A man called Lopsang who lived at the edge of the forest told Messner that he had recently seen a chemo. He led Messner along forest paths, across clearings and undergrowth, to examine tracks in the snow, similar but much larger than those left by human beings. The chemo was said to prey on livestock and steal goats, sheep and yaks, but also to eat berries, marmots and even ants.
Messner then paid a visit to a hermit who lived near Lopsang’s tent. “He nally stood up and led me to his tiny meditation room, where there were a number of objects: a skull set in silver, a ute carved in a human bone, a drum covered with human skin. Back outside, he told me that a few days earlier he had seen a mother chemo playing with her child and that he had talked to her.” 2
Everyone will recognize there the instruments of an ancient ritual: skull, ute and drum are all implements to assist in meditation and trance. As to the dialogue with a chemo, it is clearly the prerogative of shamans capable of conversing with animals and spirits.
Back at camp, Messner haggled with a woman over the price of a so-called chemo paw that she was trying to sell him. It was in poor condition and Messner recognized it as the paw of a bear. “Under the thin hair, the smoke-dried paw looked vaguely like a human hand: real or fake, the object was the very embodiment of the yeti myth.”3 Messner realized that the nomads took, in all good faith, this motheaten paw as that of a yeti and not that of a bear.
Pursuing their trek along icy, wind-blown trails, between 4000 and 5000 meters (13,000–17,000 feet), the explorers met whole families of pilgrims from Tibet or neighboring Chinese provinces (Sichuan, Qinghai, Sinkiang) en route to Lhasa, camping along the road, warming up with hot tea. They burned aromatic herbs and prayed continuously. Prayers become most important during processions to sacred places.
The rapport between men and nature—animals, scenery, mountains—forms the normal spiritual background of the Himalayan
China and surrounding countries. realm. For westerners, this particular perspective is likely to play a secondary role, a fact of which Messner is well aware and never forgets. He has long understood the links between men and, for example, the ibex or the musk deer, or the takin, a bovine resembling the African gnu, which lives between 2000 and 4500 meters (7000– 14,000 feet).
Among the familiar local fauna, there lives the Tibetan wild yak, quite rare today, weighing up to a ton and living high in the mountains, from 3200 to 5400 meters (10,000–17,000 feet) in temperatures as low as –40°C. Its domestic counterpart forms the economic basis of numerous Tibetan communities. These animals, long established in the area, are viewed from two perspectives, one being utilitarian, the other symbolic, or even mythical. But these are living, not bloodless myths, still useful, functional and certainly not inert and dusty objects.
Messner is well aware of the constant exchange between the material plane and the mythical domain. He thinks he is close to nding the key to the mystery when a pilgrim leads him to a village hut housing a store. Hanging on the wall, there hangs a stinky, greasy pelt, which Messner recognizes as that of a rare bear living between 3600 and 5500 meters (12,000–17,000 feet)—the chemo. “In other words, the yeti is a chemo having taken on mythical proportions.”4
1 Reinhold Messner, My Quest for the Ye , p.101.
2 Messner, op. cit., p. 130.
3 Messner, op. cit., p. 131.
4 Messner, op. cit., p 132.
13. Messner Perseveres
In April 1997, Messner once more left Chengdu, in Sichuan, for Tibet. Accompanied by a guide-interpreter, he was con dent that this expedition would allow him at last to conclude his quest. Reaching a broad valley, they decided to pitch their tent. The green meadows of Dora spread before their eyes. One day, Messner and his guide spied with their binoculars a young chemo at the edge of the forest. They named him “White Head.”
