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Matthew had been working for a week now. Four days, to be precise, this was going to be his fifth. He had moved to Sandsbridge over the week prior to Labor Day weekend, and had started right after. The first week, they had him making himself a nuisance to the local fishermen, probably as a really lame attempt at 'hosing' the new guy. The fishermen of Sandsbridge, on their part, wee only too happy to 'assist' with that goal. Not a single one seemed happy with his checks of their catch.

This week, however, he was to go and take inventory of the local Water Shrew population. A notoriously fickle pursuit, as the little fellows were mighty quick, and plenty shy and skittish. But Matthew had positively embraced the task, as it meant he was going to be paid to wander the woodlands and creeks for days, and that invariably meant he was out there at nights, too. And that meant he could go and scout the area, determine its "Squatchiness", and hopefully observe some activity. Oh, and shoot some footage for the vlog, so he could make another entry once he got home on Friday. But for now, it was shrews and squatches all week long. He hoped.

He had found a rather nice clearing, not too big. Just large enough for his 2-person tent, a small fire to warm, keep away the fiercer wildlife and cook some food if and when he found some. He had brought a collapsible rod and line for just that reason, along with enough rations to last him the week, if fishing and foraging would turn up to be busts. So, he has set up camp there, then got his notepad out, and his pencil, then took seat on a rock, and started the long wait. One didn't usually just 'find'  water shrews, unless with either a little luck, or prior knowledge of their haunts. Luckily, Matthew had some prior surveys to glean some information from, and he had done so, like he was taught. And so he sat there, not 2 yards from a slow-moving creek, still as he could. Waiting. Watching. Listening. And, yes, rather enjoying himself, too. It was a rather fine day, none too cold, rather sunny. Perfect weather to be out here. Perfect weather to do his job, and also excellently suited for his hobby.... He just hoped the trails nearby weren't TOO busily trafficked, though. That might scare the shrews.

He wasn't the only person out near the water today. 

Someone's boat was within line of sight of his rock, visible really only after he got himself situated thanks to a few clumps of vegetation around the shoreline. The motor was off, and the woman inside of it was quiet enough that perhaps she wouldn't scare off his shrews. She even raised a hand in greeting when she noticed him, pushing up thick glasses for a moment. "Afternoon," she said, in the low tones of someone who didn't want to scare off the fish, but who wanted to be sociable too.

It was rare for Justine to take a day off, but when she did, this was one of her favorite places to be. In plain clothes today, jeans, a t-shirt, a plaid shirt over the t-shirt, boots. She had her ice chest, she had her rod and reel, life was good.
Matthew noticed the vessel, and its occupant, only after he had settled on his little perch. Apparently, they both were engaged in activities that benefited from a certain amount of quiet, but were out here for obviously totally different reasons. Matt didn't care overly much if his little 'friends' would be scared by any movement or talk (probably so, he reckoned), but the lady was friendly enough about it, and he just couldn't not greet back. With a friendly smile, he answered: Afternoon there. Matt spoke with a distinct Bostonian accent that had just the barest hint of an Irish lilt to it. He kept his voice down, too, if only to acknowledge the fact that he saw that both of them were 'busy' in a way.

Matthew put his little notebook away, it was really bad form to continue doodling when was in a conversation. THAT had been instilled in him from a very early age. "Be proper, Matthew! Be good." He could still hear his mom say that. Heck, she was still want to say that if they met up. He looked at her fishing gear: They biting? He wasn't too surprised to see fishing going on. This was a nice spot, and probably had a decent chance of having fish in it, if one knew how to get to them. Fighters, too, with the currents around where creek met open water.
Justine was a woman who struggled to "small-talk" in the best of times, but some people could draw things out of her from time to time. Matthew seemed to have the knack. Her smile is quick and warm, even as she pushes up her glasses. "A bit," she acknowledges, in the tones of a lifelong local. He puts away his sketchbook, and her smile deepens.

