The G-Word

An old article I found from 2006 which I made reference to in an earlier blog post:
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Do you believe in ghosts? Now wait a moment before you answer that question. Take a moment to consider carefully your response, as it seems in this more spiritually aware era this once simplest of questions has now become a loaded debate on semantics.

As someone who regularly enjoys the challenge thrown down by the ‘paranormal’ and being one to sit on that sceptical fence observing both sides of a debate, I am often privileged enough to meet many people who either believe, disbelieve or share my sceptical viewpoint. However, when I deliberately ask this question in it’s most basic of forms, I am often astounded by the amount of contemplation that goes into the delivery of an often overly complex answer.
What ever happened to a simple yes or no? Have we perhaps gone beyond the point where a ghost is simply the spectral appearance of a person who has passed over or the ominous misty representation of a human form?
Indeed, the ubiquitous response seems to be, when asked this simple question; ‘it depends on what you mean by ghost’ or more disappointing still; ‘I don’t like the word ghost’.
I have even attended talks by self proclaimed experts in the field of paranormal investigation whose response to any question relating to the word ghost is to look at his colleagues with a knowing wink and a nod as if to say ‘looks like we have another one’ before adopting a condescending tone and replying in the most monosyllabic infant school teacher style.

Pick up a dictionary, look up the word ghost and it would seem quite simple, we are talking about a disembodied human spirit. But ask a spiritualist or a believer and you may be subjected to definitions, distinctions and designations. Often, I am left none the wiser after I have asked the question than before.
Perhaps I am old fashioned in my view that there is a degree of affectedness involved when it comes to ghosts. I sometimes feel that I have perhaps incurred the frustration of my interviewees or discussion partner when I ask them if they believe in ghosts. They roll their eyes and tell me they have been asked this many times before and that I should perhaps clarify what I mean by the word ‘ghosts’. I get the impression the word ‘ghost’ is no longer fashionable.
In fairness, when you hit the Net for information on ghosts, there are no shortage of lists defining a variety of apparitions and manifestations. You can almost abandon the word ghost in favour of slightly more spiritually in-vogue options. Psychic entities, elementals, astral echoes, non-sentient apparitions, light anomalies, wraiths, resident spirits, sentient and non-sentient astral beings. Some of these terms have been in circulation for decades, often coined by some of the worlds most famous and respected psychical researchers, whereas others appear to have materialised more recently, perhaps occasionally owing their existence as much to the Internet. The alternatives to ‘ghost’ are so plentiful it is no wonder that there is confusion over a simple question.

I wonder if perhaps the word ghost has served its purpose as a generic term and no longer has much relevance given the degree of savvy displayed by the paranormally enthusiastic masses. Worse still, as I remember those exasperated expressions on the faces of those whom I have interviewed, has it become a naughty word? A spiritual reference taboo? Should I now refer to it as the ‘G-Word’?
No one ghost hunts anymore. Instead they paranormal investigate and why not? After all, our interest in the paranormal will inevitably evolve and so it should. But it can feel as though ghost enthusiasts have grown up into scientists, parapsychologists and inducted amateurs and today’s novice is being gradually squeezed out of serious paranormal debate as though they don’t belong in the new, more advanced, spiritual arena. The G-Word represents something lost in the melee to achieve a new height of legitimacy for the subject. It is a word that has been abandoned even as a generic expression in favour of terms more becoming of the 21^st Century.
Whilst I worry that this is perhaps alienating the next generation of Harry Prices, Maurice Grosses, Ciaran O’Keeffes and even Yvette Fieldings, yesterdays ghost enthusiasts who have earned their stripes in paranormal lore, I cannot say that the categorizing of ghostly phenomena is without its merits.
The Enfield poltergeist in the late 1970s, for example, is hardly comparable to classic hauntings such as the ‘non-sentient apparitions’ of the Roman soldiers at Chester and York or the airborne ‘sentient spirits’ allegedly of flight deck crewmembers from the 1972 Eastern Airlines flight 401 disaster. Three very unique and separate apparent cases that are famously different. But, for all their differences, are they not still ghosts?
Sure, the poltergeist is often said to be person related, more of a telekinetic manifestation rather than the return of a deceased individual and they are still credited by some to be the most common form of demon but they certainly have been considered to be spirits in more than one documented case. Given this ambiguity surely there is room for the poltergeist underneath the ghost umbrella.