The people of that region describe the chemo in the same way as Tibetans speak of the yeti. It is a nocturnal being, usually solitary; its pelt is sometimes dark, sometimes light and changes in color with age. He often walks on its hind legs and often stands erect like a man. Its droppings look like human excrements, although they contain chewed-up bones and the hair of small rodents. It usually lives below the snow line, even in high summer, and only ventures onto the glaciers when strictly necessary. They can be heard and seen near villages, especially in the spring and during the long winter months.1
Day after day, trekking through the majestic mountain scenery, Messner observed and inquired. One day in May, he and his guide rode their horses to the Sosar Gompa, home to about a hundred lamas. Above the entry gate, hung two stuffed animals: a yak and a chemo. The chief lama granted Messner permission to photograph the chemo. Taken down from its hook, the chemo looked impressive, even down on the ground. The monks stared at it respectfully. The boldest lama grabbed the mummi ed chemo and started dancing
with it as the others clap their hands. Their song was like the whisper of waves spreading on the sand. One imagines hearing a silent approval of the bold dancer. One should not forget that for many Tibetans seeing the yeti is an evil omen.
Messner nally concluded that the yeti is a brown bear, a creature that the mountain people of Tibet call chemo and which they have always held in high respect. Its survival, like that of many others, is linked to the respect of nature. “Without wilderness, there is no yeti.”2
Messner always strives to describe nature with great precision. Raised in the bosom of alpine poetry, he is very good at it. He easily depicts the scenes of the daily life of villagers and nomads. In their huts or under canvas, one can see the people living their lives, among their hangings and utensils, gathered around the re or huddling together for warmth. Even their gestures, their facial expressions and their intonations reach us. The animals, the prairies and the woods feel familiar. He successfully conveys the essence of those Himalayan countries that he loves. Therein lies one of the greatest strengths of his work. Perhaps it is the essential element: that country of the yeti, a unique locale where the creature can ourish—or rather, just survive in this day and age. Its survival appears linked to that of the
local population and their lifestyle; realizing, of course, that no lifestyle is completely unchanging.
Each trip through Tibet distanced Messner from the media image of the yeti. Messner suffered the consequences: Wild man specialists began to despise him; sharp tongues insulted him and the media continued to exploit the “abominable snowman” theme. Messner persisted with his conclusion that the esh-andbones yeti is a chemo, a rare Tibetan bear.
Let’s hear what François de Sarre, editorin-chief of Bipedia, had to say about Messner’s proposed thesis that the yeti is a bear. De Sarre pointed out the crossover between the real Ursus arctos and the yeti, nocturnal demon product of the human imagination.
Ursus speloeus (The Cave Bear). 19th century French adver sement for chocolate. PHOTO: Author’s le Of course, the bear might have inspired a number of Himalayan legends, but it seems improbable that it should be at the bottom of all reports on the yeti.3
De Sarre regreted that Messner had focused on a single possibility, that of the brown bear Ursus arctos isabellinus, which neophytes could easily confuse with the black bear Ursus thibetanus. That being said, even if the bear could have given birth to numerous legends, it could not by itself be the solution sought by so many investigators. A bear could not encompass all the clues gathered over the centuries: tales, rituals, encounters, footprints…Nevertheless, who could dispute Messner’s right, on the basis of his extensive experience, to favor a speci c hypothesis, however restrictive it might seem.
In any case, François de Sarre appreciated the descriptions of the vast areas traversed by Messner, often on his own. He also noted the author’s vivid portrayal of the people of the Himalayas, the mark of an exceptional eld observer. From that perspective, de Sarre acknowledged the merits of Messner’s book and recommended it to the amateurs of cryptozoology.
However, although the mysteries of
the Himalayas might now seem somewhat less opaque and the religious practices linked to the yeti rather less strange, from a scienti c perspective the question of the existence of the snowman remains unanswered.
1 Reinhold Messner, My Quest for the Ye , p. 132.
2 Reinhold Messner, op. cit., p. 164.
3 François de Sarre, “Is the Ye the Brown Bear?” Bipedia, Mar. 23, 1999, p. 9.
14. A Parenthesis: Links to the Pacific Northwest
I cannot possibly hide the contents of the correspondence that just came in from Seattle, USA. Among the documents included, there is one that expands on Messner’s comments about the role of animals. We recall the importance of the ibex, the musk deer, the takin and the yak in a hierarchy dominated by the yeti.