"I'm sorry, I probably shouldn't have interrupted. Justine Carter." She takes him mostly for an artist; he wouldn't be the first to be out enjoying and taking advantage of the natural beauty of the area. She adds the name because it seems the friendly thing to do. 

Her line jerks, her floater briefly bobs under the water, and she quickly starts the process of reeling in what looks like it might be a massive trout. She fights with it for a moment before plucking it up. It's fat and well above regulation size, but she pauses to measure it anyway before chucking it into the big ice chest at the end of her boat. 

"Maybe a bit better than a bit."
Matthew waved away the bit about 'not should have interrupted'.. Not a problem, Ms. Carter. My elusive quarry seems to do what they do best: stay hidden. He saw her getting a pretty sizeable trout, easily big enough to see it was big enough to keep. Not that he felt like checking stuff like that, even though he knew he should. He straightened his back a bit, partly due to not being in the most comfortable of positions. This had the added effect of revealing the USFWS emblem on the cest part of his jacket. No need to measure that on my account. One can spot from here that one's plenty large enough. he added with a bit of a grin. Besides, I've spent a week making an ass of myself checking catches already, not looking forward to doing it again too soon.

Matthew gestured at the fish: Pan, grill or smoker? He knew what he'd do with it, given the choice. Although the coming week would relegate him to choosing flame-grilling, or open smoking.....
The fact that he was a form of law enforcement relaxed Justine still more. She flashed him a smile, even as he let her off the hook for measuring the fish. "Sheriff Carter," she amends. "Would measure it anyway."

She's hit her limit though, so she starts pulling up her line, reeling it in, putting things away in preparation to bring the boat in for shore. "Given my rathers, I grill," she says. "Got two, if you wanna share." It's not like she had anyone to share with waiting for her at home, and some company might be nice. She was getting hungry, and she'd be hungrier still if she waited till she rolled it all home. Enlightened self-interest it was, offering to share. 

This bit about hunting tilted her head though. When she hunted, she did it with a gun, in deer season mostly, so she could pack up her freezer for the winter and slash her grocery bill down to the nubbins. She definitely did not do it with a sketchbook. Intrigued she asked, "What are you after, anyway?"
Matthew cocked his head as the lady on the boat mentioned she was Sheriff Carter. He hadn't had the opportunity to get acquainted with all that many people, yet, so it wasn't that odd that he hadn't recognized her, but it did make him feel a tad silly. On top of that, as she offered to share, he noticed he hadn't even introduced himself.

Well, not saying it isn't a good practice to measure all catch, sheriff. But at that size, it's mostly done for either bookkeeping, or bragging rights. He thought over the offer for just a moment. It did save him some time, after all, and it sure would beat eating alone. Not gonna lie here, that's a mighty fine offer, and I'm inclined to accept. Ah, but where are my manners? Name's Matthew O'Hara. I have a small firepile ready to be lit nearby, actually. I can offer some fresh coffee to compensate, if you want some.

As he stood up, he registered the final question, noting the odd look he was getting. Oh, they have he doing a short survey on Sorex Palustris, or the water shrew. Counting, noting activity. Basically pretty much a snipe hunt, as the little buggers are quite shy, and only active in short bursts. One needs a lot of luck, or have knowledge of the local grounds, to actually find them. I guess it's a way to hose the new guy, but it suits me just fine.
As she tied off the boat, Justine allowed herself a grin.

"Bragging rights," she agreed. "Definitely 100% all about the bragging rights. I'll take that coffee."

She pulled out her ice chest and brought it onto land, then found a good spot to lay down some newspaper so she could start cleaning those fish. She produced a razor sharp knife and sliced off the heads, then began the process of descaling them. No electric knives here. She preferred to rely on equipment that didn't need power. 

She listens to Matthew tell her all about this water shrew, and says, "Wish I could help you there. But at least you're not getting aggravated. Lot of guys would, if they thought their new team was dicking them around like that." 
Matt shrugged at the mention of others 'getting aggravated'.Why argue getting an assignment I got into this job for in the first place? Besides, Arguing over the phone or email is not really helpful. I'm apparently the only one here, and my supervisor seems well-rooted in his office back in Boston.

