It was one of those temporary assignments for further training that the Marine Corps is well known for, and I came prepared in more ways than one, but I let no one know it.
For three days, I lingered in the barracks, sleeping or reading. I went to chow and cleaned as I and others waited for the training platoon to fill up with the bodies the Corps thought we should have.
Desert training would be long and hot at an average of 112 degrees during the day, with nighttime not much better at 95. The only blessing was a hard-moving easterly breeze that not only cooled but peppered us with sand, small rocks, and other debris like buckshot from a cannon.
Navigating by starlight was no treat either. Nightly, we were left cussing out the variety of cacti we encountered with our shins, calves, hands, heads, and asses.
But, like everyone else, I survived.
On the second night out, I was with the forward squad, which consisted of five men and a training NCO. The staff sergeant separated us by far enough links that we could not see one another, only hear each other as we groped through the dark.
Ahead of us came a loud noise, like a grunt, followed by a low, guttural growl. Everyone froze in place.
I kneeled, knowing what was happening.
The same noise came again. Harsh whispers came from the men around me as they grew concerned that a wild animal was ahead of us in the dark.
Before I arrived at the Stumps, I heard there was the possibility that the instructors would likely pull a prank or two involving what they called the Yucca Man. Growing up in the redwood forest of Northern California, we called him Bigfoot or Sasquatch.
Again, that sound came. This time, four men, silhouetted by a blanket of stars, fell back, retreating from whatever was out in that desert area before us.
Suddenly, I realized that our training NCO was standing next to me. As I looked up at him, the growling came out of the darkness, and he jumped, eye growing large, turned, and disappeared behind me.
Whatever this thing was, it was not a prank, as all the NCOs started shouting for us to return to our jumping-off point or from where we started that night’s training. I wasn’t afraid but curious, so I remained on one knee, rifle up, safety off, ready to confront whatever this was.
Remember, this was a pitch-dark night, illuminated by only the stars. As I studied the area ahead of me, I listened and waited.
Then I saw something pass about 20 feet in front of me. I only realized this because it blotted out the stars as they moved from left to right.
Slowly, I stood erect and started quietly stepping backward. I maintained my composure until I heard a loud sniff, as if it were disgusted, from my left and slightly behind me.
Then, the rotten egg smell hit my nostrils. It was too close for comfort, and my military bearing evaporated faster than the sweat dribbling down my back.
“To hell with this,” I said, sprinting back to my bivvy area.
The Old Blog in the Desert 