Massive Amphibians
Amphibians have long been one of my favorite groups of animals. Like most lads, I was quite fond of collecting and keeping a diverse assortment of frogs, toads, salamanders, newts, and tadpoles in aquariums and jars while growing up. Looking back, it was probably because I was enamored with their slimy and swampy nature. But as I matured, I began to appreciate what amphibians truly represent to the animal kingdom. You see, they are the honest-to-goodness pioneers of the vertebrates, rejecting their watery origins in search of new opportunities on land. Without this evolutionary gambit, reptiles, birds, and mammals would never have arisen, and I wouldn’t be sharing my thoughts on the matter at all. So, bully for the frog!
Most scientists agree that amphibian lineage can be traced back to the Devonian Period, about 370 million years ago. That was long after the first lobe-finned fish had crawled up onto a muddy riverbank and still long before the dinosaurs reigned supreme. Some prehistoric species grew to be quite large and were the apex predators of their time. Prionosuchus was a sturdily built specimen that possessed the general form of a crocodile with a robust body that may have weighed as much as 800 pounds, and Eogyrinus was an elongate creature that grew to be as long as fifteen feet. However, the largest extant amphibians are the giant salamanders. A Chinese specimen (Andrias davidianus) can grow to almost six feet in length, as large as a man. Yet there have been accounts featuring unclassified salamanders and frogs of a truly monstrous nature, and it is these reports that we will ponder in this chapter.
Super Salamanders of the Pacific Northwest
There are three scientifically recognized species of giant salamanders: the aforementioned Chinese type, a closely related species from Japan (Andrias japonicus) that is slightly smaller at about four-and-a-half feet in length, and the American hellbender (Cryptobranchus alleganiensis), which typically only grows to be about sixteen inches long but can top out at twenty-nine inches. All of these forms appear somewhat similar in that they share broad, flattened bodies with loose, highly folded skin. All three are typically found in the oxygen-rich, swift running water of mountain streams and can thus tolerate colder temperatures. They are essentially ambush predators that primarily feed on small crustaceans, fish, and frogs. However, hellbenders, the only known American species, are strictly native to the eastern states ranging from New York and Pennsylvania down through Alabama and Georgia and have a population ranging as far west as Missouri. Officially, there are no salamanders living in the Pacific Northwest that are larger than a foot in length.
Cryptozoologist Loren Coleman has written extensively about alleged encounters with what could be an unknown population of giant salamanders inhabiting California’s Trinity National Forest. The initial incident involved a lawyer named Frank Griffith during the 1920s. Griffith was hunting at the head of the New River when he claimed that he spotted five huge salamanders at the bottom of a pond. Because he recognized that at five to nine feet in length the animals were highly unusual, Griffith apparently attempted to use a large hook in order to pull one of the creatures out but was unsuccessful. Farther south, in 1939 a fisherman netted a large salamander in the Sacramento River and turned it over to Stanford herpetologist George Myers, who identified it as being related to the giant Asian species but with an abnormal brown coloration. There are indications, though, that this particular specimen may have in reality been an escaped pet.
Biologist Thomas Rodgers next looked into the possibility of giant salamanders in the Northwest in 1948, postulating that there could in fact be a relict North American species of giant salamander related to the Asian types. However, Rodgers was unsuccessful in his attempts to locate one. At some point, a colorful animal collector named Vern Harden stated that he had seen a dozen monstrous salamanders at a place called Hubbard Lake and that one had measured over eight feet in length, but Harden’s claims were generally disregarded. Still, a number of expeditions ensued from the years 1958 to 1960. Initially, a trip was undertaken by the lake’s namesake Father Hubbard himself, and then Texas oil millionaire and adventurer Tom Slick got involved. Finally, three zoology professors from various California colleges made an effort to put an end to the mystery. Decades later in 1997, a search organized by journalist Kyle Mizokami failed to shed any light on the situation. The mystery remains unsolved.
During 2009, a colleague of mine named M. K. Davis, who is widely known for analyzing controversial Bigfoot videos, was on a field trip at Bluff Creek, California, when he supposedly spotted a mottled, three-foot salamander at the bottom of a deep pool. Unaware that such a large amphibian was undocumented on the West Coast (Davis hails from Mississippi), he did not mention the incident until he had left the area. The event later came to light during an interview with blogger Steven Streufert. If Davis was accurate in his estimation of size, his sighting could indicate that California’s super salamanders may actually exist.