He walked over to the small clearing nearby. He stayed well in talking range, as if he had, either consciously or unconsciously, taken his observation point as close to 'home' as he could. Matt got his fire pile started rather easily. It hadn't rained, today at least, and his kindling was dry enough to easily take. As the fire started going, and his immediate care of it wasn't continuously needed any longer, he got his hand grinder and a vacuum-sealed pouch of beans from his tent. Opening the portion of beans, and feeding them in his grinder, he ground a coarse coffee, and poured the grinds in a sturdy-looking, well-maintained but obviously well-used percolator, which he placed on the edge of the firepit.

He also got out a light metal, table-like rack he could place over the fire, and lightly oiled it with some peanut oil. Apparently, this guy was pretty much prepared for a stay of more than a night or two. I'm afraid I do not have really comfortable seating to share.
"We can use my ice chests. One's for the fish, other's for the beer." Justine had been content to let him make his preparations in companionable silence, appreciating the rich smell of the freshly ground coffee and the wood smoke as the wind carried both to their nose. 

She also spent a moment trying to imagine a wildlife and fisheries desk jockey back in Boston suddenly deciding a water shrew was the most important priority for a new hire. She had a little trouble with that, but she supposed they could provide clues about ecosystems or the like. And it looked like Matthew was an experienced camper. He certainly got to do his surveillance a little bit more comfortably than she got to do hers, when it got right down to it. 

Once the fish were cleaned, she brought them both over and laid the fillets on the rack. Then she circles back around to something else Matthew had said. That this is what he took the job for in the first place. Maybe he meant watching wildlife in general. She flashed him a half-grin. 

"You say you got in this job for the water shrews?" 
Matthew just full-on grinned at the question. He had that one coming, for his sentence was way beyond 'bad structure'. Well, not exactly for the shrews, mind you.But for this. Matthew made a broad gesture around his campsite. The joy of being out here, surrounded by nature.. As the chests were moved around, where he made sure he was chivalrous enough to lug the heavier, he purposefully choose the one without the beer to sit on. One did not mess with people's beers. Something even a rich kid like him was bound to learn at one point, and Matt had been no exception.

As they sat, he handed Justine a pretty pristine metal mug, wherein he poured a large helping of coffee, before getting a much more dented one for himself, which he filled in much the same way. For a few tentative moments, Matthew pondered if he should tell her the REAL real reason he didn't mind being sent into the woods. Then he realized that, yes, anyone with a working internet connection, more than half a working mind, and with his name in hand (so to speak) could rather easily find that out, as he had never really made it THAT big a secret. Besides, his rather easily identifiable face was with a lot of it, so there was little use in trying to 'hide' it from someone who's whole job was to figure stuff like that out. Best to head it off on his own terms, then.

To be totally fair, the shrews around here, and all other wildlife, it is very interesting. It'd be odd for a zoologist not to like it. But seeing as I'm not the hardest guy to look up, I'll let you in on my personal reason to wander the wilds with wondrous glee. He hesitated just a second. The next part wasn't exactly basic fare, after all. I'm a bit of a Bigfoot aficionado. So, by day, I survey whatever my employer wants me to, and some nights, I see if I can find some evidence to finally prove the big furballs are out here. Beyond my own believes, that is. Science won't take my sincere word for that, after all. There, he had said it. This was usually the point where there was either a friendly end of conversations, or a barely stifled laughter. Sometimes both, and only seldom was it neither. He'd see what would happen now, then.
Justine appreciated his obvious courtesy on the matter of the ice chests, to say the least. She wasn't possessive of her beer exactly, but she still noticed. And she appreciated the more stable perch. She wrapped her hands around the hot cup of coffee, drinking it good and black with every evidence of enjoyment. Understanding flashed over her face when he expressed his love of being out in the woods. Obviously a sentiment she shared.

