Ballyraven Cryptid Wildlife Protection Agency

Submitted to the agency years ago, this is a story about something strange in the woods... Something that mimics voices and wants you to come see...TRANSCRIPTStory submitted by AlexCrow, WV 2002It was raining outside, a bit chilly, a really horrible day when I think back on it. As soon as I got home, my cat slipped out the door. We didn’t let her outside because our dog had gotten hit by a car and our last cat was taken by coyotes, so we just wanted to keep her safe. We live in a very rural area beside a good stretch of forest and a long field. Every time she escaped, she ran there - which was better than the road, as it was busier than normal at 5.So, at the end of a long day, I was chasing my cat through the grass, drenched and covered in mud. She looked back and saw that I was still following and bolted towards the treeline. I followed after her, yelling and telling her to stop or come back; she ignored me, of course. I saw her jump into some thick brush and disappear. I was so aggravated. I went back home and got a raincoat, boots, and a flashlight. Walking back to where I saw her last, I heard someone from my left shout, “Heeeeeyy!” There are a couple of kids who play around here, just inside the woods, so I thought it might be them - even though it would’ve been strange that they were out in this weather and so late; it did sound just like them, though, and I could make out the bright colors of some of their toys on the ground. So, I called back, “You better get home, or your Mom’ll be mad!” Two voices responded with different, yet similar ‘hey’s. They sounded maybe 20 ft from each other and a little deeper in the woods than before. Confused, I asked, “What’re you guys doing out here?” The next thing I heard was, “Help! Help! Help!”; each time the word was very short, almost like it was a recording being played over and over. It was… unsettling. I didn’t say anything for a while—just stood there and listened. One voice did the “Heeeeeyy!” thing again, exactly like before.I ran to the neighbor’s house. I should have ran into the woods, in case it was the kids, but, it didn’t feel right; when I told my neighbor what happened, she had a strange look on her face - though I probably sounded crazy or, at the least, very alarmed. She told me both her boys were home. We called 911 and told them everything, but they didn’t find anything or anybody—nothing out of the ordinary at all. I felt horrible; I wasted their time and felt silly. They probably thought that I was lying. I also felt bad that I had been too afraid to go look myself.I went home and turned all the lights on; I told my wife, but she thought it was all a combination of the wind and my tiredness playing tricks on me. Nevertheless, I don’t think I slept much that night.The good news, however, was that our cat came back; late that night, she scratched and screamed at the door until I let her in. The noise scared me a bit, with everything that had happened earlier. I think she saw something outside too, because she has never tried to get out since that night. Which… left me wondering. What did I almost meet that night?

There's a strange creature afoot - er, ahand - in Pike Lake and the BCWPA is getting to the bottom of it! A pair of disembodied hands is running rampant along hiking trails and into the forest. Be careful not to get bitten...Listen to the show early! Become a BCwPA Agent for free.Support the show, get a field illustration print!Learn more about today's subject.ENTITY: Path HandsEPISODE TYPE: History, Nature Documentary, Ghost StoryLOCATION: Pike Lake, OhioTYPE: BibelotiteSound Effects    Attribution 4.0:        Vintage Tape Recorder Button Clunks by iainmccurdy        Woman Scream 5 by J.Zazvurek        horror ghost 23.wav by klankbeeld    CC SAMPLING+ 1.0 DEED:         Kamelands Pond in the evening.wav by cmkendall          Attribution NonCommercial 3.0:         Wood Chopping.wav by jittels         indian_creek_01_steve_bayer.mp3 by sanus_excipioMusic    Shake That Little Foot by Shady GroveFree Music Archive, CC BY-NC-SA by Lobo Loco:         TheLark in the Clear Air           Western Country     Evening Car Blues (ID 1855)   Old Forest Lodge 2 (ID 1836)Free Music Archive, CC BY-NC-SA by Ov Moi Omm:        Pretty Little Dog         Waterbound     I Was Different

Part one of FANGMALIA, this is the only known witness account of the Monongahela's Giant Beaver (but, of course, no one believes it). Narration by Steve Thompson.Part one of our cryptid series are always stories: folk tales, sightings, anything we can find in history! Some, like this one, don't have a lot connected to them, unfortunately... but, at least this one is a good one.See references and sources on ballyraven.com.Listen to the show early! Become a BCwPA Agent for free.Support the show, get a field illustration print!Learn more about today's subject.Ask us a question!File a Witness/Sighting Report!CRYPTID: FangmaliaEPISODE TYPE: History, Witness Account, SightingsLOCATION: Newell, West VirginiaANIMAL TYPE: BeaverTranscriptI’m about to tell you a story, but you got to promise not to laugh. One day I was out fishing. Everything was normal. Everything was great. I started hearing this whistle behind me. It sounded real far away. I didn’t think much of it, but the sound was getting closer and closer. It got so close and so loud, it actually started hurting my ears. Real high-pitched. So, I turned around, and I kid you not, there’s this huge beaver staring at me. It throws back its head and whistles again, then just starts charging at me. That sucker headbutted me so hard, it almost knocked me in the river. This thing was massive, like the size of a beefy twelve year old, and he smelled bad, like you wouldn’t believe. We were rolling around on the ground and he was trying to bite me with his big, nasty buck teeth, and I was just laying into him, punching him as hard as I could. I got ahold of his fur and flung him into the water, and I got outta there as fast as I could. I swear. I can’t believe there’s giant beavers out there. I didn’t even grab my stuff, I just let him have it.

Have you ever seen something strange in the sky? A bug that also looks not like a bug? A translucent thing that you catch only a glimpse of? A cloud that does not move like a cloud? An unsettling blip on a photo?People once thought that the bottom of the ocean was devoid of life, too extreme for anything to exist. Too lightless, too cold, too crushing, too empty. They were wrong. Even four miles down into the ocean’s depths, life exists. Mirroring this mysterious place, there is a similar ecosystem high in the sky, filled with animals parallel to those marine creatures found far below.This is an episode from the archives; the audio is not as great as our newer episodes.EPISODE SONGS (listen to and download on the Free Music Archive)Maarten Schellekens - Just WonderingLobo Loco - Raining Softly (ID 1827)Aaron Ximm - Angela Climbs a Boulder at Horn Creek, the Sun Sets, the Bat Flies ByAaron Ximm - SirenityAaron Ximm - Pole StarsAaron Ximm - Spring RainMaarten Schellekens - A Better WorldKirk Osamayo - DiscoveryKirk Osamayo - A Fleeting ThoughtKirk Osamayo - TimeKirk Osamayo - TiredKirk Osamayo - Emotional SilenceKirk Osamayo - Blinking LightsKirk Osamayo - CloudsKirk Osamayo - Twinkling LightsKirk Osamayo - PrayKirk Osamayo - Before The Light Peaks ThroughKirk Osamayo - Early Morning Self ReflectionKirk Osamayo - Top SpeedRichard Spasoff - 2 Sci-Fi 30 sec Intro & Outro MusicSOUND EFFECTS FROM FREESOUND (in order of use)"AutumnBlackForest" by RandomRecord19"20150721_seagulls.01.flac" by dobroide"Office ambience.mp3" by Nightwatcher98Bike, Chain Spinning, Fast, 02-01.wav by InspectorJmounts.wav by levelclearerCD_LUMIERE_007FX_Whale_2.wav by kevp888Cold Breeze Ambience.wav by SiyaMahloboOwl Hoot by freemaster2Party Pack, Balloons, Popping, 02-01.wav  by InspectorJReleasing Balloon.mp3 by Percy DukePiano, Metal Mallet, Scrape, Full String, Damp, Short, A.wav by InspectorJCthulhu growl.wav by cylon8472Monster Screeching by MeijstroAudioD215 Spear into Water.wav by billcutbillThunder, Very Close, Rain, A.wav by InspectorJHeavenly_Horn.mp3 by 13NHarriWater_Spitting by orginaljunand other works in Creative Commons  0TranscriptCASE STUDIESThe following are dramatized accounts; sources used here and elsewhere in this episode, as well as more information, can be found on the Ballyraven Cryptid Wildlife Protection Agency article, Atmospheric Beasts.December 24, 1999 | Vitebsk, BelarusHigh in the sky, it ominously hovered. The behemoth floated among the clouds, oblivious to those who watched below. On the ground, two people stood in awe, eyes fixated on its alien form. Not many spot sky squids when they descend this low, though during breeding season, they are more bright and colorful even to the human eye. Amorous, its skin shone the colors of a late sunset, blues, reds, and oranges. Still and cloud-shaped, it would have gone unnoticed had it not stretched out its head and arms. Semi-transparent, the clouds it drifted in front of shone through its body, obscured more by bands and balls of organs. Bewildering to those unfamiliar with cryptids, the Belarussian Squid was believed to be some sort of sharp, wingless, and asymmetrical aircraft with a bulbous backside - an unidentified flying craft. The sighting was a brief 3 or 4 seconds, the viewing ending with the Atmo Beast seemingly dissolving into nothingness. January 20, 2010 Andenes, NorwayAmateur photographer, Milkalsen, was out late one night photographing the Northern Lights. Later, he realized that some of his photos depicted a green jellyfish; clearly visible, it floated. Initially believing the jellyfish was due to a smudge on his camera lens, he was soon proven wrong. Contacted by numerous experts, the photographer was assured that the image was not created by a camera issue - or the Northern Lights. In fact, it was unlikely that the Northern Lights or the camera could create the optical effect on their own or together. Could the oddity have been created by a satellite reflecting the aurora's green light? In short, no. If the jellyfish was a reflection, it was the wrong color, too small, and, unlike iridium flares, the Northern Lights are 100,000 times weaker than sunlight and more comparable to moonlight.UNKNOWNAbove North AmericaPouring over NASA's archive of film, photos, and other media, the Alien Disclosure Group, discovered thousands of anomalies; clearly visible, some looked like strange, flying serpents, fish, bugs, and even jellyfish: floating or swimming, shining like a beam of light, and glowing a variety of colors.Creatures in today’s episode will be described as they are viewed by the most perceptive of their kind; with Pentachromatic vision, the Sky Serpent has five different types of cone cells in their eyes, each able to perceive a different wavelength of light. With these specialized eyes, they can pick up a wider range of colors, and weaker luminosities, than human eyes. Through their lenses, the semi or fully-transparent forms of Atmospheric Beasts, their hidden light shows, and activities are brought fully to life. https://thecontentauthority.com/blog/pentachromacy-vs-pentachromatic While most atmospheric beasts are not vocal, we have amplified the sound of their environment, edited so that the beat of their wings and quick movement can be enjoyed.The atmosphere is a bubble of layered gases that wrap around the Earth. Without it, the Earth would be uninhabitable; it protects those below from space debris and provides a livable temperature range, among many other things that allow life to exist on Earth. We are most familiar with the atmosphere’s lowest layer, the troposphere. Beginning at the ground, it is the lowest, wettest, and generally warmest, section, stretching as high as 4 to 12 miles. As you climb higher, temperatures grow colder, leaving tall mountains covered in snow even in the summer; air pressure drops too, which is why planes must be pressurized during flights - those unsuited to low pressure will experience altitude sickness, which worsens the higher and higher you go, and can even lead to death. [0] Almost all of Earth’s weather happens in this layer - and most atmospheric animals live here, as well, among the clouds.[1] [2] Ancestors interdimensional organisms that found a home here, Atmospheric Beasts feel alien, but have lived in the earth’s atmosphere for billions of years. From the smallest- microscopic beings of a hundred micrometers, to gigantic and rare beasts of 90 feet, these creatures of the sky are fascinating and entangled, dependant upon each other and a stable atmosphere to survive.Discovery by Kirk OsamayoCalled ‘air rods’, this category contains some of the smallest atmospheric creatures. Translucent, tiny, and predominantly hollow, air rods are invisible to all but other atmospheric beasts. If you could see them, they would likely startle you: bodies outlined in a stark white, each segment of their worm or centipede-like body is dotted by a pair of eyes and a pair of wings; some sprout the translucent, long wings of dragonflies or the shorter, rounder wings of bees, and others a membrane-flap like a flying squirrel, or spindly, reaching legs connected by bands of thin flesh. Uniform cylinders, the head is nearly indistinguishable from the end of the animal. The interior of each body part, each section, is almost completely see-through - it would be entirely so if the animals were organ-less. Where their internal processors reside, a saturation of color beams: yellows, greens, and oranges. All atmospheric creatures are so translucent that food can be observed throughout the entire dietary system, illnesses and abnormalities pinpointed, and pregnancies detected from the outside.Some Air Rods move like worms or serpents, fluidly curving up and down or side to side; while their translucent, dainty bodies aid in their invisibility, so does their surprising speed. Regardless of their method of locomotion, they can change direction on a whim and with ease, losing little speed in the process; some flap in billowy waves, others arrhythmically beat, but most rapidly buzz uniformly. Air Rods range from one to six inches in length, or form connected colonies that stretch up to four feet. They hunt other Air Rods or the tiniest Atmospheric Animals, the Atmoplankton.Straight cylinders, curving spools, and ovular discs, Atmoplankton are microscopic. Carried by the wind, their light bodies float through the air. Unable to move much, they can shoot forward or adjust speed with aid from an air pump or alter their course with help from two, long, spindly fins, or a singular, wavy flap. At the current’s whimsy, they feed on sunlight like phytoplankton, moving when needed to reach sunlight. While the winds may carry the organisms high above the clouds and into ideal feeding plains, it can also blow them to the ground. Atmoplankton can survive here as long as they receive at least a little sunlight each day and avoid copious water or being stepped on. If they're lucky, a gust of wind will send them airborne once more.These tiny organisms feed many Air Rods, as well as larger filter feeders, like Sky Whales and Atmospheric Jellyfish. The base of a sprawling food chain, they do not live long or complicated lives, relying on rapid reproduction to survive as a community. As atmoplankton feed, they store some of the energy gained; the more energy they have in storage, the greener they glow and the bigger they grow. Well fed populations of Atmoplankton are found high above the clouds, as well as in often-sunny places; when currents cluster and tangle them together, the air may take on a visible, slight green tinge. Bright green atmoplankton are at the end of their lives; going through a process known as multiple fission, the dying parent divides into 2 or more identical copies of itself. Smaller and pale, its offspring continue the cycle of life.Air Rods are divided into two categories: those that feed solely on Atmoplankton, and those that feed solely on other kinds of Air Rods. Unlike Atmoplankton, Air Rods interact more with their environment and have a broader, more complex sense of sight, instead of only being able to detect light. “Herbivorous’ Air Rods feed on these airborne microscopic organisms, as well as flecks of drifting pollen, and occasionally, tiny, lightweight seeds; these types of Air Rods are rounded on each end and often described as more bubbly and wide. A nickname was given to them based on their mouth-agape feeding method: Flying Fish. Small and quick, daytime grazers consume ten dozen or more Atmoplankton a day. Nocturnal grazers eat after sunset or while under cloud cover; these darktime species have a special trait: when hunting for food, they float in place and pulsate with weak, pale light; emanating from a wavy, thin membrane that completely encircles the creature, it quivers hypnotically. The glow activates nearby atmoplankton, who become dormant in the dark and more difficult to spot, even by other Atmospheric Beasts. Time songWhile this amazing adaptation helps Sky Fish feed, it also draws in predators. Predatory Air Rods are keen hunters, who have nocturnal, “flashlight eyes” tuned to spot a variety of even the faintest glows, reflections, and shapes. These creatures are unable to function in bright light, but have impeccable vision in complete darkness - able to dodge obstacles, pinpoint the translucent, hiding forms of others, and quickly attack. The light produced by other Atmospheric Beasts is pronounced in Air Rod eyes, they cannot only easily find prey, but spot dangers.Grabbing prey by one end with sharp pinchers, they grip the rest of the body with their own, snapping a segment off from the Air Rod; releasing, the hunter minces the piece through a tunnel of different sized and shaped, crunching, shredding teeth. As long as one segment remains, the Air Rod will survive, albeit weaker, slower, and more at risk of further violence. Air Rods must continuously feed, any disadvantage puts them in perilTired song While all Air Rods are generally able to escape predation, they are particularly vulnerable during fragmentation - another type of asexual reproduction. Like Atmoplankton, Air Rods are ready to reproduce once enough energy has been stored - and child-creating also marks the end of their life. Air Rods begin reproduction by flying high in the sky and above the clouds to be obvious and clearly visible to potential mates; carrying out dazzling performances, each species has its own preferences and displays: some coloration is on the wing, creating vibrating neon stripes, others blink moving patterns across the body, or light their entire form up in reds, oranges, greens, and yellows. Air Rods ready to mate attach themselves to the front or back of a partner; the organisms’ bodies morph, binding together and swapping genetic material; when enough partners have connected, the Air Rod ceases to glow and begins to sink. Tethered in breeding colonies, their movement is awkward and slow, though, luckily, they do not need to feed. After a few days, the group breaks up into at least double the number of Air Rods that initially congregated. These small, baby Air Rods are weak; it takes many months for them to mature and grow strong enough to form young of their own. Their attention focused elsewhere, energy expended on attracting partners, and their defenses greatly lowered, predators have a chance of catching the elusive Air Rod.Emotional silence songAtmo Jellyfish are a unique kind of cloud Animal: they lack any semblance of eyes, relying on sensing light and tremors in the air to navigate and detect food. With a round or ovular "head" that appears bloated or full of air, like a jellyfish or parachute, they are most recognizable for a secondary section made up of tentacle-like appendages, strands, or other lengthy, thin, and numerous pieces. Overall, Atmo Jellyfishes' appearances are very reminiscent of the ocean's jellyfish; however, Flying Squids are also categorized as Atmo Jellyfish. While all Flying Squids are Atmo Jellyfish, not all Atmo Jellyfish are Flying Squids. A subcategory, Flying Squids have two heads, one elongated and large, the other small, round, and retractable, as well as two tentacles or elongated growths that can be hidden inside the body. Both are filter feeding omnivores.Carried by wind currents, Atmo Jellies swim through the sky; unlike Air Rods, they cannot go against the currents and are not agile; they rely instead on their great size to survive. There are few dangers for these animals; while other organisms that prey on them do exist, they are most threatened by air pressure. Unable to withstand even slightly higher pressures, Atmospheric Jellies burst if they are brought too low. Sensitive to pressure changes, they may alter their forms to glide upward or slow down. Strong storms may overcome them regardless. Like many smaller Cloud Animals, Atmospheric Jellies spend their day seeking sunlight: that’s where food is. In sunny spots, the Jellies prepare to feed. Inflating with air, flattening limbs and curling them forward all around the body, and opening a mouth found atop the head wide, they push the held air outwards, speeding forward; the arms trap any small food bits just out of reach of the mouth and push them towards the vacuum. The gulp passes through a mass of stringy, sticky carpet; any material in the air is captured in the filter, the rest flowing past and out of the Jelly. After, the jelly swallows: a chitinous, flat scraper runs down the filter, pushing what is trapped in it down into the stomach. Atmospheric Jellyfish must float and propel endlessly, as none of their bodily functions work without air moving through them; food, however, requires a period of still dormancy, allowing meals to be digested.Flying squids drift arm-forward instead of head-forward. Much larger than Jellies, Flying Squids are incapable of propelling themselves, completely at the mercy of the currents. During filter feeding, the animal repeatedly opens and closes its mouth, which lies between its pair of tentacles; so large, it inevitably catches something. Flying squids do not rely on filter feeding to provide the bulk of their meals, however. Masters of camouflage, these animals tuck most of their body within their larger head and fluff up, appearing as a small cloud. Remaining in the middling air between the troposphere and stratosphere, their powerful limbs whip from hiding, grappling larger prey and shoveling it into a larger, secondary mouth filled with spinning spools of small, serrated fangs.BLINKING LIGHTS SONGThe second atmospheric layer, the stratosphere, is much different than the troposphere; it has no turbulence, no updrafts, is incredibly dry, and temperatures rise the higher up you go. Tall or nacreous clouds occasionally reach above and into this layer. Most atmospheric beasts reside only in the troposphere; two kinds, however, have evolved to flit between both. The stratosphere is the breeding pool for Atmospheric Jellyfish of all kinds. Cloud animals are bright and colorful when romance is on their mind. The entirety of female Atmospheric Jellyfishes bodies illuminate, bubble, jiggle, and dance when they are seeking a mate; their heads neon bulbs and their ribbony extremities pulsating or dancing with beams, flashes, or speckles of light, they look to draw the attention of the opposite sex. Atmospheric Jellyfish cannot see the entrancing colors they produce, but the display generates a specific type of heat, as well as lures in food animals; the activity creates a lot of motion, enticing nearby Jellies moreso. Interested males slowly float towards the larger females; if they like what they see, they hold each other's tentacles, twisting together. Not very mobile flyers, the pair fill themselves up with air, ballooning to make their way upwards. Reaching the drier, calmer layer, they release gametes through a multitude of pores on the head; this type of reproduction is called spawning. Weightless, floating eggs spreading out in a cloud, the jellies awkwardly flip themselves upside down with help from each other, and release their held air, propelling back below. Their offspring are safe in the stratosphere; those who would eat them can only exist below.Courting Jellyfish, however, are not safe. Primed to capture them, Sky Serpents are writhing, many-winged or wingless animals with long, sinuous bodies and dragon-like heads. Shapes described as similar to brine shrimp or Chinese Dragons, these creatures swim through the air like a snake in the sand or on the water. There are two types of Sky Serpent: Horned and Lightning Tongued. SongHorned Sky Serpents have long, sharp faces; confined only to the highest reaches of the troposphere and the lowest of the stratosphere, they must make every interaction with potential prey a success. Small, thin, and winged, they zoom through the air in coils and wavy lines. Stalked eyes found throughout the body, they pick up shapes, colors, and movement 360 degrees around them. Able to fly in any direction, against strong currents, and perform impressive aerial maneuvers, while they are not as fast as Air Rods, they are the strongest flyers of the high sky. As they careen through the air, they pierce through small prey, Air Rods, small jellies, Sky squid young, or smaller sky serpents. With a prehensile tongue, they wrap around catches and bring them to the mouth. Some Sky serpents have multiple head spikes, upping their chances of spearing prey.Horned Sky Serpents are also able to hunt prey larger than themselves. Spotting Jellies and Squids, they shoot towards them, aiming for the translucent indicator that marks where their filter resides; spearing through, just before it, a boney tailfin catches the serpent, snagged parallel against prey. The tail keeping it in place, it boomerangs backwards. A second piercing attack, this one aims for the smaller, oranger brain; flaring with color when engaged, it is easier to spot than at other times. If successful, the snake feeds itself for days, even weeks; it also feeds the many carnivorous Air Rods passing by. If unsuccessful, however, the serpent is in deep trouble. Stuck to the Jelly or Squid and unable to easily unattach from its thrashing foe, it can be battered by the Atmospheric Jellyfishes strong, sometimes stinging or thorned limbs. The first attack pining the mouth closed, the combat could also end with two losses and a feast for other organisms. If the Atmospheric Jellyfish can unhook a Sky Serpent from their body, it can regrow missing tissue and heal. Sky Serpents are not as durable; prone to bursting when squeezed, and even more susceptible to air pressure, their lives can be cut short easily.Known as Dragons or Magic Worms, Lightning Tongued Sky Serpents are wingless marvels. Glistening, stark bodies made up of white lines or dots on translucent bodies that even humans can see from a distance, they are large creatures. Their faces are broader and rounded, some only having nubby horns or none at all, in addition to round, earthworm-ish bodies that look like they are filled with boba pearls. Moving in up and down waves, they seemingly swim through the air. Covered in large pores that open and close, and possessing several air bladders throughout the body that hold and expel air through the same pores, speed, weight, and direction are controlled. Slower than their horned relatives, these creatures depend on an ability that is almost magical. From head to tail, the boba pearls seen from outside are actually several rows and bands of round, air filled nodules; as the creature undulates and air is pushed past them, the bubbles rub each other. As the Magic Worms fly, sparks shimmer within; inside they generate a powerful shock. Building up a charge, the animal only releases the energy towards prey or other, aggressive Flying Serpents. When a target is acquired, a long projectile, forked tongue jets out, making contact and embedding into the prey's body. As Cloud Animals are gelatinous creatures made mostly of water, electricity is very damaging; when these animal’s bodies are heated or overly pressurized, it transforms into a different substance: star jelly. Magic Worms consume this substance alongside whole, small prey, siphoning up the falling liquid with a secondary tongue, a siphoning tube.Twinkling Lights songSky Serpents are not like other Cloud Animals - they do not take part in courtship rituals. Once a year, the animals seek mates - whomever they see first - the twisting, quick greeting is the only socialization of their kind, and the interaction is only a few seconds long in total. Egg layers and fertilizers, both serpents bear young after a coupling. To lay, they scour the stratosphere for unbothered clutches of Jellyfish eggs. If a Sky Serpent has already deposited eggs into the hatchery, they may destroy them, replacing them with their own; alternatively, they may choose to seek another location instead. If better areas cannot be found they will lay in the open air instead. Sky Serpent hatchlings feed on the eggs of Atmospheric Jellies, as well as recently hatched young; if ample food is not nearby, they will cannibalize their siblings.PRAY songThere is a final classification of Atmospheric Beast, the largest, it sits at the very top of the food chain. It has no natural predators and can eat anything in its path: the Cloud Whale. Surprisingly for a creature of such massive size, it is the most elusive; very little is known about them at all. Cloud Whales do not really resemble whales much at all: they are billowing thunderheads with three pairs of chunky flippers that wave out of sync on the underside. With large heads that taper downward into stubby tails and high-rising, upper backs, the shape is reminiscent of Humpback or Sperm Whales. Large specimens are almost only found preceding or alongside massive storms, hidden among other large thunderheads. Round, black, beady eyes appear in clusters: some on the chin of the animal, others on the head’s top, side, and snout. To those viewing the animal below when it is active, it is not transparent or very strange at all - only a fluffy, darkening cloud. If one stares long enough, though, oddities can be spotted: horizontal stripes flicker or stream with white, yellow, and orange light; these generally blend in with lightning storms, but when isolated it is troubling. The animals also are more animated than other clouds, moving in unusual or eye-catching ways, floating quicker, or even moving backward.When feeding, a growing triangle appears in the cloud, followed by a drop in air pressure and a series of unsettling noises; sounding like metal scraping against metal or an echoing trumpet, and in rare instances, muffled roars, they Cloud Whale’s screech has been documented numerous times and posted online, often under the title “Heavenly Trumpet” or “Weird sounds in the sky”. The feeding pose of the mouth can be difficult to observe on the ground, unless one is far away and in high elevations. Opening wide and far, there is little resemblance of a head in this pose. Massive filter feeders, Cloud Whales inhale all but the largest of Sky Squids. Once they are finished, they slowly dissipate, as invisible as Air Rods. Even sky serpents have trouble spotting cloaked Sky Whales; either due to their massive size stretching their membrane incredibly thin or a specialized adaptation, even serpents are surprised when one wakes from dormancy and draws it into oblivion.Other activities of Cloud Whales are unknown; there have been observations of small Cloud Whales near large Cloud Whales, and small, solitary individuals of various sizes, lending to the belief that they reproduce while camouflaged, are born small, and may be sexually dimorphic. There are not many stories or detailed sightings of Cloud Whales, though one account claimed to have seen a small one spit a stream of horizontal water across the sky. Active Cloud Whales have also been spotted outside of stormy behavior; the connection between weather and whales have not yet been discovered. The habitat of Atmospheric Beasts are being threatened by climate change and pollution. Efforts for cleaner air and green energy are not only necessary to preserve these beautiful animals, but to prevent atmospheric blooms; as algae blooms are detrimental to underwater organisms, atmospheric blooms are deadly to air-breathing creatures. Out of control populations of atmoplankton are on the rise; inhaling too many causes a variety of respiratory illnesses, some fatal. These issues will only grow with intensity as more greenhouse gases are added to the atmosphere and atmoplankton-eating animals grow fewer and fewer. Consider donating to the Clean Air Task force, a charity dedicated to meeting the world’s rising energy demand in a way that is financially, socially, and environmentally sustainable and to push technology and policy changes needed to achieve a zero-emissions, high-energy planet. Visit catf.us to donate today.If you or someone you know has seen an Atmospheric Beast or has information about them, contact the BCWPA. We will provide an update on these magnificent creatures when new information is gathered.If you are interested in other strange, flying creatures, read about the Aerial Manta Rays, found above the Ohio River. If you are interested in other transparent cryptids, look into the English fog entity: the Shapeless or Boneless.

