by Richard Edde
Midway the rope got caught in a crack that was in a rock twenty feet above him. His descent stopped. He tried flipping the rope out of the crack but it was stuck. He looked up and yelled at Li. “Li, the rope is caught in a crack! See if you can flip it out!”
Li struggled to free the rope but it was in vain. “No dice, Harry!” he called down.
Dixie screamed again. “Harry, I can’t hold on much longer! Do something, please!”
Harry looked for a handhold, and finding one, pulled himself up enough to release tension on the rope so Li could flip it out of the crack. His mouth tasted of metal, his head pounded, but he continued picking his way toward Dixie.
When he reached her, she was shaking and tears stained her cheeks. Harry found a narrow rock outcropping where he could stand and held out an arm. “Grab hold of me, Dixie. Grab hold and don’t let go until we’re back up.” He noticed she wasn’t looking at him.
“Did you hear me, Dixie? Grab hold of my waist and the horse will pull us up.”
“I ca--can’t,” she said, still not looking at Harry.
“Dixie, look at me. No, look here at me now. Dammit, Dixie, you’re going to die here if you don’t look at me and do as I say.” Harry was screaming at her. His legs were beginning to tire.
Dixie turned her head and stared vacantly at Harry. She did not utter a word.
“Focus, honey. Focus on me. Good. Now put your arm out and grab my waist. I won’t let you fall, I promise. You’ve got to do it, honey.”
Slowly, Dixie extended her right arm and placed it around Harry’s waist. She grabbed tight and let go of the boulder with her left hand.
Harry folded his arm around her and looked up at Li. “Okay, Li. We’re ready. Start pulling us up.”
The rope tightened then the two began moving upward over the rocky mountain face. Harry kept a tight grip on Dixie with one hand and kept them on course with the other. Dixie was breathing hard and continued to sob softly as they ascended, her face buried in Harry’s shoulder.
Twenty feet from the top, they hit another snag and quit moving upward.
Li hollered. “Harry, the rope is caught again somewhere. Just a minute, I’ll look.”
Harry watched Li survey the problem from the edge of the cliff above them. He had no place to prop his legs so he was just hanging with Dixie at the end of the rope. She still had not uttered a word.
“I see the problem,” Li called down. “But the rope is too taut to free it. Can you step up a foot or so to relax the rope like you did earlier? I can scramble down and free it.”
“I’ll try,” Harry said.
As he tried to gain a foothold on the nearest outcropping, he felt Dixie’s grasp on him tighten more. He used his free hand to push himself over the rock but try as he might he could not find even one small bulge to stand on. His legs were starting to feel like rubber and Dixie’s clinging was making it difficult to breath. A vision of his mother flashed through his brain while the sweat continued to sting his eyes.
His hand felt along a crack and his body swung sideways on the rope. He felt the rock with his feet and there it was--a small ledge, just wide enough for the tips of his boots. He found solid footing then looked up at Li. “This is it, Li. There’s nothing else down here. Can you free the rope now?”
Li scampered over the edge and picked his way to where the rope was tangled. It was wedged tight in a crack but, after several attempts, he pulled it free. Harry watched him climb back to the horses and they resumed their ascent to the top.
Lying on the soft grass, Dixie and Harry took a moment to regain their wits. At last, as Harry stood, Dixie looked at him and smiled.
“Thanks,” she said. “You called me honey.”
“What?” Harry said.
“Down there. A few moments ago. You called me honey.”
***
Dr. Julius Kesler was in his office at California Pacific University. With him was Brinley Foreman whom Kesler had called and asked for a meeting. The two men watched the boats in San Francisco Bay for several minutes then Kesler spoke.
“It is a beautiful view. I am extremely fortunate. Please, Mr. Foreman, take this seat here.” Kesler ushered the man to a chair beside his cluttered desk. “I appreciate you being able to meet with me here. I know you have a busy schedule.”
“Dr. Kesler, the privilege is mine. After all, cryptozoologists usually aren’t consulted by academics. You mentioned some strange bones on the phone?”
