A few miles away, Button Bay State Park naturalist Laura Hollowell showed me a drawing made by a young girl who had seen a “baby Champ.” Hollowell (2002) said, “People have seen otters and mink swimming in the lake and think they’ve seen Champ.” She is “surprised at what unreliable reporters people can be in terms of wildlife sightings,” adding, “I don’t believe that there are any large, unidentified animals in Lake Champlain.”
Keeping in mind eyewitness descriptions of Champ with horns, “moose-like antlers,” or a head “like a horse” (Zarzynski 1984a, 161, 165, 177), one cannot help but acknowledge other wildlife possibilities. Allowing for an overestimation of length—which is especially easy to do if there is a wake—swimming deer are an obvious explanation. Even some believers among Loch Ness monster hunters consider this the probable explanation for “horned monster” reports in their bailiwick. Indeed, when one photo of Nessie was enlarged, “she” was revealed to be a deer (Binns 1984, 45, 191–93).
Still other possibilities for Champ (and many purported lake monsters elsewhere) include wind slicks and boat wakes. A deckhand on the Valcour ferry told us that Champ reports had declined in the last fifteen years or so with the cessation of barge traffic on the lake. A barge’s wake could travel all the way across the lake, he said, mystifying anyone who encountered it without seeing its cause and causing some people to imagine that they had glimpsed the fabled lake creature (“John” 2002).
In other sightings and photographs, additional culprits—including other swimming animals and marine creatures, long-necked birds, even rocks—may pose as a lake monster, along with toy models and manipulated images (Binns 1984; Nickell 1994). Considering all such factors, there is no compelling reason to postulate the existence of a hitherto unknown creature in Lake Champlain.
I analyzed the 224 sightings listed by Zarzynski (1984a, 152—205), minus the nonexistent 1609 sighting and nine completely undated reports. Interestingly, during the entire period before 1860, there was only a single recorded sighting—that by “Capt. Crum,” which was probably a spoof. After that, recorded sightings increased in the 1870s and 1880s (to fifteen and twenty-three, respectively), then declined again before shooting up steadily in the 1960s (fifteen), 1970s (fifty-nine), and 1980s (seventy until mid-1984). The reason for the fluctuations is uncertain, but if there were several large leviathans in the lake prior to 1860, as proponents believe, why was there only one highly doubtful sighting? Why did the Native Americans not know about the creatures and tell Samuel de Champlain about them rather than the comparatively mundane chaousarou (gar)?
As to the rise in modern sightings (which is obviously much greater than could be explained by population growth), that might be due to the heightened expectancy caused by the number of articles, books, and other media reports on the subject. Loren Coleman (1983, 89) gives some credit to “the arrival on the scene” of Joseph Zarzynski, who gave those who had previously been ridiculed “a sympathetic ear.” That seems fair, but Zarzynski’s and others’ excessive credulity may have tipped the scales in the opposite direction, resulting in an even higher expectancy and thus helping to create something of a bandwagon effect.
This is supported by the tendency of the reported imagery to subtly conform to the concept of the day. For example, the term “sea serpent” was used in several nineteenth-century accounts but was effectively dropped afterward (except for a single journalist’s use). The most prevalent descriptor overall was “huge snake” (or similar wording), but in modern times (after 1978), reports occasionally likened the creature to a “dinosaur” (Zarzynski 1984a, 152–205). This probably reflects the popular notion—after the widely circulated 1934 photo of the Loch Ness monster (Nickell 1994, 171; 1996)—that such mythical beasts resemble plesiosaurs. Michel Meurger, in Lake Monster Traditions: A Cross-Cultural Analysis (1988, 39), concludes that “Champ’s modern fame is the product of local monster-enthusiasts in their efforts to promote their own legend along Loch-nessian lines.”