The eagerness for ghosts to be categorized, whilst commendable when coupled with serious and unbiased study on the subject, may be eroding the appeal of ghosts and the paranormal. The G-Word is the pull for many who begin their study of the supernatural, the hook that reels them in, hence my dismay at the instant cheapening of the term when I see those rolling eyes and endure the frustrated sighs.
In a nutshell, is the draw of the paranormal at risk by the refusal by some of those in the know to cater for those who are less so?

The word ghost is at risk of being lost and whilst this may not seem like much, perhaps with the loss of the word goes the innocence that has appealed to ghost enthusiasts for countless generations. Ghosts have been fun to talk about in the flickering glow of a fireplace or beneath the howl of the wind on a winters night and they have fascinated people old and young for so long. The potential damage of an elitist attitude and over reliance on specifics is that the ‘magic’ will be lost.
By now you may have realised that the debate is much greater than just one word. To speak to some spiritual aficionado there is all too often some sort of test that follows the asking about the G-Word. It can feel as though one has to pass a knowledge trial before you can be allowed into ‘the club’. If you fail you can expect a series of grunts and sighs and deliberately vague answers designed to end the conversation as soon as possible though there is still some hope you will find someone who would thoroughly enjoy the opportunity to exult their knowledge upon a rookie in the field.

But if I were to be so bold as to answer my own curiosity I would have to say of course the word ghost still has its place and it certainly shouldn’t be treated as an overly simplified term used only by the annoyingly unacquainted. It is still a strong term with more implications than specifics such as sentient entities, stone tape recordings or elementals. Its appeal is more basic and exciting and more widespread and we should savour the word before delving into the types of ghost and the specifics of an increasingly academic field. We should find that balance between in-depth study and enjoying the subject in its simplest form the way we did when we were kids.
Finally, simply out of a concept of preservation and for the benefit of those at the beginning of their supernatural journey, be it sceptical or with conviction, we, myself as a sceptic included, are duty bound to preserve the right to ask the question… do you believe in ghosts?

Psychic Sleuths? Press Delete!

In October 1898 in Lebanon, New Hampshire, housewife Nellie Titus suffered a series of recurring dreams in the wake of the mysterious disappearance of 16 year old Bertha Huse from a neighbouring township. In the face of considerable scepticism from all of those she confided in, including her husband, she begged the authorities to search an area of the Mascoma River which had already been repeatedly searched by a diver previously. So certain was she that this section of water was the watery grave of young Miss Huse she even joined the diver at the rivers edge when he begrudgingly obliged.

She claimed that she had been drawn to this location by visitations by Bertha whilst she slept and her dreams where in fact visions bestowed upon her by the desperate soul of the child. As you may have guessed they did indeed find the remains of Bertha Huse and as a result the reluctant Mrs Titus was regarded with everything from suspicion to astonishment to great acclaim.

Claims of psychic detection are nothing new but real cases of successful location of a missing person or body are extremely rare and even then they tend to be lavishly embellished by the reporting medium. It is of course common knowledge that police forces have used mediums in the past with varying degrees but predominantly limited success. But this is not because of their belief in the paranormal but instead a more grounded hope that perhaps a naturally gifted person may be capable of doing something that some behavioural profilers spend a lifetime learning to achieve in giving detailed and dependable insight into a crime and often the perpetrator.

With this in mind it never fails to make my skin crawl when I learn of yet another medium offering their visions up when a news story breaks of a missing person. From the Lindbergh baby to the heart-aching case of April Jones, it is inevitable that there will be those who, for genuine reasons or for self promotion, will involve themselves and their psychic ability very publicly in the case.