Based on accounts from up the coast in British Columbia, Canada, the range of these giant amphibians may extend farther north. The first clue surfaced in Ivan Sanderson’s book Abominable Snowmen when he referenced a letter from a prospector named Charles Flood, who claimed to have seen “alligators” at a small pond in the Holy Cross Mountains along with two other men, Green Hicks and Donald McRae. Flood described the things as being black and about twice the size of lizards. John Kirk of the British Columbia Scientific Cryptozoology Club has gathered multiple reports of something that he suspects are not alligators at all, but rather enormous salamanders ranging from six to a whopping twelve feet in length. Apparently, most of the sightings have taken place at Pitt Lake, though there have been encounters elsewhere, including Chilliwack Lake, Nitnak Lake, and the Fraser River. The most recent and easily most credible account comes from an outdoorsman and guide named Dan Gerak who alleges observing a five-foot, black salamander at the juncture of Pitt Lake and the Fraser River on two different occasions in 2002.
Recently, cryptozoologist Karl P.N. Shuker revealed a promising California sighting from 2005 on his website, ShukerNature. An anonymous woman wrote him claiming that she had encountered a four- to five-foot, reddish-brown, mottled salamander with sturdy legs easing down a trail in Redwood Park, Arcata, California, on a damp day. What’s more, the witness mentioned that her coworker’s boyfriend had seen a similar animal in the area on a different occasion. Given that the Pacific Coast of North America boasts a climate that is comparable to both western China and Japan, an American species of giant urodele (of the order Urodela, which includes salamanders and newts) related to the Asian species is not out of the question. Sadly, this is one of the oft-neglected topics in the field of cryptozoology, though perhaps in time the existence of these huge amphibians will prove to be a reality.
Is Nessie a Newt?
Without a doubt, the most celebrated dragon of the deep is said to inhabit a certain dark and fathomless lake situated in the mist-shrouded highlands of Scotland. I’m referring of course to the Loch Ness Monster, affectionately called Nessie by the locals and the basis of one our very favorite modern mysteries. Accounts are said to date back to 565 CE when none other than Saint Columba faced down the beast. Yet Nessie truly achieved worldwide fame in 1933 when a modern roadway was constructed alongside the lake, granting greater visibility and access. A continuous stream of alleged sightings and photos since that time have painted a romantic portrait of a prehistoric survivor that time forgot. No definitive evidence of the creature’s existence has ever been collected, and there are a myriad of theories regarding its true identity—plesiosaur; giant eel; unknown, long-necked seal; primitive, snakelike whale; and huge mollusk are the more common ones. Of course, there are also scores of people who suspect that the entire affair is merely a synthesis of hoaxes and misidentifications of rarely seen natural phenomena.
One idea that perhaps doesn’t receive enough consideration is the possibility that Nessie may in fact be some species of colossal amphibian. The late cryptozoologist Roy Mackal, who spent countless hours analyzing the evidence and was an all-around brilliant biologist, hypothesized in 1976 that Nessie might be an immense representative of the order Urodela or perhaps a descendant of the embolomeres, which were sizable, ancient, undulating amphibians that were excellent swimmers. Mackal argued that while most amphibians since the Carboniferous Period have adapted to a largely terrestrial lifestyle, other forms reverted to a primarily aquatic existence. A fifteen-foot specimen similar to the fossil Eogyrinus would most definitely qualify as a monster. Amphibians are more comfortable in cold-water environments than reptiles, and because they can breathe by absorbing oxygen through their skin, they would have no great need to come to the surface, where they would be seen. The frigid water of Loch Ness is highly oxygenated, conceivably an ideal environment for this type of denizen.
Following the leads of Mackal and author and explorer William Horsburgh Lane, who first proposed the salamander identity in 1933, other investigators, including Lieutenant Commander Rupert T. Gould, have continued to endorse the virtues of this likelihood. Salamanders are the largest extant amphibians, and proponents of the Nessie-salamander theory often point to an encounter that supposedly happened in 1880. A diver named Duncan McDonald alleged that while searching for a shipwreck in the depths of Loch Ness, he panicked when he almost swam directly into a frightening apparition that (in his opinion) resembled an amphibian of gigantic stature. At the end of the day, Nessie, if it exists, may be nothing more than a titanic newt.
Fredericton’s Fabulous Frog
In contrast to salamanders, frogs and toads do not boast a monster-sized representative, at least not that we are aware of. The largest known species is the goliath frog (Conraua goliath) of Cameroon and Equatorial Guinea on Africa’s Atlantic Coast, which can obtain a length of a foot and a half and a weight of seven pounds. While it’s probably something that would make your little sister shriek and shutter in disgust, it certainly is not big enough to swallow her whole. The largest known prehistoric version, the “devil frog” (Beelzebufo ampinga) of Madagascar’s Cretaceous fauna didn’t get much bigger. So then what are the odds that there is a hopping, croaking abomination out there somewhere?
