Episode Transcript
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Speaker 1 (00:02):
For decades, people have disappeared in the woods without a trace.
Some blame wild animals, others whisper of creatures the world
refuses to believe in. But those who have survived they
know the truth. Welcome to Backwoods Bigfoot Stories, where we
share real encounters with the things lurking in the darkness Bigfoot,
(00:23):
dog man, UFOs, and creatures that defy explanation. Some make
it out, others aren't so lucky. Are you ready, because
once you hear these stories, you'll never walk in the
woods alone again. So grab your flashlight, stay close, and
remember some things in the woods don't want to be found.
Hit that follow or subscribe button, turn on auto downloads,
(00:46):
and let's head off into the woods if you dare.
The North Georgia Mountains hold their own mysteries. Growing up
in those ancient mist shrouded peaks where Cherokee legends whispered
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through the hollows and strange lights danced over the ridge
lines on humid summer nights, I learned early that the
world contained more questions than answers. But it wasn't the
local folklore that first captured my imagination. It was a
creature said to dwell in waters half a world away
in the cold peat dark depths of a Scottish lock
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I was seven years old when I first encountered NeSSI.
It happened in our school library in Somerville, a small
town nestled in the Northwest Georgia Mountains, where the pace
of life moved slowly, and where in my childhood magic
still seemed possible. I was supposed to be looking for
books about dinosaurs. I was obsessed with them, as most
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seven year olds are, when I stumbled upon a slim
volume with a grainy black and white photograph on its cover.
The mid showed a long serpentine neck rising from dark water.
A small head perched atop it like a question mark
against the sky. The Lockness Monster, Scotland's Greatest Mystery, read
the title. I pulled the book from the shelf with
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trembling hands. Our school librarian, Missus Patterson, smiled at my
selection as she stamped the due date card. That's a
good one, she said. My husband and I visited Lockness
on our honeymoon. Beautiful place. We didn't see anything unusual,
but you could feel it, something in the water, something old.
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I devoured that book in a single weekend reading by
flashlight under my covers long after bedtime. The photographs, the
eyewitness accounts, the scientific expeditions, it all fascinated me. Here
was a mystery that seemed real in a way that
felt different from the dragons and griffins of fairy tales.
Real people had seen something, They had taken photographs, scientists
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had searched with sonar and submarines. But what captivated me
most was the essential unknowability of it all. Lockness was deep,
incredibly deep, and filled with layers of peat that made
visibility nearly impossible. Something could be down there, something ancient
and strange, a remnant from another age, hidden in the
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cold darkness where the sunlight never reached NeSSI became my
first cryptid, my gateway into a larger world of mysteries.
After I exhausted everything our school library had on the
Lochness Monster, I moved on to Bigfoot, which felt closer
to home in our forested mountains, then to the Yeti,
the local Ambembe, the thunderbird, and dozens of others. My
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bedroom walls became papered with maps, marking, cryptid sidings, newspaper clippings,
and hand drawn pictures of creatures that might or might
not exist. My parents indulged this obsession with good humor.
My father, a pragmatic man who worked in construction, would
sometimes shake his head and say, son, you're looking for
magic in a world that's already been mapped. But my
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mother understood. She was the one who had first filled
my head with Cherokee stories. Her grandmother had told her,
tales of the raven Mocker and the Yunwitsunsdi, the little
people who lived in the mountains. Just because something hasn't
been proven, she would tell me, doesn't mean it isn't true.
Now decades later, I still remember the thrill of that
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first discovery. I've researched dozens of cryptids, interviewed witnesses, and
explored some of the world's most remote places in search
of evidence. I've learned to balance skepticism with wonder, to
demand evidence while remaining open to possibility. But I always
come back to NeSSI. The Lochness Monster remains the perfect cryptid,
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mysterious enough to captivate the imagination, documented enough to seem plausible,
and elusive enough to maintain its secrets. Despite more than
ninety years of intense of searching. The legend has survived
hoaxes and debunkings, scientific skepticism, and commercial exploitation, remaining as
vital today as it was when it first captured the
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world's attention in nineteen thirty three. This is the story
of that legend, its deep historical roots, its explosive emergence
into modern consciousness, and its enduring hold on our collective imagination.
It's a story about what we've seen and what we
think we've seen, about evidence and interpretation, about the human
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need for mystery in an increasingly explained world. It's the
story of the creature that sparked a seven year old
boy's imagination one afternoon in a Georgia Mountain school library,
and that continues to captivate millions around the globe. It's
the story of NeSSI To understand the legend of the
Lockness Monster, one must first understand Lockness itself. The Locke
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is not merely the setting for this mystery. It is
integral to it, character in its own right, whose very
nature makes the legend plausible and the truth nearly impossible
to determine. Lockness is a gash in the earth, a
wound carved by ancient glaciers during the last ice age.
It stretches for twenty three miles through the Great Glen,
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a geological fault line that slices across the Scottish Highlands
from southwest to northeast. The lock is narrow, at most
one and a half miles wide, but what it lacks
in width it makes up for in depth. At its
deepest point, Lockness plunges to a depth of seven hundred
and fifty five feet, though many parts of it extend
beyond seven hundred feet. To put this in perspective, Lockness
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contains more fresh water than all the lakes in England
and Wales combined. Its volume is approximately one point eight
cubic miles of water. If you drained it, you could
provide every person on Earth with a gallon of water
and still have plenty left over. But it's not just
the size that makes lock Ness remarkable. It's the quality
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of its waters. The lock is filled with peat particles
suspended in the water washed down from the surrounding hills
and bogs. These particles absorb light, giving the water its
distinctive dark, almost black appearance, and limiting visibility to mere
feet in most places below a depth of about thirty feet.
The lock is in almost complete darkness at the bottom.
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In the frigid depths where the pressure is immense, no
light penetrates at all. The lock never freezes even in
the harshest Scottish winters. Its massive volume and the constant
circulation of its waters keep temperatures relatively stable year round,
ranging from the low forties fahrenheit in winter to the
low fifties in summer. These are not hospitable waters for swimming,
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but they could potentially support life, including large aquatic life.
The steep sides of the lock drop precipitously with shelves
and underwater cliffs, creating a complex topography. Beneath the surface.
