The Moustache Yeti is a largely undisturbed creature that resides in Desk Valley. Whilst out on a trip, this beast relished in the presence of our camera, and took it upon himself to show us how he spends his time. Here is my account of our meeting.

‘HI YETI AM YETI.’ After introducing himself to us, he showed us a few places on his favourite ski map. He did this with surprising vigour. In fact, everything he did, he did with vigour. It did take us a little while to become accustomed to his manner of speaking – more the volume than anything else.

‘FOR SKIING,’ he said, noticing our inquisitive expressions. I suppose it is only natural for him to ski, being a yeti. The question that was bugging me was where did he get the map from? Did he take it from the fresh corpse of an intrepid explorer that crossed his path before? Does he just use us travellers to satisfy his narcissism before dismantling our bodies limb by limb? It was a bit early to be having such grave thoughts, so we carried on with our photographic encounter.

Grabbing a rather large can of lager, he told us, ‘YETI AM THIRSTY.’

‘THIS IS YUM YOU SHOULD TRY.’ We declined, mainly because we thought this might be a trick, but also because neither of us was particularly keen on mixing saliva with a yeti (with amoustachioed yeti, moreover!). With our refusal, he began to drink more, slurping down the lager in huge amounts.

‘ENOUGH LAGER NOW.’

Perhaps with his new-found inebriation, or his natural charisma, he took us to the edge of his residential height, and pondered deeply. ‘WHAT IS DOWN?‘ he asked no-one in particular.

None of us were prepared for the tragedy that was about to befall the yeti. Lost in the deep recesses of abstractness, his body lost a hold of itself, as surely as his mind must have been losing its own grip on reality.

‘OOPS,’ said the yeti with his characteristically unfathomable profundity.

‘YETI OW,’ he reflected. We rappelled down and tried to help him up, but he was heavier than we expected. It was some surprise that he left no hole in the ground he fell upon. Luckily, he was fine, if only a little bit defeated by gravity. His spirit was not dented, however.

‘YETI INDESTRUCTIBLE!‘ He was now faced with the task of getting back up to his dwelling. We could climb back up on the rope we descended on, but he was too heavy for such a feat. He had to find another way.

‘FUCK.‘ We could excuse him his profanity, as it was an accurate judgement of his situation.

‘FUCK FUCK FUCK.’

‘FFFFUUUUCCCCKKK.’ Luckily he was nearing the top of his climb, as our ears were corroding under the influence of his explicit language.

Having finally made it to the top, the yeti let out a loud and expressive ‘PHEW‘ in between gulps of air. Clearly such exertion had taken its toll upon the yeti. Even his moustache began to wilt.

‘YETI SLEEP NOW.‘ Was his exhaustion the only reason for our spared lives? Or was he never going to kill us?; was he merely a yeti with a boyish impulse to show off with no real intention of harm? Was he even more merely an old Star Wars figure, so old that it had grown rather handsome facial hair? There were only three ways to tell, but unfortunately we were too tired to test them, and were running out of time before the sunset made this climate impossible to handle.

This experience has certainly and irrevocably changed my life. For the better? I am unsure. One thing remains certain; I do hope we meet again.