Forthrightness, however strange, went over well with the Sheriff as well. So many people lied to her all the time that it was nice to find someone who owned their truth. And after forty years in Sandsbridge...

"Oh sure," she said easily. "Lots of folks roll into town because of things like that. I think you're the first who has been committed enough to take a job to pursue it, but you're hardly the first. Look long enough and you'll find a whole community of people who share your interests."

That she believed he'd find his water shrews a lot faster than his Bigfoot was obvious, but there was no judgment there. People were interested in what they were interested in, and as long as he wasn't hurting himself or others Justine didn't see the harm in it. Hell, maybe there was something to all that. The whole "more things in heaven and earth, dear Horatio" principle. She'd never seen any evidence of it, but a lack of evidence wasn't always proof something wasn't going on. That principle was just a whole lot of Detective 101. 

What she was far more concerned about was keeping the fellow from falling into trouble while he did it. 

"Just be real careful. Sometimes unsavory types use those old rumors to scare folks off what they're doing. Like there's a big one going around about some hunting cabin out here right now." She waved her hand vaguely at the woods. "I'm trying to find it myself, because chances are it's some bozo cooking meth. Or shubnam. People like that will shoot you if their telling tales doesn't work."
Matthew had been prepared for a lot of outcomes: derision, ridicule, even hostility had been noted in the past after all. The reaction he did get, it was both reassuring, and a new one for his mental list. Clean acceptance of his ideas, without any comments on truth or falsehood. It was, to say the least, a refreshing.change of pace. The mention of others coming to Sandsbridge over odd things, however, did get Matthew's attention. He hadn't exactly picked this place for any particular reason. He actually didn't pick it himself at all, he was merely assigned here, and was really happy with that. fact.

This is that kind of place, then? he stated rather dryly. Actually, I never got 'round to looking up much about the area besides the previous 'Shrew Review'. I'd have gladly pursued my personal search even if I'd been assigned to Phoenix or Miami. There's always a chance one might find something. But I was really happy I got posted in such a nice area. It really is almost perfect, if my theories are correct.

At her warning, he nodded in acknowledgement. Wouldn't have been the first time one stumbled on stuff not meant for an outsider. Thanks for the warning, then. Never actually got shot at myself, but there's stories going around of people doing calls, then getting 'mistaken' for deer. Well, that's the story, anyway. This allegedly WAS in moonshine territory, after all. Matthew grinned knowingly. He had read some things on several boards, and it got better and more outrageous with each new telling.

He enjoyed the trout for a while, mulling over a few things in the process. Cabins out in the woods were, by definition, man-made, but that didn't mean nature wouldn't try to appropriate them. Especially cunning creatures, such as Sasquatches. Then again, the sheriff's explanation did make sense, too. He took it to heart: he wouldn't go out specifically looking for anything, but were he to stumble across it, well it would be hard to ignore, then. He did decide he'd NOT be wearing his official jacket, though. It was a federal agency, after all, and "the Feds" were not the most beloved among most people out in the woods, he'd found.

But in earnest, I'll keep that in mind as I wander the forest these nights. Just me, nothing "official" on me. Apparently., my employer doesn't seem to have the best of names around here as-is, and neither they nor I need any more trouble.
"Definitely that kind of place," Justine said, with a fond chuckle. She loved her town, quirky as it was. 

She also seemed to have some amusement, as she reached over to flip the fish, for his commentary about the view on Wildlife and Fisheries. "Could be there are quite a few with a 'screw the limit, it's a free country' mentality round about these parts as well," she agreed. 

But wait. She furrowed her brow and pushed up her thick glasses with her pinky finger. 

What a difference one extra little word made. Changed the whole meaning of a sentence, really. I don't need any trouble. Versus...I don't need any...

"More trouble?" 
Matthew nodded. It was a mentality not entirely unfamiliar to him. Several distinct groups seem to share it, if for all differing reasons: money, heritage, isolation.... And then he was pulled back to the fact that, despite all things going the way they went, he WAS talking with the local law. And what had almost been a bit of a throw-away line, now circled back at him. Not entirely unreasonable even, either.