Possibly the most haunted state in the US, West Virginia is inhabited not only by droves of cryptids, but ghosts! Today, we visit a lake to learn more about one of the region's ghostly animals - a horse-like one, to be exact!Listen to the show early! Become a BCwPA Agent for free.Support the show, get a field illustration print!Learn more about today's subject.ENTITY: the Stallion of the MistEPISODE TYPE: History, Nature Documentary, Journal Entry, Ghost StoryLOCATION: R. D. Bailey Lake, Hanover, West VirginiaTYPE: Kelpie

“Could you tell the spooky story from my hometown? It’s about an old, fiddler ghost. Thanks, a Bud in Bud (West Virginia).”Ghosts of all kinds populate our world. But, did you know that some gather and work together? Like little villages and townships, this is the story of Berg Hammond and his ghostly friends on Bud Mountain.

Something strange is always going on in West Virginia. In Wetzel County, men are particularly plagued by something horrific - and something that is stealing their food! Prepare for a paranormal investigation... we're going in the field!ENTITY: the Arches Fork SkeletonEPISODE TYPE: History, Ghost Story, Nature DocumentaryLOCATION: Arches Fork, Wetzel County, West VirginiaTYPE: GrumblerListen to the show early! Become a BCwPA Agent for free.Support the show, get a field illustration print!Learn more about today's subject.Ask us a question!File a Witness/Sighting Report!TRANSCRIPTWelcome, Agents.I received a curious question in the BCwPA mailbox last night and I stayed up til the sunrise looking for its answer."Dear Ballyraven, Are there any ghosts that eat stuff? Like stuff from the real world? Best, Ghost Girl Katey, Columbus, OH."After some digging around in the archives, I found the perfect tale to answer this question–and the answer is a surprising “yes.”---There is much to uncover and learn about ghosts, the paranormal, the Voritorvita: Eaters of Life–but it is best to start from the beginning: their origin. Found throughout the world, paranormal beings are creatures that do not naturally reside on our earthly plane of existence; in fact, they only began popping up around 4,000 BC–but that is a whole other story to tell, set in ancient Babylon. Ghosts, poltergeists, and all other types of paranormal entities are actually a subset of cryptids known as Transdimensional Creatures, animals that can travel back and forth between two planes. They are not the returning souls of once living beings, but strange, often frightening beings that feed on us. They are one of Earth’s largest parasites, and unlike more mundane pests, they cannot be eradicated at the source.Reality is composed of compressed layers; each slice has its own history, contains its own organisms and fundamental laws, though, the closer one layer (or realm) is to another, the more they have in common. The only constant shared among all of these layers is the starting shape of the universe. Traveling from one layer to another is extremely difficult, as it typically happens randomly without forewarning. It is also very, very risky, as you never know where you will end up, or if you can survive there.Like the Voritorvita, Fae are not native to this plane of existance. Earth and Avalar, however, are extraordinarily similar, so lucky fae who were teleported here were comfortably able to make it a home. The Fae (or “Freefolk”) Realm is a layer that lies somewhere above the Prosaic (or Earthly realm). Fae have been brought to this dimension several times, always unintentionally; in these instances, a tear opened between the boundaries that separate the two realms, creating a powerful force that sucked in all life on one side and spewed them out into the other. It is not yet known why these tears spontaneously develop, appear, or disappear, though there are clear signs of one to come, as well as one that is active. These places are called ‘window areas.”Below the Prosaic Realm lies the Devouring Realm, where the Voritorvita reside. Unlike the fae, dimension-hopping is easier and usually done by their own choosing. First, their fluidic forms allow them to completely or partially phase into our earthly plane. Second, their bodies can withstand and recover from more trauma associated with realm hopping, permitting more frequent travel or the ability to live between realms. Additionally, the divider between the Prosaic and the Devouring is exceptionally thin. This not only causes unsuspecting creatures from both worlds to fall into developing or closing window areas, but acts as a steady stream of food for the Voritorvita. Communities of paranormal creatures gather around window areas, migrating to another once one begins to dry up and close. Certain types of paranormal entities spend more time in our world than in their own. Some can only eat the food they need to survive here, others grow stronger faster on Earth, or use our realm as a safer breeding ground. Realm hopping is known to be a dangerous undertaking; outer planer beings sometimes cannot survive where they end up, such as the merfolk of the Middle Ages, who appeared suddenly in droughted forest. Yet, the Voritorvita have been fortunate; they thrive in the Prosaic Realm, face little danger, and are not limited by Earth’s habitats, atmospheres. Like the fae, paranormal entities do not follow the same laws of nature earthly beings must adhere to; thus, their lives little resemble those we are well acquainted with. The differences within their kind yield numerous innate advantages over those unfamiliar with their capabilities. Little is known of their needs, behaviors, and functioning - for now. Also like the fae, while they are shapeshifters, their resting forms are believed to be different in appearance from those in their home plane. Currently, the natural or Prosaic resting form of any paranormal entity is unknown.What is known is that the creatures imitate life or visions of life on Earth, often emulating the recent past of their arrival, building a knowledge base by reading the minds and memories of sentient creatures they come into contact with. Most entities keep the same guise for their entire stay in the Prosaic realm. More intelligent creatures, however, change their appearance and behavior to more aptly survive. Almost all are tied to low points in history. Most feed on the emotions of sentient creatures, some on those of lesser beings, or their own kind; fewer feed on physical sources.Attracted and deeply connected to death, darkness, misfortune, emotions, and deception, there is much to uncover on the Voritorvita.---“The forest is always creepy after dark, especially in rural West Virginia. There are many things that wake up when the sun disappears, and while it is unlikely that I’ll ever meet them, I can’t help but be on edge… just in case it’s my lucky night. Alone here, staring into the woods outlined only by firelight, I can’t help but feel a chill run up my spine, a cold breeze wash over me. Hear noises and see shadows that don’t actually exist.Reaching for my bag of marshmallows, I immediately knew something was wrong. The bag was paper-light, and this was a new pack of the Jumbo marshmallows. Trembling, I looked at the bag; a tear had been made into the plastic and not a single, fluffy cube remained. I heard a wet smack and looked up. Sitting across from me was a corpse. It’s skin was thin and dry, pulled tightly over its bones; It’s large, claw-like hands squished heaps of marshmallows, and its unsettling, thin lips were painted with bubbling saliva and melted mallow. It raised a hand to its mouth, cramming a dozen or more pasted rotten, broken teeth and tall, brown gums. It smiled at me as it walked backward, more treats held tight in its other fist. Staring at me with its eyeless, noseless grin, it disappeared into the forest’s shadows, where my firelight couldn’t reach.”---It was once thought that paranormal entities could not eat prepared food, only raw, living substances or their abstract products. Grumblers, however, are paranormal entities that steal food from other living beings. Not only do they feed on prey’s response to them, but their own, actual food, requiring both to sustain themselves. The Arches (Arch-eez) Fork Skeleton is one such entity, targeting only men and eating only pieces of food that are desired by the ones they are haunting. While this being can cause psychological distress, it is mostly harmless and the amount of food it eats is no greater than 4 ounces a week. Nonviolent, it must feed on a steady stream of nervousness and fear, in addition to a corporeal substance when hunger gnaws; it prefers sweets, but refuses to eat meat. It is estimated that this species of Voritorvita is rare; there may be more of its kind to be discovered and studied in this state, but they likely exist elsewhere with differing characteristics and tastes. Traveling and investigating this area left researchers pleasantly surprised, especially after a sort of friendship between the entity and themselves formed. While normal haunting occurred the first two weeks, offerings of food and decreasing levels of fear with sightings produced a strange reaction - the grumbler began appearing in full view, not suddenly, or partially to strike fear, but almost as if out of curiosity, observing the observers. Grimly formed, the Arches Fork Skeleton has boney arms and legs, and a gaunt, overly large, skull-ish head devoid of eyes, but it also has a plump, portly stomach. It never spoke legibly to the investigators, even when prompted; it did, however, make wet, gurgling sounds. Performing different comprehensive and linguistic tests, it is believed that this being does not understand any Prosaic languages, and may not be capable of speech entirely. If you find yourself in the area, and feel fear prickle your spine, calm yourself and know it is only the work of a Grumbler, there is nothing to fear, nor is it evil - not all of the macabre are enemies. In fact, this paranormal entity is a boon to local wildlife. As it feeds on human activity, it has driven many families away from the area, providing more room and resources to other creatures. When visiting this section of Wetzel County, it is recommended to set and fill an extra plate of food for the Arches Fork Skeleton, to fill its belly so that it does not surprise and trouble another, less knowing traveler - and possibly, to make a new, strange friend in the area.

Something strange and stinky once lurked throughout the Cranberry Glades. Based on 18th-century journals and field research, this is just the beginning of something called the "Proboscis Bird." European exploration, birds, smells, and the swamp, grab your pith hat for a new adventure. This is the full story of West Virginia's Proboscis Bird: sightings, folklore, history, and all of our research and observations of their daily lives.Listen to the show early! Become a BCwPA Agent for free.Support the show, get a field illustration print!Learn more about today's subject.TRANSCRIPT"Halt, there's a stench in the air.Alas, we must get far from here!Oh, won't the sun quickly rise!Oh, I hear them close behind...-Welcome back to the Ballyraven Cryptid Wildlife Protection Agency, BCwPA for short. Today, we’re talking about rare, Appalachian birds–ones that are now presumed to be extinct–and our story takes us to a peat bog in southern West Virginia. There are six cryptid birds in the state alone, but this one is likely the only one you know anything about. Though, what you would know isn’t its name, appearance, or habits, but a fact that turned into an old wives tale. Titled, “the Case of Cranberry Glade” in BCwPA archives, this file will answer a question we pulled out of our mailbox.Dear Ballyraven, A lot of people say that if you touch a baby bird, the parents won’t recognize its smell and will abandon it. I don’t think this is true, but I’m not 100% sure. If I’m right, why has it become such a common myth? Thanks, Birdwatching Bubba  Bubba is right. Birds generally have a poor sense of smell, relying instead on seeing or hearing to recognize their young. Picking up and placing a baby back in its nest won’t harm nestlings—the bird stage where they look like pink or brown wads of wrinkled skin. Its parents will continue to care for it as usual, no harm done. Some birds are worse with misplaced chicks than others, but it’s not because of smell. Several species of bird will direct fledglings back to their nest if they fall out, but others, like the Grey-headed Albatross, will only recognize their young if they are physically in the nest, providing no help to get back home. There is one bird, though, that this information simply doesn’t apply to.To find the origin of this general bird myth, we have to go a few hundred years back in time, to the 18th century–the 1700s. An exploration team in the Cranberry Glades came across something they described as “foul and peculiar”; the trip and the creature were well documented in a journal written during the expedition. Afterward, we will answer several questions about the animal, using agents’ investigation notes from 1974, and providing modern commentary and explanations from the BCwPA Field Guide.-Loud, heavy boots trekked down the mountainside, the ground cragged and gritty with sandstone. Gear clanged and rattled, the noise bouncing down into the valley, announcing the party’s invasion. Deer and rabbits fled while squirrels and birds watched from their perches. A turkey vulture followed above. Crossing over this chain was no easy feat, and the exploration team was exhausted and marred by misfortune. Once 60 men strong, they numbered less than 30, losing several along the way to illness, violence, and bad luck. Most unfortunate was the loss of their guides, who simply disappeared two weeks prior, and the team’s expert frontiersman, only two days ago. Concerns heightened. The expedition, or perhaps the land, was cursed. Thomas Fallam, leader of the party, was also experiencing some malady. Outwardly in good health, with no injuries or symptoms, he never seemed to sleep. He was seen and heard rummaging through the camp at night, staring down into a fire, or standing alone in the woods. It was feared he was coming down with the ‘madness of the mountain’, an illness believed to develop in some who breathe in air from high altitudes. They could only watch and hope the signs abated over the course of their descent.Drawn by rich forests, abundant wildlife, the anticipation, expectation of discovery and wealth led them here. In what is now called the Allegheny Mountains, the land peaks at 3,400 feet, gradually sloping into a valley; nearly 300 miles from the nearest settlement, it would be an understatement to call the trek challenging, even for an experienced, well-equipped team. Expeditions once cut through Virginia to find nearby access to the Pacific Ocean, later to support England’s claim over the territory, and, now, to increase the English' s presence and survey for settlement.A strong, refreshing breeze occasionally whipped up towards them. While it made it harder to walk down, it felt wonderful, cooling them off on their trek into the lowlands. Dressed in wools, the men were usually hot or cold, but never comfortable. They dressed in baggy coats, thinner waistcoats, stockings, and tall, stuffy leather boots. While the material kept a body warm in the cold, there was nothing one could do in the heat but remove layer after layer. And, when wet, the clothing became heavy. The lower and lower they walked, the thicker and more humid the air became. The next day was even more terrible. Weighed down by their wools, further down, they encountered sloshing mud. Their surroundings morphed from a dense forest to a bog; a stream cut through their path, then another. The ground became slicker and tacky, the unavoidable mud gripping and pulling boots right off the foot. The water pooled around their ankles, then calves, saturating them entirely, irritating and hurting their skin. There were no attempts at drying–and no hopes of temporary relief for the rest of the day. The pleasant breeze died, which added boiling in the humidity to their list of complaints. The night was barely tolerable. Fallam wandered in a circle around camp; the rhythmic, yet occasionally erratic, slap of his bare feet put the men on edge.Finding good footholds the next day was a struggle. The earth was just as soaked as they were, squishing and squeaking with each step, fizzling with water like a wrung sponge. The mosses built tall knolls that were easily tripped over, reaching 3 feet high in some places; the vibrant, bubbly tangle of vegetation and rock was tied in place and smothered by vines and bushes. Before them, in the distance and under the setting sun, was a beautiful sea of gently swaying wildflowers, herbs, and grasses in yellow, orange, and green speckled with bright white and red.Seeking a place to camp, they settled on a small, somewhat dry hill under a sprawling swamp maple; the area was littered with clusters of broken sticks, little bones, and long-lost feathers, The debris was not a welcome sight. Something had been here and attacked–and likely more than just once, counting all of the bones. While the carnage looked far from fresh, the possibility that whatever made it could still be somewhere, hidden in the vast bog, was not a welcome consideration. There was also a smell; the valley, though lovely to look at, emitted a foul aroma, like putrid vegetables and fish. The hill somehow smelled even worse than the disturbances released earlier in the mire with each muddy stomp. Fallam, with an unblinking, wild, wide-eyed stare, smiled as the party discussed whether to go back or forward, whether they should spend the night elsewhere. Concluding the debate, he insisted they should stay, as he would like “a chance to see what kind of beast might do such a thing.”The team built a small fire, cooked leftover game, and argued over watch; no one felt much like sleeping, even though their weary bodies demanded it. The roar of insects was an eerie combination of new sounds and a few familiar ones. The sway and windy jerk of grass and leaves teased invisible creatures and possibly concealed real ones’ movements. The firelight played tricks, creating the reflective glint of nonexistent eyeballs and shadowy figures. And the smell—it never let one feel at ease, always returning with a new, acidic, deathly edge.The journal recounted many thoughts and fears of an imagination run amuck: the undead waiting on the scummy swamp bottom, crawling up from the water once they gave in to sleep; a giant serpent in the tree, posed to strike with its mouth spread wide and breathing heavily; a slinking, diseased, evil panther circling the mound, plotting how to take them down one-by-one. Fallam sat near a fire, his eyes fixated on the darkness.Leaning against a tree and never quite falling asleep, one noted a shift in the atmosphere late that night. A breeze picked up and cut through the bog, smacking into the camp along the way; the scent it carried was beyond foul. Sickened, he fell on all fours. Senses overwhelmed, head spinning, mouth-watering, he tried to hold his nose and keep his meager dinner inside. Pallid, his eyes rose slowly, leveling with the field's pointed, woozying top. The air stilled once more, but in the distance, just out of the firelight's reach, the bog was rustling. Not the way the wind would rustle it but the way something walking through it would. Frightened into a stillness, he held his breath once more, fingers quivering, legs tight springs. A musket sat a few feet away; he grabbed it. There was nowhere to run. And yet, that is what Fallam did; sprinting towards the movement, he disappeared into the night.More shaking appeared in the grasses, but not in the same place. The movement was all around and the general stench of the air intensified. Splashing, squelching, wet sounds encircled the hill, as did muted thumpa-thumps. He called out, expecting a mad Fallam, but received no response. A clawed foot reached from the field. It hung above the moss, slowly splaying out and down, squishing into the green. Another claw breached, attached to a long, stick-like arm. A round body bobbed up and down in a rhythm of three quick movements. The creature's head was tucked into itself; feeling the air upon it, it stretched, exposing a wrinkled gullet with tufts of hair scattered over it like a nearly bald head. A long line of fur was upon its back, standing on end and pointing out in two directions like a bat's wings frozen mid-flap. It stared up at the author, sending a shiver down his back; it had no eyes, only a long rectangular head of melty, rumpled skin. The flesh on the tip of its face inflated into a ball, hissing and deflating in a puff of air. The animal shined in the firelight; a brown ooze dripped from its body and trailed down its legs, gathering bits and pieces of what it traveled through.Undoubtedly, this creature was the source of the hill's bad smell. It walked forward with hesitant movements, its head twitching up and down, its bulbous nose inflating, deflating. Frozen, he recounted watching the creature as a shout sent the camp into chaos. Its face tilted upward, it gave a deep sniff and flapped two heavy wings before rushing forward and into his arm. Scared, he scuttled backward, hitting his back against the tree. The thing had fallen, as well, landing awkwardly on its back; it rolled around, righting itself after a slight struggle. It shook, puffing its feathers out, then continued forward, unbothered. Looking around frantically, he realized the things were coming into the clearing in hordes. The explosive sound and acrid smell of gunfire surrounded him. Clumps of the things fell in heaps. Yet, the creatures ambled forward.From all sides, the beasts stepped onto the hill, walking over corpses of their brethren, towards the fires, sniffling loudly. One broke from the shrinking circle, a beeline into a burning pit. As the flames hit, it honked, thrashing wildly, flapping, kicking, and snorting. Another ran, and another, and another. They clinked against a cookpot, the fifth attack sending it rolling downhill. The birds sizzled and smoked and fluttered around; their honking stopped most of the shooting. The sniffling restarted, a loud, audible wave; the birds changed course, some running for the tumbling pot. Others began charging those who had caught on fire or were shot, pecking and tearing at their flesh hungrily. -Known today as the Cranberry Glades, this 750-acre bog in Pocahontas, West Virginia, is where the Sightless Swamp Bird was first documented and last seen. It is an animal few are familiar with, except the most thorough cryptozoologists. Referred to by a few other names, like the Proboscis Bird (for its oversized nose) and the Stinkbird (for its natural musk), it nearly went extinct due to these 18th-century explorers.Killing a massive amount, they then captured every bird that had wandered in or near their camp. The animals were unafraid of humans initially, but also couldn’t successfully evade capture even when they tried. Throwing together a makeshift pen, the animals were drawn in and corralled over the course of several weeks. It seemed that the more birds they had nearby, the more newcomers were drawn in. Building larger and larger pens, they set trap boxes and lures, the birds an unending stream of intrigue and food. The little camp was surrounded by hundreds of stinking birds by the weeks’ end: from old, nearly featherless elders to fuzzy, yet mostly bald chicks. The hatchlings were easiest to work with; less than 6 inches long, and even less intelligent than their parents, they ate anything presented to them and did not mind poking, prodding, or handling as much.Unusually docile at night, as the sun rose, they grew more aggressive. They pecked at hands, feet, faces, anything in reach, with a sharp, one-toothed beak that was hidden under their fleshy nose; surprisingly strong and vicious, the attacks left deep, painful wounds. Aside from pecking, they would relentlessly hiss and screech, as well as violently thrash around. The “Stenchbird” was decidedly butchered at night to avoid these unpleasantries.Easy to make into a meal, the birds’ aromatic, tough meat tasted as disgusting as it smelled. Conserving their supplies, they suffered through countless portions of the bird, half-heartedly searching for their missing leader. The creatures’ feathers were foul and coated in an unpleasant oil. While they could have been implemented as stuffing or quills, their scent and feel would persuade few to use them if any alternative was presented. In fact, this smelly oil was an overall issue. Tainting meat, feather, and skin, the secretion and its smell clung to clothing, gear–everything it touched. Spread by hands, utensils, workspaces, and the birds, it made both the skin rashy and stomachs sickly. Before they could begin to figure out a way to circumvent it, an evil descended upon the birds: they were increasingly cannibalizing each other, even with various feeds being provided.After a month, with the search for Fallam unsuccessful and the animals’ strange behavior a sign, the expedition made the decision to pack up and return home while they could. The bulk of the birds were exterminated; others were slain for provisions. Only four men survived the trip back.-The handling of these animals on a large scale devastated the Sightless Swamp Bird population. Relying predominantly on their sense of smell, the animals were unable to recognize one another. Opportunistic eaters, they consume anything that may be food; repeated human contact with birds led to mass confusion and violent feeding frenzies, among other issues. Chicks became strangers to the herd—causing them to be ignored and starved, and in some instances, eaten by their own parents. Any bird touched by human hands was shunned or attacked by the community. Few functional birds exited the disassembled camp.An already small population of organisms, such an extreme loss of life placed them immediately at risk of extinction. Found only in this little wetland, even after 200 years, their kind never recovered. The Sightless Swamp Vulture hadn't been seen in the wild since 1897, until a BCwPA investigation in 1974. It has since been added to the growing list of cryptids native to the Monongahela National Forest. It has not been seen since and is presumed to be extinct.Some may still persist out there, though. -The Proboscis Bird. What do you think of it? Was it real? Were any parts of this story… off?We’ll give you a moment to form your opinion.Now, you’ve probably never heard of the Proboscis Bird before reading about it on ballyraven.com or in one of other publications–and that’s because it is completely fake! There are some strange Ballyraven drawings we refer to as “big-nosed birds”, but they are unrelated, un-honestly-translatable, and likely just doodles. Otherwise, there is nothing real about the legend of the Proboscis Bird or its existence, except for some cool bird facts; that’s why we wanted it to be the first full case we covered. In honor of pwcas, we have created our first complete yarn (though, we are of course not nearly as good as they are at it). Without an extensive background full of folk tales, strange sightings, and name recognition, you may have immediately gotten some red flags.This entire episode is actually based on an old wives’ tale sent to our mailbox by the anonymously dubbed, "Birdwatching Bubba”. We liked the idea of exploring this saying so much that we made a whole episode based on it. What if this saying was true? What would such a bird be like? How would it be a problem for them? Why might this idea have spread? We ran with the idea of a bird who relied on smell more than any other known bird species. We ended up basing a lot of its life and habits on the Turkey Vulture, who vomits up at enemies, suns, has a bald head, an incredible sense of smell, and is generally looked at with disgust. Unlike Proboscis Birds’ though, they can fly and see.We tried to get to the bottom of this “don’t touch a baby bird,” idea, but there was no definitive answer. It may have started as an excuse for parents to convince children to leave wildlife alone, or perhaps explain why they couldn’t care for one. It also may have been a misunderstanding. Birds sometimes remove chicks from their nest; this can be for one of many reasons: it is sick, they have too many to take care of, or it is a brood parasite (look up Cowbirds). If someone tried to return a bird that was intentionally removed, its parents would kick it out once more. This could have caused someone to think that the second eviction was their fault, and that maybe their human smell offended the baby’s bird parents.While this episode was used to subtly teach about vultures and, now, debunk a myth, it is also an exercise in detecting a classic red flag. Working in the cryptid and paranormal community for a decade, you learn to watch out for many things. Some story tellers are well meaning, and many genuine, but there are also a lot of less than savory figures. More often than not, these sorts won’t tell you if they’ve added this or that to a story, or even why they did so. One of the classic tactics used by con artists and malicious liars in this sphere of content is an appeal to antiquity or the past.BCwPA field expeditions are already very dubious (we just have to take the author’s words and drawings that they saw and experienced what they claimed), yet fabricated histories can get away with even more trickery. First, there’s something about stories set in specific parts of human history; maybe it's the time period, their distance and disconnect from our present, or our thoughts and feelings towards a specific past. Whatever it is, when we hear something happened a long time ago, we might look at it with a little less scrutiny, and with a bit more tolerance of vagueness. It happened so long ago, maybe the facts were distorted. Maybe we just aren’t well informed. Maybe it’s something newly unearthed. A story told with authority or with many details often gets by. This story was supposedly backed by journals kept in a museum, even displayed for a time; there were exact numbers, real locations, distances, times, and even a specific name mentioned. If you looked up that name, tried to find more information on the journals, the expedition, or even mentions of the birds themselves, you would be confused or arrive at a dead end. And when you find yourself with a lack of proof, you may first wonder if you’re using the wrong search terms, or maybe what you’re looking for isn’t online. But, when you begin to find contradictory info, and, in this case, a complete lack of it being mentioned anywhere, you should be cautious. You are likely being told a fake story.A second layer, European explorers and colonizers were also perfect for this tale. Outsiders in an unfamiliar land, they are not remembered for respecting nature (or much else); it is not too far of a stretch to believe that they mistreated animals, especially inadvertently, because we also know that they did that and much more. You’re less likely to question something even a little believable or expected.These were only a few of the flaws you could find in this story. What else was a red flag or gave its dishonesty away? Thanks for listening and be careful of what you believe. Being able to find the truth is a skill, something you have to work for; very rarely will people give it to you.

