Me at the Champ Sightings Sign in Bulwagga Bay
The clouds are painted gray, and they hang heavy over Lake Champlain. The thunder storms were due to start an hour ago, but they’re lingering in the distance, allowing me to make my introduction to the lake, her beating waves and whatever might lurk beneath them.
I came to Lake Champlain for one reason, and that was to see the home of Champ, an elusive 30 foot monster in a 490 square mile lake. Champ made its first appearance in Native American folklore. Both the Abenaki and the Iroquois shared stories about a Great Horned Serpent that dwelt in the lake’s water, but the first credited witness was French explorer Samuel de Champlain.
In 1609, Samuel de Champlain wrote about what the local natives called Chaousarou. Chaousarou had “a double row of very sharp, dangerous teeth” and scales “so strong that a dagger could not pierce them.” Champlain was shocked at their size, the many of them, swimming around in the water before him at sizes as big as eight to ten feet long. Which... is kind of small for a lake monster. In reality, Champlain likely saw garfish or sturgeon. He went on to describe their pike-like appearance, and despite rumors, he never actually claimed to see a 20-foot long serpent.
So maybe Champlain wasn't the first person to record
Port Henry Harbor at Champ Beach seeing Champ, but that didn't stop hundreds of other
people from making claims.
It took another 200 years, but the next documented sighting was by Captain Crum in 1819. One day he looked across the water from his scow in Bulwagga Bay and saw a black monster, easily 180 feet long. Its head was like a seahorse, its body zooming across the lake’s surface.
Sightings of Champ have since become more frequent and consistent, and Bulwagga Bay has been the spot for most of them. Sizes have averaged out to an estimated 30 feet. Champ’s color is dark, possibly black, and its head is horse-like, seen sticking ten feet out of the water. No one can be certain what kind of creature Champ is. Maybe a modern day dinosaur---a zeuglodon or a plesiosaur--maybe Champ is simply a mistaken fish or a log or perhaps the otters chasing after each other across the water.
I arrived at Port Henry Beach a.k.a. Champ Beach, as identified by the Champ parade float at its entrance. It was after 6 pm, and other than a couple campers, the beach was empty but for a few scattered soda bottles and the boats rocking in the adjacent harbor.
Port Henry is a derelict hamlet. Once a bustling village of fishermen and iron miners, it now exists mostly as a memory. On a weekend in the middle of August, there wasn’t much to see. A month prior, the harbor held their annual Champ festival to celebrate the lake monster that has kept them on the map, but the lone parade float was the only indicator of any previous activity. Champ, like nearly everyone else, was nowhere to be seen.
I was staying a couple minutes away from Champ Beach in a quaint little bed and breakfast that was nestled on a farm in the rolling hills of Eastern New York. From the bathroom window I could see Bulwagga Bay peeking out at me from between the trees. The bay was quiet as the clouds grew louder. That night the thunder roared overhead, and my mind was flooded with curiosity of what the morning may bring.
Food Shack at Champ Beach
