Destination Truth: Memoirs of a Monster Hunter
Page 5
“Neil. It’s Josh. We found something!”
I explain the situation, and I can hear him grabbing car keys and running out of his hotel room. There are a lot of considerations to be made, and both of us are talking them through as we think of them. At the forefront of our minds is the problem of dominion. For foreigners in Malaysia, it isn’t easy to just stroll off with a Bigfoot print, especially considering the current media attention this story is getting. Neither of us wants to lose control of our find, but with a reporter, two other teams of investigators, and Malaysian nationals all over the scene, it’s all but guaranteed that we’re leaving these jungles empty-handed. We agree to at least photograph the casting extensively and make a duplicate print, if possible.
After hanging up, I return to the woods, where the plaster is now as hard as rock. Flicking open a Spyderco knife, I set to work on digging the impression out of the earth, working around the digits and loosening the surrounding dirt. By flashlight I extract the print, hoping not to break it in half in front of an audience. To my amazement the footprint pops out of the earth in one piece, and we quickly but carefully carry it out to the road. Uncle suggests that he bring the print to The Seekers’ headquarters in the capital city of Kuala Lumpur, where we can all reconvene the next day. The sudden ownership exerted over the casting doesn’t come as a surprise. I manage to carve my name and the date into the back of the plaster for posterity, and we photograph the print from every angle.
The cast is wrapped rather unceremoniously in T-shirts and loaded into the back of Uncle’s truck. We head out and eventually meet Neil at the intersection of the main highway. He’s absolutely beaming at the discovery. We all are. It’s surreal. We head back to our hotel in high spirits, stopping to eat questionable but delicious chicken burgers from a street vendor outside a gas station. I sit on the curb and devour the food with a huge smile. Somewhere, a footprint with my name on it is speeding through the darkness toward Kuala Lumpur.
In the morning we check out of our hotel, and I choke on my coffee at the front desk when I notice a picture of me on the front page of the Malaysian New Straits Times. Similar pictures and accompanying articles appear in every newspaper in the city. We’re overnight celebrities in Malaysia. I snatch a copy of each paper at a newsstand and have Gupta translate them in the car as we head to Uncle’s house. They’re all very complimentary and highlight that this find is going to be a boon for the country’s tourism sector. We’re delighted to learn that we’re repeatedly referred to as “the American Expedition.”
Exploding up through the canopy of the verdant jungles, Kuala Lumpur, or KL as it’s universally called, is nothing short of an architectural mirage. No other metropolis on earth even comes close to managing such an intense marriage between untamed nature and modernity. Originally a malaria-infested mining town, the city has punched up through the rain forest to become one of the shining beacons of Southeast Asia. The shimmering tent poles of this unlikely metropolis are the mighty twin Petronas Towers. Like an Arabian Nights tale dreamed by a futuristic Scheherazade, the gleaming steel of these star-shaped spires rises to a dizzying 1,500 feet. Though they’ve now been eclipsed as the tallest buildings in the world, they are still arguably the most beautiful skyscrapers ever constructed. Beneath them, Malay, Chinese, and Indian cultures blend in a complex but seemingly balanced cultural soup that has been simmering for more than ten thousand years. One can hear the Islamic call to prayer from a Chinese market while the smell of Indian curry hangs in the air; a trip through KL is simply a joyous and confusing cultural mash-up.
Uncle’s house lies in the suburbs of the city, and as we arrive I can’t help but notice that there are a lot of cars in his driveway. I also can’t help but notice that every single second-and third-floor window of the house is blocked entirely by sandals. Thousands of flip-flops press against the glass, giving the very real appearance that the whole house might actually explode and release a tidal wave of footwear across the city.
Inside, I’m amazed to see at least twenty reporters with cameras, microphones, and portable lights. The Seekers girls are milling about in their trademark black ensembles, which I’m starting to wonder if they sleep in. Uncle, on the other hand, has changed into a leopard-print velour top, which I guess is his press conference attire. He offers me a bowl of hot mutton soup, just what I need in this 105-degree heat. I see a staircase leading to the upper floors with loose sandals along the steps. “Uncle, I don’t mean to pry, but what’s the deal with the sandals?”
