Things are gonna get quite fishy—or rather furry—in this most curious story time of an article. Let us first dive deep into the reflective waters of North America’s lakes and rivers where Nature presents us with a wealth of wonders. Hidden beneath the waters exists a tale as peculiar as it is charming: that of the fur-bearing trout, or furry trout for convenience’s sake. A creature seemingly torn between aquatic grace and the rugged insulation of a snow-dwelling mammal. An animal that has utterly captured the imaginations of storytellers and skeptics alike for decades. Origins of the Myth The furry trout’s story begins in the winter landscapes of the northern hemisphere. A peculiar blend of practicality and whimsy gave rise to this cryptid. The cold waters of Canada and the United States seemed to demand a fish that could brave their icy clutches with the warmth of a mammal. Thus, the fur-bearing trout came to life in the collective imagination of trappers and hunters. One of the earliest mentions of this marvel harks back to the late 19th and early 20th centuries, when travelers and settlers spun tales of trout adorned with lush fur coats. It was whispered that these creatures emerged from particularly frigid environments, where evolution had granted them a pelt as protection against the biting cold. Some rumours even suggest that the fish would shed their furs during hotter seasons, only to be furry again when winter’s coming. Letters and anecdotes began circulating, with some accounts even claiming to have sighted these trout in regions such as Montana and Newfoundland. One rather strange (also hilarious) account came in 1929, Montana Wildlife featured an article by J.H. Hicken, who took the tale a step further. He claimed that when caught, the sudden temperature difference between the cold water and warm air caused the trout to spontaneously explode, leaving behind a ready-to-cook fish and a perfectly intact pelt. A Nordic Cousin: The Icelandic Loðsilungur Far across the Atlantic, in the icy streams of Iceland, swims a creature that’s equally enigmatic: the Loðsilungur. This fascinating cousin to the fur-bearing trout inhabits the folklore of Iceland, where the harsh subarctic environment often blurs the lines between fact and legend. Described as a trout with a distinctive, hairy exterior, the Loðsilungur is said to roam the freezing streams and lakes, its fur serving as insulation against the bitter cold. Unlike its North American counterpart, tales of the Loðsilungur are often intertwined with warnings. Local myths suggest that eating this furry fish brings about bad luck or even illness, making it a creature more revered than sought after. Much like Iceland’s otherworldly landscapes, the Loðsilungur invites both wonder and a touch of caution—reminding us how deeply entwined nature and storytelling are in human culture. The Mold-Aging Connection Oddly enough, the culinary world offers an unexpected bridge between fact and folklore. Mold-aging tuna—a refined culinary art from Japan that results in the formation of a fur-like, velvety mold on the fish’s surface—provides an intriguing modern parallel to the fur-bearing trout. While the mold in this process serves the practical purpose of enhancing flavor, its furry appearance is a visual echo of cryptid tales. Is it possible that early observers mistook mold-covered fish in their raw or cured states as evidence of fur-bearing creatures? Additionally, this fur-like appearance offers an alternate scientific explanation for the mythos of these shaggy fish. Fungal growths, such as the Saprolegnia species, can afflict freshwater fish, creating a woolly appearance reminiscent of fur. While these growths are a sign of disease rather than adaptation, they could easily have inspired imaginative accounts among early settlers or fishermen unfamiliar with such phenomena. Infectious mold could also be the culprit behind the Loðsilungur’s cautionary lore if you think about it. Rational Explanations Of course, every tale—no matter how wondrous—invites skepticism. Could a fish genuinely evolve such a feature? Biologists, understandably, take a more measured approach. The fur-bearing trout is often explained and even at times exposed as a lighthearted hoax. Some specimens displayed in museums or tourist traps were, in fact, ordinary trout cleverly adorned with rabbit fur by enterprising pranksters. Furthermore, there is also an element of mistaken identity. As mentioned above, fungal infections can produce a bizarre, woolly appearance, which might easily have been misunderstood by those encountering such afflicted fish. Whether through fungal growth or culinary inspiration, it is remarkable how observations of nature and creative interpretation can intertwine to shape enduring folklore. The Role of Folklore The question then pops up: why create such a legend? Herein lies the beauty of human imagination. The fur-bearing trout became a symbol of the rugged wilderness, a testament to the ability of life to adapt and survive. It resonated with the minds of those living in remote, untamed regions—where the line