Sonar surveys have revealed ledges, caves, and rocky outcroppings, plenty
of places where something large could potentially hide. The bottom
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is covered in a thick layer of sediment, decades and
centuries of accumulated debris that could conceal anything. This is
the realm where, according to legend, something ancient dwells. The
earliest stories of strange creatures in Scottish locks predate written history,
existing in the oral traditions of the picks and the
Gales who inhabited these lands. The ancient peoples of Scotland
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viewed their locks, rivers and forests as inhabited by spirits
and creatures, both benevolent and dangerous. Water was particularly liminal,
a threshold between worlds, a place where the other world
could break through into our own. The Picks, who lived
in what is now Scotland from ancient times until their
gradual absorption into Gaelic culture around the ninth century, left
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behind enigmatic stone carvings throughout the Highland ones. Among these
are numerous depictions of strange creatures, some recognizable, others decidedly not.
Several Pictish stones near Lockedness show what appeared to be
aquatic beasts with long necks, flippers, and serpentine bodies. Were
these purely symbolic representations of mythological creatures, or were they
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perhaps depictions of something the Picks had actually observed. The Gales,
who came to dominate the Highlands brought with them tails
of water horses the each wisjay creatures that inhabited Scotland's
locks and rivers. These were not horses in the ordinary sense,
but shape shifters, sometimes appearing as beautiful steeds that would
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lure unsuspecting travelers onto their backs before plunging into the
water and devouring them. The each odge was a dangerous creature,
malevolent and cunning, and every Highland lock was said to
have its own resident water horse. But there were other
creatures too in Gaelic folklore, the tarb wise or water bowl,
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large aquatic creatures that would sometimes emerge from the locks,
and nameless things that dwelt in the deep places, remnants
of older powers that had retreated before the coming of
Christianity but had never entirely vanished. Were these purely mythological
constructs warnings about the dangers of deep water or did
they contain some kernel of observation, some attempt to explain
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genuine sightings of something unusual. The question is impossible to
answer definitively, but it establishes an important point. The idea
of large mysterious creatures in Scottish locks is not new.
It is woven into the very fabric of Highland culture.
The first written account of a monster in the waters
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of Loch Ness, or more precisely, in the river Nest
that flows from the Loch, dates to the seventh century
and comes from a most unexpected source the hagiography of
Saint Columba, one of the most important figures in early
Skyttish Christianity. The year was five hundred sixty five AD. Columba,
an Irish monk who had established a monastery on the
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island of Iona, was traveling through the lands of the Picts,
bringing Christianity to the pagan peoples of northern Scotland. His
journey took him to the Great Glen and to the
river that flows from Loch Ness. According to the Life
of Saint Columba, written by Adamnon of Iona around seven
hundred a d. Columba and his companions arrived at the
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river Ness to find a group of Picts burying a
man by the riverside. When Columba inquired about the death,
the Picks explained that the man had been swimming in
the river when he was attacked and killed by a
water beast. They had gone out in a boat to
recover his body, but the beast had inflicted terrible wounds.
Columba needed to cross the river, but there was no
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boat available. He ordered one of his followers, a monk
named Louen Maku Mien, to swim across and fetch a
boat from the other side. Louen, being obedient, stripped an
the water he had swum halfway across when the monster appeared.
A Dominion's account describes the beast rising from the depths
with a great roar and with its mouth wide open.
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The Picks on the shore cried out in terror, and
even Columbus companions were frozen with fear. The creature rushed
toward Louen, churning the water as it came, but Columbu
raised his hand and, making the sign of the Cross,
commanded the beast in a loud voice, go no further,
Do not touch the man, Go back at once. According
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to the account, the beast stopped as if pulled back
with ropes and fled in terror, diving beneath the surface
and disappearing. Louen reached the opposite shore unharmed, and the
Picks who witnessed this miracle were so impressed that many
converted to Christianity on the spot. For centuries, this account
was read simply as a miracle story, one of many
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in the hagiographical tradition meant to demonstrate the saint's power
over the natural and supernatural world. Modern skeptics dismiss it
as pure legend, pointing out that hagiographies were not historical
documents but propaganda pieces designed to promote the cult of
particular saints, and often borrowed motifs and miracle stories from
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one another. But others have wondered could there be something
more to this story? A dominion was writing only about
one hundred and thirty years after the events he described,
using earlier written sources and oral traditions. While he certainly
embellished and interpreted events through the lens of his faith,
he was not simply inventing from whole cloth. The account
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contained specific details, names of people and places, circumstances of
the encounter that suggest it was based on some actual event.
If we strip away the miraculous elements and look at
what remains, we have a report of something large in
the river that behaved aggressively toward a swimmer. The picks
of the region apparently had recent experience with this creature,
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as evidenced by the burial they were conducted. They believed
it was dangerous, and they believed it was real. Could
Columba and his companions have encountered something genuine in the river? Ness.
Some have suggested it might have been a large pike
or a seal that had swum up from the sea,
though the river nests would be a long journey for
a seal. Others have proposed that if there was and
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is a large, unknown creature in Lockness, it might occasionally
venture into the river, particularly if following salmon or other fish.
Or it might simply have been a case of mistaken identity,
fear and religious propaganda converging to create a story that
would endure for fourteen centuries regardless of its literal truth.
The account of Saint Columba and the water Beast established
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something important. The association of Lockness with mysterious aquatic creatures
has roots that extend back to the very dawn of
Scottish written history. After Columbus time, references to strange creatures
in the lock become sparse. This is hardly surprising. Stay
tuned for more Backwoods Bigfoot stories. We'll be back after
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these messages. The Highlands were a remote region, sparsely populated,
and for much of the medieval and early modern period,
the people who lived along the shores of Lochness were
more concerned with basic survival than with documenting unusual wildlife,
but the stories never completely died out. Local traditions maintained
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that Lockness was home to something unusual, something best avoided.
Fishermen knew not to venture too far from shore, children
were worn to stay away from the water's edge at dusk,
and occasionally, throughout the centuries, someone would see something that
couldn't quite be explained. A strange wake in the water,
a large, dark shape moving beneath the surface, a disturbance
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that seemed too large to be caused by any known fish.