In the collection of a certain museum in Fredericton, New Brunswick, Canada, sits an intriguing exhibit. Known as the Coleman Frog, it is either a fantastic fabrication or else the genuine remains of an amphibian so great that it positively boggles the mind. The unique animal was found at Killarney Lake just north of Fredericton by a man named Fred Coleman in 1885. The frog jumped into Coleman’s boat while he was fishing and seemed to warm up to him immediately. He took the creature home with him and, according to the legend, formed a great friendship with the croaking critter, feeding it a combination of June bugs, buttermilk, whey, and whiskey. One rumor states that Coleman gleaned some tips from a French book on how to grow larger frogs. It may have been the unorthodox diet, but the amphibian apparently ballooned in size until it tipped the scale at a whopping forty-two pounds. Ultimately, the famous frog died in a tragic dynamite accident, at which point Fred Coleman sent its remains off to a taxidermist in Bangor, Maine, in order to preserve the marvelous animal for all to admire.
For some time after that, the stuffed specimen supposedly resided at a hotel in Fredericton where disrespectful guests used it as an ashtray. Following a long hiatus, the curiosity was rediscovered in the attic of one of Fred Coleman’s heirs and donated to the museum in 1959, where it remains on display to this day. Those who have laid eyes on the thing note its papier-mâché appearance and gaudy green paint job, seemingly revealing it to be nothing more than a clever fake. As remarkable as the entire episode seems, there were evidently credible folks in Fredericton who claim that they saw the huge frog when it was alive; furthermore, we mustn’t forget that taxidermy was less advanced in the nineteenth century. In addition, the frog underwent an extensive refurbishment in 1988, resulting in its present patina, which is allegedly distinct from its original color. Common sense indicates that the whole affair is a tall tale, as it’s difficult to imagine the laws of nature demonstrating such extreme flexibility. Regardless, it’s a moot point since the museum refuses to allow scientists to perform a DNA test. Debate and controversy over the Coleman Frog’s authenticity endures.
Loveland Frog
The most celebrated American mystery beast displaying amphibious attributes is Ohio’s Loveland Frog—which is perhaps a bit of a misnomer since the accounts include references to upright bipedalism. As a matter of fact, all of the prominent portrayals of this monster adorn it with a distinctly hominid form, not at all a true frog, but more of a “frogman” redolent of Hollywood’s Creature from the Black Lagoon. Loveland, true to its name, is a warm and pleasant community nestled on the outskirts of Cincinnati. It seems like an idyllic place alongside the scenic Little Miami River, and there exists an indulgent delight in ordaining it the home of a slimy, two-legged goblin that lurks at its fringes late at night. It appears to be a fractured case that combines disparate occurrences that, in the end, muddy our hope for any semblance of a resolution.
The first component is two alleged encounters that seemingly deserve to be classified as UFO literature rather than cryptozoological lore. Prominent UFO researcher and author Leonard Stringfield brought both accounts to notoriety. During August of 1955, one of Stringfield’s contacts informed him of a situation that transpired in Loveland a couple of months earlier. A truck driver and civil defense worker named Carlos Flannigan had reported seeing four tiny, humanlike figures behaving suspiciously underneath a bridge that crossed the Little Miami River. He had also detected a stench like alfalfa or almonds permeating the air. When Stringfield, along with UFO investigator Ted Bloecher, traveled to Flannigan’s home in order to obtain more information, the witness, who had been largely ridiculed, seemed like he didn’t care to revisit the incident:
[Flannigan] stated that he had only seen four small men with a more or less human appearance, approximately 3 feet tall, and moving in an odd manner under the bridge, seen during no more than 10 seconds. He confirmed that there was then a “terrible odor” at this place. He said nothing else.
But then Loveland Chief of Police John Fritz put the investigators in touch with a local businessman named Robert Hunnicutt who claimed to have had a similar sighting earlier that same year in April. While being interviewed by Stringfield and Bloecher, Hunnicutt explained that he had been motoring through Branch Hill, about three miles southwest of Loveland. It was early around 4:00 a.m. when he observed a trio of three-foot, manlike figures squatting by the side of the road. Thinking there might have been an accident of some kind, Hunnicutt halted his car and waited. Within moments he realized that the beings were not human.