“If I speak candidly, Mr. Foreman, can I rely on your upmost discretion in this matter?”
“Of course, Doctor. Our conversation will be held in the strictest of confidence.”
“Fine, fine, and thank you. Now let me begin and get right to the point. I have never had the need to ask for help from someone of your...how should I say?...unusual qualifications. You come highly recommended.”
“I understand. Cryptozoology is the study of hidden or unknown animals. It is not a traditional mode of scientific investigation. In fact, the scientific community does not recognize it as a valid science. There are no degrees in it, and therefore, there is no such thing as a cryptozoologist. Nonetheless, we search for animals whose existence has not been proven. This includes looking for living examples of animals that are considered extinct, such as dinosaurs--animals whose existence lacks physical evidence but which appear in myths or legends. Cryptozoologists contend that because species once considered superstition, hoaxes, delusions, or misidentifications were later accepted as legitimate by the scientific community, the descriptions and reports of folkloric creatures should be taken seriously.”
“And so to continue,” Kesler said, “let me describe what my associate, Dr. Olson has unearthed in Mongolia.”
***
The next mountain passes were more difficult as the trail became nonexistent and the path was rocky. Mouse plodded slowly, wheezing in the rarefied air. A thin crust of snow blanketed the rocks and trail while the wind blew in swirling gusts. Up ahead, Harry could see Dixie’s head bowed on her chest, her face out of the biting wind.
Dixie had weathered her fall without serious injury. Bruised and slightly battered, she never complained during their night camp but listened to the group’s idle chatter without entering much into the conversation. Jing had made her a brew of tea with some added herbs and she slept soundly through the cold night.
The ambiguous trail they were on rose sharply after breakfast, forcing a slowdown in their progress. Harry had not felt like eating much, a fact that he attributed to the altitude but Jing forced him to drink the hot tea she had made. Dehydration was a killer, she said. He knew many people succumbed to the altitude and weather, so he gulped down the liquid and felt somewhat better. He watched her with fascination, as the altitude did not seem to adversely affect her at all. She scampered around, making camp, fixing their dinner and breakfast like she was on a holiday. She smiled and hummed. He, on the other hand, was dragging.
At the summit of the final pass, Jing stopped and slid off her horse. Harry followed suit, as did Dixie and Li. A milky soup of clouds and mist hung low over the mountains, threatening rain or snow. Visibility was reduced and the mountaintops were obscured from view, while the thick air made breathing difficult.
“Look down there,” Jing said, pointing off in the distance. “You can make out the monastery from here.”
“I see a pagoda on a hill,” Harry said, trying to catch his breath.
“That’s it,” Jing said.
“Doesn’t look like much from here,” Dixie said.
“I told you it wasn’t much of a village, but there’s more to it once we get there.”
“How long, Jing, till we’re there?” Li said.
“Three or four hours more. Not long. The worst is over.” Jong turned her attention to Harry who was still breathing hard. “You okay, Dr. Olson?”
“Yeah, Jing. I’ll be fine once we descend a little. I’m not used to this altitude.”
They mounte
d their horses and began the descent to the monastery of Tenduk.
Chapter 12
Nestled high in the Altai Mountains, between the peaks of Mount Belukha and Mount Kuitan, the small monastery of Tenduk overlooked a vast plain. Situated on a large knoll at the base of rugged cliffs, the ancient monastery and its affiliated buildings stood sentinel over the rocky steppe below. The village of Tenduk, sprawled out around the base of the promontory, consisted of several dirt roads, along which stood rows of low-standing stucco houses, all constructed of the same ubiquitous brown mud so common in the steppe. As the small group made their approach into the village, a few people stared but most of the residents ignored them. Bicycles lined the roads and herds of sheep and cattle grazed together nearby. Originally built in the 1300s, Tenduk monastery was a large multi-storied affair with many smaller living quarters terraced around the main temple building. The buildings were interconnected through steps and stairways made of rocks and a few rickety wooden bridges, which enabled the monks to pass easily over gaps between the various levels. The main stone-and-mortar structure was in the form of a stepped-pyramid of three rectangular stories, three circular terraces, and a central pagoda forming the summit. The whole structure was in the form of a lotus, the sacred flower of Buddha. There were ponds surrounded by bright multi-colored columbines, poppies, and anemones.