The document that caught my eye told of the making of a blanket, to be worn as a mantle, from the hair of mountain goats. It was the
A stylized ibex from the Lascaux cave. Photo: Author
rst time in many generations that such a garment, a product of ancestral craftsmanship, had been publicly presented to the members of a Puget Sound tribe of Native Americans. Only a few master weavers had preserved the technique of hand weaving such a blanket.
A presentation ceremony had been staged for this masterpiece, weighing over 15 pounds. It took place on January 27, 2007, in the longhouse of Evergreen State College. It began with a procession, chants and prayers. The blanket was placed successively on the shoulders of all the elders who were honored. They had to remain sitting because of the weight of the garment. One of them expressed a deep feeling for the energy emanating from the blanket. The artifact is rich in meanings; it revives a forgotten art of weaving; it gathers the scattered remnants of the Native community; it also represents the will of the Salish to preserve their traditions. “It is part of our generation’s efforts to recover our identity.”1
Beyond the mountain goat and the mantle we can detect in this new weaving the principles underlying a people’s identity. The scenery changes, but the principles remain. The symbolic meanings, here of a mantle, there of a mysterious creature, are universal. Understanding this meaning makes it possible to understand the community, to join it, rather than remaining an ignorant stranger forever.
1 Michael Pavel, a member of the Skokomish tribe, as quoted in “Blanket brings sacred change,” Lynda V. Mapes, The Sea le Times, January 28, 2007. This blanket is now on exhibit at the Sea le Art Museum.
15. Siberia
In 1995, Reinhold Messner undertook an expedition into the Altai range (4500 meters [15,000 feet]) of southern Siberia. This is the region, south of Novosibirsk, which abuts Kazakhstan in the west and Mongolia in the east. As we shall see, Messner’s explorations in Russia and China were the logical follow-up on his earlier expeditions in the Himalayas.
In his book La Lutte pour les Troglodytes,1 Professor B.F. Porchnev drew a map showing the migration routes of relic paleanthropes, “ancient men,” which he identi ed with latter-day Neanderthals. Porchnev pointed out the vastness of the area that stretches from Kazakhstan, through the Altai, Lake Baikal and the Khingan range, all the way east to the Verkhoyansk Mountains—an area rich in tales, legends and eyewitness reports of manlike creatures preying on reindeer herds. These beings are said to spend their summers in the extreme northern parts of Siberia, on the shores of the Chukotka River.
Porchnev quotes the archaeologist A.P. Okladnikov: The Chuchunyas are a tribe of half-human, half-animal beings which formerly lived here, in the North, and which are still seen occasionally, although rarely. Their head was as if stuck to their body, without a neck. At night, they would suddenly show up at the top of a cliff and throw rocks on the sleeping men and steal a few reindeer from their herd. Makarov, a Yakut hunter, states that he had seen caves inhabited by the Chuchunyas on the right bank of the Lena River…In those natural shelters he had found the horns and skins of reindeer which they had devoured.2
This report is typical of the eyewitness accounts emanating from Yakutia. Later, in 1908, the young mineralogist P.L. Dravert left notes about the herculean natives of the Lena River. According to a Yakut source, these hairy creatures ranged as far as the Aleutian Islands, known as “the warm islands.”
Once, in the land of the Chukchi, the sea left on the beach the body of a very hairy man from the warm islands…He lay there for an entire day. A respected shaman was the only one who saw him, on the following night, rise from the beach and walk three times around the huts of the Chukchi before departing.3
The hairy man is apparently endowed with exceptional abilities. He is feared, and only a shaman could approach closely enough, at night, to observe him.
Among the Yakuts, shamanism has become very elaborate. A range of specialties have developed to deal with every spiritual tradition. There are, for example, “white” male shamans and “black” female shamans; others specialize in healing, counseling, dream interpretation, or prophecy.
Upon the appearance of a hairy wild man, it was probably the shaman’s responsibility to nd out whether the unknown intruder was likely to cause any harm.
