face is youthful, but his posture, his wrinkled skin, his dull green eyes, tell of his years. I accepted.

He tells me that the yeti has been here, but that he is gone. He knows not English, but he has a fair grasp of Spanish, as do I. We spoke for hours in hushed voices over a fire last night, and considered where we would go next. I am hesitant to leave, but my desire to find the monster steels me, and I am propelled forward.
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The elusive Grande-Pé [08 Sep 2005|12:37am]

I have been stationed in Lima, Peru for just over two weeks now. Most of the villages I have come upon sneer at me, and none have understood my language. Finally, late last night, I came upon a hidden village called Casica; there, I found a man who understood english, although from his skin, I knew that he was native of Portugal. He was peculiar but hospitable... until I inquired as to the yeti. The man then uttered two words: "Grande-Pé..."

He asked me to leave, then.
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