Baked Alaskan

The bright red Sno-Cat crept its way carefully across the ice-covered landscape. Inside, two men, both experienced hunters, sat hoping to bag this seasons limit of one polar bear each.

It had been a four-hour trek before Jim saw the first possible sign of their quarry. He pointed out the faint tracks to Steve, who operated the vehicle.

They traveled another two-hundred yards before stopping for a closer look.

“That ain’t a bear track,” Steve stated, “Somethings off about it – like it’s walking on two legs or something.”

“You mean like Bigfoot or the Abdominal Snowman?” Jim smarted-off.

“No, I mean a Yeti or Sasquatch,” Steve joked in return.

The pair continued following the tracks up a slight rise, ending near a deep gash in the ice. They died swiftly, attacked before either could scream or fire a shot.

Ned hadn’t been as lonely as he figured he’d be, still he looked forward to getting home to his wife within the next few days. He’d been out hunting all week and it had been very successful.

He quietly hummed a folk-tune his father had taught him as a child, while stripping his last kill of its skin. As he did, Ned found himself still astonished at the pinkness of the fresh meat.

Once finished, he gathered up his bounty and set off in the direction of home. As he pushed through the blowing snow, into the darkness of the Alaskan bush, Ned continued to hum the little tune.

It had been nearly a day-and-a-half without word from the two hunters. Finally the decision came to send an aircraft up to find them.

It was slightly over an hour when the bush pilot requested that Alaska State Troopers be called as he had found the Snow-Cat and what remained of the hunters. It took a few hours more for a couple of troopers to arrive.

“It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen,” the pilot told them.

They motored towards the area the pilot pointed out and within minutes they found the bloody scene. Quickly, they realized that all that remained were the men’s clothing, fully intact, covered in blood.

Within hours the area was crawling with all available officer from every state agency, searching for clues.

She was sitting at the kitchen table, willing herself to stop crying when she heard Ned push in the front door, stomping the snow from his large feet. Vivian quickly dabbed her eyes, hoping to mask the fact that she had been teary-eyed since her doctor’s visit earlier that day.

Ned rounded the corner, where Vivian met him. He immediately knew she’d been crying.

They hugged and kissed before he asked, “What’s wrong, honey?”

“I can’t have children,” she blurted out, “Allergies!”

“I’m sorry. I know how much you enjoy those little morsels.”

After a moment’s pause, “So how about some Baked Alaskan?” the Sasquatch offered while holding in his massive and hairy hand, the two hunters he’d bagged, filling this season’s limit.


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