He sighed lightly. Yeah, 'more'. As said, Fish and Wildlife has a strained reputation here anyway, so me being out here at night, seemingly on duty, would not help. Doubly so, because I am not an inspector by trade, just a passionate field biologist. And they also do not need people calling them with sightings just because they mistake my hobby for government interest in the Bigfoot hunt. And that's where my troubles kick in, as I'm really not looking forward to getting flak over potentially making people think Fish and Wildlife is officially looking for Bigfoot, which they apparently arent, by the way. He stares off into the distance for a bit. I get enough crap as-is, with my parents, by way of my very intrusive mother, leaning on them as much as they do. She really doesn't feel my zest for this work, and my hobby, are fit for me, and I'm pretty sure she's on the phone weekly trying to get them to desk me somewhere.

Yeah, she would call them that often, if not even more if she felt she could get away with it... She'd rather not bring up the fact that her son was 'playing outside' to earn his keep, even if it was for the government.
Family troubles. That was a bit of a relief, though Justine smiled sympathetically. 

"Sooner or later they're gonna have to figure out it's your life," she said. "What did they hope you'd do with it anyway?"

The fish were now smelling savory and wonderful. "And...You got plates in that kit of yours?" She didn't care much about silverware; she'd pluck the fish apart with her fingers and eat it that way, but plating them or something was probably a decent idea. She hadn't come equipped for camping, or even a field lunch. Still, she figured he would, so she didn't seem too alarmed. There were a couple of okay ways to improvise 'em if she had to anyway.
Matthew nods at the last question, carefully evading the first one for a bit. He was glad there was a second one, actually, and one a tad 'pressing' seeing as the fish did not need much more time. And nothing was worse than over-doing nice fish like these. Nobody liked dry trout, after all. I do, sort of at least. He got two funnily-shaped wooden eating plates from the front part of his tent, then handed Justine one. No utensils other than provided to us by Mother Nature, though. Sorry about that.

As he seats himself again, offering Justine another coffee, he seems a little embarrassed. Not enough to be overwhelming, but enough for someone with people skills to pick up on easily. As to what my parents wanted me to do, mother most of all, was to take the lead on doing all the boring boardroom business right about now. Not even run the place, there's plenty of apt people for that, just "be the face of the family" and stuff like that. Be the guy that does nothing for too much pay, basically.

He sips his coffee, in silence, obviously having said what he felt was enough. For now.
Eating fish with her fingers was no concern. Once they were plated, Justine gamely broke off flaky chunks of it to pop into her mouth, listening to him. She wasn't sure why it was such a source of embarrassment. Maybe because it proved his family had a lot of money, but so what? Some folks had money. Though the extreme break in personalities, goals, and values surely made Thanksgiving awkward. She found herself grateful for her simple family, and her simple life. And that she and her father had never particularly been at odds over her choice of careers, her desire to follow in his footsteps. "I hope you'll like it here," is all she said aloud, hoping to detract from any awkwardness he might be feeling.
Matthew smiled. What's not to like? Forest, friendly folk and fresh fish. Besides, being who I am isn't really my problem, just parts of it are. But I've been coping with those enough to know one could more easily try to hold a storm at bay with frantic arm movements than try to stop my mother from trying to interfere with stuff. It's the way my life seems to have to be, I guess.

He didn't feel like he was exaggerating all that much, either. His mom was a tad overwhelming in these things, and always had been. The only one never to question his motives had been grandpa O'Hara, who always had really liked young Matt's enthusiastic adventuring. It was part of the reasons he got to do what he did anyway, gramps had taken care of that.

Besides, the O'Hara family reunions can get rather ... intense over the matter. I guess we're all more than a bit stubborn by nature. He chuckled at the thought. The last one had been a real doozy, with all of them in some island retreat....
Justine answered his smile with one of her own. Talking up her home town was a good way to earn points with the Sheriff to begin with, the moreso when the talk was genuine. She was content; the fish was good, coffee was good, company was good. 