These days the outlet for many such claims seems to be online where a throng of mediums seem to have emerged. Recently I took to removing several posts and eventually the posters themselves from my Facebook thanks to a surge of peculiar messages regarding the fate of little April Jones and regarding the renewed search for the remains of little Ben Needham who disappeared from a holiday home on the Greek Island of Kos in 1991. 

I have befriended many mediums and psychics in my work, even as a sceptic, and as such I enjoy seeing their updates on my timeline now and again but during the search for Ben Needham one post in particular disturbed me more than most.

The post from this particular female medium read: ‘I had visions of red in connection to the whereabouts of Ben Needham and now I see on the news the police [specialist search team] are wearing red!’

There was a clamour of likes and complimentary comments beneath her post which all made me cringe violently. A tenuous (and ultimately wrong) link at best I thought, especially since only a very small number of the Greek police officers were wearing bright red overalls and I had to ask myself why would anyone put that on Facebook?

Would it help in finding Ben? Was it a message of hope for the Needham family? Would it have any positive effect at all? No.

To me it appeared vitriolic. A “look at me” request as the author seeks to be perceived as somehow linked to a headline case among their own Facebook followers. A silly claim that need never be shared for it served no real purpose other than to jump on little Ben’s bandwagon. If I were even more cynical I would suggest it served almost as a promotional tool to gain more readings and even though that’s not what I actually think, had Ben been found I do wonder what retrospective claims would have been made then!

In all I have recently removed five mediums who all began posting their psychic connections about missing children including April Jones to moors murder victim Keith Bennett. Their visions tend to suspiciously coincide with media interest and frankly I don’t want to see useless and grossly inappropriate comments on my Facebook timeline that involve the disappearance or death of someone else’s child and I imagine the parents of these poor kids would shudder at the thought of such self aggrandising messages circulating out there. Such comments come across as clumsily disrespectful as best or boastful at worst.

The world has moved on a great deal since the days when Nellie Titus could point to a river and say ‘there’, effectively influencing the course of an official search. The ubiquitous psychics of today stand so little chance of recreating the extraordinary exploits of Mrs Titus they should perhaps consider what real purpose spreading such a comment truly serves. If it won’t bring someone’s loved one home then perhaps they should simply press delete on this one.

The Egos and the G-Word

I am a lucky chap, all in all. My full time job is to work in a field that I have been fascinated by since I was five years of age. I get to take groups around reputedly haunted buildings and treat them to my sceptical ramblings countered by my colleagues more paranormal explanations. I get to conduct private research from the revenue this provides and I get to write it up online and in some magazines from time to time! I am a lucky chap.

But I often worry about how long this can last. When will the rug will be pulled out from beneath my feet by some over enthusiastic ego tripper? And if there is one thing I have found no shortage of it is egos! Whilst I suppose it takes some ego to forge a living in the paranormal industry (and believe me that’s exactly what it is and has been for a very long time; an industry) the worst part is that these over-inflated egos are not from sceptics or cynics but they are colleagues, psychics and counterparts! People who believe a decade or more of ‘research’ or communing with spirit makes them an expert and they appoint themselves as some sort of overseer of all others who dare to enter the realm of the paranormal. They see themselves as bouncers at the doors of the supernatural club administering some sort of test or review and fail it at your peril!

These people often see themselves as leaders and guardians of the subject matter, dictating the way a subject is seen and treated. They demand others fall in line. But my question is, how do we know the line is going in the right direction? What if these un-elected and un-screened self-styled gurus are simply dragging their line on an ego trip with no real purpose other than the sensation of importance and elevation?

A few years back I wrote an article for a magazine entitled The G-Word about a prevailing attitude among long term researchers toward anyone who had a casual interest in ghosts. They treated the question ‘do you believe in ghosts?’ with a contemptuous snort and looked down their nose at the unfortunate who dared ask this dreaded question replying only ‘it depends on what you mean by ‘ghost’ before prattling into a list of types of entities and attempting the use of pseudo-scientific schlock which in reality hold no basis in fact as no one yet has actually proven the existence of ghosts in order to pigeonhole them so particularly.