In the state of West Virginia, after a heavy snow, you may find human-like footprints on your roof. Large and three-toed, what is leaving these behind? What is climbing on your roof? It may be a strange type of bigfoot...See references and sources on ballyraven.com.Listen to the show early! Become a BCwPA Agent for free.Support the show, get a field illustration print!Learn more about today's subject.Ask us a question!File a Witness/Sighting Report!CRYPTID: FairfootEPISODE TYPE: History, Witness Account, Sightings, Fae Lore, Mythology, Folklore, SuperstitionLOCATION: Central West VirginiaANIMAL TYPE: BigfootTRANSCRIPT2008Frametown, WVIt was a snow day, so my friends and I met up to go sledding. There’s a really big hill down the road that’s part of a farm, and it’s the perfect place to go; you have to pass through this small section of forest to get to it from my house. I go this way pretty often by myself, so I’m used to the path and all the animals that live there.Three of us were talking loudly and walking through the woods when we heard trees cracking, like something big was in them. We stopped talking and looked around; I can’t really describe it, but the air felt heavy and made me feel panicky. A small shadow passed over us, and I looked up; I saw this huge person, or creature, covered in long, dark black hair, jumping from treetop to treetop. It didn’t look like it had seen us. Then, it jumped onto the ground farther down the path before leaping off the cliff-edge and into the creek. It jumped a few more times on the ground before hopping back into the trees, swinging from the branches with its long arms.We didn’t move or speak for a while, afraid it’d come back. After we were pretty sure, we went and looked where it landed and saw a weird footprint— it only had three long, big toes. We left pretty quickly and had my mom pick us up. I’m not sure what it was, but I’m really glad it didn’t see us because I don’t know what it would’ve done.That same day, my dad saw something on his way home from work. Two shiny eyes were glowing on the side of the road; when he got closer, it leapt away, into the forest. He swore that it looked like a large, hairy man with a monkey-ish face, naked in the snow.That wasn’t all, though. We had several more snowy days after we saw the thing. Our neighbor said they thought they saw something too, once, but only briefly. A dark figure jumping out of view. She also heard strange screams late one night when she was taking her dog outside. Both times it was snowing pretty hard. She noticed weird footprints around her house; they stopped by her window, the trail suddenly ending.The worst part, though, was the next day she saw scratches on the side of her house, where the footprints ended. Scared, she made her brother bring his ladder and see if he saw anything on the roof, before the snow melted, or before more snow came. On the roof were more footprints, but that wasn’t all–about a foot away, it looked like the creature had hunkered down and peeled back one of the shingles, scratching at the material underneath, making a deep, clawed-out hole. We’re terrified that it is something dangerous. We’re afraid to go outside, especially when it's snowing.- HannahThere are some organisms that are bound to certain times of day, seasons, even months; at all other times, they are inactive, hibernating, or simply live short, brief lives.Bigfeet are not widely known to hibernate like bears. Some reduce their activity, subsisting from their own stores of food, or stealing from others’ carefully gathered provisions or kills.---The strangest bigfoot known to the BCWPA is a hybrid creature. It only wakes during the winter, ravenously eating all it can with its large, grubby hands and crooked teeth, watchful of anything around it with small, cold, black eyes.While the details of this specimen are widely unknown to the public, its footprints are fairly common after decent snows in central West Virginia. Leaving behind strange, thick, three-toed footprints, they are often spotted crossing overall hiking trails, near human dwellings, and, most oddly, leaping from house roof to house roof.---Welcome Agents.There has been a lot of bigfoot activity as of late in the Appalachian region. As such, I was happy to receive this letter in the mail,“A friend told me that they saw a bigfoot jumping from their roof and into the forest a couple months ago. Has anyone else ever heard something like that before? Zena, Ashland, KY”I just so happen to have a bigfoot story in the archives that is about this exact thing. It’s a kind of bigfoot that is only active during the winter - and one that has a sad story.---Before humans began settling North America, the Stonemen ruled the continent. Communities were spread out from coast to coast; often fighting amongst themselves, groups who were ousted were forced far from their homeland and into unsettled regions. These maladapted groups eventually found suitable homes and made new lives. They grew and changed and spread apart, many communities becoming distinct and distant from Stonemen in behavior and physique.The Fairfeet, or Wintering Bigfoot, were born from a Stoneman departure: a small troop of unusually ill-mannered Stonemen was banished from their community during a bi-annual migration. Crossing the Midwest, they ventured all the way into the mountains, finally settling in the dense forests of the Appalachians—which happened to be heavily populated by several kinds of fae, but devoid of bigfoot kind. Stonemen had encountered fae creatures before, often viewing them as nuisances or with disinterest; frequently, the large beasts inadvertently killed them or hindered their activities, causing the fae to generally view them with anger and disgust. Holding onto anger from their forced relocation, these Stonemen were particularly destructive of the environment: overeating for pleasure, tearing down old trees, and heaving boulders through the woodlands in displays of strength. Looking to make a change, the nymphs studied the creatures and their habits.When spring arrived, and the nymphs grew to their full power, they decided to cut down the number of Stonemen in the area to reduce their influence on the environment. Working together, they weaved spells and created a pile of seeds. Watching over and tending to them, by next winter’s end, the fae would have cultivated a new plant similar in appearance to parsley—one that was alluring and able to quickly sprout from still-thawing earth.The nymphs called it Scaryroot. While it was perfectly safe for fae to consume, other life would find it violently toxic. Given a vibrant color, aromatic leaves, and eye-catching flowers, Scaryroot attacked animals’ nervous systems and caused several horrific ailments: slight conditions like nervousness and muscle twitches that gave way to excessive, frothing salivation, rapid breathing and heart rate, a dilation of the pupils, and noticeable tremors. As the toxin seeps through the body, violent convulsions and seizures occur, causing its victim to spend the last few moments of their life in excruciating pain as their muscles break down and die, or, spared this misfortune by way of a coma as they asphyxiate or their heart ceases to beat.Though it was a great unkindness, the plant worked quickly and efficiently. It could also be easily culled and sent into dormancy, called when needed again.Nymphs are creatures of the Kingdom of Neutrality. Keepers of land, they believe in balance, reason, and, that at times, harm can be more helpful, more good, than kindness. While nymphs, as most other plant-based fae, are a hive mind, they are not a monolith. Many of the nymphs disliked the plans for the invading Stonemen; some had even begun to grow fond of them.---As winter neared its end, the sprouts exploded from the ground, bright green in an otherwise drab, muddy, and still icy land. It took only three days for the bigfeet to find them. The growing conditions, appearance, and sensory attributes of the Scaryroot were chosen very specifically. It was given flowers and leaves that were especially large and aromatic–perfect for hungry foragers. Observing that the Stonemen gathered edibles near rivers, streams, and ponds, the nymphs designed it to thrive along the water, even upon wintery banks. While the plants’ leaves and seed pods lose their toxicity as they mature, the roots do not. Unfortunately for vegetarians, the roots are the most appetizing portion - and they are the most toxic, and always are. One plant can fell the largest of plant eaters with only a bite. Unable to resist, once the Stonemen came across the new plant, they tasted it. The seed pods were slightly sweet and earthy, but the stems were stronger tasting and nutty! They picked and ate several of the plants in their entirety, unbelievably delectable to their palettes. Not even fifteen minutes into their meal, some of the Stonemen began to feel ill. Some died on the riverbank; others crawled back to their gatherings, dying along the way. Few survived more than 5 hours, the symptoms overtaking them and frightening those who weren’t part of the foraging group. Mostly satisfied with the results, the nymphs order faeries and sprites to pull the dead into the river’s swift current. The Nymphs removed most of the plants from the bank, leaving a few with hopes of taking a few more bigfeet down with them. With over two-thirds of their community eradicated, the bigfoot problem was solved–for now. The Nymphs believed it was worth expending their lives for. This balance should last a few generations, they thought as they withered into dust, a seed of new life each left behind, slowly sinking into the ground. Not all nymphs put their power into the Scaryroot. Twenty-seven, instead, kept their year of magic in savings for personal bewitchment, remaining dormant during the winter–Nymph’s season of greatest weakness, frailty. Digging up a Stoneman corpse, they began a different kind of spell. A magical soup of ground bone, fae herbs, and other plant matter mixed with rare dusts and oils. The concoction transformed these nymphs into Stonemen. A severe decision, they would be held within this form forever, with the exception of winter. They wanted to learn more about these creatures, learn to live with them, and maybe, teach them to live within the rules of the mountain.In early spring, the nymphs met the bigfoot group in a blooming forest. After such a winter tragedy, they were hesitant to approach the strangers. There was something about them that was off. Something in the eyes. “Windows to the soul”, some say; transformed fae always have a hint of their true nature in or around the eye. Months of persistence and trust-building, the two groups eventually became friends. The Nymphs taught them how to find a variety of food, avoid dangers, and to live in the mountains. They showed them the little, nearly invisible creatures who controlled the seasons and how to respect, help them. Surprisingly, the bigfeet affected them too. They learned the joys of being part of a group, instead of organizing one; they learned to allow themselves to feel again, to experience spontaneity, want for themselves, to think thoughts. A grave restriction, the nymphs began to develop an identity of their own instead of maintaining a group identity. And, they began to have fun, losing their memories, core beliefs, former selves. By the end of the fall, it was hard to say if they remembered they were not truly bigfeet at all.The nymphs’ shapeshifting magic lasted until the trees burned with the colors of fall and began to grow bare. They awoke pale, cold, and frightened, crawling into whatever dark crevice they could find, hiding in shame, disappointment. During their season of vulnerability, nymphs become invisible to all but fae eyes. Yet, they must still hide from their own kind, some of whom seek them out specifically to increase their own power and magic. Creatures of the Kingdom of Chaos, whereas neutral fae work towards a sort of enlightenment centered on nothingness, balance, and detachment, chaotic fae take delight in extremes, personal growth, and violence. And they are strongest in winter.Due to their shapeshifting abilities, hybrids run rampant where fae live. There were, of course, several infantas born in the darkness of the Nymphs' hiding places. Unable to see their mothers, who were also too weak to care for them, they were snuck into the sleeping throng of bigfeet each night, one at a time, until no more were left. Confused and on edge after so many from their group disappeared once more, they hesitantly tended to the youths.As the creatures grew, the bigfeet became more and more off-put. They began to look different from other bigfoot children, staring up at them with wide, blank eyes and wrinkled faces, pawing at them with three large, blocky fingers, and listening with long, pointed, twitchy ears. Then, they began to act differently. They ate dry, withered plants, gnawed on frozen bones, twigs, and rotting leaves, anything they could find on the forest floor. They never ran out of breath, gasping after a run, or even emotionally, when alarmed. They could unnaturally stretch their arms, flinging themselves from the trees. Most unnerving and frustrating, they didn’t sleep, instead spending their nights screaming and moaning.When winter neared its end, the strange youths became quieter, inattentive. With the first buds of spring, they fell asleep as the group rose for the day, unable to be roused, woken. Believing them dead, they pushed debris over top of them–they would’ve liked that–and wandered away. The Nymphs, reenergized from their season of rest, sensed the sleeping babes and investigated. They were a new kind of fae; one somewhat similar to them, yet very different. These creatures were most powerful in the winter, forced to slumber afterward–all the way until the next winter. They were inadvertently helpful to Nymphs and other neutral fae, cleaning the region of decay, warding away other, dangerous winter fae, limiting their growth of power, and protecting those hiding, forced to rest. Digging them up, the Nymphs hid them in better places, safer crevices. Dangers are always present; fae and fae hunters seek to take advantage of the weak at any time. While these fae-Bigfeet were not wholly fae, this would not stop anyone from using them in recipes, spells, or from other creatures making them into a meal or caged animal. The Nymphs then rejoined their hairy friends, periodically returning to their offspring to leave gifts and food they would enjoy upon waking. Each year, the cycle would continue. Some of the bigfoot group would vanish. Then, strange babies would appear. They would seemingly pass away with the spring, and the lost members would return. Nymphs visited and protected the “Fairfoot,” named after the Fair Folk moniker. A tall, thin creature began appearing during the winter. Sometimes it would hide in the trees and watch the bigfeet. Most nights, they could be heard screaming, groaning, sometimes in a chorus.While the Bigfoot Nymphs eventually grew old and passed away, their offspring carried on. Members who went missing didn’t reappear, and strange babies ceased to materialize, yet the bigfeet, too, carried on. The Fairfoot and Stonemen: two groups that sometimes curiously met in the winter, seeming to know they share something, but are quick to go their separate ways, live their separate lives.

Many strange creatures are lurking in Lake Erie; all are dangerous - except one! Join us as we follow Erie's gentle giant: the shellfish-eating, Giant Mudpuppy; from waking to hibernation, and a great escape, there is much to explore with this cryptid!See references and sources on ballyraven.com.Listen to the show early! Become a BCwPA Agent for free.Support the show, get a field illustration print!Learn more about today's subject.Ask us a question!File a Witness/Sighting Report!CRYPTID: the Giant MudpuppyEPISODE TYPE: History, Wildlife Footage, Nature Documentary, Witness Account, SightingsLOCATION: Lake Erie, Ohio, OntarioANIMAL TYPE: ReptileMUSICGrossman, Ewell, Grainger - Dubois, Sonatine for Two BassoonsBen Nestor - 1st Mvt_ The Lake at NoonJohn Bartmann - Safari TimeZight - Winter In The Woods (Piano)Soni Ventorum Wind Quintet - Danzi_ Wind Quintet Op 67 No 3 In E-Flat Major, 2 Andante Moderato, Danzi_ Wind Quintet Op 67 No 2 In E Minor, 3 Menuetto AllegrettoDaniel Veesey - Sonata No. 1 in F Minor, Op. 2 No. 1 - I. Allegro, Sonata No. 1 in F Minor, Op. 2 No. 1 - II. Adagio, Sonata No. 1 in F Minor, Op. 2 No. 1 - IV. PrestissimoJason Shaw - CHASIN' IT35-11-09_002_The_Bat_WomanKevin MacLeod - Gioachino Rossini_ Ranz des Vaches, J. S. Bach_ Brandenburg Concerto No4-1 BWV1049, Camille Saint-Saëns_ Danse Macabre - Isolated Harp, J. S. Bach_ Cello Suite #1 in G (on Dulcimer) - Prelude, SonatinaSOUND EFFECTSsaphe "birds on the lake"theshaggyfreak "Waves on the Lake"Benboncan "Lake Waves 2.wav"JarredGibb "Dinosaur 3.wav"craigsmith "S27-12 Mastodon growls; dinosaur.wav"CGEffex "Dinosaur_Far off dinosaur step.mp3"swinning "Alien or Dinosaur Sounds"gjgaura "whispers-supernatural.mp3"Joao_Janz "Digital Radio Rack Unit Knob Turn Snap 1_1"NebulousRoyale "Radio transmission morse code @4606.2kHz Poland"harveyjnz "Radio Interference/Static (Recorded from Ghetto Blaster)"Magnesus "Demonic Whisper"audiolarx "water_bubbles_02"klangfabrik "pointpeleebirds.aiff"bromoon "Water"mariannadeoliveira "SFX_RADIO_Changing out of the station"InspectorJ "Boiling Water, Large, A.wav", "Bubbling, Large, A.wav", "Ambience, Night Wildlife, A.wav", "Splash, Jumping, F.wav"Henrythetrain "Digging Snow.wav"LeandiViljoen "Digging.wav"SpliceSound "Hand digging dirt, leaves crunch.wav"RUncELL "Dig wet sand-05.wav", "Dig wet sand-02.wav", "Dig wet sand-01.wav"f3bbbo "Digging in wet course sand (raw file)"wescwave "underwater5 06-09-2012.wav"Yin_Yang_Jake007 "Shovelling Dirt.mp3"mucky_pete7 "MONSTER BREATH 2.wav"DaNi7337 "Carlos R - Swimming in the Pool.wav"xdlxedgbrdkjgrunkk "Low voice (archive).mp3"adviseme333 "Fish approaching"nuncaconoci "male sigh.wav"kyles "swirling winter wind gusty grains sand.flac"mitchellsounds "fallingsnow_windFRONTLR.wav"sithjawa "Elizabeth Lake 1 - Ravens and cars.mp3"straget "Blackbird 2"arnaud coutancier "Barefoot steps on sandy beach"JettMoshe "BabyAligatorImitation.mp3"D.jones "Alligator Growls 02.wav"Chilljeremy "Sea Monster.wav"rs272001 "sea monster noises"Svarvarn "Swiss chocolate sea monster.wav"bbrocer "Chomp Chew Bite.wav"Daphne_in_Wonderland "Footsteps on sand.wav"JiggleSticks "Dropping Water v1.wav"cmusounddesign "CR SharktoGnawAmb.wav"Shaddius "Weird_Shark_Noise.wav"kretopi "WaterVariations-004.wav"OGsoundFX "Monster Bite on Armor WAV"magicthighs "Corellas screeching"

We're back in the caves with more Paleolithic art! This time, we're taking a deep dive into a painting of a UFO inside Niaux Cave in France. A little younger than the Wounded Man, this one was made in the same era with most of the same tools - though this one needed a bit more spit.See references and sources on ballyraven.com.Listen to the show early! Become a BCwPA Agent for free.Support the show, get a field illustration print!Learn more about today's subject.Ask us a question!File a Witness/Sighting Report!ALIEN: Unknown, None PicturedEPISODE TYPE: Case File, Overview, ReportLOCATION: Grotte de Niaux, FranceALIEN TYPE: UnknownUFO/CRAFT INCLUDED: Yes, UFO presentTRANSCRIPTThis is part three in our Horizon Case series. It might not make sense without listening to the other two episodes first.Imagine you take a trip to southern France to tour a cave. You are given a flashlight, and as you cautiously walk down the steep, uneven pathway, you pass by incredible drawings of creatures you aren’t familiar with. Deeper down you go, your light casting shadows, bringing the dark drawings and their often overlapping, bulky bodies to life. Then, on the wall to your left, you see something that causes you to catch your breath. Something you even recognize. But, it doesn’t belong here… Above you, on a flat section of wall, is a painting of a UFO. And this cave? It was inhabited by humans as long as 19,000 years ago. As far as ancient aliens go, the UFO of Grotte de Niaux is everything you could hope for. Bright white linework on gray stone, it is hard to describe it as anything but a traditional UFO; it is an elongated, thin oval with a perfectly round, half-circle on top of the middle. You could describe it in many ways: a stretched ocarina, a simple sombrero, a poorly drawn cloud, but, most of all, a scrawled, yet cleanly depicted UFO. Under the saucer are two rows of solidly colored in dots, nine on top, eight on the bottom, skewed so that the rows of circles are slightly diagonal from each other. Ancient alien articles, sites, books, and videos will use this image along with a caption describing it as a Paleolithic cave painting, dating it from 13,000 to 10,000 BCE. With such an intriguing claim and photo, I had to know more. Our second example of ancient aliens in paleolithic cave art, where was this alleged UFO found in the cave? How was it made? And are there any other explanations for it?  -One of the few remaining publicly accessible caves containing paleolithic artwork, Niaux Cave is filled with children’s handprints and spaghetti tracks, footprints, and drawings of animals–horses, ibexes, and bison. Like with the Wounded Man and pictures from Pech-Merle, these were made with ochre crayons and charcoal sticks. The pictures here, too, are referred to as “classic Magdalenian”; this is just a name for the art’s style, it was a common method of artmaking, and aesthetic, specific to this region (Western and central Europe) and time period (the Late Upper Paleolithic). The drawings are all outlined in black with occasional splashes of red around the figure. Which makes our UFO strange. It is neither red nor black, but white. White is not uncommon in paleolithic art, though; white paints were easily made by grinding up or scraping baked bones or kaolin clay and mixing them with water. Still, it is the only one here.The spots under the saucer are an aspect of paleo-art we haven’t covered yet. These circles were not made like the Wounded Man drawing, or any of the surrounding animals we’ve talked about so far. They were not so much made with the hand, but the mouth. Called the “spit-spray” technique, minerals and pigments were chewed up and spit directly on a surface or through a hollow reed. The hand could cup the mouth, making crisper edges. Not all dots were made this way, just a lot. It was the best method, however, for filling in huge shapes, like coloring in a bison. Ochre and charcoal could also be rubbed on the hand and patted onto the wall with one’s palm. Using a pencil or crayon to make these shapes or color them in would be much more difficult, not to mention time-consuming! The odd angles and uneven surfaces made leaving lines behind hard enough.Called stippling in art, it can give animals a fuzzy texture, denote a darker part of the body, and can also be purely decorative. Spotted horses are common in cave art; they are depicted with larger, more spread out dots, as their coats were probably actually like in real life. Dots have also been used alongside drawings of wounded animals or people, signifying pools or drops of red blood. There are also several cases, including one in Niaux Cave, of standalone spots: single, straight lines, rows, gentle curves, dramatic swoops, and ones that dot more abstract, chaotic shapes. These are hypothesized to be trails of blood, left by a fleeing target, like a speared bison. The ones under our UFO are clearly not blood, but perhaps a kind of shading, such as one might see in an abduction beam. But, that would be unbelievable… right? If you went and looked through a collection of photos from Niaux Cave, and even took the tour yourself, you would find our UFO missing. That’s because it is not, nor was ever, there. The painting is actually a piece of commissioned art. Titled Niaux Cave Painting - ?UFO, Toby Moate from the UK created it in 2014 with sand, glue, and acrylic paint, and the little trouble-maker used to hang in, the now closed, Bar 50 in Cheltenham.Now, I don’t think this was a deliberate hoax by the artist or client. It was clearly labled and described, no harm done, and it is a very cool painting, idea. This is nothing new with ancient alien sources; you know the ones, weird, grainy Facebook posts with shady links and bizarre UFO sites that make your whole computer slow down. These places don’t usually cite sources, and, well, they don’t use a lot of real information or images, especially since AI became a thing. While a brief Google could have cleared this up, it was instead posted and listed as legitimate prehistoric art from Niaux Cave, used as proof of alien visitation. As more and more places use this image and false title, description, it feeds a problematic cycle. The more places it is, the more it is shared, put in even more articles. The more places it is mentioned, the more it is legitimized, at least in the eyes of the internet.This incredible ancient UFO was, in fact, too good to be true. It is never a waste of time to check something out and learn something new, so despite this Ancient Alien being a fraud, I hope you enjoyed our visit to another paleolithic cave, nonetheless.