These sightings were local matters, stories told in Gaelic around
peat fires and stone cottages, never recorded, never widely disseminated.
The highlands remained remote and mysterious, difficult to reach and
difficult to leave, a place where ancient ways persisted and
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the old stories remained alive. Then came the roads. The
transformation of the loch Ness Monster from local legend to
global phenomenon can be traced to a single year, nineteen
thirty three, and the catalyst was not a dramatic sighting
or a stunning photograph, but rather something far more mundane.
A road, The A eighty two road running along the
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northwestern shore of loch Ness was being significantly upgraded in
the early nineteen thirties. Previously, travel along the loch had
been difficult, with only narrow, rough tracks connecting the small communities.
The new road was wider, better maintained, and attracted more traffic.
More people were traveling past the loch, spending more time
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looking out at its waters, and some of them began
seeing things. The first widely reported sighting of nineteen thirty
fee came not from the water but from the land.
On April fourteenth, John mackay, a landlord at the Drumnai
droach At hotel, and his wife were driving along the
new road when they spotted something in the water about
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six hundred feet from shore. Missus McKay later described the
creature to Alex Campbell, the local water bailiff and part
time correspondent for the Inverness Courier, saying it looked like
a whale, creating tremendous splashing and commotion in the water
for several minutes before vanishing. Campbell wrote up the account
for the newspaper, and in doing so he made a
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fateful decision. Instead of calling the creature by any of
its traditional Gaelic names, or referring vaguely to a large creature.
He called it a monster. On May second, nineteen thirty three,
the Inverness Courier published the story under the headline strange
spectacle on Locke Ness. The article was picked up by
newspapers across Scotland and then throughout Britain. By the summer
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of nineteen thirty three, Lockness's monster had entered the popular
vocabulary and people were coming to the lock specifically hoping
to catch a glimpse of this mysterious creature. The legend
had gone viral decades before that term would be invented.
The sightings multiplied throughout nineteen thirty three and nineteen thirty four.
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Dozens of witnesses reported seeing something unusual in the lock.
The accounts varied in details, but shared common elements. A
large creature, generally described as having a long neck, a
small head, one or more humps, and dark gray or
black coloring. Some witnesses reported seeing flippers, others mentioned a
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long tail. The creature moved quickly through the water, creating
significant wake, and would suddenly submerge, disappearing without a trace.
One of the most significant sightings of this period came
from mister George Spicer and his wife on July twenty second,
nineteen thirty three. They were driving along the new road
when they saw something extraordordinary crossing the road about fifty
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yards ahead of them. Spicer described it as resembling a
huge snail with a long neck about six to eight
feet long, jerking across the road toward the lock They
watched it for several seconds before it disappeared into the undergrowth.
This land sighting was particularly intriguing because it suggested that
whatever was in lockness was not purely aquatic, but could
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move on land, at least for short distances. Spicer's description,
published in newspapers across Britain, added a new dimension to
the legend and sparked intense debate. Some suggested the creature
might be a type of large eel or seal. Others
proposed more exotic explanations, including surviving plesiosaurs marine reptiles from
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the Age of dinosaurs. The plesiosaur theory quickly gained traction,
particularly after Lieutenant Commander Rupert T. Gould, a British naval
officer and cryptozoology enthusiast, published a book in nineteen thirty
four call called the loch Ness Monster and others. Gould
had investigated many of the sightings personally, interviewed witnesses, and
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concluded that there was something genuinely unusual in the lock
He was cautious about identifying it definitively, but suggested that
a surviving plesiosaur was among the most plausible explanations. The
plesiosaur hypothesis had obvious appeal. Plesiosaurs were marine reptiles that
lived during the Mesozoic era, roughly two hundred to sixty
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five million years ago. They had long necks, small heads,
large bodies with four flippers, and long tails, matching many
witness descriptions of the loch Ness Monster. The idea that
some population of these creatures might have survived in isolated
lakes hidden from human discovery captured the public imagination. Of course,
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the hypothesis had serious problems. Plesiosaurs were marine reptiles that
lived in the oceans, not freshwater lakes. They were air
breathing reptiles that would need to surface regularly, making them
more conspicuous than the Lockness Monster appeared to be, and
Lockness itself is only about ten thousand years old, formed
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at the end of the last Ice age, far too
recent to have harbored a population of plesiosaurs continuously since
the age of dinosaurs, But these objections did little to
damp and enthusiasm for the theory, particularly in the popular press.
The image of a plesiosaur in Lockness became iconic, shaping
how the Lockness Monster would be depicted in books, films,
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and the public imagination for generations to come. As interest
in the monster grew, so did the number of sightings.
In nineteen thirty three alone, there were over twenty reported sightings.
Some of these were undoubtedly genuine misidentifications of known animals
or natural phenomena. Others were probably hoaxes or attention seeking,
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but the sheer number of reports and the consistency of
certain details suggested to many that there was something worth investigating.
The media frenzy attracted not just witnesses but hunters. People
came to lock Ness hoping to capture or kill the monster,
motivated by fame, scientific curiosity, or the substantial reward offered
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by the British circus owner Bertram Mills for the capture
of the beast. One such hunter was Marmaduke Weatherill, a
big game hunter hired by London's Daily Mail in December
nineteen thirty three to find evidence of the monster. Weatherill
spent several days at the lock and claimed to have
found large footprints in the shore. He made plaster casts
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of these prints and declared them to be evidence of
a very large, unknown creature. The prints were sent to
the Natural History Museum in London for analysis. The results
were embarrassing. The prince had been made with a hippopotamus foot,
likely an umbrella stand or ashtray that had been converted
from a taxidermied hippo foot, a popular decorative item in
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the nineteen thirties. Someone had used it to create fake
monster tracks, and Weatherill had been fooled. The Daily Mail
published the debunking and Weatherill became a laughingstock. This hoax
might have ended the monster fever, but instead it only
seemed to intensify interest. If people were willing to create hoaxes,
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perhaps that was because there was something real worth faking.