between reality and folklore often blurred. In addition, the tale served as a tool for humor. Travelers and locals alike delighted in spinning yarns about these fantastical creatures, often as a jest aimed at credulous outsiders. This was not merely a tale for amusement but a form of cultural bonding, a shared in-joke among communities. Speculative Wonders However, one cannot help but indulge in speculation. What if the fur-bearing trout were real creatures? Imagine the evolutionary pathways it might have taken—perhaps descending from ancestors who ventured into the chilliest streams, necessitating some form of thermal regulation. Could its fur also function as camouflage, blending with the mossy rocks and frothy rapids of its environment? Such a creature would occupy a fascinating niche in the ecosystem. Predators would face a unique challenge in penetrating its furry defenses, while the trout itself might develop curious feeding habits, perhaps relying on insulating streams of hot springs for sustenance. Cultural Impact The furry trout—and its Icelandic cousin, the Loðsilungur—has left an indelible mark on pop culture. From postcards to tourist attractions, these cryptids have been immortalized in playful imagery. Their allure lies in their implausibility—at once a tribute to nature’s resilience and a reminder
Ancient Walrus Ivory Reveals Vikings Regularly Hunted in North America
We may have grown up thinking it was true, but Columbus was not the first European to make contact with North America when he sailed the ocean blue in 1492. Norse sailors had been crossing the Atlantic for centuries by that time, but new research suggests it may have been for even longer than thought. Not only that, but new research based on the distribution of walrus ivory, a valuable trading commodity, suggests an established relationship may have existed between the Norse traders and the Thule Inuit of the Canadian Arctic. The relationship may even predate the Thule and extend back to the Late Dorset Period, according to the paper published in Science Adviser. The research has been able to pinpoint where Norse walrus ivory originally came from, allowing the team to draw a map of the Norse long-range hunting expeditions into the frozen north. It seems that these were both more extensive and further ranging than had been thought, extending into the high Arctic and possibly into the Canadian interior as well. This supports the belief that the Norse traded with the locals for their ivory, not only the Thule Inuit but their semi-legendary precursors the Tuniit. Believed to inhabit Canada up to around 1000 AD, much of what we know of the Tuniit comes from Thule legends who talk of an elusive culture they describe as giants. Both the Thule and the Tuniit were dependent on the sea, and it would make sense for these cultures to have encountered the Norse hunters we now know were in the area. While it is not known how extensive the interactions were, it certainly suggests that Vikings have been travelling the frozen northern waters into North America for centuries before Columbus. Header Image: Walrus ivory scrimshaw dated to around 1100, carved in the same fashion as the prow of a Viking longboat. New research has pinpointed where such walrus were hunted by Norsemen, revealing that their expeditions roamed much farther than previously thought. Source: Cleveland Museum of Art / Public Domain.
Cannibalized Remains of HMS Terror’s First Officer Identified
The story of the ships HMS Terror and HMS Erebus, and the doom that awaited them in Canada’s frozen north, is among the most harrowing in history. The two ships, and the men who sailed in them, met with tragedy on the Franklin expedition trying to find a navigable Arctic route to the Pacific, and open up the world to trade. For decades a route through the fabled “northwest passage” had attracted ambitious privateers funded by merchant ventures, seeking a way through the ice to the Bering Strait and the trade opportunities with Asia that lay beyond. This was what attracted the two English ships to brave the unknown in 1845. The 129 men under Sir John Franklin would become trapped in the ice, and in desperation the 105 men under the company’s first office, James Fitzjames, attempted to escape overland. None survived, but according to an article published in the Journal of Archaeological Science we at least know what happened to Fitzjames. And it isn’t pretty. The men, driven to extremes from the extremes of the Canadian wilderness, resorted to cannibalism in their desperation. Tales are told of the discovery of remains by searchers years later, and the horrific contents of the kettles found on their campfires, frozen and abandoned, surrounded by the dead. DNA evidence has confirmed that one of the skeletons of the men was Fitzjames, and the knife marks on his jawbone leave little room for doubt: his body appeared to have been cut up and prepared as he was made into a stew. Header Image: We now know what happened to James Fitzjames, first officer of the doomed Frankling Expedition of 1845. Source: Richard Beard / Public Domain.