Where did bigfoot come from - and where did he go? Today, we discuss several different bigfoot theories, follow their dramatic trek to North America, and discuss signs of bigfoot activity. This is an old episode from the archives, so the quality is not as high as in recent episodes.See references and sources on ballyraven.com.Listen to the show early! Become a BCwPA Agent for free.Support the show, get a field illustration print!Learn more about today's subject.Ask us a question!File a Witness/Sighting Report!CRYPTID: Bigfoot, Sasquatch, Wildmen, YetiEPISODE TYPE: History, Nature Documentary, Cryptozoology, OverviewLOCATION: Worldwide, the AmericasANIMAL TYPE: Mammal, Humanoid, PrimateMUSICKirk Osamayo - Video Game Snowy NightKirk Osamayo - Star FieldThe Waiters - 13 O' Clock in the Morning [excerpt]Doctor Turtle - The Mountains Don't Care About YouDoctor Turtle - Wherever I Lay My Hat, That's My WifeDoctor Turtle - Go Tell It On The MolehillDoctor Turtle - Today's Special_ Jam TomorrowDoctor Turtle - The Ants Built A City On His ChestDoctor Turtle - And the Darkness Grew Like a TreeDoctor Turtle - Over the Water, Humans GatherBen von Wildenhaus - Week FourBen von Wildenhaus - Week TwoBen von Wildenhaus - Week OneSOUND EFFECTSpassAirmangrace "RadioTune_2_bip.wav"szegvari "Old Vintage Radio - Little_Joe_Adventures (Broadway - Piano, Symphonic Orchestra)"kMoon "Static_Radio.wav"klankbeeld "Weather station on 5450 kHz in USB RAF Volmet 220113.wav", "Edge summer forest Roond NL 200619_0186.ogg"AlienXXX "Radio_noise_2014-09-06T23-13.wav"Breviceps "Mystery Jingle"richwise " Very windy"InspectorJ "Wind, Realistic, A.wav", "Whistle, Finger, Long, A.wav", "Rain, Moderate, A.wav"spoonbender "Wind Through Trees 3b"TheGloomWorker "Rain Drips"FlatHill "Rain and Thunder 4"inuetc Heavy Rain Sound - Inu Etc.mp3straget "Thunder"klankbeeld "Gull at the coast 824AM 210303_0264.wav"iamaviolin "Seagull Calls"Bidone "Gibbon Monkey.mp3", "Affen schreit.mp3"xserra "monkeys-1.wav"INNORECORDS "Zen Ocean Waves,Ocean Waves Ambience.mp3"Ali_6868 "Waves Crashing Against Wall/Break Water 2"Defaultv "Wind_howl_minor.mp3"swiftoid "wind_howl2_stereo.wav"acrobatricks "Leafs"Vimpy "walking on leafs forest.wav"mikevpme "Jungle, Tropical birds and insects"felix.blume "Zogzog monkey yelling in the Amazonian Rainforest"Timbre "apes-scream (remix of Mings's Freesound #160380).flac"NachtmahrTV "Walking through wet forest" & "Walking through dry bushes"reinsamba "1136walking_through_forest.wav"Wilhelm8x-1octave.wav "wilhelm_screaming"IFartInUrGeneralDirection "night sounds.mp3"krnash "Quick Sniffing.wav"punisherman "Grunt.wav"RutgerMuller "Wood_Knocks_2.aif"kvgarlic "WhipporwhillMay2010.wav"opalmirage "owl at night"Defaultv "Rain_and_thunder.mp3"director89 "Rain-Atmo.WAV"Vonora "Cuckoo & The Nightingale Duet.MP3"wilika2 "Monkey noise (imitation)"soundbytez "siamangs01.wav"TheGoodstuff2048 "Crickets.wav"Ramston "coyote calls.wav"millonlazaruspillay "Knocking Wood(THREE TYPES).wav"MacSounds1 "Whistle Project 3.wav"jocelynlopez "dog barking.wav"SamsterBirdies "coyotes howling"

Hop aboard the BCWPA research boat for another aquatic expedition! The Loðsilungur is one of many oceanic cryptids from Iceland; a poisonous, furry trout related to the more well-known fur-bearing trout, it has an even stranger backstory and a more grim history.See references and sources on ballyraven.com.Listen to the show early! Become a BCwPA Agent for free.Support the show, get a field illustration print!Learn more about today's subject.Ask us a question!File a Witness/Sighting Report!CRYPTID: the Loðsilungur, Hairy Fish, Shaggy Trout, Bearded Shaggy Trout, All-Shaggy TroutEPISODE TYPE: History, Wildlife Footage, Nature Documentary, MythologyLOCATION: IcelandANIMAL TYPE: FishMUSICNocturne by Podington Bear (CC BY-NC)Releasing the Sculpture by Podington Bear (CC BY-NC)Ice Climb by Podington Bear (CC BY-NC)Assmack by Podington Bear (CC BY-NC)You Wasted My Time When I Was Timewasting by Podington Bear (CC BY-NC)Le Monstre by Podington Bear (CC BY-NC)SOUND EFFECTSWalking On Snow .wav by BenboncanDoor opening and closing 5 by JakLockeProcessed Exuberant Yelp Howl 4.wav by be-steeleIcelandic birdsong. Mothers protecting their eggs. WAV by kimchi_shredsAquarium Filter by ultradustTrout splashing after being caught by TheFlyFishingFilmmakerBoat Launch Creaking.aif by Em_tyBlack beach birds 2nd better.wav by OwlFish on land.wav by Calli0601 Morning Listening.aif by listeningtow...Bubbles Short Bursts.wav by murraysortzTRANSCRIPTThis episode includes content that may not be suitable for children.Welcome back to the cabin, friend. It’s nice to see you again. February is a quiet month. It can also be a quite dangerous month. Hungry predators lurk in many woodlands, as well as the skies, holding on until spring returns. February likewise sees the wakening of a particularly dangerous, short-lived fae. In some places, it is a time that monsters wash ashore. Today I'd like to tell you about the Loðsilungur.If you haven't learned about fur-bearing trout, we recommend listening to our story on them first!-In the 19th century, Americans and Canadians began importing and releasing several fish into the wild, most from northern Europe. [source] Within Icelandic waters, the rare fur-bearing trout generally laid their eggs among those of the brown trout. Found above instead of under the gravel, those who sought brown trout eggs accidentally gathered the other's young; identical in appearance, the unknown, unstudied species was carried away without notice. Raised as game fish or part of aquaculture, animals that had never encountered each other in the wild were suddenly sharing space. Fish enthusiasts also kept multiple species in the same tank or pond, hoping to cross-breed them. Some of these attempts were successful; likewise, new species resulted from the animals' newfound proximity throughout the continent. Because of this, there are many hybrid trout in North America: tiger, splake, cutbow, and palomino. [source] Fur-bearing trout are also hybrids; like the cutbow, their hybridization occurred naturally, and they are flourishing hybrids. A rarity, these animals can successfully breed, the next generation able to bear young and repeat the cycle; many hybrids, like mules, are wholly unable to reproduce. Unlike the cutbow, the fur-bearing trout originates far from North America, even though it is most numerous here. It is the result of interbreeding between two species of fish in Iceland: the brown trout and the Loðsilungur ( LAHD-sill-UHN-grr ). -Born in freshwater, some brown trout migrate once reaching maturity; traveling to the ocean, they enter a "sea trout" phase. Their internal and exterior bodies transform as they swim into saltwater, growing larger and silvery. The animals have migrated, morphed this way in the past, and continue to do so today. A couple thousand years ago, their migration matched the spawn of another fish; in the North Atlantic Ocean, year after year, the shaggy and brown trout crossed paths. Breeding off the coast, female Loðsilungur released reproductive hormones into the waters; the chemicals initiated a frenzy of spawning activity in males of their own species - and the migratory male brown trout. Fighting against the larger, more aggressive Loðsilungur, few reached any eggs - but those that did produced hybrids. With only a dozen or fewer fertilizing eggs each season, hybrid populations gradually rose. Over time, brown trout migration and the shaggy trout's spawn changed, ending their period of reproductive intermingling. The two can still be observed swimming in the same area or even cluster; as their spawns take them either inland or deep into the ocean, interbreeding no longer occurs. The fishes' short rendevous produced a community of viable "shaggy-brown trout"; they eventually became a distinct species: the fur-bearing trout. Losing many Loðsilungur traits and developing new ones of their own, the fish saw a temporary population explosion in North America before dwindling worldwide. Today, however, they are more numerous than the hated and feared Loðsilungur. -According to legend, the Loðsilungur suddenly appeared in our world and overran rivers and lakes; an invention of giants and demons, the inedible fish were meant to punish humanity for their evils. Swimming and hiding among other trout, if a man ate this fish and survived, he would become pregnant, growing an infant within his scrotum; in nine months, the genitals would be cut to free the child. This, however, has not been observed in modern times.Separated into two species (the bearded shaggy trout and all-shaggy trout), the animals grow thick, red hair on their lower jaw and neck or delicate, translucent hair on their sides and fins. Unlike the fur-bearing trout, Loðsilungur are never described with endearment or humor; they are reportedly strange and ugly. To our surprise, the organisms have no distinguishing features besides hair to differentiate them from mundane trout; we believe their threatening nature and dark ties are responsible for their reputation instead of "ugly" animals' usual ghoulish or alien characteristics. Fur-bearing trout descend from the bearded fish, displaying a thicker, vibrant coat. Both are easily identifiable in and out of the water. All-shaggy fish, however, are tricky. Similar to the secretions used to transport eggs by fur-bearing trout, Loðsilungur produce and release a tacky chemical year-round - and theirs is toxic. Clinging to the body and hair, and transported by minuscule veins throughout the body, if ingested, the substance causes a painful death. In all-shaggy trout, this toxin also makes their hair invisible underwater. Because of the potential hazards of eating one, it is essential to check fish before eating them; you can do this by killing, rinsing, and holding them underwater before consumption. As their body ceases to secrete the toxin after death, the washed hair will become visible: thin, white, fuzzy tendrils underwater. Death does no good above ground for identification; the hair being delicate and pale, it lies flat and even against its sticky body, completely imperceivable.Loðsilungur of either type cannot be eaten under any circumstances by any organism, with a few sea creatures being the exception. Throughout history, they have been confused with common trout species, moldy fish, and diseased animals, causing unfortunate deaths and exterminations of trout. Documented cases of Loðsilungur consumption have expressed a 100% fatality rate. -The study of the fur-bearing trout has helped us understand the Loðsilungur and provide a contrast between the two animals. Fur-bearing and shaggy trout are often lumped together and treated as interchangeable terms for the same creature, which is simply untrue. Both differ greatly from the other.Aside from different hair growth locations, Loðsilungur grow fur as juveniles and keep it their entire lives; it is thought that fur-bearing trout exchanged permanent coats for growing hair all over their body. Fur-bearing trout rarely venture out to sea, breed only in freshwater, and no longer display red in their fur; these animals are non-toxic and have been safely eaten, though they were described as having a stringy, unappealing texture. Loðsilungur have much shorter lives of 2 - 3 years; when compared to the fur-bearing trout, it is thought that their briefer lifespans may be influenced by more rapid maturities, aggressive mating practices, dangerous hatcheries, stress put on the body by chemical and hair production, and their larger sizes.After mating in February, a third or more perish, either from injuries or overexertion. In the middle or latter part of this month, they are known to wash up on shore; they are not scavenged as other fish, creating a foul scene. For an unknown reason, the animals continue to thrash after death; even once their flesh visibly deteriorates, their bodies may flop weakly or wiggle their fins. Their death throes lessen over time, are strongest on the first day, and can last up to a week. Canines and birds never fall for this trick. In fact, they refuse to dwell near Loðsilungur corpses, sensing a danger invisible to others. In modern times, the number of shaggy fish washing ashore is less than ten per year, a sign of the population's dire numbers. While a lessening danger is typically a positive, it is sad to possibly see the end of such a strangely captivating fish.

A tale of whimsy, a chapter in lumberjack folklore, a real fish! The fur-bearing trout is an endangered species that grows hair during the winter in its later years. Learn this American "Fearsome Critter's" history, life cycle, and time spent in the state of Colorado.See references and sources on ballyraven.com.Listen to the show early! Become a BCwPA Agent for free.Support the show, get a field illustration print!Learn more about today's subject.Ask us a question!File a Witness/Sighting Report!CRYPTID: the Fur-Bearing Trout, Furry Trout, Hairy FishEPISODE TYPE: History, Wildlife Footage, Nature Documentary, Lumberjack Folklore, HoaxLOCATION: Colorado River, Colorado, Arkansas, Kansas, Oklahoma, Maine, New Hampshire, southern CanadaANIMAL TYPE: Fish, Trout, HybridMUSICSnow Drift by HoliznaCC0Three Times by Jahzzar (CC BY-SA)Fragrant Rota by Michael HoltHartford by Mary Halvorson and Jessica Pavone (CC BY-NC-ND)Vanlig by Jahzzar (CC BY-SA)Pony by Gillicuddy (CC BY-NC)Echoes Boogie Dancehall (ID 278)  by Lobo Loco (CC BY-NC-SA)Good TImes Memory (ID 2037) by Lobo Loco (CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 DEED)River Side Blues (ID 2027) by Lobo Loco (CC BY-NC)Easy Peasy by Beat MekanikPlace on my Bonfire (ID 1170) - Remastered by Lobo Loco (CC BY-NC-SA)Speedy Delta (ID 917) - Remastered by Lobo Loco (CC BY-NC-SA)Vanlig SOUND EFFECTSWalking On Snow .wav by BenboncanDoor opening and closing 5 by JakLockeGoing up stairs in a hurry.mp3 by Taira Komorirocky-stream calm 141015-0441.wav by klankbeeldTrout splashing after being caught by TheFlyFishingFilmmaker Colorado, Bright Angel Plateau Point.mp3 bu OK_RunBubbles Short Bursts.wav by murraysortzSpring Peeper Frogs by TheBoatmancars and trucks passing#2 by arnaud couta...Aquarium Filter by ultradust TRANSCRIPTThe water is frigid as the bank along the Arkansas River in Colorado turns white with snow, its edges blocky, hard with ice. Winter is harsh, solemn, and filled with anticipation. Birds of prey wait in the trees, ready to leap onto mice and rabbits. Elk and deer browse for any bits of vegetation, watchful of hiding hunters. Some try to sleep the season away in warmer, drier caves and burrows, hoping not to be clawed from safety. In the water, though, fear, food, and warmth are not at the forefront of the Fur-Bearing Trout’s mind.Medium in size, this species of fish is dull brown with a yellow belly and specks of copper, and green; males are more vibrant, showing off hints of reds and oranges too. These fish are special. At the beginning of winter, a handful suddenly change; a sixth soon sport beards and body stubble. Feathery and yellow-brown, the hair spreads and intensifies; interspersed with darker strands, more mottled on top, and light upon the underside, it blends into the gravel bed and surface’s shimmer. As cold weather escalates, the patch envelopes most of the fish. Starting behind the gills, the head is bare, suddenly transitioning to a thick, plumed tuft. The coat covers the body above and below, leaving only fins naked and poking out. North American scientists were shocked and confused when the animal was first discovered in 1885. Tall tales began circulating of the creatures, to fishermen’s amusement and the public’s delight. A popular origin story, it was said that a few bottles of hair tonic were accidentally spilled onto a clutch of trout eggs in the Arkansas River. As they matured and grew full beards, and heads of hair, fishermen posing as barbers would coax them from lakes and streams with offers of free trims or shaves. Fantastic and fun, the real mystery remained. Why did this species of fish grow fur? At first, it was believed that the animals developed the coat to stay warm; since the creatures began growing hair in early winter and lost it by summertime, it could not be a coincidence…could it? After a little more research, and a lot of observation, it was determined that this was not the case! Fish are cold-blooded animals and their internal temperatures depend on the environment. While they can survive in a wide range of temperatures, they still require a level of warmth to survive. Insulating material does not help fish as it does mammals. In seals, blubber helps keep the heat that the animals create inside and the cold out. In fish, which do not generate heat at all, this would mean death. A barrier between them and any potential heat, fur would pose a serious problem.[1]Another issue with the warmth theory was that not all Fur-Bearing Trout grew hair in the winter. If something is not needed for survival, it more often than not is used for reproduction. -    Other fish, like the Brown Trout, have already congregated and checked off their to-do lists; they now settle low in lakes and streams, where the water is warmer. Fur-Bearing Trout still have much to do, saving up their energy for mid-January. Many fish species are divided into egg layers and egg fertilizers; some may spend their life as one kind and transition into the other, like Clownfish or the Asian sheepshead wrasse, but Fur-Bearing Trout transform into something entirely different after spending several years as one or the other. [s]Sitting between a pair of rocks is a large, stubble-covered fish. The BCWPA has been studying her for the past five winters, watching her swim upstream, lay eggs, and persevere again and again and again. She was named Dory after being caught, tagged, and released - only to be immediately caught two more times by the same net and lure. Entering the next stage of her life, last season was her final year producing young. Now an elder, she will experience more of the world than ever before and possess more responsibilities.Still, floating low, it is easy to see that the fish feels unwell. Growing and changing is never easy, especially at such a fast pace. All fish, male and female, go through this second maturity once they reach the age of five or six. It begins with an increased appetite in the fall. Fattening up is important; changing requires a lot of energy. As the fish build bulk, their insides display the first physiological updates: new networks of dense blood vessels appear near the gills, fins, brain, and eyes. Called rete, these structures allow the interior of the animal to be at a higher temperature than the water it swims within. Muscles also strengthen, doubling in size.  Generated by the fish’s swimming and eye muscles, heat can now be transferred within and throughout the body, but, because of its rete, prevented from coming into contact with cold water flowing over its gills and being wasted. Like the Opah, this anatomical change allows the Fur–Bearing trout to remain active day and night, even in the coldest portions of winter, even in the upper parts of the water. There is a catch, though - they need to keep moving and constantly feed to stay warm and survive. [2]Near the end of this process, the latter half of the transformation begins. Looking at Dory’s scales, small, round bumps are visible on each. Nearer to the head, more than one bump is present on each, and from others, thick, wispy hair sprouts. The bumps will spread, growing fur in clumps out from each scale. Itchy, fish in this stage often rub against the rocks; they can be spotted in more cragged outcrops and tight spaces once the itch begins. Midway through achieving a full coat, she will also experience a growth spurt; by the end, some of her kind may reach lengths of 70 inches. Though not feeling her best, Dory must seek food several times a day, hunting insects, much smaller fish, and eggs. After her 12-week transformation, she will be stronger and in higher spirits.-    January 19. Dory swims upstream, a brown blur in the icy water from above. Sporting a full coat of fur, it is finally time. Her kind has been anxiously waiting, some early to gathering spots. Potamodromous animals (fish that migrate a short distance through freshwater), she and two hundred other Fur-Bearing Trout swim up and downstream, into tributaries and waterways connected to lakes. They look for calm, somewhat shallow waters, places that remind them of where they hatched, and ones that are difficult to access. [s] Up to twenty fish make it to each meeting spot along the Arkansas River. Not all who show up to this gathering, however, are welcome. Like all species of trout, males are aggressive towards other males. Differentiable by their hooked lower jaws, sharp teeth, and brighter colors, they decide amongst themselves who is allowed to fertilize eggs this year. Amid the ebbing conflict, females lay their two thousand eggs in the open water; after, they may act aggressively toward undesirable males, pushing them away from spawning pools. Some fish are clearly disliked. While the few winning males fertilize eggs, the losers wait on the outskirts; only the largest and strongest are allowed to reproduce. Dory, and other hairy Fur-Bearing Fish, also wait on the sidelines. The dominant males guard the eggs for a few minutes, lashing out even at passing females, before they too start to disperse. The larger fishes’ backs turned, Dory and her compatriots rush towards the exposed egg clutches - but so do spurned rivals. [s] Called nanny fish, these hairy trout are specialized community members; they guard broods, as well as transport offspring. First, though, their job is to fight off spiteful males. While much older, nanny fish are plenty strong; however, they lack teeth (males losing them in their transformation) and authority. Out of anger, or perhaps the deep sadness of rejection, excluded males cannibalize nests, eating as many young as they can reach. Pushing, battering into, and nipping fins, nanny fish prevent what carnage they can; while no adult fish are mortally wounded, many males will forever exhibit bite mark scars and scraggly fin skin. They cannot linger; time is short. Once females have lain, they return to their wintering grounds, spending the rest of the season moving as little as possible. Males may visit multiple spawning points if they have the energy. Peripheral males often seek second or third breeding pools, where they may be more successful. Yet, if they expend too much energy fighting and traveling or become lost, without adequate resources, or within shallow, cold water for too long, they will perish. Watchful, Dory floats above a pit of eggs. Satisfied that trouble is gone for now, she puffs up and secretes a substance from her pores; spinning and flowing through the pool, each strand of her fur is coated in a sticky goo, causing the eggs to tangle and adhere to her coat. Three other nanny fish follow suit, swimming in diagonal lines and zigzags, gathering a variety of offspring. Two nanny fish patrol the pool’s only entrance; a resentful, or hungry, male may return. Once a day passes, they will be one less worry. [s] Dory and three other nannies will not remain here until spring, like these guards; the newest, youngest nanny-fish, they set out for a more dangerous excursion. In each hatchery, one or two nannies watch over developing eggs and chase off predators. The offspring require much: an environmental temperature below 30 degrees Fahrenheit for 60 days, regular access to sunlight, and intermittent turning or movement. Nannies shift eggs higher or lower in their pools to regulate temperatures, move them into sunlight during the day, and flip each egg 3 - 6 times a day. If water conditions pose trouble, such as being too prone to predation, dropping water levels, or too warm, they gather as many eggs in their fur as they can and transport them to more suitable territory. Locations like this, where some Fur-Bearing Trout return each year to breed, are generally low-risk. Dory and other exploring nannies take risks.A Fur-Bearing Trout hatchery can be wiped out unexpectedly, suddenly. A heat wave. A ravenous, egg-eating creature. A sickly or deceased nanny. While other fish species meet these hurdles with camouflage or defensive qualities, like a bad taste or painful stinger, these fish solve their problem by hedging their bets and being transportable. Half of a spawn’s offspring are kept in traditionally safe hatcheries. The other half is split between younger caretakers. Two or travel north, looking for suitable pools to keep and raise the youths in; any other nannies travel south. Spreading out increases the odds that at least some young will survive. If nannies manage to meticulously tend to their eggs for at least 45 days, their chances of hatching are greatly improved, even if they are unable to provide further care. -Dory swims north, keeping high in the water. As she passes bits of vegetation and easy prey, she feeds. Her partner lags behind, but follows nontheless. Every few hours she pauses, shaking her body to aerate and adjust the eggs; once per break, she flips on her back, allowing the eggs on her belly to feel the sunlight. Though all young require some light, embryos receiving more sun generally produce females. At the end of each day, she secretes another layer of glue to keep the eggs in place; the substance loses its stickyness over time in the water. She will travel up to three weeks searching for a perfect place to settle down. Since their introduction to North America, fur-bearing trout have spread far and wide. The animals can be found not only in colder portions of the Arkansas River but also in its southern half. Documented in Colorado, Kansas, and, in lesser numbers, Oklahoma, and Arkansas, they have popped up in Canadian waterways, as well as in the Mississippi River. Making their way into the New England area, fur-bearing trout are finding their niche in places like New Hampshire and Maine. Now separated and called the Northern Fur-Bearing Trout, these fish are smaller in size and have grayer scales; while some display the same brown fur as the Arkansas River’s variety, others exhibit new, bright white coats.[s]Often swimming against the current, it takes several weeks for Dory and her friend to travel a couple hundred miles. Along the way, she stopped to consider two different locations; unfortunately, another nanny already claimed this one. He was unlucky, too, though; only part of his corpse remained. His eggs too long without a caretaker, the location was unsalvageable and obviously too open, easily visited by predators. The second spot the team inspected was better, but too vegetated to navigate; though they needed apt cover, too much caused eggs to get lost or forgotten, and was too hard to move through. Third time’s the charm.An offshoot of a brook, the gentle, cool waters were perfect: protected by snow-covered grasses, rocks, and branches, not too shallow, and near deeper pools hosting tiny fish and wintering leeches. Here, she has a good chance to make it through the season. Her partner settles in a neighboring section; his spot is just as good, and close enough for both to check in on the other. Allowing each egg to drift off from her fur, she tidies up; the fish tears vegetation and small branches from her way, and pushes gravel up, making tiny, makeshift paths. Eggs are gathered in small clusters around the hatchery, some shaded by the riverbank, the rest more out in the open, but deeper in the water so that their translucent forms remain obscured in the clear water. Some of the offspring she has carried have turned cloudy and yellow; she eats these - they wouldn’t have survived anyway. For the next 60 - 70 days, she will hunt between tending to the eggs, always on the lookout for dangers: birds, otters, and larger fish. Over time, the pale-yellow center of each egg diminishes, exchanged for growing, developing cells that transform into eyes, a tail, and other organs. If any ceases developing or becomes ill, she culls them from the hatchery, providing more space and attention for healthier eggs. The warmer it grows, the more the world around will awaken, become more dangerous. If she survives and witnesses the youths hatch into larva, she will have finished her job. Hairy fur-bearing trout lose their coat after 3 months, regardless of their environment’s temperature; they do not grow smaller, however, making them a tasty target for fish-eaters. With their large, warmth-generating muscles, they are prone to overheating in the summer, especially in recent years. Generally, elders cared for three broods in their lifetime; now, they have been reduced to caring for only one, on average, after facing several growing environmental threats. If she sees spring, Dory will swim freely, hunting and resting as she pleases. The hatchlings do not need to be taught what food they need or how to find and hunt it, nor do they need to be taught fur-bearing fish customs. They are born with all the instincts and knowledge they will ever need, ready to repeat the cycle of life in two years.Nannies that return for a second or third spawn are most essential to the trout’s reproductive success: they are the ones who call their kind to gather. Releasing their secretions wherever they last raised young, the far-traveling, strong scent brings nearby fish together and tells them: it is time. Without a nanny, the trout become lost, attempting to simply return to the place they were born, often unsuccessfully.-Here at the BCWPA Conservation Center, a few nanny fish are held in its protection for the continuation of the species. Within these tanks also sits several clutches of eggs; BCWPA staff will raise them from fry to parr to adults. Most of these youths will be released into the wild, though some will stay here to produce more young and contribute to further research. Dam-building, increasing temperatures, overfishing, and pollutants are big obstacles we must help these creatures to overcome. Study of the Fur-Bearing Trout have not only brought ecological problems to light, but have also answered many questions, like “Where did these animals come from and why do they have fur?” A surprise, Fur-bearing trout are actually a non-native species. The only native species of trout in North America are: Gila, Apache, Cutthroat and Rainbow trout. However, the fish have existed here for over a century, becoming a part of life here, and are endangered worldwide, stemming from an even more rare fish. One so rare, it is considered a mythological entity. 