“I made a bad investment,” he says. “It’s a long story.”
“I see.”
“You’re not a size nine, are you?” he asks hopefully. “No. I’m afraid not.”
On the back porch, the footprint has been moved into a glass display case (nice touch) and Uncle, who I’m quickly realizing is the P. T. Barnum of Southeast Asia, drifts off to glad-hand the press and milk this auspicious occasion for all it’s worth. I’m stunned by the turnout, and Uncle and I take a seat in front of the press in his backyard to answer questions. I’m asked repeatedly if I think the print is legitimate evidence of Bigfoot. The short answer is that I have no earthly idea. Frankly, the print looks a little troubling to me. It’s ungainly and doesn’t appear overly anatomical. On the other hand, it was discovered in an anonymous corner of a vast forest, and I certainly can’t account for how it got there. I tell the media my honest opinion: the print raises important questions and invites us all to continue the search. “This is a starting point, not an answer.”
I look over at Neil, who nods slightly, approving of my monster-hunter diplomacy. A government representative has called during the press conference to confirm our suspicion that the print is the property of the government and must remain in Malaysia. Luckily, we’re allowed to duplicate the cast. Using a plastic tub from a local hardware store, we lower the print into the mix and create a negative impression of the original. With the press looking on, I’m once again hoping not to crack this thing in half. Luckily, the duplication goes off without a hitch, and we head back into the city with a twenty-pound container of plaster in the backseat of our car.
We check into a posh hotel in the middle of downtown KL and, to the horror of the staff, drag the massive tub through the lobby. My arms and shirt are caked in white plaster, and I ask the bellhop to please find a hacksaw and send it up to my room. After a few hours using the hotel hair dryer, cutlery from room service, and the saw, we extract the plaster, ruining the rug and two butter knives in the name of discovery. The next morning Neil sends most of the crew to the airport with the print and all of our shot tapes. Everything is to be flown out of the country and into the States as soon as possible. Even though the government seems content with the original print, our photos are now appearing in every paper in the city, and we’re erring on the side of caution.
The team departs, while Neil, Carter, and I stay behind for some much-needed downtime. We hop the first flight to Thailand for a congratulatory couple of days on a tropical island in the Andaman Sea. When we get back, we’ll begin putting the footage together to see if it adds up to something interesting.
For now, I need a massage and a cocktail.
CASE FILE: BIGFOOT
NAMES: Bigfoot, Sasquatch, yeti, Migoi, Orang Pendek, Siberian Snowman, Skunk Ape, Yeren, Yowie, Almas.
DESCRIPTION: Descriptions vary by location, but the creature is often identified as a more-than-seven-foot-tall bipedal primate weighing up to one thousand pounds. Most witnesses report that the beast has thick, dark fur, broad ape-like facial features, and a massive frame. Some versions are described as emitting a strong, unpleasant odor or producing a distinct call.
LOCATIONS: Bigfoot is most commonly spotted in the Pacific Northwest of the United States as well as throughout British Columbia, Canada. Sightings of the yeti variant are also prevalent throughout the Himalaya mountain range in Asia. Additional iterations of the creature exist on every continent with the exception of Antarctica.
STATUS: In the pantheon of mystery creatures, there are legends and then there’s the legendary. If cryptozoology has one undisputed Hall of Fame rock star, it has to be Bigfoot. The media darling of American cryptids, this seldom-seen primate is a bona fide global phenomenon. We witnessed the incredible magnitude of interest in the creature firsthand when our discovery of a print in Malaysia created international headlines. Known by dozens of names, Bigfoot has more alter egos than Peter Sellers.
Over the years, footprints have been the primary source of Bigfoot evidence. There are also hundreds of eyewitness accounts and an assortment of blurry photographs and amateur movies. Believers view the 1967 Patterson film as proof of the creature’s existence, while Bigfoot’s detractors claim it to be an indisputable hoax.