The Lockness monster had become a cultural phenomenon, and it
would take more than one discredited set of footprints to
kill the legend. On April nineteenth, nineteen thirty four, the
Daily Mail published a photograph that would become the most
famous image in the history of cryptozoology. The picture showed
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what appeared to be a long necked creature rising from
the water, its small head and graceful neck creating an
unmistakable silhouette against the rippled surface of Lockness. The photograph
was credited to Robert Kenneth Wilson, a London gynecologist who
had been visiting the area. Wilson claimed to have been
drying along the north shore of the lock early in
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the morning when he noticed something moving in the water.
He stopped, grabbed his camera and managed to take several
photographs before the creature submerged. Only two photos turned out
well enough to publish, and the second showed just a
splash where the creature had been. The photograph quickly became
known as the Surgeon's photograph because Wilson was a doctor,
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and it became the iconic image of the lock Ness Monster.
It appeared to show exactly what witnesses had been describing,
a long necked, small headed creature that resembled a plesiosaur.
The photo was reproduced in newspapers around the world and
was used as evidence in countless books and articles about
the monster. Wilson himself remained modest about the photograph, declining
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to make money from it and refusing to claim definitively
that it showed a monster. He simply said he had
photographed something unusual and left others to interpret it. For decades,
the Surgeon's photograph was treated as the strongest evidence for
the existence of the Lockness monster. Skeptics questioned it, of course,
pointing out that the lack of reference points made it
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impossible to determine scale, and that the image could potentially
be explained in various ways, but no one could definitively
prove it was a hoax, and it remained a centerpiece
of the monster legend. The truth about the photograph would
not emerge until nineteen ninety four, sixty years after its publication.
In that year, Christian Spurling, a model maker who was
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by then in his nineties, made a deathbed confession. He
admitted that he had been involved in creating the Surgeon's
photograph as part of an elaborate hoax, orchestrated by none
other than Marmaduke Weatherill, the same big game hunter who
had been humiliated by the Hippo foot footprint fiasco. According
to Sperling's account, Weatherell had enlisted him in several co conspirators,
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including Weatherell's son, Ian and Ian's friend Christian Spurling, to
create a fake monster. Spurling built a model consisting of
a toy submarine fitted with a sculpted head and neck
made of plastic wood. The model was only about a
foot tall. The conspirators took the model to Lockness early
one morning and photographed it in the water near the shore.
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The calm water and lack of reference points in the
photograph made the small model appear large and distant. Weatherell
then approached Robert Kenneth Wilson, who may or may not
have been aware of the hoax, to serve as the
photograph's public face. Wilson, as a respected professional with no
obvious motive for deception, would lend credibility that Weatherell himself lacked.
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The hoax succeeded beyond anyone's expectations, becoming the most reproduced
photograph of the Lockness Monster and shaping public perception of
the creature for six decades. The revelation of the hoax
was devastating for monster believers, but by nineteen ninety four,
the Lockness monster legend had survived numerous other exposures and debunkings.
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The monster had become larger than any single piece of evidence,
and despite the fakery of the surgeon's photograph, there remained
many other sightings, photographs, and pieces of evidence that demanded explanation. Moreover,
while the surgeon's photograph was being debunked, new evidence was
emerging from underwater expeditions that used modern technology to probe
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the Locke's depths. As the loch Ness monster legend grew
throughout the nineteen thirties and beyond, it attracted not just
amateur monster hunters, but serious scientific attention. The lock became
the site of numerous expeditions, investigations, and technological searches that
sought to determine once and for all whether something large
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and unknown lived in its waters. The first major organized
search came in nineteen thirty four, when Sir Edward Mountain
sponsored a month long expedition. Mountain hired twenty local men
to watch the lock and shifts, armed with cameras and binoculars.
The watchers reported several sightings and some photographs were taken,
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though these proved inconclusive. The expedition report suggested that the
witnesses had probably observed seals that had swum up from
the sea into the loch. Interest waned somewhat during World
War II, when Britain had more pressing concerns than lake monsters,
but revived strongly in the nineteen fifties. A number of
photographs and films were taken during this period, though all
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were from too grade a distance or too poor quality
to be definitive. The most famous film footage came in
nineteen sixty when Tim Dinsdale, an aeronautical engineer, filmed what
he believed to be the monster crossing the lock. The
film shows a hump like object moving through the water
and creating a significant wake before submerging. Dinsdale's footage was
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analyzed by the Royal Air Force's Joint Air Reconnaissance Intelligence Center,
which concluded that the object was probably animate, in other words,
a living creature, rather than a boat or deb borris.
Dinsdale's film energized a new generation of monster researchers. Throughout
the nineteen sixties and nineteen seventies, multiple expeditions used increasingly
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sophisticated technology to search the lock. Sonar equipment, underwater cameras,
and even submarines were deployed. In nineteen sixty two, the
loch Ness Investigation Bureau was formed, bringing together scientists, naturalists
and interested amateurs in a systematic effort to document the monster.
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For the next ten years, the bureau conducted surface observations,
collected data on sidings, and lobbied for more intensive scientific investigation.
They accumulated a substantial database of sightings and maintained that
the evidence justified the hypothesis of a large, unknown animal
in the lock. The first sonar contacts came in the
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late nineteen sixties. In nineteen sixty eight, a team from
the University of Birmingham detected a large moving object in
the lock at a depth of about four hundrehundred feet.
Stay tuned for more Backwoods Bigfoot stories. We'll be back
after these messages. The object appeared to be rising and
descending rapidly, and moving at speeds that suggested it was
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animate rather than debris. The researchers were cautious in their conclusions,
but acknowledged that the contact was intriguing. Similar sonar contacts
would be reported multiple times over the following decades. In
most cases, the contacts were fleeting and difficult to confirm,
but they suggested that something large was moving through the
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Locke's depths. Whether a known fish species, possibly a very
large sturgeon or catfish, or something more unusual remained unclear.
The most famous underwater photographs came from doctor Robert Rhines
and the Academy of Applied Science, who conducted multiple expeditions
to Lockness in the nineteen seventies. Rhnes combined sonar monitoring
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with underwater strobe cameras, hoping to photograph whatever the sonar
was detecting. On the night of August seventh through eighth,
nineteen seventy two, Rhines's equipment captured several sonar contacts, along
with a series of underwater photographs. When enhanced and analyzed,
two of these photographs appeared to show something remarkable, a
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large diamond shaped fin or flipper, about four to six
feet long. The flipper photographs, as they became known, caused
a sensation. They were published in Nature magazine and analyzed
by various experts. Some declared them the best evidence yet
for a large, unknown animal in lock Ness. Others pointed
out the severe limitations of the photographs. They were taken
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in near complete darkness with a strobe light, showed very
poor resolution and required significant enhancement to show anything at all.