Beware the Ohio riverside after dark - or so say legends that warn of a foul, nightmarish creature that returns to life seeking vengeance! Today, we discuss the lore of the "Muddy Men," a dark, Ohio tale, and briefly uncover the creature behind the stories.See references and sources on ballyraven.com.Listen to the show early! Become a BCwPA Agent for free.Support the show, get a field illustration print!Learn more about today's subject.Ask us a question!File a Witness/Sighting Report!CRYPTID: the Muddy ManEPISODE TYPE: Case File, Dramatic Reenactment, Ghost Story, Folklore, SuperstitionLOCATION: Ohio River, Ohio, KentuckyANIMAL TYPE: Undead, Reanimated Corpse, ZombieMUSIC (from Free Music Archive)Songs by the Monroeville Music Center  in order of appearance:Another Cigarette for Gul MohammedB004A Minuit, le 31 DecembreB005Rainbow BombHairy Fairy HotarunaB001Jim Hall - Empty 32Advent Chamber Orchestra - Vivaldi - Credo  CrucifixusSOUND EFFECTS (from Freesound)259643__stevious42, "gentle-rain"388884__australopithecusman, "orange-squashhead-smashgory"390740__funwithsound, "wind-2"244942__spoonbender, "wind-through-trees-3b"445614__cllari__owi, "scrubbing-on-a-wooden-deck-or-floor"452597, "kyles__door-wood-int-trailer-rv-deadbolt-flimsy-hollow-roomy-slow-thump-various"258392__constructabeat, "stop-start-tape"329605__inspectorj, "footsteps-light-mud-a"475542__mirko111, "walking-through-high-grass-short"376809__alex_hears_things, "muddy-and-wet-footsteps"58626__kathol, "a-moaning-zombie"144002__arrigd, "zombie-roar-8"157027__slave2thelight, "solo-zombie-1"321527__isaria, "zombiesequence"377533__13fpanska_machacova_petra, "zombie"445983__breviceps, "zombie-gargles"464334__andron827, "rain-rws-natural-3-23-2019-151am"25945__inchadney, "owl"553513__popocot, "monster-sounds-2"231536__vkproduktion, "creek-06-loop"346046__yemimoses, "digging1"441821__fst180081, "180081-sledge-hammer-on-mulch-01"333832__nick121087, "demonic-woman-scream"511282__snapssound, "nighttime-frogs_ambience_01"TRANSCRIPTWelcome, Agents.As the days grow longer, we spend more time outside. And as it grows warmer, we tend to stay out later, linguring with the setting sun, braving the night. In some places, this may not be a great decision, which brings me to today’s question,Hi, Ballyraven. Someone told me that cemeteries have to be buried a certain distance away from the river because of an old superstition. Something about a ritual to bring them back to life, or a creepy superstition. I don’t remember exactly, it was a long time ago, but there were a series of events where corpses could come to life and it was specifically about the Ohio River and its special, evil, qualities. Do you know anything about this? TBD23, Chillicothe, OH.Yes, this is a story, a belief I’m quite familiar with and can tell you all about. Titled “the Case of the Ohio River Graves” in the archives, today’s lesson explores the state’s strange, obscure legend that ties murder, corpses, and new life into one chilling tale. But, not all is what it seems…Jack fiddled with the coat hook, deep in thought. It had been nearly a month. He was safe. He was. It was time to get out and relax a little. He stared at the door. Was that…? Pulling a scarf from his neck, he scratched furiously at the wood.Trying to breathe deeply, slowly, Jack felt the pressure building in his chest and eyed the entryway anxiously. Had he missed anything else? The dull wooden floor had never shone so brightly, completely scrubbed of filth. The little room’s walls were freshly painted white. Even the ceiling took on an almost reflective quality. Dust would not be found on the trim, nor dirt in any wooden cracks. Perhaps the door, though, needed a more abrasive cleaning; the porous material drank in stains. But, if there was imperfection here…. What about there? It had been a month, but, still—what if?The sick feeling returned to his stomach and head. It became harder to breathe. He must go and make sure things were taken care of. He pulled on the coat hook and studied the door. It must be later than this, though. In case. Rhythmically, he tapped his thumb on the metal, thinking.The door. The door. The door, he thought. The door, first. Grabbing his baggy coat, he decided to grab the plane and scraper from his shed. Hopefully the neighbors had gone in for the evening.***A brisk, early-spring breeze blew the stench of the river upland. Relief washed over Jack; fishy was normal. Climbing down a particularly tricky cliff, he was back at the spot. It did not seem that any other living creature had attempted to reach this part of the bank from above. A small oval of gravely mud, there was only a parcel about 7 ft by 3 and nothing of worth to look at or retrieve.Flooding washing out the cliffsides and neighboring shores, this plot could only be accessed by taking a precarious climb or wading across the swollen river. The cut from the ground nearly a 15 ft drop, if one did not step in the exactly right places, loose dirt and rock would send a climber tumbling below with naught a branch to grab, only brambles and leafless, crumbling vines. Jack had always been good at climbing things, though avoiding the prick and scratch of thorns was nearly impossible.Standing on the riverbank, he admired his handiwork. If he hadn’t known, he wouldn’t have known. He paced and stomped on the ground; no sinking! His shoes squelched against the mud, a wedge forced into the earth with a last kick. Maybe its condition wasn't as good as he hoped. Pulling his foot free from the mud, the bank grew stickier with each step. Saturated, the mud was now soupy. Staring at his feet, he wondered if the ground had withered away so much to allow water to flow under it. A large raindrop hit Jack on the forehead. And a second, third. A heavy rain could wash the bank all away. Then it would be far, far from here, and that would be better.Satisfied, he began the climb up; luckily he did not have far to walk home.***Everything was finally in order. Jack crumpled onto his bed; it was the first time in a month he had felt able to sleep. Fears and nagging thoughts had finally been laid to rest—he had just needed to see it to feel safe. The gentle rain lulled him to surprisingly pleasant dreams.A sound woke him up in the night. Not a subtle noise, a loud one, the kind that sends you into an immediate, confused panic. Frozen, on edge, he listened intently.Smat. Mmmhhrrm. Squik, splench, sput.Eeeooorugh. Splitch, squish. Ek.Guh gregh ihc. Squick, sput, smat.The pitter-patter of rain had continued through the night; the sounds of someone walking outside the cabin were clear, wet smacks. Inch by inch, Jack slithered from the bed and crept towards the window. He could see a shadow on the lawn. It stood still, wobbling slightly in place. Hesitantly, it took an uncertain step, three more, then stood in place. Faint light from a streetlamp vaguely illuminated the thing; slathered in mud, it appeared human but didn’t act right. Didn't look quite right either. The thing took another shaky step. They must have had too much to drink. Fell in the mud, too. Not many people lived in this part of the country, but it was a Friday night.The figure wandered in a small loop, ambling towards the neighboring cabin. Standing near a window, it wobbled in place. After several minutes, Jack shivered and yawned. Just as he had let go of the curtain, the thing did something strange. Dropping to all fours, it skulked along in the wet mess. On hand and knee, it moved much quicker, more naturally. It continued to eerily moan and gag and jerk around aimlessly. Closer to the light, it turned towards the window; what may have once been a human face was no more: the skin hung, softened and loose on the bone; there was no nose, hair clung in places, fouled by disintegration, ground matter, and mud—but the eyes! The eyes bulged, tripled in size, near to bursting in their rigid sockets. And they shone, but within there was only darkness. No eye whites or irises, completely void. A loud groan demanded Jack’s attention. The sounds were from the monster’s mouth; human teeth protruded from the lips, or, more accurately, were piercing through the lips. They were not in the right place, sort of scattered and rearranged.Was it… him? No. It had been so long now. It couldn’t be. It couldn't be a person, even. Dead or alive.Standing, it stared in Jack's direction. Filled with indescribable horror and dread, he was drawn to a bit of cloth around its neck, washed clean by the rain. Breathless, without thought he reached for the axe, forgetting it was long gone. "It couldn't be," he thought, "it couldn't be." The thing's eyes shone brighter as it lurched closer. A soft sob escaped Jack. Of every worry and imagining, this was far worse.Forcefully ignoring his own questions, the only thought that now raced through his head was that he would have to do it again.Walking along the river, one can't help but be cautious. Even under the sun's rays, could you wake what is said to wait for you below? Would there be enough light to protect you from the angry dead?In the Appalachian foothills of Ohio, there are strange tales of horrific figures that live in or near rivers; cadaverous and insatiable, they pillage cemeteries, consume unfortunate animals, and those who wander in their domains after dark. Unlike familiar beasts, who kill and eat out of necessity, the Muddy Men slaughter out of hatred.Could such a creature exist?A legend, the remains of lost, harmed, or neglected loved ones will come back to life if they are left to rest near running water; wakened by their graves being stepped upon, rising from shoals and grabbing at the heels of passersby, Muddy Men are a local flavor of zombie. A source of fear, few dare to walk beside rivers after twilight. The consequence of dark deeds, these nightmarish figures influenced not only morality but burial practices and have long bred superstition.

The People of Antarctica: monsters of various sizes with human-like faces that stomp across an icy wasteland and swim about in bone-chilling waters... What are the Ningen? How many kinds of these critically endangered animals are there? Are they the same? It will take a long time to explain, but we hope you grow to love these (sort of creepy) cryptids as much as we do!Give a round of applause to this episode's featured member, BCwPA Agent T. Carter Ross! Agent Ross went out in the blistering cold to reenact the first sighting of the Bull-Headed Ningen (as taken from a field journal) and gather more information on these fascinating creatures.See references and sources on ballyraven.com.Listen to the show early! Become a BCwPA Agent for free.Support the show, get a field illustration print!Learn more about today's subject.Ask us a question!File a Witness/Sighting Report!CRYPTID: the Ningen, Bull-Headed Ningen, Walking NingenEPISODE TYPE: Case File, Sighting, Witness Account, Nature Documentary, Wildlife FootageLOCATION: Antarctica, Pacific Ocean, Antarctic Peninsula, Ross SeaANIMAL TYPE: Monotreme, Mammal, HumanoidMUSICRain by Meydän is licensed under a Attribution License.Please wake up by Meydän is licensed under a Attribution License.NotDrunk-stem-bass by The Joy Drops is licensed under a Attribution License.Roll Jordan Roll by The Joy Drops is licensed under a Attribution License.Hooptie With The Windows Down by HoliznaCC0 is licensed under a CC0 1.0 Universal License.Waves by HoliznaCC0 is licensed under a CC0 1.0 Universal License.Laptop Jazz by SANMI is licensed under a Attribution-NonCommercial License.I Got To Go Now (Instrumental) by Anthem of Rain is licensed under a Attribution 4.0 International License.Tick Tock by Glad Rags is licensed under a Attribution License.SOUND EFFECTS"Ocean Waves" by Noted451"09382 flush big wave" by Robinhood76"Metal Drag Short" by belanhud"Alarm 0" y SieuAmThanh"Dockyard Workers Unloading Fishing Trawler" by ralph.whitehead"Arctic Breeze Rig" by enricoviets"Field ambience 02" by szelestamas"a gentle breeze, wind 4" by mario1298"Stream, Water, C.wav" by InspectorJ"Running, Snow, A.wav" by InspectorJ"Bubbling, Large, A.wav" by InspectorJ"feeder-sergiyevposad-141209-wav" by oontzru"Hissing" by indigocat"water-plop-gentle" by junggle"splash" by angeliqueperdikes"Geese multiple angry shouting hissing close" by breiti"Cute Monster Wiggle" by qubodup"Elk Albatross Scream and Screech Sound" by Mastersoundboy2005"Rain Water Dripping Softly" by florianreichelt"Breezy Beach" by eqavox"150209 Trevor Webb Bird Squawk" by Bleachbear"meat" by saha213131"Angry bird screaming" by 16FVolejnikovaA"wet san" by squashy555"Chattering Teeth (foley)" by FableVision_Studios"thus" by OtisJames"Aguirre_Juan_Camilo_Bio_Fonia_Elefante_Marino_Isla_Rey_Jorge_Antartida" by artesmediales"Aquarium - Seal Vocalizations" by RavenWolfProds"Aguirre_Juan_Camilo_Bio_Fonia_Pinguino_Isla_Rey_Jorge_Antartida" by artesmediales"magellanic_penguin" by soundbytez"Odd Flute Paatterns" by BrevicepsTRANSCIPTWelcome, Agents.It has been very cold this winter in the Appalachian region. Not nearly as cold as in other parts of the world, though. Much like here, spring eventually returns–and with life: plants, birds, bugs, and other creatures. Some organisms, however, weather these extreme climates, withstanding harsh temperatures, plentiful snow and ice, and limited access to food, water, warmth.Titled “the Case of the Ice People” in the archives, today’s lesson explores this question we pulled from our mailbox,” Dear Ballyraven, Someone showed me a clip of a sound recorded far off the coast of southern South America. Do you know what made that noise?” Surprisingly, BCwPA has long known of the giant creature who migrates to the South Pacific Ocean each year and is lovingly referred to as the “Bloop.” It’s story is a long one, as it and its wintery cryptid friends are intertwined in Antarctica’s ecosystem. It all began with a report from a boat, which led to BCwPA’s first serious expedition, and ended with the discovery and verification of five distinct species.1990, the Pacific OceanIt was a cloudless night lit by a full moon; the sea was calm and the breeze weak, yet brisk. A Japanese fishing boat sat still in the cool water, as relaxed as the night around them. Suddenly, the boat lurched forward, carried by a great wave that disrupted the serenity. Alarmed, the crew gathered on the deck once the violent sway ceased. A large, white thing emerged slowly from the water. So starkly white and shiny was it that they believed they were staring into the side of a submarine that had surfaced far too close. As it rose, however, a wide, thin-lipped, frowning mouth came into view, followed by a large, black unblinking eye; towering over them, it resembled a distorted, upside down, human face.Silently, its long, massive body flowed and rounded back into the water, two arms and flipper-like legs against its sides. Mouths agape and eyes wide, the crew watched in awe and horror. Its disappearance returned tranquility to the water, though all who witnessed the creature never felt at peace again on the ocean.Several more sightings like this one occurred throughout the Pacific and off the South Atlantic. Many of these eyewitnesses have been reportedly instructed to remain silent. Oddly, large beasts like this one have been spotted not only in the water, but on land too.- - -This month’s expedition has taken us further than ever before. In fact, it is ground very, very few have, or will ever, set foot on. The home of many rare and disappearing creatures, this floating mass of land concealed by snow and sleet holds many mysteries. The world’s southernmost and least-populated continent, here lies a mountainous, vast polar desert; it is the coldest, driest, and windiest place on Earth. Covered in ice as thick as a couple of miles, temperatures here can drop as low as nearly negative 130 degrees F and warm to temperatures in the 50s during its summer. Though full of beautiful sights, the landscape is an eerily empty place. With extreme weather, poor soil, and a lack of sunlight, moisture, and animal populations, little can stand to exist here. With little to eat, animal life is sparse. Seemingly isolated and too harsh, those that have persisted in this habitat are the descendants of creatures that lived on or near the continent millions of years ago; each animal has grown alongside the ice’s cyclical nature and developed their own method to survive. Most organisms migrate during the roughest seasons; others seek nearby geothermal heat or rocky, ice-free edges until more comfortable temperatures allow for exploration. Few can weather all of this land amiably. Welcome to Antarctica. On this mission, we will take you on a tour of the Antarctic Peninsula, then inland, walking across the west to dive into the Ross Sea, climb over the Great Ice Barrier, and pause at the base of the Transantarctic Mountains; next, we trek upward and east, following a migrating herd to the Scot Mountains for a fifth rendezvous, before hopping back into the Southern Ocean, where we end our journey. Home to a fascinating, unique community, some organisms here are much stranger than others - and a few even appear alien-like. Hosting large beasts like the blue whale or colossal squid, and microscopic invertebrates like the famous tardigrade, arguably the most peculiar species living in Antarctica are a group of animals referred to in Japanese folklore as Ningen - a word that means ‘human being’ in English. Though unrelated, they are connected by their likenesses - a jumble of human-like faces and silhouettes. On this expedition, we will follow and document the lives of the Antarctic People, the Ningen, for the first time in history. 5:55/6“There I was, staring out at the sea in awe, watching our relatives leap from the cliffs, dive into the cool depths, catching wringling, silver fish with ease. So enthralled was I, that I ignored the sensation beneath my feet. Feeling off balance, I looked down at my boots. I stood not on a large, smooth pebble, but a thing - a creature! It struggled under my foot, which I quickly raised, and it waddled away with an almost angry glare. It settled down 3 ft away or so, becoming another pebble on the shore. Looking around, I saw other small, black eyes peering up at me. Who were these creatures, and what were they doing here?”  – - “Backed Vibes Clean” Kevin MacFungi are the most prevalent kind of lifeform in Antarctica. Over 1,000 species have been recorded throughout the continent; these beings have colonized and shaped the rocks, some painting them and the snow with fluorescent oranges, yellows, browns, greens or muted grays. Other fungi speckle the landscape with flower-like mushroom caps, spreading, delicate forms like snowflakes, or peeking aboveground with round, soft, and sometimes fuzzy bulbs. One fungus has adapted to only thrive in the excrement of local birds, withstanding being eaten and surviving by growing inside dung. Non-fungal flora is rare here. Aside from 25 species of liverwort and 100 mosses, there are only three kinds of flowering plant; all three are found on the Antarctic Peninsula, and one of them, the annual bluegrass, is a non-native species, brought accidentally by curious explorers. Though sparse in many places, several organisms depend on these plants, fungi, and, especially, the algae that grow in and out of the water.Amid the tufts of hair grass and mostly snowless coast, sits a furry, dark gray rock speckled with white. Deep into spring, the ground grows muddy and slushy; melting snow dirtied by spreading colonies of green and red algae and lichen. It is a stark contrast against the pale ocean, rocky mountains, and almost blue, floating sea ice. A broadening landscape of dirt and gravel, it is a wondrous treasure trove for the romantic-minded penguin.Seeking only the best pebbles and stones for his nest, the speckled, furry stone catches his eye. Jabbing at it with his beak, he tries to unlodge it from the ground; the action, however, causes the pebble to shiver and shrink. Confused, the penguin turns and eyes the rock for a moment. Waddling closer, he pecks at the stone. Popping up from its wedge between larger rocks, it hisses and sprints away. Excitedly flapping his wings and giving a squawk, he shuffles after the surprising morsel. The tiny animal, however, is much quicker than the bird; running on two, small legs, its long toes grip the ground and thrust them forward. On the edge of a snowbank, the creature watches the bird wander along its trail. Croaking, wriggling, he pecks at a few stones and anxiously observes them. Several rocks yielding no results, he angrily squawks. Frustrated, he gives up. A round stone catches his eye; he picks it up and waddles back home. Tilting her head up, the Ningen peers over the snow. No more dangers in sight, she stands tall and looks around. It’s time to move.Spring and summer are the most dangerous seasons for this kind of Ningen youth - the Little Ice Men, or Bullheaded Ningen. Many birds gather on the coast to breed, foraging and fishing nearby. Birds are very dangerous for these defenseless creatures. Despite their rough and tough appearance, they are soft and squishy organisms. Their small size and coloration, however, help them hide until a growth spurt provides them a stout body. The smallest species of Ningen, the Bullhead stands only one foot tall when fully grown. A purely terrestrial animal that looks like a cross between a lizard and a bird, they have a pair of stubby, bulky legs and 7-long-toed feet. Wide-hipped and short-torsoed, vestigial arms sprout from their upper chest. Seven-fingered claws, the arms are very short and rigid, offering little practical use. Supported by a muscular lower half, this Ningen’s head is responsible for up to half of its weight. Humanoid hands and feet, its face concretely places the animal in the Ningen category. Arguably the most human-like, it has two round eyes above a sloping, protruding upper lip and below a thick brow. Its mouth wide, reaching past the eyes and to the ears, the bottom lip is thin, but jaw chunky, powerful. Eerily uncanny for humans, the Bullhead has brown or blue irises on white eyes. Diurnal creatures, they are primed for daytime foraging and nighttime survival.– sunset - trg banks, Andy G. Cohen ‘warmer’, laurel breeze, econmium, no one at home, 1st contact band, Origami RepetikaNavigating the Arctic Peninsula during the melting season is tricky even for sure-footed creatures like the Bullhead. Lightweight, the cool, flowing streams may trip or carry off the baby animals into deep pools or the ocean; bobbing in the water, they are easy, obvious prey for birds, fish, and other waterfaring carnivores. Even their larger relatives are endangered by a fall into deep water. Poor, nearly incapable swimmers, the heavy-headed Ningen are forced to sink to the bottom and clumsily walk to shore. If they are pushed too far and fast out to sea, they are prone to drowning. Unfortunately, the Bullheads must persist near these wet, melting areas. Feeding on the plant and fungal matter that grow on the wet soil, rock, and slush, they bulk up and use the carotenoids to develop a seasonal camouflage. Similar to flamingos, their plumage transforms from bright white to a rusty orange, though their scaly skin and down remain dark gray. Needing to remain on the coast, the color change helps them blend into the ever-brightening environment.Luckily for our small Bullhead, the densely rocky area has provided a safe crossing to suitable territory. Young Bullheaded Ningens subsist almost entirely on fungus, algae, and other non-animal meals; living in clusters of growing food sources, they hide while feeding and growing in size. All traveling further and further away from bird breeding grounds, these Ningen eventually find themselves gathered near together. Born sometimes miles apart from one another, the youths that survive form groups in places such as this. Her coat still bright white, she is drawn to excessively feed on the algae, as her hatching siblings will be as well. Her fluffier, chick plumage will show no changes for a while. After a few weeks, though, it will rapidly change; adults’ feathers display gradual hue shifts in as little as two days. An early hatchee, she is the first to find herself in this location. A decent trek from large bird communities, it is fairly safe when compared to other early growing locations. There is always danger lurking in the sky, watching for movement. More will gather here in just a week. One by one, if they aren’t watchful, they could lead predators to invade their garden.  – – The Arctic growing season short, Bullheaded Ningens are fast-developing organisms. They must spend most of their day eating everything they can. In flocks of 15 to 40 young, higher numbers offer more protection for the group. It comes with disadvantages, however – so many little bodies means movement is much more noticeable. On the fringe of the gathering, pushed temporarily from feeding, watchers look out for danger. Antagonized primarily by birds, the shadow or presence of one causes a quick, sharp alert to be sounded and the flock to become motionless; if one is attacked, they all leap up and follow a leader’s direction. The sudden movement of so many confuses and sometimes scares off predators, allowing most–if not all–to escape when facing a single threat. Multiple enemies can halve a youngling community if not completely decimate them. Avoiding large groups of predators as a rule, Ningen eat their way across growth areas, staying within the warmer coastal region, and doubling in size by summertime. If they can make it to the cold months, the number of bird species that feed on them will be drastically reduced.While posing some downsides, the benefits of group life far outweigh the risks. In fact, only the largest communities can use their numbers for a special kind of feeding technique. Like their parents, young Bullheads are opportunistic scavengers and feeders, as well as kleptoparasites. Though they are not yet able to hunt, if fresh kills or carrion are near, they may find a way to sneakily feed on the meat. Often near other carnivorous animals, including not only birds but seals, food brought for other animals’ offspring, caught from the sea, or actively scavenged on the shore is frequently in view. Now a little larger, their adult teeth have grown in. They are ready to conduct their first theft. As mentioned before, Bullheded Ningen juvenile flocks have leaders, sometimes up to 3; these leaders are often the largest and oldest in the group. The first to arrive, the female we discovered off the coast is one of the largest of her brood, so far. Eyeing a large seal carcass below them, it is a dangerous play. Near the water, they must run at the carcass and turn sharply right; guarded by a couple of Giant Petrels on the left, the youths must be quick. Inexperienced, they have yet to come across these particularly aggressive foes. Their nourishment picked thin in this territory, they are growing hungry and must travel further west regardless. The meat will bolster their journey past the growing, neighboring seal community. While seals, especially young ones, may harm and eat the small Ningen, they are less likely to accost them on their passing, as long as they keep away from their faces and avoid touching them. The petrels pulling fresh meat from the seal below releases a strong scent upwind. The little Bullhead clacks her teeth and salivates. Releasing a deep, guttural croak, she and another of the fledglings are alerted of the plan. The hunting call is a shrill, squeaky version of mature Bullhead’s displays of aggression and hunting calls; the youths gather in a tight formation and wait. With a screech, the large male breaks from the flock first, running down the hillside at a sprint. The petrels notice the barrage of 20 half-sized Ningen running towards them as he bounces against the carcass. Clamping down on the seal, his boney upper lip and mouth full of new, sharp, serrated teeth cut through with ease; pulling backwards, the flesh tears free. A large chunk in his mouth, he scurries to run over the outcrop west and past elephant seals, swallowing the mouthful whole along his run. The others clumsily run into the seal to the petrels' great chagrin. Belligerently, the birds perform their dominance display and step towards the young holding the “sealmaster posture”: the head and wings are held outstretched, the head pointing at the Ningen and wingtips pointing slightly back; the tail is raised to a vertical position as the beak threatens certain death. Stunned by the guards’ size, the latter half of the group stalls a few feet from the seal. Stragglers still gnawing off hunks of flesh and running, one of the petrels grab a Bullhead still biting the meat; it squishes its small body between its formidable beak and slings its lifeless body towards the oncomers.Panicked, they disperse in every direction; some haphazardly run past the birds and along the sea, some go left, others right, and, still yet, some of the young Ningen run towards the seal, hoping to be one of the lucky ones to have a taste and escape unscathed. The young female reaching the seal’s territory hears the shrill calls of the Ningens escaping, perishing, and at war in the distance; ignoring it, she hurries on. The molting elephant seals wallow in their muddy trenches. Spread throughout their lounging community are throngs of King Penguins. With so many near, the sprinting, 6 inch animals are easily missed. Following a few other youths, she rounds a large bull and skids suddenly the opposite direction, looking for an alternate path; the leading male squirming between a penguin beak, he sounds a warning before being silenced. Now guiding the way, she is responsible for finding a safe path for those behind, or at least warning of a danger that has befallen. Using the large cows to block birds’ view. Slowing near the end of the seals’ bodies, with quick glances, she makes decisions. Following along another seals’ body, she is surprised by a penguin standing in her way. It flaps and squawks at her; spotted she teeters backward and begins to turn, another Ningen bouncing against her sudden stop; eagerly, the penguin pecks at her, hitting the seal instead. Rolling over, mouth agape and irritated, the cow growls and lurches at the penguin. With the distraction, she runs past the squabble. The gathering thinning out, she runs harder. Less to hide behind, birds and seals are well-aware of their passing. Squawks and growls and moans, they can’t stop nearby. Pushing forward, the survivors run up a rocky hillside. Atop, they slide down the muddy backside; in the distance is another rounded outcrop. Green and red and orange glow from the muted colors. She hears a watcher bleat from the little garden. Though her ragtag team has lost many of its members, those remaining are safe and welcomed into an even larger group.With over forty members of all ages, they are reunited with a herd - and, we come face to face with our first Ningen giant. Growing up to 8 feet tall, the Long-Limbed Ningen, or Ice Man, has a mutualistic symbiotic relationship with the small, similarly built animals. Only very distantly connected on the tree of life, they share little in common physiologically and psychologically, though each depends on the other in the warm months, migrating as a group to the Ross Sea, where they part ways.On the next episode of our Antarctic adventure, we will explore the habits of the Ice Man and his entourage, observe our little Bullhead learn more complex hunting maneuvers, witness a Ningen courtship ritual, and discover our first deep sea cryptid.- - -“The Midnight Sun. It is beautiful and disorienting. In Antarctica, the climax of summer is a day without end, a sun always in the sky, a night that never arrives. While it makes it difficult to sleep, it in turn makes it easier to work. We paid a heftier price than usual for knowledge, today.Following a group of Little Ice Men, we arrived at another rocky shore. A group of Emperor penguins gathered on one side, the Little Ice Men giving them much space, trekked around and settled on the opposing shore. Larger versions of the youths greeted them, making sharp, clicking noises. On the beach lay a long, pale tentacle of unimaginable size. A fishy, slightly rotten smell lingered near it. We gathered around the limb excitedly. The arm was gray with small, brown freckles; it ended in a sickle-shaped paddle covered in a multitude of tiny, round bumps, but was speckled with larger nodules and outlined with triangular, almost sharp, swollen blisters. Could it be the Kraken? Some unknown, undiscovered ocean beast?The limb suddenly began slightering into the water. With a quick reaction, one of the team grabbed onto the tentacle, holding tight. It lurched them forward, ankle, then knee-deep into the water. We shouted for them to let go; with panic, they screamed that they couldn’t. Peering out over the water, we could see that the flipper had embedded itself in Animal’s back. Their hands yanking backwards, the tentacle was stuck to their palms like glue. Rushing forward, three agents waded, trying to catch and grab ahold of Animal. With an even more disconcerting lurch, the ocean exploded, sending foam, bits of ice, and frigid water over top us all. A stark white thing vaulted up, out of the water, its mouth the size of a small room and equipped with two lines of perfectly straight, bullet-shaped teeth.The other, albeit smaller, birds are a large part of carnivorous animal’s diets out here. Why should we be excluded from the menu? Animal was no more and we more carefully watched the shore, the waters, and bewared lures.”There are only about 240 marine species in Antarctica, including the sea cucumber, free-swimming snail, and, most importantly, the Antarctic Krill. Congregating in swarms of 10 to 30 thousand, these krill grow to be less than 2 and a half inches long, yet are one of the most abundant animals worldwide. Antarctic Krill are a keystone species - an animal that plays a critical role in their community, with essential ties to numerous other organisms. Krill populations feed whales, seals, squid, icefish, and many of the 40 bird species that live in or visit the continent; they also inadvertently feed local, large predators.