Hunnicutt told his interviewers that these “trolls” were wearing identical gray, tight-fitting jumpsuits and that they also had gray skin. Their long, straight mouths were lipless and frog-like, but they did have human-looking eyes (though lacked eyebrows). Instead of hair they possessed wrinkles on their heads that looked painted on, sort of like on a doll. The entities also sported lopsided chests and long, thin arms, and one of them was clutching a dark object above his head that was shooting out an arc of bluish-white sparks. The last thing Hunnicutt remembered was that the humanoids began moving toward him and waving him away from the scene. A considerable amount of time had passed when he regained his senses while driving to the local police station.
Fast forward to March 3, 1972. While on patrol around 1:00 a.m., Loveland police officer Ray Shockey was cruising along Riverside Drive when he perceived what he thought was an animal, perhaps a dog, lying by the side of the road. As the cop’s headlights illuminated the creature, it gawked at him for a few seconds before scaling the guardrail, disappearing behind the obstruction and presumably descending into the bushy thicket that lined the Little Miami River. Despite the brevity of the encounter, Shockey indicated that the specimen was three to four feet in height, weighed at least fifty pounds, had a leather-textured hide, and had a face similar to a frog or lizard with reflective eyes. This was all according to long-time creature investigator Ron Schaffner, who interviewed the officer early on. Shockey returned to the scene with fellow officer Mark Matthews later that morning in order to look for more clues. They managed to locate some scrape marks leading down to the river.
Almost two weeks later on the evening of March 14, Officer Matthews had a nearly identical experience. Driving down the same thoroughfare, he spotted something in the road ahead that appeared to be an animal carcass. Matthews brought his vehicle to a halt and opened his car door, fully expecting to have to collect the object. The sound of the car door opening apparently prompted the critter to rise up into a crouched position similar to a defensive lineman and “half hobble” toward the guardrail. This time it kept its eyes on the policeman while it lifted its leg over the barrier, and it seemed to have an odd smirk on its face that, according to accounts, inspired Matthews to draw his weapon and fire upon the thing. During an interview years later, he attempted to defend this action by suggesting that he was merely attempting to collect evidence that would vindicate his colleague. In any event, he must have missed, since the animal escaped into the river.
As word of the Loveland Frog spread, some dubious stories surfaced. That May a teenager claimed that he saw a green-skinned creature that was almost four feet long. The youth guessed that it had weighed about 150 pounds. And before the end of the year, a local farmer alleged that he had run across four of the small beings while working in his field, describing them as looking grayish-green with a toothy grin. Staying true to form, the entities evidently vanished into the Little Miami River once again. Things settled down after that. A vague reference from 1985 mentions two boys spotting a dog-sized frog by the river.
Overall, accounts seem to be as elusive as the cryptid itself. On a popular blog site, an anonymous person mentioned that they had seen a “big frog head with fur” sticking out of the Ohio River near Rising Sun, Indiana. A Loveland resident wrote to researcher Lon Strickler in 2011, claiming that an inhuman trespasser on her property was making noises and peering in her windows with glowing eyes at night. Since some of her windows were apparently ten feet off the ground, it’s difficult to relate it to the dwarfish frogman, though Ohio does produce a marked amount of Bigfoot sightings. Returning to the 1955 account, Ted Bloecher had uncovered the following account of a potentially kindred event at the time:
Mrs. Emily Magnone and her husband, awakened by their dog’s barking, smelt a strong odor “like swamp.” Their next-door neighbor went out to investigate [and] saw, 15 feet away, a 3-foot little man “entirely covered with twigs or foliage.” Whenever she turned on the porch light the little man disappeared, but would reappear in the same place when it was turned off.
It should be clear why officers Shockey and Matthews were reluctant to reveal their identities following their encounters in 1972, and when they eventually did, they were apparently ridiculed to the extent that they simply didn’t want to talk about it anymore. When the men finally broke their silence during the 1990s, they dropped a bombshell, stating that the animal that they had both seen in 1972 had been nothing more than an escaped pet iguana and that the whole affair had been blown entirely out of proportion. Yet one has to wonder why the initial sketch of the creature, drawn by Ray Shockey’s sister and presumably under their direction, clearly depicts a bipedal, manlike, frog monster.
Furthermore, the fact that both sightings took place on frigid winter evenings when the road conditions were apparently “icy” argues against the iguana explanation. No reptile would have been active in those conditions. We have to wonder if perhaps Shockey and Matthews were simply anxious to put the whole matter to rest and felt the iguana story was the best way to accomplish that. On the website Cryptozoology.com, a contributor who claimed to be a lifelong Loveland resident and writer explained how his extensive foray into the mystery revealed that the 1972 sightings had all been an elaborate hoax perpetrated by the practical-joking mayor of Loveland at the time. And that he had accomplished the illusion using plastic sheets and a system of pulleys. Personally, I am not convinced that this is feasible.