Skeptics suggested the flipper might be a rock formation, bubbles,
or simply photographic artifacts. Rhines returned to the lock in
nineteen seventy five and captured more underwater photographs. These included
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images that some interpreted as showing a long neck and
small head the classic plesiosaur profile, along with what appeared
to be a large body with rough textured skin. Again,
the photographs were highly controversial. They were taken under difficult
conditions and showed very low detail, making interpretation subjective. Sir
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Peter Scott, the renowned naturalist and founder of the World
Wildlife Fund, was sufficiently convinced by Rhinds's photographs that he
proposed a scientific name for the creature Nesterus rhombopterix, or
the Ness Monster with diamond shaped fin. The naming was controversial,
as the convention in biology is not to name species
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without a type specimen, an actual body, or at least
definitive remains. Critics also pointed out that the name was
an anagram of Monster Hoax by Sir Peter s, though
this was apparently an unintentional coincidence. Throughout the nineteen eighties
and nineteen nineties, the search continued with ever more sophisticated technology.
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Operation Deep Scan in nineteen eighty seven used a flotilla
of boats equipped with sonar to sweep the entire lock,
searching for large moving objects. The operation detected three sonar
contacts that could not be easily explained as fish or debris.
The team leader, Adrian Shine, noted that while the contacts
were intriguing, they did not constitute proof of anything unknown,
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only proof that the lock contained large moving objects which
could potentially be explained by various means. More recent searches
have used remote operated vehicles, multibeam sonar, and environmental DNA sampling.
A twenty nineteen study led by Professor Neil Gimmel of
the University of Otago conducted a comprehensive environmental DNA survey
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of the loch, collecting and analyzing water samples from various
depths and locations. The DNA survey identified all the species
present in the loch based on janet material shed by
living organisms. The results were revealing but disappointing for monster enthusiasts.
The survey found DNA from a wide variety of species,
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including humans, dogs, sheep, cattle, deer, otters, and various fish species,
but no DNA from any large unknown animal. The survey
did detect a significant amount of ill DNA at various depths,
leading Gimmel to suggest that if there is a monster,
it might be an exceptionally large eel. However, he emphasized
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that the DNA evidence did not support the hypothesis of
a plesiosaur, a large fish like a sturgeon, or any
other exotic creature. Statistics and technology tell only part of
the story. Behind the sonar contacts, the underwater photographs, and
the scientific expeditions are thousands of ordinary people who claim
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to have seen something extraordinary in Lockedness. Their accounts formed
the bedrock of the legend, and their consistency across decades
is perhaps the most compelling aspect of the entire mystery.
The Lockness Monster database, maintained by researcher Gary Campbell, no
relation to Alex Campbell, the water bailiff who first popularized
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the monster in nineteen thirty three, contains over one thousand
recorded sightings dating from the earliest written accounts to the
present day. While many of these sightings can be easily explained,
a substantial core of reports comes from credible witnesses who
observed something they could not identify. Consider the account of
Margaret Monroe, a Scottish lawyer, who saw something unusual while
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driving along the lock in twenty eleven. Monroe stopped her
car and watched for about fifteen minutes as a dark,
hump like object moved through the water about three hundred
yards from shore. She took photographs, though the distance made
detailed identification impossible. What impressed her was the object's sustained movement.
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It traveled several hundred yards in a consistent direction against
the wind, ruling out drifting debris. She reported her sighting
not for publicity, indeed, she was initially reluctant to come forward,
but because she felt she had witnessed something genuinely anomalous.
Or take the account of George Edwards, a skipper who
operated tourist boats on the lock for three decades. Edwards
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was deeply familiar with the locke, its conditions and its wildlife.
He had spent more time on the water than almost anyone,
and knew what seals, birds, wave patterns, and debris looked like.
Yet in twenty eleven he claimed to have photographed something
he couldn't explain, a dark hump moving through the water
that didn't match any known wildlife or phenomenon. Edwards had
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long been skeptical of monster claims, but his own sighting
changed his perspective. Similar accounts come from police officers, military personnel, scientists,
and local residents, people with no apparent motive for fabrication
and often no previous interest in the monster legend. They
describe seeing large objects moving through the water in ways
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that don't match known explanations, creating wakes inconsistent with boats
or debris, and exhibiting what appears to be purposeful movement.
The accounts cluster around certain consistent details. Most witnesses describe
a dark grayish black color. Most reports seeing one or
more humps breaking the surface. Many mention a long neck,
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though this is less consistent than the hump descriptions. The
creature when it moves, typically does so at considerable speed,
faster than a swimming person but slower than a motor boat.
It creates a significant wake or disturbance in the water,
and it almost always submerges quickly, disappearing without a trace.
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What witnesses don't typically report is equally interesting. Sightings almost
never describe aggressive behavior toward boats or people. The creature,
whatever it is, appears to be shy and reclusive, avoiding
human contact. No credible reports exist of the creature attacking anyone,
despite the legend of Saint Columba and the modern myth
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of a dangerous monster. If anything, the witnesses describe a
creature more interested in avoiding humans than engaging with them.
The seasonal distribution of sidings is also revealing. Reports are
most common in the summer months, when visibility is better,
the weather is more conducive to being outdoors, and more
tourists visit the area. However, a significant number of sidings
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also occur in spring and fall, and some witnesses, particularly
local residents, have reported sidings in winter. This might suggest
that whatever is being observed is present year round rather
than seasonal, though it could also simply reflect the fact
that more people are looking during warmer months. The geographical
distribution of sidings shows some interesting patterns as well. Most
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reports come from the middle sections of the lock, particularly
near Urkut Castle, which sits on a promontory with excellent
views up and down the loch. This could simply reflect
the fact that this is the most visited and observed
part of the lock. However, some researchers have suggested that
if there is a large creature in the lock, the
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deep waters near Urkut Bay might provide ideal habitat. Over
the years, various psychological and sociological explanations have been proposed
for the sidings. Some researchers argue that the phenomenon represents
a form of mass delusion or social contagion. Once the
idea of a monster is established, people become prime to
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interpret ambiguous stimuli as monster sidings. This explanation has merit
and almost certainly accounts for some reports, particularly in the
immediate aftermath of major publicity about the monster. However, this
explanation struggles to account for sightings that predate the modern legend,
sightings by people unfamiliar with the monster story, and sightings
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by skeptics who had not expected to see anything unusual.