My concern then, as it is now, is that such egos threaten the essence of the paranormal that most of us grew up with and draws so many new faces to the subject. It is fun! OK it seems a strange and inappropriate conclusion to draw given that ghosts are reportedly dead people but the mystery of it all, the ghost stories we were told as kids and the shiver we feel whilst checking out darkened corners of a haunted hotel are all... well... fun! 

But when egos emerge and begin to sap the enjoyment then they also begin to swamp the subject and it becomes more open to ridicule than ever and the flames of cynicism are fanned with each egotistical claim that one thought or belief is wrong compared to their own. The cynics wouldn't need to attack the subject matter as the egos and their 'my opinion is fact' claims would tear it down from the inside! 

Personally I fully intend to enjoy my work and I hope it is a career that will last until my dying day and in the meantime I would love to find some answers and maybe change my view from sceptic to believer.

In the meantime I shall endure the sneers of the egotists, the jibes of the cynics and I shall keep my eye out. Not for a ‘non-sentient entity’ and not for a ‘residual presence’. I will keep my eye out for a good old fashioned ghost… but until then I remain your Disappointed Sceptic.

Keeping The Paranormal Friendly

I will be appearing on Keeping The Paranormal Friendly Radio (KTPF) this evening if anyone fancies tuning in. I will be appearing with my Night Watch UK colleague Mark Rosney. Search Google for KTPF Radio for more info.

Werewolves: A talk by yours truly!

Just a quick one for anyone who may have already started getting involved in my blog (which can't be many at the stage I know), I will be at Bromborough Civic Centre this Saturday (18th of August) from 2.00 PM doing a forty minute or so presentation on werewolves.
This is essentially my take on the legendary beast and my theory on the origins of the beast. It is £2 admission but there are other speakers on throughout the day and a Mind, Body, Psychic & Spirit Show on all included in the price so if you are disappointed by me there will be someone to tickle your paranormal pickle!

Fouke Lore: The Legend of Boggy Creek 40 Years On!

“Fouke is a right pleasant place to live… until the sun goes down” or so says Vern Stierman, the silken voiced narrator of The Legend of Boggy Creek. His Southern American drawl reminds me of the stereotypical Southern gentleman as it weaves over the imagery of a quiet, under-populated Arkansas township surrounded by open fields, woodlands and swampland. Shots of calm rippling swamp surfaces are interjected by bull frogs croaking and the creaks of overhanging branches that occasionally dip into the murky waters of Boggy Creek as this low budget film opens.

We are introduced to woodsmen and hunters in a variety of backdrops early on in this docudrama ensuring the viewer is left with no uncertainty that we’re in Good Ole Boy country. The town of Fouke is home to just 350 folk, says Stierman in the 1972 film and the affection for the simple life of small town USA is present with each majestic roll of his voice. At the time The Legend of Boggy Creek was something of a labour of love for the producer and director Charles B. Pierce, yet from its original budget of just $66,000 it would go on to make a hefty $22 million in profit as movie goers flocked to drive-in movie theatres to gawk at this depicted folklore in glorious Technicolor.

I am unashamedly in love with this forty year old piece of drive-in fodder. Its grainy resolution and dated light musical accompaniment make it a whimsical piece and the wonderful rolling accents of the films human ‘stars’ make it strangely perfect Sunday morning viewing as the crisp frost of the night thaws slowly on my window in the light of a mid-winter sunrise. I take my first sip of fresh hot coffee and settle into the creaking leather of my favourite couch next to my still dozing cat as she takes in the billowing wash of dry heat of an electric fire in my conservatory. The early morning sun skims across the roof illuminating the space with a golden radiance which I take in briefly before tapping play on my laptop.