CONCLUSION
Not only is there not a single piece of convincing evidence for Champ’s existence, but there are many arguments against it, one of which is that a single monster can neither live for centuries nor reproduce itself. There would need to be several in a breeding herd for the species to continue to reproduce over time (Myth 1972). Zarzynski acknowledges this, theorizing that a colony of thirty or fewer plesiosaurs has inhabited Lake Champlain since its formation some ten thousand years ago (Teresi 1998, 92). However, with so few individuals, he worries that Champ is near extinction. In contrast, fellow monster hunter Dennis Jay Hall (2000, 15) insists, “There is a healthy population of these animals living in Lake Champlain. They are here for a reason; this is their chosen home.”
If so, then where is a floating or beached carcass or other certain trace of the fabled creature? Although there are possible reasons why a Champ carcass might be rare—for example, most deaths occur in winter, when the lake is largely or completely frozen over (Zug 1981)—there is no question about the existence of sturgeon, gar, otters, and other Champ look-alikes. And where are the bones that, as Gould (1976, 120) asked of Loch Ness, should have eventually covered the entire lake floor?
The burden of proof, of course, is on the claimants. Rather than meeting that burden, the Champ defenders are promoting a mystery and thereby engaging in a logical fallacy called arguing from ignorance: We don’t know what these people saw; therefore, it must have been Champ. One cannot draw a conclusion from a lack of knowledge, and so, until an actual specimen presents itself, the possibility that any large, unknown animal inhabits Lake Champlain lies somewhere between extraordinarily slim and none.
CHAMP: PHOTOGRAPHIC AND SONAR EVIDENCE
Benjamin Radford
No live or dead Champ creatures have been found, nor any teeth, bones, or other hard evidence. Of all the types of evidence for Champ (eyewitness accounts, legends, and so on), the closest to real proof are photographic images. There are only a few photographs and videotapes purported to be of the Lake Champlain creature. The August 1982 issue of Life magazine featured two pictures supposedly of Champ, but they could be of just about anything in the water.
On July 7, 1988, boaters Walter and Sandi Tappan caught a possible Champ on videotape. They claimed that they were “able to see the head and neck of the animal. Sandi Tappan was particularly bemused by the way the creature would turn its head and look her directly in the eye” (Kirk 1998, 135). Yet despite the eyewitness’s firm conviction that Champ had stared at her, Champ researcher John Kirk, of the British Columbia Scientific Cryptozoology Club, examined the videotape and believes it to be “of feeding fish near the surface” (Kirk 1998,135). What one person sees as feeding fish, another sees as obvious (and detailed) proof of a close-up encounter with Champ. Having reviewed the footage myself, I agree with Kirk that it is likely feeding fish.
Following search efforts by diver Joe Zarzynski (1982, 1983, 1984b, 1985, 1986, 1987, 1988b, 1989, 1992), the quest to find Champ was taken up in 1992 by Vermonter Dennis Jay Hall. He formed a nonprofit group called Champ Quest, whose goals include stopping the spread of zebra mussels and identifying Champ. Hall has collected numerous sighting reports and claims to have filmed Champ on several occasions. Images of Champ can be found in his book Champ Quest: The Ultimate Search and on his Web site. Though Hall’s quest seems well intentioned, he indulges in dubious conjecture for which he offers no evidence, such as that humans have killed and eaten Champ creatures in the past (Hall 2000, 30).
Hall also claims that his father captured a baby Champ creature in 1976. According to Hall, the animal “looked like a snapping turtle would without a shell. It held its body well off the ground as it walked out of the water. The gait was that of a turtle. The tongue of the animal was forked and darted in and out as it tested the air.… The head was a cross between a snake and a turtle and was attached to a short neck. The body was slender with a medium length tail. The feet had five webbed clawed toes” (Hall 2000, xiii)
. Hall claims that the animal was preserved and sent to a nearby university that, unfortunately, was unable to identify it. The creature then found its way to a high school science department, where it remained until 1990, when it was accidentally discarded (Hall 2003). According to a writer for Vermont Today, another possible baby Champ was captured in 1945, when “a news story from Burlington reported: ‘Baby Sea Serpent Taken in Vermont Waters—May Be Offspring of Lake Monster.’ A 14-inch reptile, taken in Shelburne Harbor, Vt.… resembled in miniature descriptions of the lake sea serpent, giving rise to the pleasant supposition that it might be an offspring of the Monster of the Deep” (Porter 1970). The creature resembled a small alligator and was guessed to be a type of salamander.