The white shaman’s role was to relate with spirits and the gods of heaven. This distinction between white and black shamans is also found among the Buriats, somewhat closer to the Altai range explored by Reinhold Messner.
The shaman understands the language of animals, which also allows him to converse with spirits. He must develop friendly relations with helping spirits, which join his own protecting spirit and enhance his power in his struggle against demons.
Are the hairy men, half-man and half-animal, among the shaman’s helping spirits? Or might they belong with the demons? The chuchunyas mentioned above seem to be of a rather complex nature,
Jean Servier’s book. requiring the intervention of an experienced specialist. Such a shaman would know what to do should chuchunyas happen to threaten the souls of the tribe’s people. The necessary rituals nd their counterparts across the ocean, among North American natives.4 The similarity of the practices found in such diverse regions is striking:
Shamanism in these regions (Mongolia and Siberia) is closely linked with the religions and beliefs found in two widely separated parts of the world. North America was probably peopled by Siberian hunters who crossed Bering Strait while it was still a bridge between the continents. The shamanism of American Eskimos is almost identical to that of the Siberian Chukchi. The Mongolian shamanic tradition is close to the pre-Buddhist Tibetan religion bonpo and to various religions surviving in Nepal and southeast Asia.5
Ainu man, circa 1880. PHOTO: Author’s le Before leaving Siberia behind, let’s consider for a moment the Ainu, an ancient folk still found today in northern Japan, on the island of Hokkaido. The Japanese parliament formally recognized the Ainu people on January 16, 2008. The Ainu are characterized by their pale skin, their non-slanted eyes and by their hairiness. Ainu men grow abundant beards; after puberty, Ainu women decorate their skin with tattoos. The Japanese used to call them “the hairy savages.” They are known to be related to Tibetans and to Mongolian and Siberian natives.
For the Ainu, everything is endowed with spirit, including even the objects they fashion. However for such objects to possess a soul, they must be decorated: inner beauty is supposed to correspond to natural beauty. The Ainu strive to respect the harmony of nature.
Within this animistic conception—anima meaning soul, in Latin—the Ainu see a hierarchy of spirits, dominated by the spirit of re. The spirits of the salmon and of the bear are also of great importance.6 The bear, lord of the forest, was the object of a special ritual after the hunt. Its spirit was to be placated by offerings of food and drink. The bear could also be killed as a sacri cial victim, after having been raised and breast-fed by a woman. The bear had to give its life so that its soul would be free of its body and could ful ll its role as a messenger to the God of the Mountain, the protector of the Ainu.
Some North American
tribes, the Assiniboines, for
; example, perform rituals de
voted to the bear; and even in
Europe, in Spain (Catalonia)
and France (in the Pyrenees)
one nds similar ceremonies.
In spite of their geographical
distance, there is a similarity
of modes of thinking. It would
appear that Reinhold Messner
was strongly attracted by the
modes of thought and living
of those people living north of Ainu bear fes val, 1914. PHOTO: Author’s le the Himalayas.
1 La Lu e pour les Troglodytes [The Struggle to nd the Troglodytes] is the rst part of a book wri en by B. Porchnev jointly with Bernard Heuvelmans, author of the second part: L’Enigme de l’Homme Congelé [The Mystery of the
Frozen Man]. Both parts appeared under the tle L’Homme de Néanderthal est toujours vivant [Neanderthal Man is s ll alive!], 1974.
2 B. Porchnev, op. cit., p. 146. See also O. Tchernine, p. 137.
3 B. Porchnev, op. cit., p. 146. See also O. Tchernine, p. 138.
4 Cf. Mario Mercier, Chamanisme et Chamans.
5 Piers Vitebsky, Les Chamanes, p. 61.
6 These beliefs were discouraged by both the Japanese and the Soviets.
16. Kazakhstan
In 1997 we nd Messner in Kazakhstan, a country famous for its horsemen—no connection with Russian Cossaks of course. The Kazakhs are nomads living in yurts and ranging over a vast territory between the Caspian Sea in the west and China in the east.
The Asian Wild Man Page 7