At time of writing, it is uncertain if an amphibious hominid actually inhabits the Little Miami River near Loveland, though its legacy is still going strong. In 2014, a musical based on the creature made its glorious debut.
China’s Titanic Toads
A number of Internet websites pay tribute to a narrative that describes a heretofore unfamiliar brood of tremendous toads that inhabit cavernous pools in China’s western Hubei Province. This stems from a nebulous tale of an encounter that was supposed to have transpired during the summer of 1987. The incident allegedly involved a party of nine biologists hailing from Peking University who were conducting field research in wilderness areas close to the city of Wuhan. The operation was apparently being overseen by accomplished professor Chen Mok Chun. As the academics assembled some photographic equipment adjacent to a small lake, a trio of colossal creatures ascended from the depths of the water straight in front of them. The mystifying six-foot-wide animals resembled amphibians and had pasty, pale skin; huge eyes; and gaping mouths. After a few anxious minutes, things got really weird when one of the monsters unfurled an expanded tongue, enveloping an entire camera rig. As this unreal scene was materializing, the two other beasts belched weird and sinister shrieking sounds. In an instant, all three of the things had plunged back into the abysmal darkness of the lake and were not seen again. In the aftermath of the traumatic confrontation, one of the witnesses is said to have gotten violently ill and vomited.
Like frogs, their fellow anurans, toads are not known to have gotten close to the dimensions that were mentioned by the Chinese scientists (even in prehistoric times), and it should also be noted that the only other account we have on record is equally as ambiguous. There is a vague reference circulating online that indicates local fishermen attempted to exterminate the troublesome toads back in 1962 by hurling dynamite into the creatures’ watery domain. It is said that the result of this action was that a highly territorial toad known as “Chan” chased the fishermen some thirty yards back onto dry land. Although these accounts display the earmarks of gross embellishments, the 1987 affair was reported in newspapers throughout China and was subsequently picked up by news outlets in Australia and the United States. Before completely dismissing the possibility of car-sized amphibians in China, it should be acknowledged that several new animal species have been documented in that part of the world over the past decades.
Search at Silver Lake
My sole cryptic amphibian investigation transpired in October 2009 when I resolved to spend a weekend in Massachusetts while my close friend Nick Redfern, a well-known author and researcher, gave a lecture in Boston. About thirty-five miles southeast of Boston rests Silver Lake, a shallow, 640-acre body of water in Plymouth County. During the 1940s and 1950s, there apparently were stories of a macabre water monster described as either a giant frog or “small frog-man” dwelling within its depths, so, I reasoned, what better way to get to the bottom of the allegations than by going and taking a look for myself ?
Following an uneventful drive down in my rental car, I located the spot. Surprisingly, it was a densely populated area with many homes bordering the lake’s delightful shores. In addition, there were a few businesses along Highway 27 on its north end. I planned to hike around its entirety and inspect its serene shores as closely as possible. It was obvious that I would have to adjust my course a little at times in order to avoid trespassing on private property. Almost immediately I came upon a marshy area teeming with water lilies and a multitude of aquatic reeds protruding from the shallows—a perfect place for sizable amphibians, I thought. Forging on for at least an hour or so, I found myself at a public park that included a fishing pier. The place was strangely abandoned, given that the weather was fairly mild. I decided to engage a solitary man fishing from the dock.
We made angler small talk, and he indicated that he frequented the spot on a regular basis, primarily landing a handful of decent-sized bluegills. It was then that I dropped the million-dollar question.
“I understand that there have been reports of something like a giant frog in the lake. Ever hear of anything like that?”
The man admitted that he had never heard of such a thing, but speculated that “there could be some big catfish living in there.”
As I headed back to my car defeated, I considered knocking on a few doors along the way but didn’t want to risk intruding on a quiet Sunday, particularly when my sole intention was to discuss frogs of impossible dimensions hopping through their backyards. I would have liked to enter a few businesses in order to feel things out, but everything around seemed to be closed down that day.
As I strolled back to my car feeling rather frustrated, I pondered how the accounts of a monster frog in the lake could have possibly come about. The largest species of native bullfrog (Rana catesbeiana) only weighs a couple of pounds, hardly the makings of a legendary beast. Besides, Silver Lake is a relatively small, 640-acre body of water. Its shoreline, as I discovered, is densely populated and highly developed—not the sort of place where a sizeable animal could remain hidden. The case remains open.