A man named Rick booked a bush plane flight deep into the mountains north of Tanana, across the Yukon River, on a deeply personal backpacking trip. He had spent two years planning the multi-day excursion to spread his late mother's ashes in an alpine meadow she had always longed to revisit. After spending his first day scattering ashes around the scenic mountain bowl, Rick set up his tent near the timber line on the far side of a small alpine pond.
As dusk fell and Rick was tending his campfire, he stepped away to use the restroom. Upon returning, he noticed a large figure moving near his camp that perfectly mirrored his every side-step. Initially assuming the pilot had returned to play a prank, Rick's humor vanished when he realized someone—or something—had deliberately smothered his campfire with fresh birch and alder leaves. Strapping on his .480 Ruger chest holster, Rick was suddenly overcome by an uncontrollable, primal trembling. After firing a warning shot into the air, he spotted a massive, calico-colored face peering out from behind a tree just 30 feet away, its eyes gleaming in the firelight as it continuously swayed to maintain eye contact.
Rick fired a second warning shot, prompting the heavy footsteps of two distinct entities to flee in opposite directions. As he attempted to calm his shaking by the fire, three pine cones were dropped in rapid, perfect succession directly into the flames from the dark timber above. Terrified, Rick fired multiple rounds into the brush, frantically packed up his entire camp in the dark, and retreated back down the mountain to the open tundra of the drop-off point. He spent the next three sleepless nights camped in the open, firing nearly 50 warning rounds into the air to ward off the bizarre owl hoots and guttural cries echoing from the timber until his pilot finally returned.
