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Call it what you will--Big Foot, Abdominal Snow Man, Yeti, Orang Dalam, Interior Man, Squatch Giant, Yeren, or for the more scientific name shared by some scientists, the Gigantopithecus—but regardless of what name I use, whenever I mention any of them, people immediately say, “You don’t believe that, do you?” It’s not an easy topic to defend, and I usually end up changing the subject.
But the subject isn’t something that goes away. Last fall I was visiting the redwoods in northern California when a ranger reported seeing a “big foot” crossing the highway in front of his pickup one morning. He refused to make further comments. In summer last year, news reports from China tell of another sighting.
Now Big Foot is in the news again in Southeast Asia. The headline in The New Straits Times newspaper read: MALAYSIA TO INVESTIGATE "BIGFOOT" SIGHTINGS. The report went on to say: “Malaysia's wildlife department said it would investigate claims that "Bigfoot" man-like beasts are roaming the jungles of southern Johor state. The director of the wildlife department's Conservation Division, Siti Hawa Yatim, said they would examine the prints, which reportedly measure up to 45 centimetres (17 1/2 inches).
Workers reported seeing two huge creatures and a youngster. The Wild Life Department is setting up cameras in jungle areas to try to capture images of any such beasts.
I don’t want to confirm or deny that I believe in Big Foot. But what I would like to do is to report what I have uncovered and what happened to me in the jungle on the Malay Peninsula number of years ago.
In 1974 I was invited by Tungku Bakar, a Malay prince from Johor State, to join him on a fishing trip on the Endau River in Malaysia. I accepted. But the monsoons came early and instead of fishing a fast-rising river forced us to seek shelter in an Orang Asli village. For three uncomfortable days we sat in a bamboo hut on stilts, listening to Orang Asli tales of the jungles—how the white-handed gibbon’s hands became white, why the tongue of a certain lizard is red, and other such unhelpful bits of information. Then casually the headman said: “We saw the footprints again.”
“What footprints?”
“The giant people, Orang Dalam.”
I asked where he saw them, and he explained far upriver, above the twelfth rapid beyond the Kimchin River.
More jungle folklore! But when I mentioned it to a Chinese businessman in Singapore later, he grew silent. “It’s not lore,” he said, and then told me his story how he was driving his car in Johor one night when all traffic stopped. Three hairy creatures blocked the road. My friend said the story appeared in The Straits Times .
I began my homework at the National Library reading through rolls of microfilm of The Straits Times. I was about to give up when I reached the fall of 1953. Christmas Day. A Chinese woman, Wong Yee Moi, was tapping rubber on an estate in south Perak, when she felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to be “confronted by the most revolting female” one could imagine. This she-thing was covered with hair, had white Caucasoid-type skin and long black hair. She wore a loin cloth of bark and stank like an animal.”
The female grinned, revealing long nasty fangs. Yee Moi fled in panic, but not before sighting two similar types, standing in the shade of trees by the river.
The estate manager, a Scot named Browne, immediately called the National Security Forces which responded immediately with a posse of security guards. On searching the estate, the guards spotted three hairy types on the riverbank—such as described by Yee Moi. The creatures dived underwater, emerged on the far bank and vanished into the jungle.
The following day, a Hindu worker was squatting to tap a flow of rubber latex when a pair of hairy arms encircled him. In a rage of fear, he broke loose only to fall into a faint on his way back to the compound. He revived to find the same trio standing over him.
Newspapers and Radio Malaya reported the sightings and brought forth official statements from the Department of Museums and Aboriginal Research. Authorities believed that this could be “one of the most valuable anthropological discoveries since Darwin.”
I had to dig deeper,. Two British anthropologists, Skeat and Blagden, encountered such jungle types, which they called Orang Dalam, or translated—‘interior people.’ These people lived in high remote cloud forests, and were large and hairy. They were sometimes referred to as ‘the stinking ones.’ It was more than just a coincidence that the headman on the Endau had also spoken of them as ‘interior people.’
In 1871, an Englishman, A.D. Frederickson, wrote: “A curious specimen of a hairy humanity was at the time of my visit being conveyed to the coast for shipment to some society in Calcutta.” A sketch of the creature was included with the report, which is now the property of the American Museum of Natural History.
Maps of the Malay jungles are restricted, but I was able to get a copy of the Endau region at British Army Headquarters. I located the village where we stayed and followed the river up to the rapids. I counted them—twelve. The headman said there were twelve rapids that led to the Kimchin. But beyond that the area was marked ‘relief data incomplete.’ Being a high region, clouds hindered aerial photographs. The headman said there were twelve rapids and a plateau. Also, Skeat and Blagden made mention of ‘cloud forests.’ Other things began to fall into place.