"When a bee shows up to your window, buzzing and staring at you, that means you have a guest on the way," at least, that's what Appalachian grandmothers used to say. What does this superstition mean, where did it come from, and where did it go? Find out on today's BCwPA episode! See references and sources on ballyraven.com.Listen to the show early! Become a BCwPA Agent for free.Support the show, get a field illustration print!Learn more about today's subject.Ask us a question!File a Witness/Sighting Report!CRYPTID: the Messenger BeeEPISODE TYPE: Superstition, Historical Account, Nature Documentary, FaeLOCATION: Appalachian Mountains, Ohio, West Virginia, KentuckyANIMAL TYPE: Bug, Insect, Bee, BumblebeeIntro MusicFae by Meydän is licensed under a Attribution License.Outro MusicHairy Fairy Hotaruna by Monroeville Music Center is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution License.TRANSCRIPTWelcome, Agents.As warmth creeps over us, and the bugs, green, flowers, and trees make their return, I think it is time to pull something from our mailbox to celebrate the end of winter.Dear Ballyraven, My grandma used to tell me that if you see a bee hovering in front of your window, that means that someone is coming to visit. Where does this come from and what does it mean? From, Scared-of-Bees, Fairmont, WV.Bumblebees are the perfect spring-themed topic! And we have a definite answer for the origins of this old, Appalachian bit of superstition. Titled “the Case of the Glowing Bees” in the archives, today’s lesson explores the history of reading bees and predicting the future.—“Elves are terrifying figures. Standing no shorter than 7 feet tall, they loom over you, scrutinizing your value with the cold, black eyes seen only elsewhere on a Great White Shark. Knowing it feels nothing for you, or anything else that walks or breathes, knowing that it can unmake and remake you, alter your workings, your mechanics… eradicate you in an instant, just on a fleeting whim, a passing thought… well, it does not make you happy to see one in the distance. Surrounded by piles of ash, the remains of some unfortunate creature, surely, it helded something small in its long fingers. A haunting melody reached my ears, the kind of song that revisits you, wakes you from sleep, and fills you with terror for years. When the forest lord’s eyes began to glow, I fled the little, buzzing meadow.”

Robots. Needles. Blue lights. Strange sounds. One terrifying abduction.A terrifying experience, what are these antennae-topped creatures from outer space and what do they want?See references and sources on ballyraven.com.Listen to the show early! Become a BCwPA Agent for free.Support the show, get a field illustration print!Learn more about today's subject.Ask us a question!File a Witness/Sighting Report!ALIEN: the Paciência Abductors, the Tets GiversEPISODE TYPE: Case File, Witness Account, Abduction, EncounterLOCATION: Paciência, BrazilALIEN TYPE: RoboticUFO/CRAFT INCLUDED: Yes, UFO presentPart 1 in the Paciência Abductor series.Thank you to all of my patrons for allowing me to keep making these audio lessons! This is the first I've recorded in a while, so I'm a bit rusty. Hope you enjoy it, nonetheless.Intro MusicHairy Fairy Hotaruna by Monroeville Music Center is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution License.Outro MusicThe Cave of Time by Monroeville Music Center is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution License.TRANSCRIPTWhat Happened in Paciência? On most mornings, at 2 AM to be exact, Antonio La Rubia wakes up, brushes his teeth, showers, packs a bag, and leaves for work. A routine, it always takes at least 15 minutes, but never more than 20. Antonio was a bus driver in Paciência, Rio de Janeiro; his work day started early and required he take a bus to get to his own. Each workday, he walked from his home, down a road, beside a stretch of field. Today, though, he stopped at its grassy edge in awe. From above, looking out over the field, he saw something confusing: a large, metallic object. At first, he thought it was the bus he took each day, but it was clearly not. The dull, lead colored thing was far too large, first of all, and was shaped like a hat. It had three points, the tallest in the center, and was round at its base. Staring at it, he estimated it was over 230 feet long, outsizing even the field it sat in. Though he didn’t believe in aliens or UFOs, the thought crossed his mind. He turned and started to run… but his legs wouldn’t work. He was frozen in place.A bright light burned behind him, bathing everything in blue. Suddenly, three robot-like beings appeared out of nowhere. They were not stereotypical robots, but something much stranger. They had small, metallic heads shaped like an American football balanced on its end. Wrapped around the middle, like a strip of film, were a series of light blue, rounded square mirrors. Those facing him were a darker, more vibrant hue; the squares dimmed and lit up as they circled him, watched him. Extending from the top of the head was a long antenna. It was nearly as tall as the rest of the creature, stretching 3 feet or so above Antonio. Minus the antenna, they were rather short: only 4 feet tall.The aluminum creatures had no neck; their head was plugged directly into a wide, robust torso. On each side was an arm-like appendage. It was not like a human’s arm, but an elephant’s trunk. The limb was thick at its base, tapering down to a single, rounded, finger-like digit. Its body and arms were composed of a kind of skin that resembled rough scales. It gave the creatures a reptilian rather than an armored appearance. Snug around its middle was a thick belt; hung on hooks all around it were squat, sharp syringes. While the entity in general was strangest, the oddest part was its legs and feet, or, more aptly, its lack of them. The being’s oversized body was plopped atop a metal pole that ended in a flat-bottomed, UFO-like disc; it looked like a ship or diner’s stationary bar stool with a hefty bag balanced on the cushion. He thought the robots may have been sitting on some sort of floating object, but the pedestal was its lower half.One on each side and one facing him, the robots stilled, watchful. Surprisingly, Antonio didn’t feel fear, but nervousness. He tried to move once more, but could only swing his arms around wildly. In his struggle, he discovered he was trapped in an invisible bell or jar. One of the robots held up a syringe and pointed it at Antonio. Against his will, he could feel his legs turning and walking towards the UFO. The light beaming at him grew brighter and brighter until he felt the ground or his body shiver and realized he was no longer outside. Somehow, like the robots’ appearance before him, he had teleported inside the ship.Antonio was facing a wall; to his left and right were long, aluminum hallways. It was harder to breathe here. The air felt thick, heavy. Two of the robots floated left, the other right. Unable to move anything but his arms and head again, he looked behind him and stared in amazement. The outer hull of the ship was completely see-through. As he peered out at the field, he felt the floor rumble under his feet and a force pushing down on him. The ship was lifting off. The field grew smaller as he passed his house and other recognizable landmarks. They were taking him north.A blue light turned on above him. Coming from the ceiling, it was a bright and vibrant blue, like the robots’ activated eyes. As the light reached him, though, it paled, eventually blending into the gray corridor. Looking up, he stood in front of twenty-four robots; he was no longer in the hallway, but in a much larger, round room. Half of the entities were to Antonio’s left, the other half to his right, making him feel like a teacher addressing a class. He felt his vocal cords loosen, and he immediately screamed, “What do you want? Who are you?” The beings fell to the ground, as if stunned. As he wondered if he had disabled them with his voice, the light above him turned on. This time, however, he couldn’t see at all, blinded by bright white.Several seconds passed. While Antonio couldn’t make out anything in the light, he could make out sounds: strange, unnatural, breathy sighs, like a cycling mechanical pump. His sight slowly returned and he spotted several of the creatures. He released more shouts, but they did not fall backwards and become incapacitated this time. Instead, each raised a tentacle-arm up to grab the top of their antenna; at the top, a small orb had been spinning so fast it had been imperceptible. With the antenna top stopped, it looked like a ridiculously long, tiny spoon.Antonio could no longer move his arms. He frantically turned his head, assessing this new location. The room was barren except for a single object that resembled a piano. The box was 4 feet tall, 6 feet wide, and stood on two legs. On the side facing him, the box had a series of blocks that looked just like piano keys. On top of the box, there was an antenna on each end and a thin, empty, metal can; a hole, it led inside the box. The eleven robots gathered close and faced the wall opposite the box and Antonio, their dark blue eye fixated. One of the beings pulled a syringe from its belt and injected its contents into the hollow can. Then, it pressed down on one of the piano keys and a tone sounded. On the wall appeared a video. It was in high definition and vibrantly colored, but there was no sound. The video was filming Antonio from above, inside a gray, white, and blue room he didn’t recognize. Floating in the air, or maybe stretched across an invisible table, he was naked and angrily flailing his arms around. His legs were perfectly motionless and straight. A robot bent over him on each side, inspecting his head and chest. They both flipped on something in their limbs and the room glowed blue. One held a bright-blue laser pointer, directing the beam across his body. The second held a soft blue light and focused on his head. The video stopped and the wall was a blank, gray slate. A second robot walked forward, injecting a new syringe. This one produced another video of Antonio. This time, he stood naked and motionless in a hallway. The only movement was the blinking of his eyes; he did not seem conscious. Only a few seconds long, another robot began the next.In this one, a robot approached his comatose body and Antonio’s eyes came to life, looking around frightfully. The creature pulled a syringe from its belt, passing it to its other limb. The syringe’s tip began to rotate, spinning so fast that you couldn’t tell it was moving. The robot pointed at Antonio with it and he outstretched one arm towards it, hand spread. The needle was plunged into his middle finger, filling up with bright red blood. After, the robot pointed at a picture on the neighboring wall and then drew 3 circles with his blood. The video ended after it drew an ‘L’-shaped mark that bisected all three shapes.Another robot, another syringe, another video. Antonio, dressed this time, carrying his work bag nervously. His teeth chattered and he anxiously swung his arm back and forth. Falling to a fetal position, he vomited and defecated on himself, sweating profusely. Smoke puffed from his back. Next, a horse-drawn cart pulling an unknown man across an unfamiliar dirt road; the stranger wore a straw hat, a torn shirt, but no shoes. Then, Anotonio was standing next to a wavering ball of orange light. Almost mirroring the former, a blue ball of light wavered next to a still robot. A new one, an agitated dog baring its fangs; frothy-lipped, it barked and snapped at a robot that watched it just out of reach. After a fifth bark, the robot melted from top to bottom, like porridge falling from a bowl. Next, a hangar of some sort; three rows of UFOs were visible, some nearly finished, others only the craft’s skeleton. Millions of the robots milled about. Again, a new one, this time an old, beaten-down, and weathered Japanese bullet train; dented, paint chipped, and devoid of windows, it roughly traversed the rails and disappeared into a tunnel. The final display, the eleventh robot, the eleventh syringe, the eleventh video took place in Avenida Presidente Vargas, one of Rio de Janeiro’s busiest roads. It focused on a traffic jam, a multitude of cars.Suddenly, he was no longer in the piano-box room but outside on his hands and knees. He had been thrown from the ship. One of the robots stood next to him; on his other side was his bag, which they must have grabbed when he first came face-to-face with them. He looked up and saw a shadowy object; it didn’t look like the ship, it looked like the bottom of a massive balloon, but he knew it was. It floated up in the sky, growing smaller and smaller in size. He looked to his left. The being was gone. He looked up. The UFO was also gone. He looked down at his watch. It read 2:20 AM… but it couldn't be correct. He held it up to his ear and watched it; it was still working.Grabbing his bag, he stood and looked around. Only one other person was there on this street this early, and it was someone he recognized. The town drunk stared, dumbfounded. Running, he jumped a street over and made it to Paciência Station. Asking the clerk for the date and time, it was only 2:55 AM on September 15, 1977–the same morning he woke up what felt like days ago. He could still catch his 3:10 bus and arrive on time.As the day passed, he grew more and more ill. Nervous, feverish, achy, nauseous, pained, he pushed through his shift. As he drove, his vision occasionally darkened or went away, but he safely ran his routes, regardless. His symptoms persisted all day and the next. Then, they grew worse. It dawned on him that parts of the videos played by the piano-box had come to life. Was it telling his future? Friday night, he went home. Instead of telling his wife what had happened, he went to bed. He slept fitfully and suffered extreme stomach aches and diarrhea. Saturday and Sunday were even worse; he called off work. An excruciating, hot, burning sensation ravaged his entire body; pleading for relief, his wife rubbed alcohol onto his skin, which helped a little. Monday morning, he felt no better. He showed up to work even more visibly ill, a sickly shade of green. He itched, burned, and struggled to breathe air that seemed to grow thicker each day. Before he quit, he asked a coworker to spray him with the water hose.Antonio’s condition didn’t improve for 33 days. He described it as not only painful, awful, and uncomfortable, but like walking through a cloud. A severe emptiness had overwhelmed him. Taken to a clinic, he refused a tranquilizer to ease his pain and help him rest. When he began to talk of UFOs and his abduction, they restrained and strapped him to a bed, fearing he was having a psychological breakdown. Antonio’s 103 degree Farenheight fever was soon brought down, but doctors could not find a cause for his illness and he was never given a reasonable explanation.

In Old Saybrook, Connecticut, on December 16, 1957, between the hours of 2 and 3 AM, a local teacher witnessed something incredible: outside her window, Mary M. Starr saw a spaceship with aliens inside.Her encounter was not the last. Leaving behind a trail of mysteries and murders, the Case of the Saybrook Blockheads is one of fear, greed, and secrecy.See references and sources on ballyraven.com.Listen to the show early! Become a BCwPA Agent for free.Support the show, get a field illustration print!Learn more about today's subject.Ask us a question!File a Witness/Sighting Report!ALIEN: the Old Saybrook Blockhead, Blockheads, CubeheadsEPISODE TYPE: Case File, InvestigationLOCATION: Old Saybrook, Connecticut, USAALIEN TYPE: RoboticUFO/CRAFT INCLUDED: SomewhatCREDITSAtomic Snapshots of Shared Memory.mp3 by Geoff Keston is licensed under an Attribution 4.0 International License.Zinc by CXR ATK is licensed under an Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.Manoevre by CXR ATK is licensed under an Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.Land-escape by Safir Nou is licensed under an Attribution-NonCommercial-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.OTAYWNHKA by Kosta T is licensed under a CC0 1.0 Universal License.TRANSCRIPTBetween 2 & 3 A.M. December 16, 1957Old Saybrook, Connecticut, USAA flash of light startled her awake. Did she somehow sleep through her alarm? Was it noon? No. The light was too bright - so painfully bright - like stadium lights pointed directly into her bedroom. And the room was hot. Hot and dry. Groggy, she stumbled to the window and pulled its curtains aside. She easily saw what beamed from the second floor: it looked like an airplane had crashed. Jagged, torn in two, the piloting end hovered above her clothesline. ...Hovered?! Yes, it hovered above it! Shocked, confused, and on alert, she studied the object floating in midair. It was large, 6 or 7 feet thick, and three times as long, with two square windows on its side. It was no plane.Behind the craft's windows, two... things... moved around. They stretched and bobbed and slithered slowly by like two fat worms. Passing each other, both held their right arm in the air; at least, it looked sort of like an arm. The appendage had no discernible features: no hands, no fingers, no claws, no suction cups. The long, red growth connected to a strange, sickly yellow body that flared out like a long skirt. Most frightening, however, were their big, translucent, cube-shaped heads. Inside each was a perfectly round, glowing, blood-red sphere.Field recreation of M. Starr's account.As the things paced inside, the balls seemed motionless, fixed in place. With horror, she realized her room was no longer bright white but an upsetting red. She could feel the orbs' vibrant glow with a million electric tingles. The balls were fixated on her.Frozen in place, she watched as the craft began to move. It angled up and down as an antenna sprouted from the left side, pulsating with the same red color. The things inside stilled, watching her. Light beamed not only from within the ship but from its outer hull. The light hurt; as it intensified, she was blinded and felt her skin crisp. Then, the antennae and its light retracted, and the ship dulled. Both windows disappeared like a closing sliding door and extinguished the red glow. Shifting on a horizontal plane, rotating at different angles, the craft paused, quivering, and shot directly upward.Her deep, shaky exhale was the only sound she'd heard in the last 5 - or was it 50? - minutes. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------Dubbed the "Saybrook Blockhead," the strange, alien pair spotted that early winter morning by Mary M. Starr was not the first encounter with its kind; hers was only the first publicly available, publicly persistent account.The first occurred the year before. An unusual object was spotted only two days before its descent in 1956. Stealthy and especially non-reflective, it traveled undetected at impossible speeds. Nothing could be done. It could only be observed, then met, collected later.Those within, however, scattered. Some evaded capture and had secondary encounters.8:53 A.M. January 11, 1993Old Saybrook, Connecticut, USA// Listen to the recording for full transcript //Detective Holding was working on a cold case from 1956. Pouring over what files and photos were left, he discovered an error: Ambrose Briddle was never interviewed. At least, no evidence of one remained. Briddle was an obvious suspect: 1) He was with the victim the night he died; 2) He was a coworker; and 3) He immediately quit his job the day after. It seemed blatantly obvious.An impatient, fidgety old man, the out-of-the-blue inquiry went as Holding expected: not well. Unhelpful and unwilling to answer anything honestly, Holding was certain that Briddle knew something. He didn't think the man was a killer, but there could be a rare surprise. Faced with the evidence, he expected the man to break - but not in the way he did. Coming back with water and more crime scene photos, Briddle's mood changed. The man's eyes bulged, and he sobbed; he cried, "Is this another test? Just tell me," over and over. "I swore I wouldn't," over and over.Eighty-two minutes into the interview, there was a knock at the door. Two men in dark suits stood on the other side, along with the police chief. They ushered him out of the room. Briddle stretched, looking into the hallway after him. He then hyperventilated and began to incoherently screech. Less than 6 months later, Detective Holding disappeared. Those close to him suspected the worst after a series of erratic behaviors, as well as the dramatic loss of his job and girlfriend.

Our first ancient alien is found in France, created 20,000 years ago in a cave: it is the Wounded Man, a prehistoric engraving that some claim to be an alien and a UFO. What is this strange cave drawing? Is it a depiction of an alien - or something else?See references and sources on ballyraven.com.Listen to the show early! Become a BCwPA Agent for free.Support the show, get a field illustration print!Learn more about today's subject.Ask us a question!File a Witness/Sighting Report!ALIEN: the Wounded Man, Ancient AlienEPISODE TYPE: Case File, Overview, ReportLOCATION: Pech-Merle Cave, FranceALIEN TYPE: Tall Gray, Humanoid, Large-EyedUFO/CRAFT INCLUDED: Yes, UFO presentTRANSCRIPTPech-Merle, or “high hill”, is a cavern in Cabrerets, France that was frequented by the curious. One day, in 1922, three teenagers found a way deeper into the cave, discovering not only awe-inspiring rock formations–stalactites, stalagmites, columns, draperies, calcite floors, and shields–but human creations, as well. Strange, haunting paintings. Repeatedly used by people in the Upper Paleolithic, the lower level of the cave became blocked sometime during the Ice Age by mudslides, cutting further visitation. This, however, preserved the cave’s beauty, and what people left behind, for thousands of years. Interestingly, ancient people did not live in these caves, but, as in modern times, were frequent visitors. Within the rocky time capsule, while there were hundreds of paintings, there was little else.Within Pech-Merle, there were children' s footprints left in hardened clay, pieces of charcoal, and three stone tools (a chopper, a kind of rock with an edge that was used for cutting meat, fur, wood, plants, and sharpening spears; a burin, a rock flake used to carve or complete wood or bone tools, as well as engrave and draw; and a retouched blade, which was a blade that was made by repurposing another tool). Spanning across the walls and ceilings of seven different chambers are about 800 pieces of cave art. Some of these are geometric drawings and handprints or hand stencils; more than 70 are identifiable animals: mammoths, horses, bison, reindeer, aurochs, ibexes, fish, and even a lion and bear. There are also 12 pictures depicting humans–a rarity in Paleolithic art–some of which are animalistic people, like the Women-Bison or Women-Mammoths. None are quite like the drawing named the “Wounded Man.”-In Pech-Merle, there is a surprising amount of contrast and color. On pale gray, yellow, salmon-y-tan, and nearly white stone, there are deep, black lines, as well as bright red, golden brown, and earthy oranges. Some of the art found here is not so obvious: hands chaotically scribbling, fingers trailing through once wet mud, some of the grooves make pictures instead of “macaroni” or “spaghetti track” doodles. Just as hard to see are the scratch-mark drawings created by scraping a sharp stone against the wall, leaving pale lines and pictures behind; these are a type of cave art called engraving. Most of Pech-Merle’s drawings were made with charcoal sticks; the easiest material to get a hold of, found in every prehistoric hearth and fire pit, they were used just as charcoal sticks are used today: they were drug across the stone, leaving a dark, but not very durable, line behind. Charcoal drawings are very common and well-preserved inside of caves. Also prevalent in Pech-Merle are the bright red, golden, and orange drawings created with red ochre. Earth pigments, ochers are iron oxides that can be mixed with liquids to create a variety of mediums, like paints and crayons. Manganese and barium oxides were also used to create dark blue-black-grays, as seen in the cave’s most famous panel, the “Painted Horses.” The Wounded Man pales in comparison to many drawings in the cave. Created with a thin, reddish-brown ochre crayon, its form doesn’t stand out well against the dark gray, pocked stone, but almost blends into it despite the color difference.About 30 inches long, the artwork features a two-legged figure. The legs are shorter than a modern human’s, laying or kicking out behind them, nearly prostrate, but with a bulbous head straining upward. Two oval eyes stare right above a sharp jaw. Something seemingly oozes from a long, bent neck and the upper chest. Eight sticks jut out from the armless torso. Ever so slightly touching the head is a geometric shape: like an upside-down T, the boxy shape has outward-pointing lines on each edge, the right one making contact with the figure. Most simply and detailed, it is a horizontal band with a downward extension at each end, as well as an upward extension in the middle.At a glance, the figure does heavily resemble a tall gray alien, from the head and eyes’ shape, to its thick torso and stubby legs. The shape hovering above its head also looks a lot like a UFO, resembling a cone-topped or bird-shaped craft. The shape or “sign” is actually sometimes called an “aviform,” interpreted to be a bird-shaped symbol. It is, however, known by two other names, each based on a different interpretation. One alternative title is the “Butterfly Sign”, for looking like a flapping butterfly, head-on. They are also called “Placard” or “Placard-Type Signs.” This double-name isn’t for its uncanny resemblance to some sort of poster or signboard, but for Le Placard Cave, where twelve similar images were found. The strange, UFO-like image has, so far, been found in only twelve French and two Spanish caves and rock shelters, their creation spanning across about 30,000 years, based on various dating methods. The Placard interpretation sees this image as more of a symbol, motif, something abstract. Some claim it is a symbol of fertility or life, a torso and legs in its most basic form. But what it really meant or represented is a mystery, and always will be. Such a rare thing, looking at what else is near these Placards may help determine what it means, if anything.The Wounded Man is not only the name of this alleged ancient alien, but the name of a rare cave art theme. This collection of drawings contains human-like figures with sticks protruding from their body. These are assumed to be arrows or spears, as similar imagery can be found in animal art, the beasts seemingly bleeding, disemboweled, or otherwise injured by the same sticks. Our wounded man almost appears to have a pool of blood under their neck and chest, as some animals were depicted. More interestingly, Placards have been found near Wounded Men at least twice, and, debatedly, three times if you count Lascaux Cave. I don’t interpret this one as a Wounded Man, but, uh, you can look that one up and determine for yourself. In Paleolithic art, there are no scenes of war or group violence; only sixteen or seventeen instances of Wounded Men, speared humans, mortally wounded, or corpses. And a couple are near a Placard sign. The rarity of the two themes doesn’t definitively link them together, but, perhaps they are related in some way. A symbol of life or death, a scavenging bird. Yet, it is possible that the two things aren’t related at all. How many more Placards and Wounded Men lie hidden somewhere underground? How many were created on wood or on stones outside,  destroyed by time and the elements? Based on what we have recovered, there isn't enough to say for sure.The figure, while uncanny in its resemblance to a Tall Gray, has features not uncommon in other pieces of cave art, near and far from Placards and this period of prehistory. Overly large heads, poorly drawn features, disproportional legs, and missing arms are, by far, not unusual. As I look through a collection of cave art in the Nature of Paleolithic Art, our Wounded Man appears less stylistically unique. Among all of the swollen heads, bug-eyes, and weirdly contorted bodies, it seems more likely that this is just another drawing of a person. Cave art tends to exaggerate a subject’s features; I would like to think that if one of the artists who stopped and drew on the walls of this cave did so with intentions of drawing an alien they saw or heard about, they would have dramatically emphasized their otherworldly, inhuman features, regardless of how human they seemed. Humans are well known to focus on oddities, especially in uncanny valley territory. Lastly, there’s the added challenge of actually drawing a person–something few of us can do well today with pen and paper on a table. These images were created on uneven, rough surfaces with crude, imprecise tools, at odd angles on ceilings and walls, and by firelight. Accuracy would be difficult for a skilled draftsman. Cave art has been created by people of all ages; we know this based on handprint stencils and the footprints that have been left behind. Cave art comes from all levels of skill and creativity too; in our ancient, historic record, there are mindless finger scribbles, poorly drawn, but recognizable creatures, and aweing masterpieces that utilize multiple colors, differing line work, and the shape and texture of a stone to create scenes that seem to come to life under torchlight. It is easy to fall into the trap of viewing Ice Age people as less than or different from us in ways that are not so. Just like us, they varied in skill, talent, and thought. There is every possibility that our Wounded Man is just not drawn very realistically or well–but, maybe realism was never the intention.   -Always an argument in art history, there is debate on whether cave drawings such as this one were ritualistic, important for other reasons, or mundane. While we are fairly certain people did not live in our Wounded Man’s cave, did they use it a few times for shelter? Did they keep returning to this spot for a specific reason, weather or season-related, or for some sort of special event or occasion? Was drawing this picture important? Did it signify something profound that happened often, rarely, or systematically? Or was it just someone’s memory, something personally significant? Was the Placard added at the same time, by the same person? There are many questions that we will never have a satisfying or concrete answer for.We know where the Wounded Man was created, what tools were used to create it, and the general time it was made. All else is up to interpretation, as context only helps so much. Historians see the story of a man killed by arrows or spears. Maybe as a punishment. Maybe sacrificially. Maybe violently, as a murder. Maybe symbolically, separated from a community. Maybe even an artists’ dark fantasy or wish. Historians see Placards as a representation of nature or a woman, perhaps an abstract concept like life and death, or as a pictograph whose word or words are lost to time. Pelo-con advocates see the Wounded Man as an alien–maybe a Tall Gray–killed by ancient people. And the Placard? A UFO ship that had deposited the entity–seen before its death–or beaming it up into the craft, where it could be cared for. Finally, there is the belief that the picture is a warning, a call to kill or attack the alien creatures.Any of these explanations could be true. Some are much more likely than others, though. Even if the story of the Wounded Man of Pech-Merle is shockingly mundane and relatable, there is something innately magical and beautiful about a long-lost drawing deep in a cave from a past we don’t know much about

