Page 18 - The 'X' Chronicles Newspaper - Jan-Feb 2018, Vol 27, No 1

18 The Man Who Created Bigfoot

The Man Who Created

Bigfoot

Leah Sottile

Bob Gimlin was a small town cowboy when
his friend coaxed him into hunting the famous
mythical creature 50 years ago. Today, as the
legend of Bigfoot has grown, Gimlin is viewed
by the community of believers around the
country as something of a prophet.

For weeks in the fall of 1967 the cowboys rode
from sunrise to sunset in search of the creature
no one had ever captured on film. Two rodeo
men from Washington’s apple country, they’d
traveled to Northern California’s thick forest.
They’d read headlines of unidentifiable
footprints. The smaller cowboy was driven by a
long obsession with the mythic beast known as
Bigfoot; the other liked to see things for himself.
One late October afternoon near Bluff
Creek, the men trundled on horseback, half a
day’s ride from the nearest signs of civilization.
The sun shone bright, lighting the leaves all would soon become the world-famous baritone voice all campfire smoke and truck
around them in a grand finale of orange and red Patterson-Gimlin film—arguably one of the engines. Bob Gimlin wears big hats and big belt
and yellow. Roger Patterson rode in front, most scrutinized pieces of video footage ever buckles and drives a big pickup. He talks slow
pausing his quarter horse to point his lens made. It is the cryptozoological equivalent to the with a heavy drawl and seems to find a way to
toward the leaves, the film chattering inside his Kennedy assassination’s Zapruder film. The turn almost any conversation toward horses.
rented 16mm Cine Kodak camera. When he film met immediate criticisms accusing In a booth with vinyl seats, Gimlin
finished, he tucked the camera into his Patterson and Gimlin of being master pranksters ordered coffee and dumped in two creams, and
saddlebag, leaving the leather flap open. who simply filmed a man in an ape suit and laid told the waitress he wouldn’t be eating. For the
Bob Gimlin brought up the rear. He rode fake footprints in the mud. next six hours, he told his story: who he was
a quarter horse, leading a pony loaded with The film tore Patterson’s and Gimlin’s before he saw Bigfoot, who he became after, and
supplies behind him.* Patterson navigated friendship apart. Patterson partnered with his why he stayed quiet for four decades after the
around a bend where a large tree had fallen and brother-in-law, Al DeAtley, to take the film on a film’s debut.
jammed up the nearby creek—its root system national tour as a way to raise funds for a full- Before he had ever heard of Bigfoot,
upturned and exposed, like blind fingers fledged expedition back at Bluff Creek. The Gimlin had led the life of a man who feared
reaching for an anchor. three took equal shares in the film, but soon nothing, who thrived on dares and several times
The horses saw it first. Patterson’s Gimlin felt edged out, and sold his share of the cheated death. The first time was at age seven
reared, kicking and protesting, then Gimlin’s. rights for less than $10 to another Bigfoot when his appendix burst. He missed a year of
Less than 100 feet away, the men saw why: a researcher. school as he recovered in the Ozark mountains
hulking gorilla-like figure covered in dark hair After five years estranged, Patterson and cabin in Missouri where he was born.
hurried on two legs along the creekbed. Its Gimlin made amends in 1972 as Patterson lay on In 1940, the promise of sprawling green
sloped head and torso were pushed forward, its his deathbed, dying of cancer at age 38. ranchlands and orchards set against the towering
upper back hunched, thigh muscles rippling, Patterson apologized for ousting Gimlin, Cascades pulled his farmer father and mother
long arms swinging, breasts exposed. pleading with him that when he recovered that westward.** In Washington, Gimlin roped wild
Patterson scrambled off his spooked they would go back to California and catch horses with native boys on the nearby Yakima
animal, holding its reins just long enough to Bigfoot. He died the next day. Reservation, crawling onto their backs and
reach inside his saddlebag for the camera. More than 40 years later, the film has hanging on for dear life. “I was ready to ride,”
Gimlin, a cowboy famous through the Yakima never been conclusively debunked. It has he says. “Even at a very young age I wanted to
Valley for taming wild colts and running in withstood scrutiny from scientists, forensic ride anything that bucked, jumped, moved, run,
breakneck “suicide races” (in which riders analysts, Hollywood special effects experts, and or whatever.” He became a natural rodeo man:
careen down steep slopes), dropped the costume designers. No one can quite explain quick to bounce back, never letting a cast or a
packhorse’s rope and gripped the reins of his it—except those who believe in folklore. In that sling keep him from a horse. He raced caravans
frightened pony to steady it. time, Bigfoot has evolved into a full-fledged and chariots through mountain passes, hurtled
Patterson scrambled across the uneven American myth, propagated by a national down cliffsides. He gained a reputation as a
ground, waving the camera in one hand, the film congregation of believers who regard Gimlin as daredevil (though he declined Evel Knievel’s
blurry as he ran. He stopped to crouch and a kind of prophet. offer to join him in for-profit “daredevilin’”).
steady himself, then trained the lens on the “Meeting Bob Gimlin, to a Bigfooter, is At age 18, Gimlin joined the Army
strange figure, the camera shaking from his like meeting the President of the United States to reserves; later he enlisted in the Navy. After two
breathing. “Bob! Cover me!” he yelled over his an American,” says Cindy Rose Caddell, a tours in the Korean War, he and three other
shoulder to Gimlin, who rode toward the creek, researcher and author. “Or what meeting the sailors were in a car accident that left one dead
dismounting his horse and drawing his rifle. Pope is to a Catholic.” when the driver smashed into a power pole. His
The picture steadied as the creature, mid- The 84-year-old cowboy wore a black head slammed into the dash and the motor of the
stride, turned to look over its right shoulder— cattleman’s hat and sunglasses, an off-white coat car pinned his body in the vehicle. “I lost half
just a glance—before it disappeared into the with “Bob” embroidered in blue thread at the my face,” he says. Gimlin underwent several
forest. A skunky, rank odor hung heavy in the chest. His boots stated their intentions across the plastic surgeries to repair his nose. He spent two
air. The whole affair was over in less than a tile entryway of a roadside diner in Union Gap, years recovering in a hospital in California.
minute. in central Washington, pausing as he held the Once he received his discharge papers, Gimlin
The final 59.5-second film, which the door for an elderly woman in a pink jacket. headed back home to Yakima.
men would airmail back home to be developed, “Come on in, young lady,” he said, his (Continued on Page 20)