We didn't plan on running into them. Nobody ever does.
It was mile 14 of a backcountry trail in the Cascades when we smelled the campfire. We followed it — because that's what you do — and came around a bend to find the last thing we expected: Bigfoot and Wendigo, sitting across from each other at a fire ring, clearly mid-argument about something.
Bigfoot looked annoyed. Wendigo looked smug. Classic dynamic.
We did the only reasonable thing. We pulled out our camp stove, our French press, and a bag of Foxhole Coffee Dark Roast. Started brewing. Didn't say a word.
The smell hit them both at the same time. Bigfoot's head turned first — those nostrils don't miss. Wendigo went still in that unsettling way he does. We poured three cups. Set two on a flat rock between us and backed up slowly.
Bigfoot took his immediately. Wendigo waited, studied it, then wrapped both bony hands around the mug like it was the warmest thing he'd touched in centuries. Which, honestly, it probably was.
The argument stopped. Nobody spoke. We just sat there in the Cascades, three species sharing a fire and a damn good cup of coffee.
Bigfoot gave us a nod when we left. Wendigo didn't wave, but he watched us go. That's basically a hug from a Wendigo.
We've been back to that trail three times since. We always bring extra coffee.
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