Horizon cases. They may be a mystery you're familiar with. The same qualities that make these stories interesting also make them frustrating, disappointing, or unsatisfying. They are simply unanswerable questions.Join us as we discuss Horizon Cases and step into a long-gone world of them.See references and sources on ballyraven.com.Listen to the show early! Become a BCwPA Agent for free.Support the show, get a field illustration print!Learn more about today's subject.Ask us a question!File a Witness/Sighting Report!ALIEN: Ancient AliensEPISODE TYPE: Case File, Overview, ReportLOCATION: general, prehistoric places and timesALIEN TYPE: VariedUFO/CRAFT INCLUDED: SometimesTRANSCRIPTHorizon cases. They may be a kind of detective story you're familiar with. They're endlessly intriguing, covering the most bizarre, most ancient, or most mysterious events ever observed or things left behind. Their strange natures make them prime fixations for creative types, spawning endless 'what ifs' and possibilities, like spooky, weird podcast episodes and novellas. The same qualities making these events interesting make them frustrating and disappointing. Like walking towards the setting sun, we can continually think about and research horizon cases, yet, as we can never touch the sun on the horizon, the answers of a horizon case will always be out of reach. Horizon cases can have no final resolution.Now, you might be thinking, "Why can't we answer these sorts of questions?", and that depends on the topic. Some of these cases have happened so long ago that clues, context, and data in general are lacking. If any evidence does remain, it isn't helpful. Complicating things further, some horizon cases are so bizarre that we have no frame of reference for them. A few even seem to go against our current understanding of the world. Our grasp of organisms, physics, the universe - how everything works. Without new technology or information, the best a horizon case can be given is an educated, shrugging guess.Horizon cases can cover weird phenomena like meat falling from the sky, multiple deaths with no apparent cause, and, more often, suspected alien activity. You can start with any case for a, well, mostly self-contained story. But as for me, I like to start my investigations at the beginning.Before the advent of written language and record-keeping, humans created art: shell and bone engravings, wood and stone figurines, and upon rocks, paintings and drawings. Through art, they spoke. They said, "I was here," and "This was important to me." They tell us, "This is something that happened," "This is something I saw." While every piece of prehistoric art is extraordinary, some are exceptionally intriguing. Amidst depictions of extinct animals, stencils of hands, and long-forgotten great hunts are memories of living beings and things seemingly not of this world—and, according to some, perhaps not of this time.Depictions of so-called ancient aliens, out-of-place artifacts, and ancient astronauts are exceedingly rare. Nevertheless, at least one exists in all prehistoric art forms–and each is vehemently contested. From frightening, supernatural figures and objects in the sky to violent encounters, abductions, and being watched from afar, these old stories are not too different from today's alien encounters. While many accounts of extraterrestrials are met with skepticism, paleocontactonomy is even more discredited; a subset of pseudoarchaeology, its negative press stems from its less than genuine or benevolent history. But to begin, what even is an ancient alien? They are surprisingly hard to pin down and describe.-Ancient aliens and paleocontactonomy, or paleo-con, for short, is not so much as an area of scientific study, but an unregulated system of loosely related beliefs. At its core, it's about aliens interacting with humans and showing up in art made hundreds to thousands of years ago, from the medieval era to prehistoric times. Researchers, believers, and seekers of paleo-con can possess widely differing opinions on exactly what an ancient alien is, which cases are valid, and what it all means.For the most part, an ancient alien is a figure that resembles a modern (and by modern, I mean post-1950) description or expectation of an alien: bulbous head, two large, oval eyes, two arms, two legs, small mouth, a creature akin to a Tall Grey. They may also seem to be wearing technologically advanced gear, like a spacesuit, or be accompanied by flying saucers. But, there’s more to this idea than just aliens. There are also ancient astronauts, figures who appear to be humans from the future, or very human-seeming aliens, with technology from our current era, or a time not yet known–a vision of what’s to come. Sort of the opposite, there are also glimpses or remnants of the past in ancient art, like depictions of dinosaurs alongside humans; though, these are only lumped in with paleo-con when it comes to more extreme beliefs and conspiracies. Finally, there’s weird objects, or “out-of-place artifacts”: cellphones, helicopters, guns, and other things that shouldn’t have existed in the art's time period. Aliens, spacemen, dinosaurs, planes, and rockets seemingly observed and drawn by cavemen is a perplexing idea. If true, what could it mean? Well, people have a lot of thoughts on that…Some give paleo-con a religious aspect, seeing humans as creations of extraterrestrial beings, put or left on Earth for one reason or another. Ancient people drew them because they were important, because they had powers, maybe because they also feared them and were present in their lives. Taking it a step down, some believe instead that humans are descendants of aliens–left behind, banished, or otherwise confined to Earth, evolving over millions of years and forgetting who they were and where they came from. Losing their histories, knowledge, tech. Cultures who explain the origin of life or humanity as coming from the stars have their stories claimed by both of these groups as evidence that their viewpoint is more valid. Other ancient alien proponents argue that humans were not physically linked to an alien culture, but guided by one. Extraterrestrials were benevolent teachers, gifting farming, metallurgy, construction–basically every skill and tech connected to ancient man. Marvels like the Egyptian pyramids, Stonehenge, and Easter Island are used as evidence of these aliens and their help. Another perspective is that the strange pieces of art are simply eye-witness accounts of something strange, or, in less fantastical circles, drawings of something misunderstood or exaggerated. Proving this viewpoint comes in many forms–the simplest compares the images to modern alien encounters or examples of myth making. More extreme advocates use gaps in known history or the archaeological record as a weapon, reinterpreting data, or building conspiracy theories to argue that, when interpreted correctly, ancient aliens are proof of what they believe in. While it is exciting to think about, there simply is no good evidence to support these claims, aside from some coincidental aesthetics. Maybe ancient humans did see strange things, but drawings, carvings, etc. doesn’t prove that to be so. All of these ancient things have many reasonable explanations; while the best ones have–so far–not been related to alien activity at all, that doesn’t make them any less interesting. Despite bunk science, nefarious hoaxes, and several bad eggs, there is something charming and alluring about ancient aliens–some really do look straight out of a sci-fi movie, eye-witness drawing, or BCwPA book. Regardless of how we feel about them and their validity, we’ll look at them one by one, explaining what they look like, what paleo-con claims, their context, and what the archaeological community has to say about it.

WhAt Is ThE dEaL wItHh tHe PrObOsCiS bIrD??? Is it real? Can we really find it? Let's talk about it honestly.See references and sources on ballyraven.com.Listen to the show early! Become a BCwPA Agent for free.Support the show, get a field illustration print!Learn more about today's subject.Ask us a question!File a Witness/Sighting Report!CRYPTID: the Proboscis Bird, Sightless Swamp Vulture, StinkbirdEPISODE TYPE: Behind the Scenes, Fact or Fiction, Debunking, HoaxesLOCATION: Appalachian Mountains, Cranberry Glades, West VirginiaANIMAL TYPE: Bird, VultureTRANSCRIPTThe Proboscis Bird. What do you think of it? Was it real? Were any parts of this story… off?We’ll give you a moment to form your opinion.Now, you’ve probably never heard of the Proboscis Bird before reading about it on ballyraven.com or in one of other publications–and that’s because it is completely fake! There are some strange Ballyraven drawings we refer to as “big-nosed birds”, but they are unrelated, un-honestly-translatable, and likely just doodles. Otherwise, there is nothing real about the legend of the Proboscis Bird or its existence, except for some cool bird facts; that’s why we wanted it to be the first full case we covered. In honor of pwcas, we have created our first complete yarn (though, we are of course not nearly as good as they are at it). Without an extensive background full of folk tales, strange sightings, and name recognition, you may have immediately gotten some red flags.This entire episode is actually based on an old wives’ tale sent to our mailbox by the anonymously dubbed, "Birdwatching Bubba”. We liked the idea of exploring this saying so much that we made a whole episode based on it. What if this saying was true? What would such a bird be like? How would it be a problem for them? Why might this idea have spread? We ran with the idea of a bird who relied on smell more than any other known bird species. We ended up basing a lot of its life and habits on the Turkey Vulture, who vomits up at enemies, suns, has a bald head, an incredible sense of smell, and is generally looked at with disgust. Unlike Proboscis Birds’ though, they can fly and see.We tried to get to the bottom of this “don’t touch a baby bird,” idea, but there was no definitive answer. It may have started as an excuse for parents to convince children to leave wildlife alone, or perhaps explain why they couldn’t care for one. It also may have been a misunderstanding. Birds sometimes remove chicks from their nest; this can be for one of many reasons: it is sick, they have too many to take care of, or it is a brood parasite (look up Cowbirds). If someone tried to return a bird that was intentionally removed, its parents would kick it out once more. This could have caused someone to think that the second eviction was their fault, and that maybe their human smell offended the baby’s bird parents.While this episode was used to subtly teach about vultures and, now, debunk a myth, it is also an exercise in detecting a classic red flag. Working in the cryptid and paranormal community for a decade, you learn to watch out for many things. Some story tellers are well meaning, and many genuine, but there are also a lot of less than savory figures. More often than not, these sorts won’t tell you if they’ve added this or that to a story, or even why they did so. One of the classic tactics used by con artists and malicious liars in this sphere of content is an appeal to antiquity or the past.BCwPA field expeditions are already very dubious (we just have to take the author’s words and drawings that they saw and experienced what they claimed), yet fabricated histories can get away with even more trickery. First, there’s something about stories set in specific parts of human history; maybe it's the time period, their distance and disconnect from our present, or our thoughts and feelings towards a specific past. Whatever it is, when we hear something happened a long time ago, we might look at it with a little less scrutiny, and with a bit more tolerance of vagueness. It happened so long ago, maybe the facts were distorted. Maybe we just aren’t well informed. Maybe it’s something newly unearthed. A story told with authority or with many details often gets by. This story was supposedly backed by journals kept in a museum, even displayed for a time; there were exact numbers, real locations, distances, times, and even a specific name mentioned. If you looked up that name, tried to find more information on the journals, the expedition, or even mentions of the birds themselves, you would be confused or arrive at a dead end. And when you find yourself with a lack of proof, you may first wonder if you’re using the wrong search terms, or maybe what you’re looking for isn’t online. But, when you begin to find contradictory info, and, in this case, a complete lack of it being mentioned anywhere, you should be cautious. You are likely being told a fake story.A second layer, European explorers and colonizers were also perfect for this tale. Outsiders in an unfamiliar land, they are not remembered for respecting nature (or much else); it is not too far of a stretch to believe that they mistreated animals, especially inadvertently, because we also know that they did that and much more. You’re less likely to question something even a little believable or expected.These were only a few of the flaws you could find in this story. What else was a red flag or gave its dishonesty away? Thanks for listening and be careful of what you believe. Being able to find the truth is a skill, something you have to work for; very rarely will people give it to you.

A species of (presumably) extinct bird, the Proboscis Bird of West Virginia once roamed the wild swamps of Cranberry Glade. Sightless, their loud, nasal-y vocalizations populated the night, as well as their beyond unpleasant smells.Follow this field study investigation to learn more about an obscure cryptid vulture. What is the true story of the Proboscis Bird?Field Recordings by BCwPA Agent Len Roman.See references and sources on ballyraven.com.Listen to the show early! Become a BCwPA Agent for free.Support the show, get a field illustration print!Learn more about today's subject.Ask us a question!File a Witness/Sighting Report!CRYPTID: the Proboscis Bird, Sightless Swamp Vulture, StinkbirdEPISODE TYPE: Nature Documentary, Animal LifeLOCATION: Appalachian Mountains, Cranberry Glades, West VirginiaANIMAL TYPE: Bird, VultureTRANSCRIPTWe’re in the swamps of West Virginia, looking for a specific primate-like animal, but have stumbled across something unexpected, something few in modern times have laid eyes on. It is so rare that people believe it has never even existed, living only in myth. It is not a dangerous monster, like so many we have tracked down, though, it is so unpleasant some might categorize it as mildly so. At this distance, you’d need binoculars to get a good look, being a medium-sized creature, but even from here, if you squint and focus, you’d be able to see a brown blob slowly wobbling through the grasses, low to the ground– you’d smell it long before seeing it. Called one of the ugliest and smelliest birds to have ever lived, the Proboscis Bird, the Stinkbird, or, more commonly, the Sightless Swamp Vulture, is nearly extinct.-There are strange creatures found all over the world. Some have not been spotted for centuries, others seen, but never recovered, studied. Until now. Come with us into the field and discover organisms you thought only to be fiction.-This rare vulture was once found here, in the Cranberry Glades of Pocahontas, West Virginia. Historically, they thrived here. By 1974, it was their last stand. With few places to go and even fewer of their kind, the odds were against their survival for several generations. Followed by two agents for eight days, the gathering of twelve birds seemed completely unburdened by their plight, fully unaware. The team took a special liking to one of the birds, following her life and behavior from the study’s beginning to end.“We named this one Rumpkey, after our local trash collector–Ump, for short. She is a female, though the sexes are indistinguishable by appearance. The birds, in fact, cannot see each other or anything at all. Looks only matter for one thing: camouflage. A variety of brown colored feathers and mottled skin, they blend into their world. Sight a non-issue, they are nocturnal; docile and sedentary during the day. Up close, in the light, they are, well, strange looking animals.”  Like a turkey vulture, Ump had a long, bald, rectangular head. Her neck was mostly bald too. The skin, however, wasn’t a vibrant red, but a reddish-brown mass of wrinkly skin. The most unnerving part to agents was that she appeared to lack eyes entirely. Where most birds’ eyes could be found, there was only twisting, lumpy skin. Ump did have eyes hidden there, however, under loose, drooping flaps of skin; but they worked so poorly, they may as well have not existed. These vestigial organs may have picked up light, but only accidentally. Concealed, the eyes were only freed when the head’s skin was pushed up or damaged by other animals or the terrain. The birds didn’t rely on these brief, often painful moments of vision; they relied primarily on smell.“As night falls, Ump stirs. Like most creatures when they first wake, she is ready for breakfast. She and her companions sing a breakfast song: a high-pitched, nasal whistle. The music isn’t just made at the start of their day, but right before each meal.”One of their namesakes, Proboscis Birds had prominent noses that almost entered trunk-like territory. They were perfectly comparable to a Proboscis Monkey: a bulbous, fleshy bit at the end of the face, so large it sagged over their mouth like a deflated ball. Oversized and oversensitive, the organ inflated and deflated, taking in smells from a sizable distance. Each pump of air produced a small, nasal hiss. The rhythmic, airy song announced that she was hunting. Without such a great nose, Ump wouldn’t have been able to find food, especially in such a smelly place like a swamp. Distinguishing good smells from bad and pinpointing each’s location was essential for her survival.A good smell to Ump would likely be a bad smell to you, and that’s because Ump was a facultative scavenger–an animal that will eat road kill or other dead things when it's easy to get to. When the birds picked up the sickly, sweet scent of death, they excitedly flocked to it. With their large noses and big olfactory lobes, they could detect carrion from extreme distances, the best of the flock picking up smells up to a little over a mile away.“Whatever Ump has picked up, it is attracting others of her kind. They have been slowly moving closer and closer to each other since winter, forming a spread out flock. Earlier in the year, they lived solitary, sluggish lives, sleeping most of the day and night. Hiding out in hollow stumps, tangles of leafless bushes, and young evergreens, they rooted around for vegetation and carrion, quick to return to the warmth and safety of their nests. As spring and its blooms and bugs returned, and small mammals ventured farther from their hovels, Ump and her kind have also come out of hiding, wandering the glade for better food.”On the cusp of summer, the birds would gradually begin to flock together. There is safety in numbers for most kinds of birds. It was also time to prepare for young, and for Proboscis Birds, that too, was best in a group. -“Nearing the scent’s origin, the swamp is smellier and louder. Whatever Ump has found, it is past three days of decay; even Turkey Vulture’s grow unwilling to eat past the two day mark. Their huffing nose sacs and splashing, clawing feet can be heard from the nearby grasses as the birds slink closer.”Proboscis Birds were not quick moving animals. Their lack of sight posed a problem for navigation; it was met with not only their heightened sense of smell, but through a heightened sense of touch. Around the neck, the vulture's plumage was sparse; tufts of hair-like feathers were scattered across its wrinkly gullet. Along the back of the neck, however, was a double-mohawk of long, thin feathers, shaped like a "V". In other bird species, one would assume that the crest may have attracted mates, but for the Proboscis Bird, its odd feathers worked as its eyes, helping it sift through the bog, detect movement, and potential meals. Leaning forward, with their neck outstretched and sniffing, the birds would be on alert for bad smells: pungent, sharp, or oniony aromas, not unlike corpses or their own foul bouquet. One slow stepping foot at a time, they moved around, hoping to find anything of interest. Nose first, their nose was covered in hundreds of thin, translucent, coarse hairs that reached up to 6 inches ahead like bobbing spider webs. They warned of things blocking their path or passing by. The animals’ stout body sprouted many of these sensory feathers all over, helping them understand their three-dimensional environment. Hanging onto the neck and belly were tufts of thicker sensory feathers that drug against the ground and ran along the grasses. These were their most sensitive feathers; they let them know when something was moving nearby.“Planting both feet into the mud, she tenses and inflates her nose. The smell she’s picked up doesn’t seem to worry her. Instead, her neck coils, taking up a serpentine pose. A small mouse zooms past, to her left; she jerks, pecking hard into the dirt. Shaking her head, she clears the mud from her mouth. Missed. While disappointing, it is usually how this sort of opportunistic hunting goes for the birds. When they smell food and feel movement towards them, they go into an ambush predator stance. Though their reflexes and positioning are not terribly accurate, I’ve seen an oblivious frog or rodent be caught off guard.”While Proboscis Birds were good at feeling and smelling, they were not great at categorizing or identifying either. To them, anything dead or not themselves may have constituted ‘food’; there were only a few scents they could recognize specifically as dangerous. As such, they pecked at things much larger than they could handle–and things that could fight back, like White-Tailed Deer. Many animals with even a little intelligence were familiar and smart enough to learn the signs of the birds and avoid their painful pecks. Luckily for Ump, while this was a failed attempt, it at least ended with no trouble and no injuries. “In the distance, a honk sounds twice, the second time more shrill. If it wasn’t in a spooky swamp at night, the sound would be comical. Ump’s attention is regained. She steps faster, wobbling a little more than usual, getting her feet tangled in some brush. She has grown anxious and more careless, as she has received an important message: food is right here–and a lot of it!” Proboscis Birds were social creatures in the summer and fall. It is speculated that flocking together during these months was a handy survival instinct; as a group, they were more likely to detect and flee dangers, or face them, when needed. While they did not often directly interact with each other, they seemed to have enjoyed being near to their own kind, even recognizing individuals by smell alone.Each bird's scent was a unique blend; while to you or me, it would have just the normal stink of a Proboscis Bird, to them, it signified Ump, a middle-aged female, or Gregory, the oldest, largest male in the flock. This wasn't automatic, though; like making a new friend, these details were learned and gathered over time. During the social season, a growing flock would eat, sleep, and begin building and maintaining a nest together. These social activities encouraged bonding within the group, and acted as scent reinforcement. This was very important. As the birds familiarized themselves with each other’s scent, they were continually recognized as part of the same unit. The less familiar the scent, the more likely the bird would have a negative experience within the flock.A Proboscis Bird’s smell was not easily removed, but could have been tainted by injury, illness, or outer-species interaction. The newer and less familiar the tainted individual was, the more likely they were to be registered as food, or, at least, not a friend, and not permitted to partake in feeding, breeding, or nesting; once this occurred, the ostracized bird’s smell had a chance of always being registered as an outsider’s smell. An unrecognized bird could cause a flock feeding frenzy or mass attack. Birds who distanced themselves from a flock that had rejected them may be reentered into the group several weeks later, if whatever had contaminated their scent had been removed or remedied.As I’m sure you’ve picked up, Ump’s odor was important for her safety and social life, as well as health. The smell emanated from a natural oil produced by the birds, a brown, foul-smelling ooze often compared to the scent of long-rotten eggs. Called 'Glade Syrup', the substance was sticky, collecting loose vegetation, discarded feathers, and other debris, further camouflaging the animal. The unpleasant taste and scent of the oil decentivized potential predators from making a meal of them, and would have warded away those who had tried and had an unpleasant experience. Not eating enough carrion could hinder the production of the substance, and changes in a bird’s natural diet, such as the introduction of breads, could have also negatively affected the oil and its properties.While the smell would have repelled most creatures and befriended those of their species, it also attracted other scavengers. This was not always an issue, but larger scavengers could descend upon a feeding flock and steal their carcass. If the little birds felt food being pulled away from them, they may have lashed out, pecking, scratching, and flapping at the offender. In some cases, a less combative bird, or a flock few in number, may have instead emptied their bacteria-laden bellies, regurgitating near the corpse. A defensive measure, the digesting contents’ overwhelming smell and slight skin irritation would make attackers rethink their course of action. For scavengers, though, the substance may have pulled their attention away from the flock’s food instead, at least for a time.“Reaching the body of a large deer, Ump excitedly hops onto its hide. The growing feeding group is undisturbed for now. Releasing a honk of her own, she tears into the carcass. Hidden under her nose is a sharp, serrated beak; with such a formidable tool, cutting through an animal’s hide and getting to its meat takes little time. As each new bird makes contact with the deer, it releases a celebratory honk. Ump is now surrounded by seven other birds, and more are converging. They will feast here for a few days before moving on as a community. There are many dangers in the Cranberry Glade for a Sightless Swamp Bird. They will need each other to make it through the coming months.”-“It’s been a while since Ump’s first feast. Since then, things have changed. The birds are now a flock, a close-knit community. And together, they have built a grand nest upon a little hill, protected by thick underbrush and grasses. Early in the morning, the birds have settled in to end their day. All grow silent.” During breeding season, Proboscis Birds remained near their nest, foraging, hunting seeds, fruit, roots, edible greens, and any available meat within a quarter mile. These nests were under trees and were wide, dry, flat beds of stacked foliage: dying grasses, vines, leaves, sticks, and stems. A few speckled, dark brown eggs would have been laid in each square foot of the bedding. It would be immediately forgotten who laid them, for it didn’t matter. All birds, male and female, took turns incubating each egg cluster. When they hatched, they would take turns guarding and feeding all young.“Dew glistens on the birds. A few shiver. As the sun rises, they spread their wings wide, still trying to fall asleep, but looking as if they are preparing to take off. Despite having powerful wings, the Proboscis Bird cannot fly. Too heavy and short, its wings are used primarily for balance, sudden escapes, to fight, and for whatever this sunning activity is.” Called the horaltic pose, this stretched out position is seen in other species of vulture. It is speculated that the positioning not only dries and warms wet birds, but may kill any bacteria they’ve picked up from their less than sanitary activities. “As the day wears on, they switch positions, standing with their bodies stiff, neck stretched out, and head drooping.” Many connect a vulture’s bald head to their scavenging, thinking that having less material there keeps them cleaner and less at risk of infection, illness. That isn’t the case! It is actually an adaptation to conserve or release heat. A hot Proboscis bird will expose more of their bare skin, dumping more heat into the air. A cold bird will tuck in its neck, enshrouding its baldness with its fluffier, body plumage, insulating its body heat.Proboscis Birds did not sweat like humans or pant like dogs. In fact, birds must keep themselves from overheating through other methods. On warm days like the one noted in this field journal, the vultures would spread out, avoiding each others’ body heat; to cool off, they utilized a process called urohidrosis, which contributed to their already unpleasant smell. Nearly 97% of birds, including this species, have only a cloaca. Unlike in mammals, every excretable, including eggs, exits from here. To put it simply, many kinds of swans and vultures poop on their legs to cool off. As the liquids evaporate, it takes some of the heat with it, just like sweating. In fact, that’s what urohidrosis means: urine sweat. Proboscis Birds beat the heat with this method.“The flock is irritable today. The surrounding area is being picked clean of anything tasty or edible; many slept the day away fitfully, hungrily. The tension is palpable. The flock has had few surprises and deaths this year–but autumn is the real challenge.” In the past, observers noticed that when a Proboscis Bird community grew too large, they would fight and split into two groups. The larger, stronger birds would relocate, leaving the smaller, weaker ones in the depleted area. It had been many generations since the birds had ever needed to do so. Was it a learned behavior or was it innate? Agents speculated that the flock would need to divide into two groups or spread out by next breeding season, else suffer the consequences.  Observing the chicks’ steady growth, witnessing few casualties, field agents were curious how the next year would go. Stepping away once winter set in, agents returned mid-spring. The flock, however, did not. Not a single Proboscis Bird was found in the area, living or dead, and where they went or what happened to them has remained a mystery.All data on this bird species was collected over the 9 months they were studied by BCwPA, subsidized by outsider stories and information. A Proboscis Bird has not been spotted since.Do you know what happened to the Proboscis Bird? Have you seen one? Visit www.ballyraven.com/report and help us track these missing animals down.