Buddhism came to Mongolia with the Khan Dynasty. The Mongolian Khan’s choice of this religion seems to have been based on cultural similarities between the Mongols and the Tibetans. Both Mongolia and Tibet formed the high plateaus of Inner Asia, and their open steppes along with a cold, arid climate made them well-suited to nomadism. It was, thus, easier for the Mongols to mingle with semi-nomadic Tibetans than with purely agricultural Chinese, who were far different in their social and cultural institutions. The dedication of Genghis and Kublai Khan to Tibetan Buddhism insured the religion’s foothold in Mongolia.
During the repression of the 1930s, which was an off-shoot of the Stalinist purges in the Soviet Union, more than 20,000 monks were killed and over 800 temples and monasteries destroyed in Mongolia. In 1990, all barriers to religion were removed. Since then 160 monasteries and nunneries had been re-opened.
Abbot Bo Zhing stepped out of his quarters into a brisk dawn morning, relishing the gray mist that covered the valley beyond the monastery. The morning’s dullness matched his mood. The electrical power to the kitchen was out and there was the ordination of a novice to consider later in the day. He had already organized the other monks in redistributing the food stores and was now on his way to the temple for early morning chants and prayers. The twenty other monks gathered again at nine a.m. for additional chanting before beginning their daily chores.
Zhing crossed a wooden bridge over a small clear creek and sauntered up the stone steps leading to the temple. He wore a brown robe of Tibetan origin, called the Kashaya--a large rectangle, about six by nine feet, wrapped to cover his left shoulder, leaving his right shoulder and arm bare. He breathed deep lungfuls of the crisp air and realized the altitude taxed his sixty-year-old body. As he reached the massive wooden doors to the temple he was approached by Pu Yang, the monastery’s senior monk. Each man pressed his hand together over his heart and bowed slightly.
“Namasta, Lama Yang,” Zhing said, smiling.
The elderly monk smiled in return. “Namasta,” he said.
“We lost power to the kitchen during the night,” Zhing said. “Several of our brothers will miss early chant. They are busy trying to save the food.”
“It is understandable,” the older monk said as he entered the temple.
Zhing followed him inside.
Buddhist temples were designed to represent the five major elements of Buddhism. The pinnacle at the top represented wisdom of the Buddha and the Buddha’s teachings. The base of the temple, or the plinth, represented earth. Earth was important to the Buddhist religion because earth signified solidity and durability. Water, which in a Buddhist temple was represented by the dome, signified liquid, fluid, and moisture. The crescent of a Buddhist temple represented air, which in Buddhism symbolized movement and openness. Last of the elements, fire, was represented by the spire representing energy and warmth.
The temple’s large room had a floor of tile with alternating green and tan squares, contrasting with the small alter at one end, which was draped with red tapestries. It was otherwise bare, except for an enormous statue of Buddha perched against the far wall. The other walls were adorned with frescoes depicting scenes from Buddhist legends. Monks filed into the temple in silence and formed two groups on each side of the statue of Buddha, each man standing next to a thin mat that lay on the floor. When everyone was in their place, Pu Yang stepped in front of Buddha and faced the monks.
“Let us begin,” he said.
***
Brinley Foreman took the cup of coffee offered him by Dr. Kesler. He had listened with much interest to the professor’s description of Harry’s Mongolian discovery and of his analysis of the specimens. After sipping the dark liquid, he sat back in his chair and shook his head. “Quite a story, Professor Kesler,” he said, returning his cup to Kesler’s desktop. “And very interesting.”
“What do you make of it?” Kesler said. “I would be interested in your thoughts.”