It also doesn't easily explain the consistency of descriptions across
different witnesses who had no contact with each other. Other
psychological factors undoubtedly play a role. The human brain is
excellent at pattern recognition but prone to paridolia seeing meaningful
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patterns in random data. A log floating in the water,
viewed from a distance and under certain lighting conditions, can
look remarkably like a living creature. Wave patterns, particularly the
standing waves that can form on lockness under certain wind conditions,
can create hump like shapes that appear to move. Birds
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floating on the surface, particularly when viewed at a distance
through heat, shimmer, or mist, can look much larger and
stranger than they are. But after accounting for all these
factors hoaxes, misidentifications, psychological effects, a residue of truly puzzling
reports remains. These are the sie by experienced observers under
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good conditions, often with multiple witnesses that don't have easy explanations.
These cases keep the mystery alive and justify continued investigation,
even in the face of negative results from technological searches.
What could the locke Ness monster be? Over the ninety
years since the legend exploded into public consciousness, dozens of
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theories have been proposed, ranging from the plausible to the bizarre.
Understanding these hypotheses and the evidence for and against them,
is essential to understanding the mystery itself. As discussed earlier,
the idea that the loch Ness monster is a surviving
plesiosaur or similar marine reptile has been the most popular
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explanation since the nineteen thirties. The appeal is obvious. Plesiosaurs
match many witness descriptions, their existence in the prehistoric past
is well established, and the idea of a living fossil
captures the imagination. However, the scientific objections to this hypothesis
are overwhelming. First, plesiosaurs were marine reptiles, not freshwater creatures.
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Lockness is a freshwater lake with no connection to the ocean,
and while it's true that some marine species can adapt
to fresh water, this would be unusual for a large reptile. Second,
plesiosaurs were air breathing animals that would need to surface
regularly to breathe. A population of plesiosaurs in Lockness would
be constantly visible at the surface, not the elusive creatures
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described in sighting reports. Third, a viable breeding population of
large animals would require multiple individuals, probably at least several dozen,
to maintain genetic diversity. Such a population would be far
more conspicuous than the rare sighting suggest fourth. Lockness is
only about ten thousand years old, formed at the end
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of the last Ice Age when glaciers retreated and water
filled the Great Glen. Plesiosaurs when extinct approximately sixty five
million years ago at the end of the Cretaceous period.
For plesiosaurs to be in lock Ness today, they would
have had to survive for sixty five million years in
some other location and then somehow colonize a lake that
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didn't exist until ten thousand years ago. Finally, the environmental
DNA survey found no evidence of reptilian DNA in the
lock which would be expected if large reptiles were present.
Most scientists considered the plesiosaur hypothesis to be definitively refuted.
One of the more plausible explanations is that the monster
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sightings represent misidentifications of very large eels. European eels are
native to Lockness, and the twenty nineteen DNA survey found
abundant eel DNA throughout the lock at various depths. Eels
can grow to impressive sizes. The European eel typically grows
to about three feet long, but larger specimens have been recorded,
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and some historical accounts describe eels of six feet or more.
If an eel were to grow to exceptional size, say
ten to fifteen feet, it could potentially account for some sidings,
particularly if seen only partially from a distance. Eels have
elongated bodies that, when moving at the surface, could create
hump like appearances if only portions of the body break
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the surface. Their dark coloring matches witness descriptions, and eels
are known to inhabit deep waters, which could explain why
they are rarely observed. However, the eel hypothesis has limitations.
Eels don't have long necks or small heads, features commonly
reported by witnesses. While eels can grow large, there are
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no verified records of eels anywhere near the size that
would be needed to account for the most dramatic sightings,
and the life cycle of European eels is well understood.
They migrate to the Sargasso Sea to breed, which would
make it difficult for individuals to remain isolated in Lockness
for their entire lives. Stay tuned for more Backwoods bigfoot stories.
(45:04):
We'll be back after these messages. The eel hypothesis probably
explained some sightings, but struggles to account for all of them.
Sturgeon are large fish that can grow to impressive sizes.
The Belugas sturgeon, for instance, can reach lengths of twenty
feet or more and weights exceeding a ton. While sturgeon
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are not native to Lockness, it's theoretically possible that some
could have entered the lock from the sea, either through
the river nests or by being introduced. Sturgeon have bony
plates on their backs that could create hump like appearances
when the fish swims near the surface. They are bottom dwellers,
which could explain their elusiveness, and their large size and
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unusual appearance could certainly be startling to witnesses unfamiliar with them. However,
several factors argue against the sturgeon hypothesis. First, there are
no confirmed records of sturgeon in Lockness. Second, the environmental
DNA survey did not detect sturgeon DNA. Third, sturgeon don't
have long necks or match many of the specific descriptions
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given by witnesses. Fourth, it's unclear how sturgeon would have
established a population in the loch, or why they would
remain there rather than returning to the sea. Like the
eel hypothesis, sturgeon might explain some sightings but don't account
for the full range of reports. Seals, particularly common seals
and Atlantic gray seals, are found in Scottish coastal waters
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and occasionally swim up rivers. It's possible that seals enter
locked nests from time to time, and their appearance could
be startling to witnesses who don't expect to see them
in a freshwater lake. Seals can create disturbances in the water,
dive quickly, and when viewed at a distance or in
poor light, might appear larger or stranger than they are.
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Their heads, when raised above water, might be mistaken for
a small headed, long necked creature if the body is
not clearly visible. However, seals are well known animals that
many witnesses would recognize. Local residents and experienced boat operators
on the lock are familiar with seals. While it's certainly
possible that some sidings represent seal misidentifications, it seems unlikely
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that this would account for the consistency and persistence of
the reports over decades. Some Skeptics have argued that many
or most sidings represent misidentifications of natural wave patterns and
boat wakes. Lock nests, due to its shape and the
wind patterns in the Great Glen, can produce unusual wave phenomena,
including standing waves that appear to move through the water.
