Grandpa Sasquatch and the Stinky Shellfish of Ilwaco

Hoomans. Never learn, do they? Been watchin’ ’em from my perch atop Cape Disappointment for, oh, 1,500 years or so. That’s right, I’m Grandpa Sasquatch, the flyin’ kind. Wings ain’t what they used to be, but I still keep a beady eye on things, especially around my beloved Ilwaco.

Used to be pristine, this place. Clean air, plentiful salmon, shellfish so sweet they’d make a grizzly weep. Now? Pshaw! The stink of their contraptions, their smokestacks, and especially that dratted Hawking nemesis – always dumping crud in the Columbia! Makes a Sasquatch want to roar, and believe me, mine is a roar that can shake the very foundations of this cape!

My Hawking nemesis? Old Man Crabtree and his blasted fertilizer factory upriver. Been battling that fool for centuries. He thinks I’m just a crazy story the fishermen tell their kids. He ain’t seen nothin’ yet. This year, his fertilizer runoff poisoned half the oyster beds! The shellfish are so foul, even the seagulls turn their beaks up!

Now, I'm a peaceful Sasquatch, mostly. I like to keep to myself, pick berries, watch the sunsets over the Pacific. But when you mess with my home, when you poison the clams, well, then you’ve poked the bear… or, in this case, the hairy, winged Sasquatch.

I considered a direct confrontation, of course. Swooping down, snatching Crabtree from his office, and giving him a good shaking. But, Keanu paradox, see. Violence never solves nothin', even if it feels good at the time. So, I had to think. What would a 1,500-year-old, environmentally conscious, flyin’ Sasquatch do?

I gathered my family – Mama Sasquatch, little Sasquatchling, and even grumpy Uncle Bigfoot (who insists he’s not related, but we all know the truth). We started gathering the stinky shellfish. Not to eat, mind you. Ugh! No, we piled them high, right in front of Crabtree’s factory. A mountain of festering, polluted oysters.

The smell was… impressive. Even I had to hold my nose, and I've smelled some truly rank things in my time. Word got out. News crews came flocking. Local fishermen, rightly furious, joined the protest. Crabtree tried to ignore it, but you can’t ignore a mountain of stinky shellfish right outside your front door. Especially when the news is filming it.

He tried blaming the tides, the weather, even squirrels! But the fishermen weren’t buying it. They knew where the pollution came from. The pressure mounted. Finally, Crabtree cracked. He agreed to install new filtration systems, to clean up his act, and to compensate the fishermen for their losses.

The shellfish are still recovering, but the air smells a little sweeter, the river a little cleaner. And Old Man Crabtree? He's sweating bullets every time he sees a large, shadowy figure circling overhead. Good.