THE MANSI PHOTOGRAPH
The best photographic evidence of Champ—indeed, of any lake monster—is that taken by Sandra Mansi in 1977. Kirk (1998, 133) states, “The monster of Lake Champlain.… has the distinction of being the only lake monster of whom there is a reasonably clear photograph,” and he considers the photo “extremely good evidence of an unidentified lake-dwelling animal.” Zarzynski (1984a, 62) says that the photo is the “best single piece of evidence on Champ.” Another writer, Jerome Clark (1993, 67), says, “By any standard the Mansi photograph remains a genuine mystery and a serious obstacle to any effort to reduce the Champ phenomenon to mundane causes.”
With the 1993 revelation that the most famous photo of the Loch Ness monster was a hoax (see chapter 1), the Mansi photo stands alone as the most credible and important photographic evidence of the existence of lake monsters. Because the authenticity of the photograph is held in such high regard by so many writers and researchers, it seemed appropriate to take a fresh look at the evidence. Rather than relying on published accounts of the story, which are often fragmentary and contain contradictory details (see appendix 1), we went directly to the primary source, interviewing Sandra Mansi in detail and at length in August 2002.
According to Mansi, her family’s encounter with Champ took place on Tuesday, July 5, 1977. Sandra and her fiancé, Anthony Mansi, along with Sandra’s two children from a previous marriage, were taking a leisurely drive along Lake Champlain. They drove by some farmland and, around noon, made their way to a small bluff overlooking the lake. The two children went down to the water while Anthony returned to the car to get a camera. As Sandra watched her children and the lake, she noticed a disturbance in the water about 150 feet away. She thought at first that it was a school of fish, then possibly a scuba diver. “Then the head and neck broke the surface of the water. Then I saw the head come up, then the neck, then the back.”
Figure.2.6 Sandra Mansi’s 1977 photograph of a mysterious object in Lake Champlain. This image has been touted as the best evidence of the existence of lake monsters. (Copyright 1980 by Sandra Mansi, all rights reserved)
Mansi didn’t panic: “I wasn’t even scared, I’m just trying to figure out what I’m seeing. Then when Tony came over the field he saw it and started screaming, ‘Get the kids out of the water!’” The kids scrambled up the bank and headed toward the car. As Anthony helped Sandra up the bank, he handed her the camera. She knelt down, snapped one photo (figure 2.6), and then put the camera down to watch the creature. The Mansis estimated that the creature’s neck stuck about six feet out of the water and was about twelve to fifteen feet long. The sighting lasted a remarkably long time—between five and seven minutes—during which the creature never turned to face the shore. Sandra Mansi described the neck and head as dark in color and said that what we see in the photograph is as much of the creature as she saw.
After several minutes, the head and neck slowly sank into the water and were gone. The Mansis then headed home. They didn’t report the sighting to anyone but took the unfinished roll of film to a local Photomat. The photo was tucked away in an album for four years. It then came to the attention of cryptozoologists (see appendix 1 for details about how this came about) and was published in the New York Times on June 30, 1981, to great fanfare. Soon after, a well-publicized Champ seminar was held to discuss the creature and the photograph. In Port Henry, New York (the self-proclaimed home of Champ), the aforementioned signboard listing Champ sightings in the Bulwagga Bay area (see figure 2.3) provides a timeline of sightings, as well as insight into how Mansi’s photo (rather than her actual sighting four years earlier) likely spawned other sighting reports. Almost exactly half of the 132 sightings listed on the board (as of August 2002) are dated 1981 or 1982, immediately after the photo’s release and the resultant publicity. This fact strongly argues for the “bandwagon effect,” whereby widely publicized sightings lead to other reports, independent of an actual creature’s presence or absence. Instead of an actual creature triggering other sightings, publicity about a “new” four-year-old photo triggered new sightings (this same effect occurred at Lake Okanagan; see chapter 7). It isn’t much of a stretch to state that Mansi’s photo launched the modern Champ phenomenon.