Something strange and stinky once lurked throughout the Cranberry Glades. Based on 18th-century journals and field research, this is just the beginning of something called the "Proboscis Bird." European exploration, birds, smells, and the swamp, grab your pith hat for a new adventure.CRYPTID: the Proboscis Bird, Sightless Swamp Vulture, StinkbirdEPISODE TYPE: Case File, Historical ReenactmentLOCATION: Appalachian Mountains, Cranberry Glades, West VirginiaANIMAL TYPE: Bird, VultureMusic and sounds provided by Epidemic Sound.Historical narration provided by PHouseGames.See references and sources on ballyraven.com.Listen to the show early! Become a BCwPA Agent for free.Support the show, get a field illustration print!Learn more about today's subject.Ask us a question!File a Witness/Sighting Report!TRANSCRIPTThere are a lot of unknowns in the world, a lot of lies, and a lot of surprises. At BCwPA, a team of cryptozoologists sift through fact and fiction, conducting their own field expeditions, autopsies, and interviews to bring you the newest in cryptozoological research. The creatures in this program are real - we aim to preserve them and their stories.-Welcome back to the Ballyraven Cryptid Wildlife Protection Agency, BCwPA for short. Today, we’re talking about rare, Appalachian birds–ones that are now presumed to be extinct–and our story takes us to a peat bog in southern West Virginia. There are six cryptid birds in the state alone, but this one is likely the only one you know anything about. Though, what you would know isn’t its name, appearance, or habits, but a fact that turned into an old wives tale. Titled, “the Case of Cranberry Glade” in BCwPA archives, this file will answer a question we pulled out of our mailbox.Dear Ballyraven, A lot of people say that if you touch a baby bird, the parents won’t recognize its smell and will abandon it. I don’t think this is true, but I’m not 100% sure. If I’m right, why has it become such a common myth? Thanks, Birdwatching Bubba  Bubba is right. Birds generally have a poor sense of smell, relying instead on seeing or hearing to recognize their young. Picking up and placing a baby back in its nest won’t harm nestlings—the bird stage where they look like pink or brown wads of wrinkled skin. Its parents will continue to care for it as usual, no harm done. Some birds are worse with misplaced chicks than others, but it’s not because of smell. Several species of bird will direct fledglings back to their nest if they fall out, but others, like the Grey-headed Albatross, will only recognize their young if they are physically in the nest, providing no help to get back home. There is one bird, though, that this information simply doesn’t apply to.To find the origin of this general bird myth, we have to go a few hundred years back in time, to the 18th century–the 1700s. An exploration team in the Cranberry Glades came across something they described as “foul and peculiar”; the trip and the creature were well documented in a journal written during the expedition. Afterward, we will answer several questions about the animal, using agents’ investigation notes from 1974, and providing modern commentary and explanations from the BCwPA Field Guide.-Loud, heavy boots trekked down the mountainside, the ground cragged and gritty with sandstone. Gear clanged and rattled, the noise bouncing down into the valley, announcing the party’s invasion. Deer and rabbits fled while squirrels and birds watched from their perches. A turkey vulture followed above. Crossing over this chain was no easy feat, and the exploration team was exhausted and marred by misfortune. Once 60 men strong, they numbered less than 30, losing several along the way to illness, violence, and bad luck. Most unfortunate was the loss of their guides, who simply disappeared two weeks prior, and the team’s expert frontiersman, only two days ago. Concerns heightened. The expedition, or perhaps the land, was cursed. Thomas Fallam, leader of the party, was also experiencing some malady. Outwardly in good health, with no injuries or symptoms, he never seemed to sleep. He was seen and heard rummaging through the camp at night, staring down into a fire, or standing alone in the woods. It was feared he was coming down with the ‘madness of the mountain’, an illness believed to develop in some who breathe in air from high altitudes. They could only watch and hope the signs abated over the course of their descent.Drawn by rich forests, abundant wildlife, the anticipation, expectation of discovery and wealth led them here. In what is now called the Allegheny Mountains, the land peaks at 3,400 feet, gradually sloping into a valley; nearly 300 miles from the nearest settlement, it would be an understatement to call the trek challenging, even for an experienced, well-equipped team. Expeditions once cut through Virginia to find nearby access to the Pacific Ocean, later to support England’s claim over the territory, and, now, to increase the English' s presence and survey for settlement.A strong, refreshing breeze occasionally whipped up towards them. While it made it harder to walk down, it felt wonderful, cooling them off on their trek into the lowlands. Dressed in wools, the men were usually hot or cold, but never comfortable. They dressed in baggy coats, thinner waistcoats, stockings, and tall, stuffy leather boots. While the material kept a body warm in the cold, there was nothing one could do in the heat but remove layer after layer. And, when wet, the clothing became heavy. The lower and lower they walked, the thicker and more humid the air became. The next day was even more terrible. Weighed down by their wools, further down, they encountered sloshing mud. Their surroundings morphed from a dense forest to a bog; a stream cut through their path, then another. The ground became slicker and tacky, the unavoidable mud gripping and pulling boots right off the foot. The water pooled around their ankles, then calves, saturating them entirely, irritating and hurting their skin. There were no attempts at drying–and no hopes of temporary relief for the rest of the day. The pleasant breeze died, which added boiling in the humidity to their list of complaints. The night was barely tolerable. Fallam wandered in a circle around camp; the rhythmic, yet occasionally erratic, slap of his bare feet put the men on edge.Finding good footholds the next day was a struggle. The earth was just as soaked as they were, squishing and squeaking with each step, fizzling with water like a wrung sponge. The mosses built tall knolls that were easily tripped over, reaching 3 feet high in some places; the vibrant, bubbly tangle of vegetation and rock was tied in place and smothered by vines and bushes. Before them, in the distance and under the setting sun, was a beautiful sea of gently swaying wildflowers, herbs, and grasses in yellow, orange, and green speckled with bright white and red.Seeking a place to camp, they settled on a small, somewhat dry hill under a sprawling swamp maple; the area was littered with clusters of broken sticks, little bones, and long-lost feathers, The debris was not a welcome sight. Something had been here and attacked–and likely more than just once, counting all of the bones. While the carnage looked far from fresh, the possibility that whatever made it could still be somewhere, hidden in the vast bog, was not a welcome consideration. There was also a smell; the valley, though lovely to look at, emitted a foul aroma, like putrid vegetables and fish. The hill somehow smelled even worse than the disturbances released earlier in the mire with each muddy stomp. Fallam, with an unblinking, wild, wide-eyed stare, smiled as the party discussed whether to go back or forward, whether they should spend the night elsewhere. Concluding the debate, he insisted they should stay, as he would like “a chance to see what kind of beast might do such a thing.”The team built a small fire, cooked leftover game, and argued over watch; no one felt much like sleeping, even though their weary bodies demanded it. The roar of insects was an eerie combination of new sounds and a few familiar ones. The sway and windy jerk of grass and leaves teased invisible creatures and possibly concealed real ones’ movements. The firelight played tricks, creating the reflective glint of nonexistent eyeballs and shadowy figures. And the smell—it never let one feel at ease, always returning with a new, acidic, deathly edge.The journal recounted many thoughts and fears of an imagination run amuck: the undead waiting on the scummy swamp bottom, crawling up from the water once they gave in to sleep; a giant serpent in the tree, posed to strike with its mouth spread wide and breathing heavily; a slinking, diseased, evil panther circling the mound, plotting how to take them down one-by-one. Fallam sat near a fire, his eyes fixated on the darkness.Leaning against a tree and never quite falling asleep, one noted a shift in the atmosphere late that night. A breeze picked up and cut through the bog, smacking into the camp along the way; the scent it carried was beyond foul. Sickened, he fell on all fours. Senses overwhelmed, head spinning, mouth-watering, he tried to hold his nose and keep his meager dinner inside. Pallid, his eyes rose slowly, leveling with the field's pointed, woozying top. The air stilled once more, but in the distance, just out of the firelight's reach, the bog was rustling. Not the way the wind would rustle it but the way something walking through it would. Frightened into a stillness, he held his breath once more, fingers quivering, legs tight springs. A musket sat a few feet away; he grabbed it. There was nowhere to run. And yet, that is what Fallam did; sprinting towards the movement, he disappeared into the night.More shaking appeared in the grasses, but not in the same place. The movement was all around and the general stench of the air intensified. Splashing, squelching, wet sounds encircled the hill, as did muted thumpa-thumps. He called out, expecting a mad Fallam, but received no response. A clawed foot reached from the field. It hung above the moss, slowly splaying out and down, squishing into the green. Another claw breached, attached to a long, stick-like arm. A round body bobbed up and down in a rhythm of three quick movements. The creature's head was tucked into itself; feeling the air upon it, it stretched, exposing a wrinkled gullet with tufts of hair scattered over it like a nearly bald head. A long line of fur was upon its back, standing on end and pointing out in two directions like a bat's wings frozen mid-flap. It stared up at the author, sending a shiver down his back; it had no eyes, only a long rectangular head of melty, rumpled skin. The flesh on the tip of its face inflated into a ball, hissing and deflating in a puff of air. The animal shined in the firelight; a brown ooze dripped from its body and trailed down its legs, gathering bits and pieces of what it traveled through.Undoubtedly, this creature was the source of the hill's bad smell. It walked forward with hesitant movements, its head twitching up and down, its bulbous nose inflating, deflating. Frozen, he recounted watching the creature as a shout sent the camp into chaos. Its face tilted upward, it gave a deep sniff and flapped two heavy wings before rushing forward and into his arm. Scared, he scuttled backward, hitting his back against the tree. The thing had fallen, as well, landing awkwardly on its back; it rolled around, righting itself after a slight struggle. It shook, puffing its feathers out, then continued forward, unbothered. Looking around frantically, he realized the things were coming into the clearing in hordes. The explosive sound and acrid smell of gunfire surrounded him. Clumps of the things fell in heaps. Yet, the creatures ambled forward.From all sides, the beasts stepped onto the hill, walking over corpses of their brethren, towards the fires, sniffling loudly. One broke from the shrinking circle, a beeline into a burning pit. As the flames hit, it honked, thrashing wildly, flapping, kicking, and snorting. Another ran, and another, and another. They clinked against a cookpot, the fifth attack sending it rolling downhill. The birds sizzled and smoked and fluttered around; their honking stopped most of the shooting. The sniffling restarted, a loud, audible wave; the birds changed course, some running for the tumbling pot. Others began charging those who had caught on fire or were shot, pecking and tearing at their flesh hungrily. -Known today as the Cranberry Glades, this 750-acre bog in Pocahontas, West Virginia, is where the Sightless Swamp Bird was first documented and last seen. It is an animal few are familiar with, except the most thorough cryptozoologists. Referred to by a few other names, like the Proboscis Bird (for its oversized nose) and the Stinkbird (for its natural musk), it nearly went extinct due to these 18th-century explorers.Killing a massive amount, they then captured every bird that had wandered in or near their camp. The animals were unafraid of humans initially, but also couldn’t successfully evade capture even when they tried. Throwing together a makeshift pen, the animals were drawn in and corralled over the course of several weeks. It seemed that the more birds they had nearby, the more newcomers were drawn in. Building larger and larger pens, they set trap boxes and lures, the birds an unending stream of intrigue and food. The little camp was surrounded by hundreds of stinking birds by the weeks’ end: from old, nearly featherless elders to fuzzy, yet mostly bald chicks. The hatchlings were easiest to work with; less than 6 inches long, and even less intelligent than their parents, they ate anything presented to them and did not mind poking, prodding, or handling as much.Unusually docile at night, as the sun rose, they grew more aggressive. They pecked at hands, feet, faces, anything in reach, with a sharp, one-toothed beak that was hidden under their fleshy nose; surprisingly strong and vicious, the attacks left deep, painful wounds. Aside from pecking, they would relentlessly hiss and screech, as well as violently thrash around. The “Stenchbird” was decidedly butchered at night to avoid these unpleasantries.Easy to make into a meal, the birds’ aromatic, tough meat tasted as disgusting as it smelled. Conserving their supplies, they suffered through countless portions of the bird, half-heartedly searching for their missing leader. The creatures’ feathers were foul and coated in an unpleasant oil. While they could have been implemented as stuffing or quills, their scent and feel would persuade few to use them if any alternative was presented. In fact, this smelly oil was an overall issue. Tainting meat, feather, and skin, the secretion and its smell clung to clothing, gear–everything it touched. Spread by hands, utensils, workspaces, and the birds, it made both the skin rashy and stomachs sickly. Before they could begin to figure out a way to circumvent it, an evil descended upon the birds: they were increasingly cannibalizing each other, even with various feeds being provided.After a month, with the search for Fallam unsuccessful and the animals’ strange behavior a sign, the expedition made the decision to pack up and return home while they could. The bulk of the birds were exterminated; others were slain for provisions. Only four men survived the trip back.-The handling of these animals on a large scale devastated the Sightless Swamp Bird population. Relying predominantly on their sense of smell, the animals were unable to recognize one another. Opportunistic eaters, they consume anything that may be food; repeated human contact with birds led to mass confusion and violent feeding frenzies, among other issues. Chicks became strangers to the herd—causing them to be ignored and starved, and in some instances, eaten by their own parents. Any bird touched by human hands was shunned or attacked by the community. Few functional birds exited the disassembled camp.An already small population of organisms, such an extreme loss of life placed them immediately at risk of extinction. Found only in this little wetland, even after 200 years, their kind never recovered. The Sightless Swamp Vulture hadn't been seen in the wild since 1897, until a BCwPA investigation in 1974. It has since been added to the growing list of cryptids native to the Monongahela National Forest. It has not been seen since and is presumed to be extinct.Some may still persist out there, though. 

This introductory tape, with Field Recordings by BCwPA Agent Layla Leutwyler, brings you into the world of Ballyravens and the life of a BCwPA Agent.Listen to the show early! Become a BCwPA Agent for free.Support the show, get a field illustration print!Learn more about today's subject.Ask us a question!File a Witness/Sighting Report!TRANSCRIPTWelcome to the BCwPA Naturalist Club Initiation. In under 30 minutes, you will be fully prepared to work as an official BCwPA agent. Before we send you out to explore the cryptid world, assign you your gear, and explain to you the procedures–that sort of thing–we have to start with a little bit of history.You see, no one knew a thing about BCwPA until a couple decades ago. Cryptids and stories of remarkable, elusive, paranormal creatures were much rarer, obscure. Then, one day, a little, blue creature came from underground and gave us several boxes of stuff. Inside were a multitude of handwritten, hand-bound books, ancient, mechanical recordings, dusty cassettes, grimy VHSes, and an exhausting amount of drawings. A lot of it spoke of mundane or exotic plants and animals, as well as the occasional prehistoric beast. Most interesting, however, were the blue-tabbed pages, blue taped media, the ones about “organisms not yet proven to exist: cryptids, entities.” Set atop a few boxes, in a prominent position, were three things: a small booklet, which had a difficult to decipher, English translation for an unknown language, an eerie, blue, plaster bird mask, and a tape marked, “From Ballyraven, to You.” The books and art were extraordinary, covering local history, amazing encounters, and creatures considered monstrous, alien. The problem was, only the original recipient of the material was able to read any of it, due to pwca magic. Intrigued, excited, and confused, they longed to share these discoveries with the world. Piece by piece, the papers and books were organized. Finally, they are in the process of being remade, translated, redrawn, so that everyone may see, listen, and watch what these Ballyravens have made, claimed, and left behind.-Two large, golden eyes and an upraised nose float to the surface, tearing algae carpeting the bogwater. Unblinking and seemingly inanimate, life thrives around this behemoth. Scum sloughs from its brow onto its eye, causing it to blink; only the fly on its nose notices, buzzing away. Sitting on the bank, with my binoculars focused, I see that the creature's black oval pupils are finally stirring. They follow forms flitting between wide-leafed vegetation, reedy grasses, slender trees, but focus on one dipping and diving into the mire: a wayward Teal dabbling for water bugs. The duck drifts unknowingly closer; the frog's eyes cross, and its body tenses slightly as the animal nearly touches its snout. The bird plunges back down into the water, its black and white tail pointing upwards and feet splayed; like the snap of a mouse trap, the predator lurches forward, its maw suddenly stretching to encapsulate its prey. Just as quickly, the amphibian's jaws snap closed, crushing its meal with a great splash and muffled squawk. The swamp's peace disturbed, all other life flees the scene in brief, chaotic terror. Adjusting, the giant opens its mouth slightly, clamping down at another angle repeatedly, compacting its food. With jerky movements and an undulating throat, its eyes push down, sinking into its skull; the duck is forcefully swallowed. The bog soon forgets the violence, settling into a new stillness. The creature slowly sinks. Its rounded body flattens and settles back into the mud. A lost feather and wavering, black hole in the greenery is all that hints at what lurks below.Hidden here, deep within the swamps, fens, and bogs, sits the world's largest amphibian. I call it the Great Swamp Frog.- This entry is from a field journal, documenting an encounter in Ohio in an area once known as the Great Black Swamp. The page includes quick sketches, numerous notes, and detailed illustrations showing off animal behavior, anatomy, and other observations. These are clues to where and when this story takes place; it is a call to go see and verify this account. The journal is ancient and fragile, with brown, tattered, crumbling pages filled with various stains, smears, and debris. It may be 100% factual. Yet, it is just as likely to be completely fictitious - only the author knows. And the author, and others like them, have a complicated track record.This journal is a book called a BCWPA Field Guide. For the most part, they are personal field journals with observation notes, questions, thoughts, and drawings in a style unique to each individual. Created by a club of naturalists, there are hundreds of thousands in existence, with each member devoted to filling out a page once every two weeks with the things they saw and learned. Some journals are a few hundred pages, others less than fifty; some books are thousands of years old, others only a few months, with new ones always in progress. The journals are collected and preserved by an organization called BCwPA, where they can be studied and referenced by other naturalists.The club’s first tenet, “Be watchful, be curious, be scrawling,” is often etched on the first page of the oldest volumes. As with everything, BCwPA books have gone through stages and trends. Image stylings and writing techniques have come and gone, with new ones continually progressing, being created. Three major forms have stood the test of time: the Bestiary Scribe, the Natural Historian, and the Notebook Scribbler. Most BCwPA members create in one of these styles, based on medieval manuscripts, scientific illustrations and study, or an artist’s casual sketchbook. The Bestiary Scribe tends to focus on myths and legends, the Natural Historian on biology, ecology, and anatomy, and the Notebook Scribbler on culture, overviews or general notes, and one’s personal journey.Not too long after its founding, the organization began to grow excited about animals you would call cryptids; creatures so strange and rare that many were believed to have never even existed at all. While all living things were earnestly studied, a game developed on the side, slowly infiltrating each journal. Called “Muddy Waters”, members would seek out stories of beasts and beings not proven to exist. They would then slyly include them in their otherwise straightforward records. There were a few rules to the game, though. First, to play, one had to do diligent research. Stories and sightings of the creature must be thoroughly documented and collected. Then, the areas where it was encountered must be searched and studied for any signs of life, past or present. If the individual felt they had enough evidence to disprove or deny the creature’s existence, it was fair game for Muddy Waters. Based on what the naturalist learned, and confined to the statements and descriptions of genuine witnesses, club members created realistic fictional field studies complete with notes and data like any other entry. From behavior and internal mechanisms to sensory details and environmental concerns, the goal was to create a case for the animal that was so compelling that others believed it, to generate interest in the natural world, and promote curiosity. In good fun, players of Muddy Waters knew that as other naturalists revisited others’ research, they would eventually come to the truth. Yet, with more eyes in these areas of strange occurrence, if there truly was anything out there, someone was more likely to find it - and, more excitingly, proof. Over generations, BCwPA documented new species, watched the end of others, and learned much about the life found all around them. Shockingly, they found that cases of new cryptids were on the rise - independent of their self-contained journaling game. These were not just cases of misidentification, displacement, or originating from strange, ingested substances, but extinction. Once mundane creatures were growing rarer and rarer over time as pollution, habitat destruction, and other unnecessary, unnatural events overwhelmed them. In just a few generations, known animals became cryptids, their appearances and sounds and smells and lives alien, sometimes frightening, and usually exaggerated in recollection. Saddened by the pattern, BCwPA began seeking ways to help prevent these sorts of cryptids from developing. Thus came into being the second tenet: “Be cryptid, be kind,” meaning, be respectful and considerate of the life around you. Reduce harm. Leave so little of an impact on the wild that you may as well be a cryptid to it. They then began using their work to encourage conservation.Hiding and keeping to themselves, the members, or ‘agents’, of BCWPA are cryptids themselves. The organization was founded by a group of medium-sized creatures known as Ballyravens. A type of fae called a pwca - p-w-c-a - Ballyravens are bird-headed humanoids that can shapeshift into various forms, but not without limits. Like all life, Ballyravens are not a monolith and cannot be accurately defined in a few sentences. However, those tied to BCwPA are unique, gathered together by similar interests and ideals. B-C-W-P-A - the Ballyraven Cryptid Wildlife Protection Agency- is an anagram of pwca with a B at the beginning for Ballyraven and the first word of each of the club’s tenets. Upon joining the club, each new member is issued a field journal. As the group grew, they separated into six smaller teams with similar interests, of which they adventured and journaled alongside. Generally curious beings, BCwPA Ballyravens love to learn about any organism - common or rare, living or long-extinct, real or imaginary or unknown. As a rule, fae rarely directly interact with humans and never share their personal name. BCwPA is an exception, due to only one individual, who has opened our eyes to a new world. This is a new BCwPA, a Human BCwPA, and all are welcome and encouraged to join as BCwPA Agents. The BCwPA archives are being translated for your enjoyment and learning for free, to members and the public alike. In exchange, we ask for you to help keep an eye out for cryptids in your area, so none go unknown, sharing stories of the strange and unknown. You can send us questions and letters, which may be read at the beginning of a new episode. You can contribute your observations of life, so that we may all learn and discover together. You are invited to play Muddy Waters to keep us all on our toes and our minds open. Lastly, your help brings us to the third and final tenet, “Be a BCwPA agent”: a call to educate others and promote being curious, being kind, and being a friend of nature, sharing what you have learned about the natural world, the fantastical, and sharing BCwPA with others.BCwPA is an art archive. A field guide. Bits of history and animal facts. It is also a podcast, one we hope to give you something different. Which parts of our research are factual, known hoaxes, genuine stories, or Bally-fiction–and can you guess correctly?Put on your detective hat, read up on local lore, cryptids, and practice your skepticism. Let us know how you did at the end of each episode.