Dive into the untamed wild with renowned photographer Grant Collier as he braves scorching deserts, rugged mountains, and alien planets in search of Bigfoot. Once labeled a charlatan and a quack, Grant has turned skeptics into believers with 12 completely-real, entirely-not-fake photographs of the elusive legend. These photographs will go down as some of the most important ever taken - right up there with photos from Roswell proving the existence of aliens and NASA’s fake images of the moon landing.
50% of all profits from this calendar will be donated by the publisher to non-profits working to protect the real Bigfoots on this planet ... endangered gorillas.
This is frequently-imitated by never duplicated calendar measures 12"x12" (12"x24" when open).
Some of the truly unbelievable stories behind these images (which are also printed in the calendar) are provided below:
June: Thirty years after a lighthouse on the Maine coast was abandoned, townsfolk began noticing its beam flicker on and off at odd hours of the night. Braver souls occasionally went to investigate, but none ever returned. Soon, a legend spread: the lighthouse was haunted by the vengeful spirits of shipwrecked pirates, still guarding their sunken treasure. But when the truth was finally discovered, it was even more terrifying. Bigfoot had claimed squatter’s rights at this beacon on the sea. No timid hermit like his woodland cousins, he is a hairy tyrant with salt in his beard and wrath in his heart. One fisherman swore he saw the beast scream “NO SOLICITORS!” before hurling an intruder into the black, raging sea.
August: For decades, mankind beheld the circles carved into Earth’s golden fields and quaked in wonder. Were they divine sigils? Celestial heralds? The whispers of higher beings writ upon barley? Nay! They were the doodles of Bigfoot, the woolly vagabond of shadowed forests. Not seraphs, nor starfolk, nor conspiracies cloaked in shadow, but a titan of hair and solitude. If only mortals had heeded Occam’s Razor, the blade that declares the obvious answer supreme. And the obvious answer is this: at the witching hour, beneath a pitch-black sky, Bigfoot, cursed with endless boredom, moonwalks through the fields, turning wheat into spirals vast and strange. Nothing more. Nothing less.
October: Deep in the sun-baked Aussie Outback, a shaggy legend known as the Yowie has had locals wagging their tongues for generations. The Wiradjuri have spotted this big, fuzzy bloke for donkey’s years, and pale mates nearly lost their lunch when they ran into him; hence its name, supposedly the first word a bloke squealed on seeing the beast. City-slicking muckrakers reckon these sightings are just bush wanderers losing the plot after a few too many snake bites, mistaking kangaroos and wombats for giant banana biters. But one humble photo snapper sussed the facts from the fluff. The Yowie’s very much real, a king of the scrub, a hairy drongo who’ll have you sprinting past spinifex like a galah with its tail on fire, hollering like a stunned dingo, and kicking yourself for leaving your stubby in the swag.
November: Behold! This image was captured on the sacred slopes of Gangkhar Puensum, the highest peak never before defiled by humankind, until Grant Collier, in noble pursuit of Bigfoot, blundered his way over its forbidden summit. While most climbers spend years in preparation, training their bodies to the brink and risking their very lives for a first ascent, Grant simply followed a trail of mighty footprints. He sought neither glory nor conquest as he stumbled blindly across borders, glaciers, and international law alike. To the people of Bhutan, he offers his deepest apologies. To history, he offers this photograph: Bigfoot, poised beside a snow leopard, gazing down upon a glacial lake of perfect blue. For any other mortal, such a sight would be the pinnacle of existence. For Grant, it was Tuesday.
December: A lifetime spent evading humans ended abruptly when Bigfoot’s back gave out. With no way to hunt or forage, he sought out the only employer desperate enough to hire him: the local mall. Their previous Santa had been fired for reasons best left to court transcripts, so management overlooked a few obvious concerns. From the moment Bigfoot sat down, chaos erupted. Instead of “Ho! Ho! Ho!” Bigfoot produced low, guttural growls that echoed across the corridors. Children screamed and fled, while parents tried to reassure them that this beast would not be coming down their chimney at night. The only gifts Bigfoot delivered that year were recurring nightmares that would take a lifetime of therapy to resolve.