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When boats travel across the lock, their wakes can persist
for a surprisingly long time, and, when viewed from a distance,
can resemble moving humps. Multiple wakes from different boats can
interact to create complex patterns that might be interpreted as
a large creature. This explanation almost certainly accounts for some sidings,
particularly those of distant humps that show no other features. However,
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it struggles to explain sidings that involve detailed observations of necks, heads,
or other apparent anatomical features. It also doesn't explain sidings
where witnesses specifically noted the absence of boats or the
lack of engine sounds. Large logs, masses of vegetation, and
other floating debris can, under certain conditions, look remarkably like
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living creatures. The lock receives considerable runoff from surrounding hills,
and after storms, various debris can end up in the water.
A partially submerged log, particularly if it's moving with currents
or wind, can create a wake that makes it appear animate.
Tree stumps with branches can resemble necks and heads. Masses
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of vegetation can look like large bodies with multiple humps.
This explanation is certainly valid for many sidings, particularly those
that occur during or after storms. However, it doesn't easily
account for sidings where witnesses observed of the object moving
against wind or current, submerging vertically, which logs don't typically do,
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or showing what appeared to be purposeful movement, as we've
seen with the surgeon's photograph and the hippo foot prints.
Some monster evidence has been definitively proven to be fabricated.
It's likely that other hoaxes have been perpetrated that have
not been exposed. In the age of digital photography and
image manipulation, creating fake monster photos has become even easier.
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Beyond deliberate hoaxes, there's also the phenomenon of false memories
and embellished accounts. Witnesses who initially reported seeing something ambiguous may,
over time and through retelling, come to remember the citing
as more dramatic and detailed than it originally was. The
desire for attention or to be part of a famous
mystery can unconsciously shape memories and narratives. While hoaxes and
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fabrications certainly exist, they can't explain the entire phenomenon. The
sidings come from witnesses who gain nothing from reporting them
and often face ridicule for doing so. The consistency of
accounts from people who have never met and have no
knowledge of each other's sightings suggests something beyond pure fabrication.
Some researchers have proposed that the Lockness Monster might be
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a real but as yet unidentified species, perhaps a type
of large invertebrate, an unknown eel species, or some other
creature that doesn't fit neatly into existing categories. This hypothesis
has the advantage of explaining why technological searches have had
limited success if the creature is primarily a deep water
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dweller that rarely comes to the surface, and why no
bodies have been found if the population is very small.
It would also explain the consistency of sightings, while not
requiring the existence of something as biologically implausible as a
surviving plesiosaur, But the environmental DNA survey poses a serious
challenge to this hypothesis. Modern EDNA techniques are highly sensitive
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and should detect genetic material from any large animal species
present in the lake. The failure to detect any unknown
DNA suggests that if there is an unknown species in Lockedness,
it either has a very small population that rarely sheds
DNA into the water, or it doesn't exist at all. Finally,
we must consider the possibility that there is simply nothing
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unusual in Lockness at all, that the entire phenomenon represents
a combination of misidentifications, hoaxes, psychological effects, and wishful thinking.
This is the default position of most scientists and skeptics.
This hypothesis has the virtue of parsimony. It doesn't require
us to posit the existence of unknown species or to
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explain how large creatures have evaded detection despite intensive searching.
It's consistent with the negative results of most scientific investigations
and with the failure to find any definitive physical evidence. Yet,
completely dismissing the phenomenon requires us to explain away the
consistency of witness reports, the sonar contacts that have been
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recorded and the apparent sincerity of many observers. It requires
us to believe that thousands of people over nearly a
century have been consistently mistaken in similar ways, or that
they are lying, or that they are experiencing some form
of shared delusion. The truth probably lies somewhere in the middle.
Some combination of known phenomena eels, seals, waves, logs, and
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occasional hoaxes likely accounts for the majority of sightings, but
whether there's a residue of cases that point to something
genuinely unknown remains an open question. Whatever the truth about
the Lockness Monster, its cultural impact is undeniable. The legend
has shaped how we think about cryptids, influenced popular culture worldwide,
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and had profound effects on the Scottish Highland's economy and identity.
Lockness attracts hundreds of thousands of tourists each year, many
of them drawn specifically by the monster legend. The area
has developed a thriving industry around NeSSI, with monster themed shops, tours,
museums and merchandise. The official Lockness Monster Exhibition Center in
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drumnadro Sheet presents the history of the legend and the
scientific investigations, offering visitors a balanced look at the evidence
and theories. For the local economy, the monster has been
a godsend. The Scottish Highlands are remote and economically challenged,
with limited opportunities for employment beyond tourism and agriculture. The
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Lockness Monster has provided a sustainable source of tourism income
for nearly a century, supporting hotels, restaurants, boat tour operators
and countless other businesses. But the impact extends beyond economics.
The Lockness Monster has become a symbol of Scotland itself,
featured in tourism campaigns, referenced in literature and film, and
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recognized worldwide. Nessie is Scotland's most famous resident, more famous
than any living Scottish person, and perhaps more famous than
any historical scott except William Wallace and Robert the Bruce.
The monster has also influenced how we think about cryptids.
More broadly, the locke Ness Monster established a template a large,
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shy creature in a remote location, just plausible enough to
be credible, just elusive enough to maintain mystery. This template
has been applied to countless other cryptids, from Bigfoot to
the Yetti to various lake monsters around the world. In
popular culture, the Locke Ness Monster appears in films, television shows, books,
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and comics. Sometimes, NeSSI is portrayed as a fearsome creature,
a remnant from the age of dinosaurs that poses a
threat to humans. More often, particularly in recent decades, the
monster is portrayed sympathetically as a gentle, misunderstood creature that
deserves protection rather than capture. This shift in portrayal reflects
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broader changes in how we think about wild life and conservation.
In the nineteen thirties, the predominant impulse was to capture
or kill the monster to add it to a museum
collection or circus. Today, even many believers in the monster's
existence argue that it should be protected as a rare
and possibly unique species left alone in its ancient home.