The opening montage of tranquil yet foreboding of scenes from Boggy Creek is somehow unsettling and reminiscent in feel to movies such as the original Texas Chain Saw Massacre as the rural isolation of that movie filmed on cheap 16mm is a visceral reminder how untouched and threatening parts of the United States can be perceived. It is a film made at a time when a finished movie could still be rough around the edges and ultimately more compelling than many modern slick HD offerings. Unlike the Texas Chain Saw Massacre, the moments of ‘horror’ in Boggy Creek are barely what you would call perilous as Stierman narrates a string of re-enactments of sightings of the so-called Fouke Monster by hysterical women and rifle-toting men in dungarees with half burned self-rolled cigarettes dangling from their grimacing serious mouths. These depictions often featured actual witnesses recreating and voicing over their personal experiences for the film which it could be said adds to the realism but at the time simply served to lessen the pressure on the meagre budget.

The real star of the show is barely glimpsed in the movie, wisely being shown as a silhouette amongst the trees or a shadow cast upon the side of a trailer or house. The Fouke Monster, as it was dubbed with little subtlety is a legend local to the small town of Fouke (pronounced Fowk) akin to its Pacific North Western cousin Bigfoot or Sasquatch. In the Deep South, however, the creature is held in less familiar regard and almost every time one of the yokels sets eyes upon the creature they attempt to blow a hole in it with an ever handy high-powered hunting cannon. Like the ‘Skunk-Ape’ said to ramble through the Florida ever-glades it’s reputed to have a smell ranging from a bitter acrid scent to the pungent odour of wet dog and it’s long matted coat is a thick reddish brown colour much like that of an orang-utan. It is said to lollop along on two legs and even at a hunch its height is reported to be between 7 and 10 feet. Enormous 17-inch footprints allegedly emanating from the beast found in the soft mud of Boggy Creek and in the fields of a local farm suggest, unlike Bigfoot the animal has just three toes on each foot. 

Sightings of the Fouke Monster reputedly date back over 100 years and its presence, even as a piece of wider folklore, is testament to the enduring idea that a primitive primate species tumbled down a different evolutionary path to our own and still tramps through the un-explored wildernesses of the world. Even today contemporary reports of the creature still persist though none eclipse the sheer terror of the most infamous encounter with the Fouke Monster reported by the Ford family in 1971.

The Ford family household was made up of two brothers, Bobby and Don, their wives and their children. The families had recently moved in to the rented single story wooden house so that Bobby and Don could take up work locally. The house was situated in a quiet isolated area, as was the norm for such a geographically wide-spread community such as Fouke and it was surrounded by trees which came close to the wooden porch which circled almost the entire structure. One evening, long after the sun had set and the sprawling darkness of a moonless night had smothered every inch of daylight, the young family had finally settled down for the evening to shoot the breeze before retiring for a restful sleep.

The brothers had been out hunting for squirrels and small game with a family friend for much of the day only setting off for home as dusk approached. Meanwhile Bobby’s wife Elizabeth had fallen into a restless sleep on the couch below an open sash window trying to enjoy the fresh untainted country air wafting in, dutifully awaiting her husband’s return. She was nervous in this place having only recently moved in and having heard sounds on a previous evening of breaking foliage in the pitch darkness around her new rural home and so yearned for the comfort and safety of Bobby’s presence. However, it wasn’t long after the brothers arrived home that night burdened with nothing more than two cold unused rifles and not even a squirrel to account for their hunt, that they began to encounter the first signs that they were not alone in this isolated corner of Fouke.

Settling down with frosty beers the men recounted how the Bottoms (as the woods were referred to locally) seemed eerily empty of life. Their hunt had become more of a country walk with guns as they stalked an apparently empty forest. As they relaxed in the sitting room they began posturing how they would next time fell a deer and hang its head upon the wall of their home the joviality was suddenly interrupted as heavy dull thuds began vibrating through the thin walls of their house as something prowled the creaking wooden porch of their home.