"I guess that's the way of big families," she muses. "And if it weren't that it'd be something else. Can't get more than 6 people together in a unit without some sort of squabble forming. Get them together in a unit for life and that's a lotta time for a lotta squabbles to form, whether it's 'what Matthew does for a living' or something else. It's just in people's nature. Don't mean it don't hurt, but it's just the way of things." 

She grinned.

"Course it's just been me and my Dad almost as long as I can remember so I'm speculating from what I've observed of others I've known. It's always easier for outside observers to render an opinion than it is to live the thing."
Matthew had nodded in agreement with her musings. It wasn't too far from the mark, actually. Then, add in that they all want the same pie, whole, to themselves, and you get a good idea of the way things go.

The "outside observer" part was true, too. There had been times he had felt like one, only to be pulled right back in. I'd rather study bears and wolves up close than that I'd have to 'study' the O'Hara's. Bears and wolves at least follow SOME set of rules, at least. And are therefore more predictable. and safer to be around. He grinned at his own attempt at a joke, if just a little. It wasn't totally untrue, either. His relatives could be downright vicious at times. But that wasn't something one should freely share that easily. But at least they are 'nice' enough to contain that play to the Boston area. Leaving me blissfully far enough away to not be part of it, and close enough to not be forgotten about.

After finishing his second cup of coffee, and with his fingers still sticky from eating the fish, Matthew seemed to be pondering some things. it took him a few minutes to gather his thoughts. Are there any peculiarities about Sandsbridge that a city slicker like myself should keep in mind? Besides the usual "stay on the good side of the law' and 'don't piss anyone off too badly', that is.
It was a good question. Justine finished off her fish and wiped her hands on her jeans while she contemplated the answer to it. 

"Mostly this: this is a real small world in a real small bubble. Don't be real surprised to find folks all up in your business. They're not trying to hurt you any, and they'll be the first to help if you need it. It's large enough that everyone doesn't know everyone, but just the same. And do find a community of some kind. Fellow enthusiasts, neighborhood associations, clubs, church group, whatever. Keep to yourself, look too insular, people will start treating you with some suspicion. It's just the way it is. And it doesn't hurt to have a few people to reach out to anyway."

Maybe not what he wanted to hear, someone who preferred solitude in nature as he fled from a contentious family, but it was what it was.
Matthew nodded as he listened to her answer. He might not really enjoy said answer, but he'd expected as much. It was the way of the small towns, it seemed, and that was something he'd have to get used to. At least it would end up being something new to experience.

Don't act like the out-of-towner, mingle and be friendly. Fair enough, that. Guess I'll be out and about over the weekend then., he states with a bit of a smile on his face. The wording might have suggested a bit of an aversion to that, but his whole body language pretty much belied that sentiment. And that part was about right, as Matthew wasn't really all that home-bound in the first place. Sure, most of the time he was out here, in the 'great outdoors', but then again, discovering new vistas could just as well be done in a town, and trying to make friends wasn't THAT bad. Usually.

But planning a start would have to wait, for now. At this point, he felt, going of in quiet contemplation might end up making him seem aloof. And he didn't like that kind of person himself, so it stood to reason he didn't want to come across as one.

Indicating the serving board, he stated: Just put it down there. I'll rinse 'm off later, to keep the furry 'friendlies' from wanting a piece of it. Only forgot to do that once, and once is all you need to not forget it again. Cost me a tent and a backpack, but at least those are replaceable.
Justine chuckled as she brought the spent flatware over to the indicated spot. "Guess that's pretty well a mistake all of us make exactly once," she allowed.

She dusted off her jeans, then said, "Speaking of tents and the like, I didn't bring any and I only brought the boat out here, so I should probably see about getting it back up to the docks and put away before I burn too much daylight. Gotta check in on Dad before I get home, too."

