The Bloop! The Great Wyrm Rises! And Lake Somino!

Because it has recently popped up in a Cracked article, I have been reminded of my fasination with the Bloop. Now, as I have written previously on this site – my father once had a fascinating encounter with an enormous creature that’s not supposed to exist. It happened off the coast of Crimea, during a military diving exercise. My dad was in the water that night with a fellow navyman, and although his friend corroborated his story, the entire incident was written off on paranoia.

My father said the creature looked like an enormous sea worm, which lead me to dub it the Great Wyrm in later years. It couldn’t breathe fire, considering it was in the sea, but who knows what it can do if it can scramble up on land? Anything, my friends, anything.

My father’s Great Wyrm couldn’t possibly have been large enough to make the Bloop noise that has so mystified both scientists and Lovecraft fans, but the entire incident does make you wonder about how the sea is still basically a vast, unexplored, and bizarre realm where all sorts of crazy shit can happen. Evolution states we rose out of the sea, but the way back has been hard to find. And now that we have begun to dip our toes all over again, thanks to technology, who knows what we’re going to find, or what’s going to find us?

The creepiest thing ever is listening to the Bloop in “real time” (thanks, BloopWatch.org!), without noise reduction. Go ahead, try it, and then tell me how you’ll avoid dreaming about insanely huge monsters opening their cavernous mouths in the deep, dark, cold waters of the ocean and emitting horrifying signals of doom and destruction before snacking on hapless bystanders.

Aside from the vengeful and hungry Bloop-maker and my father’s Wyrm , tales of an insane monster have long circulated in a village in Ukraine. Continue reading “The Bloop! The Great Wyrm Rises! And Lake Somino!”

Colossal Squid Pulsating Through The Seas!

After the apocalypse, there will still be colossal squid. I’m not sure what they will feed on – radioactive herring grown to ten times its normal size, perhaps? I have little faith in fairness and justice, but I do have faith in the colossal squid.

In the post-apocalyptic tale, The Road, Cormac McCarthy’s protagonist wondered, looking out into the dead, lead-like waves of the sea, if there is life in there, and when he did so, he thought of squid.

When he was in the military, my father once had the (dis)pleasure to go on a training exercise in the Black Sea, in the middle of the night. He was on assignment with a partner, with diving lights, and a full moon. They never finished the exercise, because they saw something that night.

It was something enormous and, in the words of my dad, “worm-like.” My dad later theorized that decades-long pollution of the Black Sea could have resulted in seriously messed-up sea critters.

After the encounter, my dad became obsessed with sea creatures, and eventually settled on the squid as one of his favourite marine monsters. I followed suit.

Why do we love the colossal squid? Because we can marvel at it from the safety of land. The cold, slimy squid makes our beds feel warmer and our pillows, and carpets, and kittehs feel softer. And yet, there is also its sheer awesomeness, especially when you contemplate the amazing contrast between tame fried calamari on your plate with marinara sauce on the side, and the gargantuan beastie shooting through the inky waters of the deep.

The very existence of the colossal squid is a comfort to those of us who worry that our planet has become dreadfully bland as of late. Even when she is defrosted and examined on live webcam, the squid remains mysterious, unholy, and magnificent. She’s like a ghost, only tactile, a physical presence unlike any other.

I’d place the colossal squid squarely in the uncanny category – it’s the primordial slime of life, and yet intelligent and powerful and not at all the sort of creature you’d like to meet on its own turf. The colossal squid, it is said, lives at depths of 100 meters below, a place that might as well be a dark, starless void somewhere in outer space as far as human beings are concerned.

Assuming one could somehow survive the pressure, one still could not see the squid if it attacked. Only feel it.

Dum dum dum!

I think human beings are especially fascinated with deadly creatures. Mortality is like a bruise we keep fingering, and few things in life represent mortality as well as a colossal squid.

Aside from all that, it is just a perfect blend of fearsome beauty and utter grossness. It’s like the Dali of the natural world. It’s like a fairy tale come to life.

I love it, and so should you.