7 Proposed Explanations for the Loch Ness Monster

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It was 85 years ago, on May 2, 1933, that Scotland's Inverness Courier published a report about a local couple swearing they saw “an enormous animal rolling and plunging on the surface” of Loch Ness. It didn't take long for word to spread. Does a mysterious beast really patrol one of Scotland’s deepest lakes? Or do any of these less fanciful explanations hold water? Is the Loch Ness Monster real? You be the judge.

1. LAKE STURGEONS

Photo of a lake sturgeon
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Many Nessie witnesses have mentioned large, crocodile-like scutes (hardened plates) sitting atop the spine of the creature in question. At least one native fish matches that description perfectly: Sturgeons can weigh several hundred pounds and have ridged backs, which make them look almost reptilian.

2. SURFACING TREES

A photo of a tree emerging from a body of water
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When a mighty Scottish pine dies and flops into the loch, it quickly becomes water-logged and sinks. While submerged, botanical chemicals start trapping tiny bubbles. Eventually, enough of these are gathered to propel the log upward as deep pressures begin altering its shape. These bubbles finally start dissipating after a while, but their momentum allows the deformed wood to briefly surface before returning downwards to its watery grave. Such sudden bursts of arboreal buoyancy could easily be misinterpreted as huge animals coming up for air.

3. INDIGENOUS EELS

Some amazing eels live in and near the British Isles. For example, there’s the European eel, an endangered species that spawns after migrating all the way to the Caribbean. And while we’re on the subject, here’s one fish you don’t wanna mess with:

Conger eels can exceed 10 feet in length and sometimes take gruesome bites out of unsuspecting divers. Though they’re saltwater critters, two 7-foot specimens were found lying on a Loch Ness beach in 2001. However, these animals may have been deliberately planted there to generate monster-related interest.

4. MOUNTAINOUS REFLECTIONS

Mountains reflect a monster-like image into the water below
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On choppy days, lakes regularly distort the reflections of various objects (hills, trees, etc.) upon their surfaces. Looming over Loch Ness are several mountains which face similar treatment.

5. BIRD WAKES

When you’re looking at a floating object from some distance away, ascertaining its size can be difficult. Treading waterfowl can leave disproportionately large wakes, which seemingly come out of nowhere to onlookers who can’t see the actual avian.

6. SEISMIC ACTIVITY

A photo of a bubble in the water, caused by the tremor produced by a faultline
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A fault line rests directly beneath Loch Ness, producing small tremors that release vast columns of bubbles. Their violent, unexpected emergence might very well have spawned the area’s creature legends.

7. SWIMMING ELEPHANTS

A swimming elephant raises its trunk out of the water
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Could Nessie’s head really be a trunk? Despite their bulk, elephants are talented swimmers who are capable of paddling along for hours on end. When it’s time to take a few laps, their hose noses become top-notch snorkels, periodically jetting above the surface for air. According to paleontologist Neil Clark, this behavior might help explain some of Loch Ness’s early monster sightings during the 1930s. Back then, traveling circuses were a common sight throughout northern Scotland. Between shows, these groups were known to occasionally let their performing elephants play around in nearby lakes. Perhaps, Clark argues, a few peeping locals mistook these bathing behemoths for aquatic monsters.

A Shrine to Brine: The Mysterious Case of Missouri's Highway Pickle Jar

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iStock.com/MorePixels

No one knows how it started. No one knows who was responsible. Some may even have dismissed it as an aberration, a glitch in the scenery that would soon be corrected. But eventually, drivers in and around Des Peres, Missouri who took a highway off-ramp connecting I-270 North to Manchester Road began to notice that a jar of pickles was sitting on a dividing barrier on the ramp. And it wasn’t going anywhere.

Since 2012, the pickle jar has confounded drivers and internet sleuths alike, according to Atlas Obscura. Some have speculated that someone was trying to send a secret message or share a private joke. Perhaps someone pulling off to the side due to car trouble felt the need to place the brine-filled jar on the concrete wall and then forgot about it. Maybe someone thought it would be a kind of three-dimensional graffiti, incongruous amid the bustling traffic. Maybe it’s an indictment of commerce.

Whatever the case, once the pickles appeared, advocates refused to let them go. Jars that end up toppled over or otherwise damaged are replaced. Sometimes they reappear in protective plastic containers or with a holiday-themed bow. Sightings are photographed for posterity and posted on a Facebook fan page devoted to the jar, which currently has over 4200 members and has morphed from a place to theorize about the mysterious jar's origins to a place where people swap pickle-related recipes and stories.

There are dry spells—no one has posted of a pickle sighting in several months—but followers remain optimistic the jar will continue to remain a presence in Des Peres even if the motivation for placing them near the roadway remains as murky as the briny juice inside.

[h/t Atlas Obscura]

Why is Punxsutawney's Groundhog Called Phil?

Brett Carlsen/Getty Images
Brett Carlsen/Getty Images

A groundhog has been making weather predictions in Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania, since 1886, but we've only been calling him "Phil" since 1961. Before that, the critter was usually just called the "Br'er Groundhog" or "The Punxsutawney Groundhog." Most sources (including the Punxsutawney Groundhog Club) say he eventually earned the moniker "Phil" as homage to "King Philip," but that explanation is as dubious as it is vague.

The problem is that they never specify which King Philip. The tradition of foretelling the weather with a marmot's shadow has its origins in Germany, but Deutschland hasn't seen a "King Philip" for more than eight centuries. France, Greece, Spain, and even the Wampanoag people of New England have all had a King Philip, but it's very unlikely that a small Germanic Pennsylvania community would ever name their beloved groundhog after any of these kings, either.

Rather, the name might actually refer to a prince—and it may have gotten its start thanks a pair of heinous murders and some good old-fashioned small-town competition.

In 1953, Punxsutawney sent two baby groundhogs to Los Angeles's Griffith Park Zoo. The critters had been named after Britain's new reigning couple, Queen Elizabeth II and her husband, the future Prince (not King!) Philip. While the zoo gladly welcomed Liz and Phil with open arms, the state of California did not. The California Department of Agriculture declared the baby groundhogs "agricultural pests" and demanded they be "destroyed." The animals were summarily killed.

Back in Pennsylvania, people were deeply insulted. (The Punxsutawney Groundhog Club went so far to say that the groundhogs had been "executed.") The head of the Punxsutawney Groundhog Club, who worried that the killings could spark an international incident, told the Los Angeles Times, "I'm going to ask [my Congressman] to take the matter up with the State Department so we won't get into complications with England. Killing these groundhogs was an insult to the royal family." Indeed, a congressional representative would issue a statement criticizing California. The two groundhogs were eventually buried back home.

Eight years later, the name "Punxsutawney Phil" first appeared in newspapers. It's possible that this new moniker was a shout-out to one of the dearly deceased royal groundhogs. (That, however, is a matter of speculation.)

Regardless, the new name was also a necessity. Multiple Pennsylvania towns—such as Quarryville and Pine Grove—also had their own prognosticating woodchucks, and the towns were stuck in a vicious debate over who was home to the real sage. Adopting a new name was not only good branding, but also a practical way to help differentiate the different groundhogs. (The competitors would also get unique names: Octoraro Orphie and Grover.)

Eventually, Punxsutawney would get a huge PR boost from the 1993 movie Groundhog Daythough it was always home to the leading marmot. On Groundhog Day in 1904, the Pittsburg Press reported, "The ticket-sellers in the various railroad offices noticed a surprising increase in receipts this morning. First-class rates to Punxsutawney went so fast that the advisability of raising the price was considered. All the cold weather interests were off to the lair of the groundhog to see him see his shadow."

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