We weren't supposed to see it. We want to be clear about that.
We'd been doing a supply drop at the Olympic Peninsula camp — leaving a bag of Dark Roast on the flat rock prep surface, same as always. The lean-to was empty. The fire ring was cold. We set the bag down and were turning to leave when we noticed the letter on the prep surface, held down by a river stone.
It was addressed "Dear Dad." The handwriting was large and careful, the same deliberate script we'd seen on the bark note months ago.
We didn't mean to read it. But we did.
"Dear Dad, I miss you. I think about you every day. I'm doing alright — staying out of sight and living off the land. I hope you would be proud. Your son."
We stood there for a long time.
We left the Dark Roast. We also left a second bag — one we'd been carrying for ourselves. We left a note that said: "He would be proud."
We don't know if he ever sent the letter. We don't know if his dad is out there somewhere. We don't know much about Bigfoot's family situation, and it's not our place to speculate.
What we know is that we drove home quieter than we arrived.
Foxhole Dark Roast — for the long nights. → foxholecoffeeco.com