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The scientific legacy of the Lockness Monster is more ambiguous.
On one hand, the monster legend has occasionally led to
genuine scientific investigation of the lock and its ecology, expanding
our understanding of the ecosystem. The technology developed for searching
the lock, particularly sonar and underwater imaging equipment, has had
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applications beyond monster hunting. On the other hand, scientists often
view the Lockness Monster as a cautionary tale about pseudoscience
and the persistence of beliefs despite contrary evidence. The monster
has become a metaphor for claims that sound plausible but
lack empirical support, the scientific equivalent of urban legends. Cryptozoology
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as a whole, the study of hidden or unknown animals,
has struggled for scientific credibility, in part because of its
association with the Lockness Monster in similar cases where extraordinary
claims have not been matched by extraordinary evidence. Mainstream biology
treats cryptozoology with skepticism at best and dismissal at worst,
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viewing it as a waste of resources that would be
better spent studying known species, many of which are endangered
and in desperate need of conservation attention. Yet there's an
argument to be made that the impulse behind cryptozoology, the
idea that there may still be large animals unknown to science,
isn't inherently unscientific. New species are discovered regularly, including large species.
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In recent decades, scientists have discovered new species of whale, deer, monkey,
and various other substantial animals. The selacanth, a fish thought
extinct for sixty five million years, was rediscovered alive in
nineteen thirty eight. The megamouth shark, a deep sea species
that can reach eighteen feet in length, was completely unknown
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until nineteen seventy six. So while the specific claim of
a plesiosaur in Lockness may be implausible to the point
of impossibility, the broader idea that large unknown species might
exist is not inherently absurd. The question is one of
evidence and probability. How likely is it that a specific
creature exists in a specific location, given what we know
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about biology, ecology, and the limitations of that environment. For Lockness,
the answer that most scientists have reached is not very
likely at all. The locke has been searched intensively with
modern technology. No definitive physical evidence has been found. No bodies,
no bones, no conclusive photographs or sonar images. The environmental
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DNA survey found no evidence of any large unknown species.
The biological challenges of maintaining a breeding population of large
animals in the lock are substantial, yet the sightings continue.
In the past decade alone, dozens of people have reported
seeing something unusual in the lock. Some of these reports
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are surely mistakes or hoaxes, but others come from credible
witnesses who insist they saw something they couldn't identify. The mystery,
while perhaps diminished by scientific investigation, has not been entirely solved.
Over forty years after that seven year old boy had
first encountered the legend in a Georgia Mountain school library,
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I still think about that excited child who had devoured
every book about NeSSI he could find, who had been
so certain that mysteries existed just beyond the edge of
what was known. I thought about the years since then,
the investigations I'd pursued the cryptids, I'd researched, the gradual
education in skepticism and critical thinking that comes with adulthood.
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I'd learned over those decades to demand evidence. I'd learned
about the difference between what people think they see and
what they actually see, about the fallibility of memory and
the power of suggestion, about how desperately humans want the
world to be more mysterious than it appears. I'd learned
that most cryptids, when investigated rigorously, turn out to be misidentifications, hoaxes,
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or wishful thinking. But I'd also learned something else, that
the absence of evidence isn't quite the same as the
evidence of absence, that skepticism taken to its extreme, can
become its own form of closed mindedness, that the impulse
to search for mystery isn't childish but fundamentally human, the
same impulse that has led to every great exploration and discovery.
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Stay tuned for more Backwoods Bigfoot stories. We'll be back.
After these messages, I still find myself hoping that there
was something in the water, even though I knew how
unlikely that was not a plesiosaur. I'd long since accepted
that the plesiosaur hypothesis was biologically impossible, not even necessarily
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anything dramatically unknown, Perhaps just a very large eel, or
some unusual behavior of a known species that we haven't
quite understood yet, something that would vindicate, even in a
small way, all those witnesses who had insisted they'd seen
something they couldn't explain. A boat passes in the distance,
its weight creating the illusion of movement on the water's surface.
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For a moment, the pattern of waves looked almost like humps,
almost like something alive. Then the illusion dissolved and it
was just water again, just physics and fluid dynamics, nothing
mysterious at all. Or was it. That's the thing about
the Lockness monster, about all cryptids, really, the search for
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them forces us to confront fundamental questions about how we
know what we know, about the relationship between evidence and belief,
about the difference between healthy skepticism and closed minded dismissal.
These aren't trivial questions. They're at the heart of how
we navigate a world full of claims and counterclaims, a
world where distinguishing truth from fiction is increasingly difficult. The
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Lockness Monster has taught me that mystery has value even when,
perhaps especially when, it remains unsolved. The monster exists in
the liminal space between known and unknown, between what we
can prove and what we can imagine. That space is
uncomfortable for both true believers and hardcore skeptics. True believers
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want confirmation, proof that they were right all along. Skeptics
want closure, definitive debunking that allows them to move on.
But most of reality exists in that uncertain middle ground.
We rarely get absolute proof or definitive refutation. We get
ambiguous evidence, conflicting accounts, unanswered questions. Learning to live with
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that ambiguity, to resist the temptation to jump to conclusions
in either direction is one of the most important skills
we can develop. The Lockness Monster, whether it exists or not,
serves a purpose. It reminds us that the world is
larger than our current understanding, that nature still holds surprises,
that the map is not the territory. It keeps alive,
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a sense of wonder that is all too easily lost
in our modern, hyper connected, over surveiled world. The Lockness
Monster is my gateway cryptid, the creature that started my
journey into the strange corners of the natural world. But
more than that, it's a reminder of why we search,
why we wonder, why we refuse to accept easy answers
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or premature conclusion. In the end, maybe that's the real
treasure hidden in the depths of locke Ness. Not a monster,
but a mystery, and through that mystery, a reminder of
what it means to be human, Curious, hopeful, endlessly fascinated
by the unknown, and always always willing to believe that
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there might be something wonderful just beyond the edge of
what we can see. The monster, real or imagined, lives
on in that dark water, and as long as it does, so,
too does a part of that seven year old boy
who first opened a book and discovered that the world
was full of wonders waiting to be found. Di the