This man is big, and handsome…..dark and swarthy, probably from his French Canadian ancestors.  He lives in a cabin on the side of a glacier near Auyuittuq, climbs Mt. Thor every morning before coffee and plays piano for recreation on long dark evenings.  He’s also a writer, but the stories he writes are in the lost language of the native peoples of this vast wilderness.  The complexity of his music is but a part of a very mystical whole.  He can make you cry with the Pathetique, or want to dance the minuet, but his words are of a different nature.  Linguists are studying it, taking it apart piece by piece, trying to understand the meaning of his words.  We have not met, but I can see him, standing outside the door of his rustic abode, teacup in hand, talking to a moose that has just wandered by.  I call him Wild Man.

I just got another look at this person I call Wild Man, and I may have to adjust my thinking a bit.  When he saw me walking toward his cabin to talk, he immediately turned and went inside and is now peering out thru the shutters.  He thinks I can’t see him, but as you all know, I see everything.  I can’t imagine what he’s afraid of, but it may just be that he has a problem communicating with humans.

It did surprise me that he was as tall as he is, about shoulder to shoulder with that moose that visits him regularly.  With all that black hair, and the beard, and his size, I’m beginning to think that perhaps he’s that throwback creature we’ve been looking for all these years.  He’s definitely not a yeti, since there was no overwhelming stink when I got near.  Also, he does talk….admittedly to his moose, but I’m beginning to  understand some of what he’s saying.  Oh, and you should hear him play Beethoven!  Wonder where he learned to play?

For the sake of brevity, I’m just going to call him WM for the time being, until I get to know him better.  I will get to know him better, I assure you.  As soon as he comes back down that mountain I’m going to go up there and knock on his door, and ask that he invite me in for tea.  After all, the bike trip from Palm Desert to the frozen north did make me somewhat tired, and he should be able to see that I need to rest for a bit.