I had gone as far as I could with the research. There was only one way left to see if there was any truth in what I had read and heard, and that was to organize an expedition and go into the jungle.
The jungle I wanted to visit was unexplored, and without outside help I had to make arrangements on my own. To succeed, the expedition would have to be well planned and well equipped. The river could be treacherous, with uncertain rapids, snakes and crocodiles. For certain, the jungle teamed with elephants and tigers. Nor could we expect help once we passed beyond the first rapids. There were no more aboriginal settlements, and what lay at the headwaters of the Endau, even the Orang Asli didn’t know.
Kurt Rolfes, an ex-combat photographer from Vietnam, was also interested in Big Foot and want to join. We solicited the help of an experienced jungle hand who knew the Malay jungle well, an Eurasian, Kenny Nelson. He knew two Orang Asli, Bojung and Achin, who lived at a settlement and who would be willing to serve as porters.
Our 16-foot-long boat, when fully loaded, was but inches above water. We had a six-horsepower outboard to take us part of the way up the river to shallow water. After that we would have to paddle. Five of us—the two Orang Asli porters, Kenny Nelson, Kurt and I—set out. No more than two kilometres upriver we came to our first set of rapids. The fun part of the trip was over. Everything had to be unloaded and carried over slippery rocks to the river above. Then came the grueling task of pushing and pulling the boat up the swirling falls, inch by inch.
The lower Endau is wide and muddy, and swampy along the banks. Here crocodiles lurk among the reeds. Above the rapids there are fewer mud banks and very few crocodiles. Often we pushed the boat along using it only to carry our supplies. At best, we could do ten kilometres a day.
Kurt and I walked the banks whenever possible, checking tracks. The jungle was dark and uncertain, and in many places so dense that we could hardly pass without chopping through. Leeches fell upon us like raindrops. The banks became a maze of tracks—deer, pig, turtle, monitor lizard, elephant, tiger, leopard, tapir. Tiger tracks were the most frequent.
We passed beyond the tributary of the Kimchin and continued up the Endau. A few days later we reached the twelfth rapid above the Kimchin. Just before dark we found a wide sand bank and set up camp. While Bojung and Achin were busy with the lean-to, Kurt and I crossed the river to the other bank to look for tracks. All along the sand bank were elephant tracks with fresh droppings, and numerous tiger tracks.
Kurt was in the lead, stopping often to check each track carefully. Suddenly he stopped. He spread out his arms, a signal for me to stop. He stood motionless, staring down at the crusted sand. For a long time he didn’t move, mesmerized by something he saw. I thought it might be a snake, but then I remembered snakes didn’t come out into the hot sun. It had to be something else. I cautiously moved up to where Kurt stood. Still he did not say anything, nor did he turn to face me. But he knew I was there, and he pointed down to the sand for me to see. There in front of us were footprints, human footprints, but not ordinary ones. They were enormous, 19 inches long and 10 inches wide. The creature that had made them had come down from the jungle and entered the water and here the tracks disappeared.
We called the others. They came half running and half swimming across the river. They stopped dead. Bojung shook his head. “Orang Dalam,” he said. They insisted we go back to camp with them, but not before Kurt photographed the tracks.
It was a tense evening. The river where we were camped was the junction of a game trail: elephant, tiger and the questionable human tracks. Human tracks? Achin refused to talk about it, and when we finally cajoled Bojung to loosen up and speak, he withdrew to the far end of the lean-to and covered his head.
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Cover story in US Magazine, 1973
Footprint discovered by the author
Life-size statue Gigantopithecus
Sketch of Big Foot, 1890, New York museum
Actual movie film on American West Coast
Could Big Foot be an off spring of Peking Man?
New sighting breaking news in Malaysia
In Malaysia the search is on
Elusive Negritos still dwell in the Malay jungle
Team escorts author to first rapids on his search
for Big Foot
The mysterious jungle of the Malay Peninsula
Jungle camp where elephants and tigers come to drink
Pushing our long boat up the Endau River
Had to cross 12 rapids to reach the Kimchin
Climbing rock cliffs along Endau
Author chops his way through dense vegetation
Water is fresh and cool from a vine, as Bujong watches
Stopping to fish wild rivers
Bujong dries fish to take into the jungle away from river
Human prints compared to Big Foot in a book about
the subject
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