Despite assertions to the contrary, the Mansi photograph by itself is intriguing but holds almost no value as evidence. It contains little usable information; whether by accident or design, virtually everything needed to determine the photograph’s authenticity (and subject matter) is missing, lost, or unavailable. For example, Mansi can’t provide the negative, which might show evidence of tampering. She said she habitually threw away her negatives; they weren’t lost, as others have reported. She also can’t provide other photographs taken on the roll, which might show other angles of the same object or perhaps “test” photos of a known object from an odd position. Mansi is unable to locate the site of the photo, which would help determine a number of things, including the size of the object. And the photo has virtually no objects of known scale (e.g., boat, human) by which to judge the creature’s size or distance. The fact that the Mansis waited four years to release the photo was also seen as suspicious. All we are left with is a fantastic story in which the only supporting proof is a compelling but ambiguous photograph of something in the water.
Because of the litany of missing information and the high quality of the image, suspicions of a hoax surfaced almost as quickly as Champ. Such accusations were summarily dismissed by Mansi family lawyer Alan Neigher, who said that his clients “could no more have constructed such a hoax than put a satellite in orbit.” Though some have suggested that Mansi tried to get rich from the photo, she proudly points out that she turned down lucrative offers from supermarket tabloids to reprint the photo. It was, she said, an issue of credibility.
Richard D. Smith, a filmmaker who was producing a documentary on Champ, offered his expert commentary on the matter of a hoax: “As a photographer and filmmaker, I can speak with some authority as to what it would take to fake a picture of this sort. Assuming the remote possibility that the Mansi photo is a fraud, it would require fabrication of an excellent, full-sized model (highly expensive in terms of expertise and materials) which would have to be smuggled out to Champlain or another lake, there assembled or inflated, and successfully maneuvered around out in the water (most difficult, especially with a slight wind blowing), the whole thing accomplished without being seen or the slightest leak in security (unlikely)” (Smith 1984).
Smith’s account is nearly comical in its strained assumptions. He envisions an “excellent, full-sized model” of the Champ monster, which certainly is unlikely. But the Mansi photograph doesn’t show an “excellent, full-sized model” of Champ; it shows a dark, featureless, ambiguous curved form of unknown size in the water. Surely such an object wouldn’t be as difficult to fake as Smith presumes.
Other attempts to dismiss the possibility of a hoax are also strained. In his analysis of the photo (discussed in more detail later), B. Roy Frieden of the Optical Sciences Center at the University of Arizona suggested that it “would be very difficult to hoax the object,” due in part to the fact that “the water is cold, therefore you’d have to have a wetsuit on, real protection from the cold water” (Frieden 1981). The photograph,
however, was allegedly taken in July, and Sandra Mansi’s children were playing in the water, presumably without wetsuits. During our initial experiments at Lake Champlain (discussed later), I had the privilege of taking measurements in the lake while my co-investigator stayed warm and dry on the shore (“Champ bait,” he called me). Although I was in fairly deep water, I was chilly but not uncomfortable, and I certainly didn’t need thermal protection. (Though admittedly, when we re-created our experiments later for a Discovery Channel documentary, the water was somewhat colder.)
Jerome Clark (1983) asks, “If Sandra Mansi did help perpetrate a difficult, expensive hoax, why did she take only one photograph?” This simply begs the question: How do we know she took only one photograph? Just because she has shown only one to the world doesn’t mean that there aren’t others—perhaps ones that reveal more clues about the object. If Clark is willing to suppose for argument’s sake that Mansi might lie about her story, why would he assume that she would tell the truth about how many photos she took?
One could just as easily argue that the taking of only one photo makes a hoax more likely, not less so. The one photo is intriguing enough to cause a flurry of interest in Champ but doesn’t provide enough clues to allow a close analysis. The camera had more film in it; the Champ photograph wasn’t the last one on the roll. In addition, Mansi says that the creature never even saw her family, so she was presumably in no danger of being detected, threatened, or chased if she had stayed to take more photos. Mansi claims that she took only one because she didn’t think to take another; in hindsight, she says that of course she should have finished off the roll. But by that time, she and her family were out of the water, off the shore, and safe on a bluff 150 feet away.
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