As a kid growing up in the suburbs of Toronto, John Zada read Sasquatch books from the library, such as, and played in the forested ravines behind his house. As an adult and a respected journalist, he organized a B.C. Sasquatch quest of his own, which became the subject of his book,. This seems a silly book premise at first. Certainly, I got smirks at the dining table when I brought up the possible existence of a Bigfoot .delivers, though.
The Sasquatch becomes a handy trope to explore some of the most glorious forests on earth. The book also fits into an emerging sub-genre of Pacific Northwest deep woods non-fiction, along with the tree-planting odysseyby Charlotte Gill, where black flies and grizzlies loom constant. This genre speaks to our yearning for an antidote to climate crisis paralysis and urban ennui.
The adventure hits its stride when, after criss-crossing the tiny communities of British Columbia’s rugged central coast, Zada catches the ferry Queen of Chilliwack for the epic ghost town of Ocean Falls. “The slow-rolling vistas and the sense of impending arrival set to the smell of oily grime on metal, sea breeze, and engine exhaust can, strangely, have an almost soothing effect,” he writes. In the 1950s, when this was B.C.
Zada doggedly resumes his search, and his enthusiasm lends his story resonance. He, and many he meets, wants to believe. One one side of this debate are Bigfoot trackers with collections of plaster casts of huge footprints. On the other side are scads of skeptics. Zada travels between them, through what he calls “an ether of subtler possibilities.” He surveys psychology and quantum physics, noting, “objects ...
But just when Zada turns too metaphysical, we are back in an old wooden rowboat, using two-by-fours to paddle against the wind with a legendary bear tracker and his cynical teenaged son. We leave the woods, back to the city – what a First Nations man Zada meets calls “The Noise.” It’s been a fun trip.Expand your mind and build your reading list with the Books newsletter.