Paranormloia and the Mystery of the Squatch

This morning I went on a hike. I've been trying to do that regularly of late, taking advantage of the nice weather to keep in shape. This morning, however, I went quite a bit earlier than usual. I woke up before my alarm and couldn't get back to sleep, so I thought I'd make the most of the extra time. It ended up being great—I was up and back before it got too hot, and the rising of the sun made for an aesthetically pleasing venture. Plus, a certain peace attends the early morning as many still lie aslumber, abound in dreams of whither their minds might wander.

The only thing that concerned me about the hike was that the peace and quiet might necessitate extra precautions. My mind is an imaginative one, which makes for fun and terrifying experiences. A factoid that I frequently remember on my hikes is that cougars and bears are not foreign to the Wasatch Mountains, which is where I hike. Therefore, paranoid as a clam, I am constantly on the qui vive for signs of dangerously adjacent and adjacently dangerous animals. Except for scat. I am no scatman. Today, as with every other day, there were no signs of dangerous animals, and no cause for worry. Except for scat.

...until...

By the time I had climbed and was heading back down the mountain, the city below had begun to stir. The most notable sign of this was the construction happening just downhill from my trail of choice; I had noticed the familiar clank and whir of heavy machinery when I was about halfway down the mountain. As I approached the section of trail that ran adjacent to the construction site, I glanced over, mildly interested in what they were working on at the moment. I didn't expect to see much, as they were still at the point of leveling the dirt. And I didn't, really. A bulldozer, dozing bulls, and dirt. However, as I continued to watch, the bulldozer lurched forward, and, like a drawing curtain, gradually revealed a mysterious scene. In the trees behind where the bulldozer previously worked, there stood a lone, dark figure...

My first thought was bear, because I'm bearanoid. But then logic came acallin', and I remember'd that bears usually avoid loud noises. Heavy machines, which were directly nearby, produce loud noises. Therefore, etc. Upon examining the shape further, I decided that it was probably just a dark stump or rock or other thing of limited interest. Drained of any previous intrigue, I was about to forget the spectacle entirely when my mind stumbled upon an astute association: wooded surroundings, indistinct dark figure, mystery... This was the perfect set-up to make my very own instagram joke/insubstantial claim about Bigfoot! Along with possible danger of death, my senses are also always on the qui vive for instagram fodder.

So I stopped along the trail and pulled out my phone/camera. I was a good ways off, so at first I was concerned about how the resolution of the picture would turn out. But further consideration led me to realize that the blurrier it was, the more similar it would be to all of the other Bigfoot evidence pics. I chuckled to myself as I zoomed in as far as my camera could and tried to find the dark shape on the screen. It was difficult to aim the camera precisely, as is common with zoomed-in long-distance shots. I glanced up at the actual scene to find a point of reference from which to work. When my eyes rested on the scene below, I suddenly became uneasy. The dark figure that I had assumed to be inanimate began to move—just noticeably at first, before it sunk slowly into the surrounding foliage...

I stood there, dumbfounded, and a little disconcerted. My eyes remained fixed on the spot. For a moment, I hoped that the shape would reappear so that I could still get some sort of shot. Or was it the hope that another look might quell my fears? Man. What was that?

I snapped out of my stupor and continued the final leg of my hike, this time picking up the pace a little bit and glancing over my shoulder from time to time. Seeing mysterious, mobile, black shapes in the woods doesn't help bearanoia. It also doesn't help paranormloia, which is paranoia of the paranormal if you're not good at dissecting words that I just made up. I had sasquatch on the mind while all this was happening and my logical conclusion from earlier was that it probably wasn't a bear. So my next logical conclusion is that it was probably sasquatch, or a construction worker. But if it was the latter, that dude was pretty sasqueschtrian, which means abounding in sasquatch-like features or having to do with the squatch if you're still not good at dissecting words that I just made up. He would have probably been teased about it in the past, in which case I would feel bad, but wouldn't deny that it was true. I don't know. The color of the thing was uniform and it was super dark and moved lumberly and creepily. If that was human, get that man a posture coach. I don't know if that's a real thing (it is), but I'm making weird suggestions to cope with the discomfort I feel at having witnessed the unknown—perhaps something that precious few have ever seen before. In my heart of hearts, I believe I have joined the ranks of the Squatchwatch: an exclusive guild that I just made up of eyewitnesses of the mystery of the squatch if you're still not good at dissecting words that I just made up. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the squatch; he was trampling out the vintage where some grapes and stash were watched. Glory glory, hallelujah. There's no turning back. So be wary as you wander the foothills of the Wasatch—there is magic about. There's big in them there foothills, if you catch my drift. Perhaps, henceforth, they should be referred to as the Swasatchquatch. Sqwatchsatch? Wasaquatchs. I'm no good at this.