“Well, remember the old saying, ‘you get what you pay for.’ I’m not sure my thoughts are worth much.” Foreman laughed and continued. “What I hear you suggesting is that there is a Neanderthal-like hominid in the Altai region of Mongolia. One that is different from the Neanderthals we know. What it could be is uncertain at present. However, I am at a loss as to why you would call me at this early juncture in your investigation. As a scientist, I would think you would be overjoyed at the possibility of discovering a new species in the evolution of the human race. But you don’t seem all that excited. Why?”
Kesler rose from his desk, adjusted his spectacles, and paced his office. “The problem is, Mr. Foreman, that I have an uneasy feeling that there is more to this than the obvious. Scientifically, the most logical explanation is a new species of some sort. But what? That’s the rub. It doesn’t fit with what we currently know. To date, there are no known human cousins to Homo Sapien other than Homo Neanderthalensis. These specimens recently uncovered in Mongolia do not fit a pattern that would allow them to belong with the Homo genus nor any known hominoid pattern. So, what primate these specimens belong to remains a puzzle beyond any reasonable speculation. Unfortunately, we have only a few specimens with which to work and form a hypothesis.”
“I see,” Foreman said. “That’s where I come in, right? Sort of think outside the box. Well, let me suggest this. What if what you currently know isn’t all there is to know? What if there’s more to the puzzle of human origins than scientists can possibly imagine? In addition, another big part of your problem seems to be that you don’t actually know where these specimens were originally located.”
“That’s right. We don’t.”
“But isn’t that what makes your field so interesting, Doctor Kesler? The discovery of something heretofore unknown?”
Kesler returned to his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “Another possibility are the Denisovans.”
“The what?” Foreman said. “Never heard of them.”
“A relatively new addition to the hominid tree,” replied Kesler, who had picked up a pencil and was toying with it. “Harry--er--Doctor Olson believes they may be a subspecies of humans. A couple of years ago, a finger bone fragment was discovered not far from his research site. It was of a juvenile female who lived around 41,000 years ago. Analysis of its mitochondrial DNA showed it to be distinct from Neanderthals as well as modern humans. However, study of its nuclear genome suggests that it shares a common ancestor with Neanderthals, and that they ranged from Siberia to Southeast Asia.”
“Interesting,” Foreman said. He was taking notes on a small pad.
“In another bone the scientists were able to ac
hieve near-complete genomic sequencing, dating it around 400,000 years ago. It is the oldest hominid DNA sequenced. They were able to demonstrate that some living humans can trace a portion of their ancestry to the Denisovan genome. It is all very interesting, of course. It goes to your point, Brinley, that new discoveries cause us to revamp our theories constantly. But I am interested as to what thoughts you might come up with. There might be more here than I can envision. I was hoping you could expand the possibilities.”
“This part of the world is notorious for its legends of wild men.”
Kesler leaned forward on his elbows. “Wild men?”
“Beasts of the Himalayan and Mongolian regions. The Abominable Snowman. The Yeti.”
“I have heard of them, of course,” Kesler said, “but I never thought anyone actually believed they existed.”
“In the Tibetan language, Yeti means man-bear. The term Abominable Snowman was coined in 1921, by Lieutenant-Colonel Charles Howard-Bury of an Everest climbing expedition. In his book Howard-Bury included an account of finding footprints that he believed were probably caused by a large gray wolf, which in the soft snow formed double tracks rather like a those of a bare-footed man. He added that his Sherpa guides at once volunteered that the tracks must be that of The Wild Man of the Snows, to which they gave the name metoh-kangmi. Metoh translates as man-bear and Kang-mi translates as snowman.
“In 1925, a photographer and member of the Royal Geographical Society wrote that he saw a creature at an altitude of about 15,000 feet, near a Tibetan glacier. He later wrote that he observed the creature from about 200 to 300 yards, for about a minute. Its outline was exactly like a human being’s, walking upright and stopping occasionally to pull at some bushes. It was easily distinguishable against the snow and wore no clothes. About two hours later, the photographer and his companions descended the mountain and saw the creature’s prints, described as human, but only six to seven inches long by four inches wide. The prints were undoubtedly those of a biped.