VERDICT: In considering the existence of Bigfoot, the eight-hundred-pound gorilla in the room is that there is no eight-hundred-pound gorilla. The simple fact that we have yet to find incontrovertible physical evidence of a creature as massive as Bigfoot living in the United States is probably telling. When you consider the countless hours spent in search of this creature, it’s incredibly difficult to imagine that Bigfoot, not to mention a population of Bigfoots (Bigfeet?), could continue to elude documentation or capture.
I am slightly more inclined to consider the existence of the yeti, due to the sheer scope of the Himalayan wilderness and the virtually impenetrable terrain in which he is believed to live. There are more than 250 individual peaks here, including nine of the fifteen tallest mountains on earth. If a creature were able to adapt to such a vast, unforgiving environment, it might be able to evade human detection.
To me, the most plausible variation of the Bigfoot legend is a creature called the Orang Pendek. This stocky primate is reported to inhabit the dense jungles of Indonesia and has been described by hundreds of locals. These tangled forests collectively constitute an area the size of Vermont and are nearly impossible to access. Respected biologist Debbie Martyr has been stationed here for more than a decade studying elephants, rhino, and tigers. To date, she has seen only four tigers, two elephants, and zero rhino. In ten years. That’s how difficult this environment is to explore. She also unabashedly believes in the existence of the Orang Pendek and claims to have seen it herself.
In the end, the most interesting aspect of man’s search for Bigfoot is what it says about us as a species. That almost all cultures cleave to a Bigfoot legend isn’t just coincidental, it’s fundamental. Every culture wants to understand their origins, and Bigfoot has become a mysteriously universal archetype—a long-lost hirsute relative we yearn to know.
Are there still undiscovered populations of primates hiding on earth? Yes. In fact, in a staggering find, a new species of monkey was recently described in the tropical forests of Colombia. And two years ago researchers found 125,000 gorillas in the Republic of Congo that had gone unnoticed in the swampy rain forests. These types of discoveries suggest that there may be many other species yet to be catalogued. Still, it doesn’t seem likely to me that the star of Harry and the Hendersons is going to emerge from the woods behind a Bed Bath & Beyond in Tacoma, Washington.
6: Post
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Hollywood, California, 2006
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For a postproduction neophyte, the process of editing the pilot seems nearly as daunting as shooting it. Hundreds of hours of footage from our impromptu expedition need to be assembled and made coherent. It’s a challenging process. Editing, especially self-editing, can also be an exercise in blistering frustration. Like a time machine, software has the power to reshape the past, highlighting selective experiences and coalescing them into something decidedly improved. Adventure can be heightened, humor can be parsed, and interviews can be condensed to their most vital elements. At the same time I find myself helpless to change my own actions. I now have questions for interviewees that I can no longer ask, and I see missed opportunities at the corner of every frame.
One of the pitfalls of making docu-style television is that it’s easy to be tricked into thinking that your personal experience is going to be shared by the viewer simply because you’re recording the events. But reality is highly subjective, even to a camera. Put another way: Two people go out to dinner at a seaside restaurant and are seated in a booth. One person is seated facing the kitchen, while the other faces the interior of the restaurant. One angle affords the harsh fluorescent glow of the cramped service station and waiters scraping half-eaten meals into the garbage. Another offers a view of open space, candlelit tables, and a vista of waves crashing in the background. The food in the middle is the television show, and the two customers are the cameras. Though the actual food they share is identical, only one will relish the meal. It’s a question of perspective. Even in “reality” television, it’s not enough to just film one’s experience. It’s critical to voyeuristically consider it through the eyes of the cameras. Did we get a close-up of that flickering lantern? Did we establish a wide shot that shows just how crowded this market is? Can we see that the interviewee is brandishing a spear? All of the little things that make us feel a certain way about a moment need to be accounted for. Otherwise, a scene that was tense might feel casual to the viewer; a moment of great adventure might read as pedestrian. Reality, it turns out, needs to be presented very carefully.