She headed that way, prepping the boat for another voyage out, and added, "Was nice meeting you, Matthew." 
Matthew nodded in understanding at her getting back to town. He got up as well. Understood. I'll help you load it all back in, then.. Matthew's upbringing, however much he might dislike most of it, wouldn't let him NOT offer it. It might be a tad old-fashioned, but it was how he was raised nonetheless.

Likewise, sheriff Carter. I can imagine a handful of less nice ways to introduce oneself to local law enforcement. He proceeded to assist her prepping and casting off, unless there was a reason for him to no longer being able to do so.
No reason at all, for Justine allowed it with silent appreciation for his manners. And verbal, for when it was all done she said, "Thank you kindly. Enjoy the rest of your time out here, Matthew." 

And with that, she cast off, puttering up the river to return home. 

(OOC: Thank you for the RP, sorry it took me so long to respond -- I think my inbox swallowed the notification of a new post!)

Matthew watched Justine cast off and set off in the general direction of the harbour. Once she was out of sight, he started gathering the dishware, and started washing it in the nearby stream. He had some ideas what to do with the leftovers and fish remains. He'd use them to try and lure in a Bigfoot somehow. Whatever came for it, it would at least be well away from his camp anyway, so that was an added bonus.

As he was cleaning up, and repacking some of the stuff, he finished the last of the coffee. He had made the big mistake of not putting it in a separate container, so it was steeped WAY too long. At least he'd not be too troubled by sleeplessness tonight, as it would be a long night anyway. He cleaned his percolator, and cups, then put them away in his pack, storing said pack in his tent again.

With that, he started preparing his gear for the night: a daypack with some energy bars and spare batteries, a headlight, GoPro camera, and a audio playback/recording device. He checked his print casting stuff. Enough for a print or two. He didn't need much more, he figured. He'd use his phone to take stills, and his trusty ruler as scale if he needed to record anything. Now, it was pretty much a waiting game. He'd scout the area he had surveyed by day. Not a huge stretch of land, but he figured had time. He'd be able to come back here often enough anyway.
As the night fell, and the warmth of the day receded before the chill of the night, Matthew zipped the trunks on to his pants. It wasn't just for warmth, however. He could handle a chilly night on his weathered skin, but he'd spotted some Poison Ivy, and he wasn't willing to go THAT far in the pursuit of his hobby. He took off his USFWS jacket too, replacing it with a sturdier, and significantly more civilian, brown suede one. He did a short introduction to the night's "investigation" for the vlog, after which he attached the camera to his headset, along with a light. Then he got his daypack, and set out into the woods, having set the coordinates for is camp site in his GPS locator.

Once in the woods, he went and "did his thing": shoot video for the vlog, narrating parts of it for the benefit of the viewers. He'd upload part of it over the day tomorrow, as he was charging his batteries. He was glad he'd invested in a small solar set for just that.  He was out in the woods for the better part of 6 hours, only returning to his camp at around 4am. He hadn't heard anything definitive, so in that regard it was business as usual. But the area had potential. He had spotted signs of what were considered potential Bigfoot food sources, and the potential for hidey-holes and 'thoroughfares' for getting around. All of which he had recorded and explained on camera. All in all, it hadn't been a total waste. Doubly so, as he did like a good nature walk any day, or night, of the week.

After that first night, Matthew got into a bit of a rhythm: Wake up, eat, look for the elusive shrews, eat, prep, go look for the elusive Sasquatch, sleep. Repeat. By the end of the week he had more than enough material to make an interesting vlog out of, and enough data to keep the guys back in Boston happy. He'd most likely have to do it again in a few years, providing he was still here at that point. He also had a much better appreciation for the area, and its "Squatchiness" This was, in his opinion, prime 'real estate' for Bigfoot, and he was really happy he had volunteered for this post, despite the potentially slow acceptance that places like Sandsbridge were 'known' for. He kept the sherrif's advise in the back of his head: mingle, interact and try not to be a loner.

As he exited the woods on Friday afternoon, it was going on 4pm already as he hit the harbour, he decided to drop off his stuff, freshen up a little and hit some local bar, or even several, to see if there were any that he fancied enough to start visiting regularly.