The Wendigo: Native American Stuff of Nightmares
(The following article contains spoilers for the 2022 movie Prey) In 2022 the seventh movie in the Predator franchise was released. The movie, Prey, was in many ways similar to the 1987 original, although trading the steaming jungles of Central America for the Oklahoma plains and the wisecracking mercenaries for stoic Comanche was a surprising, and appealing twist. But once again we have an extraterrestrial descending from the skies to pick fights with the most dangerous adversaries they can find. Once again all pre-existing conflict is overruled as those caught in this monster’s sights struggle for their very survival, and once again it is ingenuity and preparedness which wins the day: all those who rush in to face the threat die, and quickly. The Predator once again has his bag of tricks, which (although more primitive, as the movie is set almost 300 years before the Arnold Schwarzenegger original) are functionally the same. This predator can still turn invisible, still collects the skulls of its defeated foes, still has an array of technically advanced weaponry, still has the famous thermal vision. Perhaps the biggest difference about the creature is in its appearance. This is not the Predator of the original films, this monster is leaner, its facial mandibles larger and more menacing, and its armor and equipment much more primitive, with a huge skull for a mask. In arriving at this new design, and especially given the surroundings, it seems that the filmmakers took inspiration from a Native American legend, something horrific which was said to stalk the plains and forests of North America. No ordinary creature, this monster was a cannibalistic horror which towered over ordinary men. The monster they called the Wendigo. The Evil of Possession First, a disclaimer: nobody is saying that the Wendigo is some extraterrestrial big game hunter. Nor are these legends associated with the Comanche in the movie. The Wendigo legends come from the Algonquian peoples to the north, not the Native Americans of the Great Plains. A Wendigo, according to legend, would never be sated and would prey on humans, growing with each victim that it consumed until it towered over them. In appearance it was an emaciated giant, with skin stretched thin over a skull face, haunting the fringes of settlements and picking off victims from the darkness. Such an appearance is understandable in the far north of the North American continent. The Wendigo is associated with the bitter cold of the winters, where exposure and starvation could drive people to desperate acts in the wilderness. For you see this was, in some legends at least, not a corporeal monster at all. The Wendigo was sometimes seen as an evil spirit, a monster of possession who would take over a person’s mind and drive them into madness, with an insatiable hunger for human flesh. Those who resorted to cannibalism in the extremes of winter were said to have been taken by the Wendigo. Far from a legend, this aspect was a recognized psychiatric illness, known as the Wendigo psychosis. There are many stories of those who, in extremis, resorted to cannibalism and it doing so lost their humanity. Nor were these the actions of sane men who were driven to such unspeakable acts out of a need to survive. The Wendigo psychosis is much more, a conviction that cannibalism is the only way to survive, a haunting madness borne out of the harsh conditions for which many were not prepared. Perhaps the most horrifying story of the Wendigo is that of Swift Runner, a Cree from the province of Alberta. He and his family, a wife and six children, were facing starvation in the unusually harsh winter of 1878. Things came to a head when, finally, Swift Runner’s eldest son died of starvation. Swift Runner turned on his family and killed them all, butchering them and eating them. What is most horrific of all is that he did so while only some 40km from help. Swift Runner and his family could have easily reached these emergency supplies and shelter, but he apparently chose not to do so. This was not some act of desperate survival, this was something much deeper. This is the third aspect which represents the Wendigo. It is not only the desperation which comes from harsh winters and extreme cold, it is not only the accompanying threat of starvation and the prospect that you may be doomed. The Wendigo is seen as, above all, a selfish being. It is willing to put itself above literally everything else, above friends and family, above its own humanity. A Wendigo is a monster because of how it behaves, as much as how it appears. The Algonquian peoples valued living in equilibrium with their surroundings. Although the idea that exploitation of the land only came to North America with the white man is a myth, the traditions of these first Americans speak of respect for the animals you hunt, and finding a harmony within nature. The Wendigo has fully rejected such traditions in favor of personal greed and selfishness, placing themselves above the good of those around them and the world in which they live. They choose to take what they can and such people contribute nothing to their community, for they are purely predatory and parasitic. This is perhaps the greatest parallel between the Wendigo and the Predator creature from Prey. This is a monster which kills without need, not for survival or necessity and only to prove a point to itself. Such monsters have no place in society. Header Image: Unlike most cryptids the Wendigo actually existed, at least in terms of a terrifying psychosis brought on by the isolating wilderness. Source: Aden Kowalski / CC BY-SA 4.0.