After finishing a first cut of the show, our plaster trophy in hand, we victoriously march over to SciFi like Perseus with a Gorgon’s head. The footprint cast is paraded in front of the executives along with a half dozen newspaper articles from overseas. It’s a pretty impressive haul, especially given the channel’s realistic expectations of a team hunting a possibly fictional monster.
The executives are thrilled with the pilot, which we edited as a fairly earnest documentary on the Malaysian Bigfoot. Mark Stern asks for an interesting adjustment, wanting to see more of our actual travels, humor, and the logistical obstacles we faced in the field. In other words, any efforts we made to scrub the show into something shiny weren’t nearly as interesting as the messy realities of the travel itself.
As we return to the edit bay, rather than approach the material from a distance, we shift our own experiences to center stage. As Vincent Chow told me in Malaysia, “The journey is what matters.” We begin to include the bumpy roads, the bad food, and the broken engines, allowing the viewer to ride shotgun along the way. The final product is tremendously well received and offers the Channel a completely different animal to sit alongside Ghost Hunters. Before I know it, they order a first season of six one-hour episodes. “Keep your bags packed, Gates,” Stern tells me.
And that’s how a hapless adventurer suddenly became an international monster hunter. Since that pilot, my life has been inexorably changed. Over the next few years I will touch down in more than eighty countries around the world and conduct investigations into more than sixty mysterious creatures and phenomena.
In some ways it’s very easy to look at the genesis of Destination Truth as an incredible stroke of good fortune. A lucky break. And, of course, that’s true to a large extent. But beyond that, I’ve honestly come to feel as though my revelations on Kilimanjaro somehow catalyzed the journey that followed.
If travel has momentum and wants to stay in motion, as I mentioned earlier, then adventure has the gravitational pull of a black hole. The more you do it, the more you find a way to keep doing it. It becomes something vital to the system. Adventure rewrites the routine of our lives and wakes us sharply from the comforts of the familiar. It allows us to see how vast the expanse of our experiences can actually be. Our ability to grow is no longer linear but becomes unrestricted to any direction we wish to run. If Neil Mandt and Destination Truth weren’t at the bottom of Kili, then I would have found another adventure altogether.
Lucky for me, though, the road brought me to an opportunity beyond my wildest dreams. And now I was getting that opportunity all over again.
And that’s when things really got interesting.
* * *
Papua New Guinea, 2007
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As we make our final approach to the airfield, a fit Aussie sporting a short-crop haircut leans over my shoulder to peer out the window. He’s been sitting in silence since we took off from Brisbane three hours earlier. “Hi,” he offers, still focused on the city below. “My name is Steve. I’ll be keeping you alive down there.”
We land and taxi to the dilapidated terminal. Outside, it’s humid, wet, and dirty, as close to a proper introduction to Papua New Guinea as you can get. Its capital, Port Moresby, is like the Mos Eisley spaceport in Star Wars, except with significantly more scum and villainy. There are international cities in the world with worse reputations, I suppose, but not many. We leave the airport in an armored vehicle with reinforced steel slats over the windows, and I scan the edges of the road for what I can only assume is an impending zombie attack. The city is teeming with gang violence, and a carjacking here last week left three people dead. I encourage the driver to step on it.
Along the way, Steve reveals himself as an ex-military SAS officer contracted to provide private security for our expedition. He’s also one hell of a nice guy. We bring him up to speed on our itinerary, which is slightly more organized than our outing to Malaysia. This is an unpredictable place, and Steve’s presence here will be critical in navigating the intense local politics.
Despite the country’s geographical coziness to Australia, Papua New Guinea remains fiercely independent and yet alarmingly non-nationalist. Locals are more apt to identify with their clan than with their fellow countrymen. Nine hundred tribal dialects, endless regional bickering, and a nearly broken political system: many would argue that the country is simply a failed state. Not one prime minister has completed a full five-year parliamentary term in the last thirty years. And with more than $400 million somehow gone missing from government coffers in the last decade, it’s safe to say there might be a touch of corruption in the capital as well.