You know, I said I wasn’t going to make a habit of sending these blogs late. And I’m not. Really. So why is this one late? Yetis. What?! Yes, Yetis. Abominable Snowm–Persons.
Now you may have heard the term “bomb-cyclone” thrown around over the last week. Subzero temperatures ravaged the US. What nobody covered, was that this event, which happens every dozen years or so, is part of the Yeti Migration.
During the bomb-cyclone, I received a message through some contacts, that there would be Yeti passing through my state. Naturally, I got in my car and headed out.
I drove for a few hours to the shores of Lake Michigan where a large wooden trireme was being loaded up. Yeah, imagine my surprise to discover that Yeti are a sea-faring folk.
They also don’t like unannounced visitors. The crew of the Yeti ship drew weapons on me and I’m not ashamed to say that I very nearly wet myself. It’s one thing to see a Yeti up close. It’s quite another to have an angry Yeti shoving a Roman pilum in your face.
My Yeti is not what it was in my younger days, but it’s not completely gone. (There are a few Yeti settlements in the Alaskan interior.) I managed to not get myself skewered so I am counting that as a linguistic success.
I was taken to the trireme and there I met Frosty. Yes, Frosty the Abominable Snowman. No, he doesn’t consider his name to be funny. And if you had seen him up close, you’d agree with him. Hell, you’d probably agree with him if he told you the sky was green.
Old Frosty has been around for about 600 years, give or take a few that he forgot to count. The cold climate of their habitat coupled with their strange physiology has prolonged their lives from the hundred to two hundred that was average when they lived amongst mankind. They aren’t nomadic, but are very attuned to nature. In order to keep their habitat intact, they migrate to new areas when it seems like their presence might start impacting the environment. Generally, they only move during the coldest years and generally towards where these bomb cyclones appear.
I had so many questions of the Yeti Leader, but apparently, you don’t get to question the leader of the clan. To do so would actually be a challenge to his authority. So, while I was very curious, I also value my life. I simply told Frosty that I would be honored to hear the story of his clan.
Amazing creature that he is, a storyteller, he is not. I sat in the bitter cold for fourteen hours while he explained in excruciating detail the trip of his clan from Tibet, up into Siberia, across the Bering Sea, through Northern Alaska, and down through the Northwest Passage into the St. Lawrence Seaway, ending in the Great Lakes region.
I couldn’t interrupt him. That would’ve been an affront to his authority as well. I waited on that ship, the cold wind blowing over me and causing me to become increasingly numb. By the time Frosty had finished his “story,” we were most of the way across Lake Michigan. Not good. How do you get back to shore from the deck of a Yeti trireme when you can’t ask questions? The answer is, you don’t. I ended up in on the shores of Lake Erie, shivering, just outside of Buffalo, NY.
So, long story short, sorry the blog was late.
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