The Ford’s glanced to one another with held breaths unsure of what would be stalking their new home and ever aware that the wooden walls and rattling windows could surely offer little protection against a predator of any size. Bobby’s eyes widened as he listened intently to the beats of the intruders stride fearing perhaps a cougar or worse a bear. His brother and their friend were present but none dared move even to retrieve their hunting rifles from by the front door.

The quivering breaths became uncomfortable rasps as their throats dried. In between each voluminous thud the air would instantly empty of sound. Not even the hopeful croak of a bullfrog or the alarmed screech of an owl could be heard beyond this encroaching dread. Suddenly… the footsteps stopped leaving the tense unbroken silence.

Still lying on the couch, Elizabeth heard the creak of the boards on the porch outside as something heavy settled upon them. As she lay there motionless, her mind on the verge of all out abandonment through a fear, she felt a wisp of cool night air on her cheek tainted with a foul smell like that of a saturated dog. She was but inches below the window and she suddenly realised in horror that, although covered by a curtain, the window was still open and It was on the other side…

The 1971 Ford Attack

Before she could react to close the window the curtains lurched inward and parted and from between them a great leathery black hand appeared above her, silhouetted against the ceiling light. Speculatively grasping at Elizabeth it reached further in followed by an immense, strong arm tattered with fur. Once, twice it snagged her and each time she struggled free finally rolling off the couch and shuffling desperately away. The three men lunged forward toward their two rifles and their flashlights racing out on to the porch slamming the door behind them. The creature it seemed had started to flee but the men zeroed in on a great shape in the darkness and fired. The flashlights cast dim beams across the location but they could see nothing but broken branches and the endless black depths of the silent woods.

Inching forward into the thicket two of the men scanned along the hot barrels of their prone weapons for any signs of movement, ready again to let loose upon their assailant. Bobby was armed only with a flashlight but was the first to respond when he heard the screams of the women and freshly roused children back at the house. He raced back toward the porch, his heart rocking inside his chest and in his haste became suddenly initially confused as he found his path blocked by something large and so dark it simply appeared as if the night had suddenly taken on a physical form of its own. Dropping the flashlight he peered upward into what he would later describe as two red eyes the size of silver dollars. The creature wrapped its arms around his shoulders and for a moment he found himself lifted off the ground at the mercy of this towering form. Struggling and kicking for his life he was eventually flung free as a cacophony of gunshots rang out into the night and the creature screamed out in pain emitting a roar that many would claim to hear from within the swamps on dark cold nights around Fouke as the creature stalked the Creek. Bobby raced toward the door of the house simply shattering his way through the door without even attempting to open it.

Dazed and delirious he lay motionless on the floor as his wife tended to him as best she could whilst the others emptied their rifles into the darkness as if every shadow harboured the monster. Whilst they would swear they hit the creature several times no trace of blood or a carcass were found by the investigating authorities, although it is reported that they found deep scratches in the sill of the window through which it had reached for Elizabeth.

Bobby would later recover from his ordeal in St Michaels Hospital in Texacarna suffering no more than scratches and splinters from his dramatic crash through the wood and glass front door. As with most encounters with the Fouke Monster, the creature had come off worse yet it left little evidence behind other than witnesses who were nothing more than shaken up. Indeed the creature was never actually blamed for a human death or even injury despite it being portrayed as the dangerous villain of the piece in both the film and in local lore. The Fouke Monster death toll it is said includes a few farm animals and a domestic cat that had been scared to death by the mere presence of the Cryptid.

If you were to watch the movie The Legend of Boggy Creek, in the cool light of a winter Sunday morning you may feel as I did after having watched it over and over again. The hick hunters perhaps come across no better than their local monster. In fact, by the end I am always glad that the creature, be it a real animal or some sort of hoax, managed to escape the heat packing locals and I began to sympathise with America’s seeming distrust of its own Deep South seen through movies such as Deliverance and Southern Comfort. The fact is that the creature has every reason to hide from the ‘t’bacca chewin’ moonshiners in this film whose apparent intolerance and eagerness to hunt everything with a lynch mob mentality seen in a particular posse-esque sequence made me feel that, as wonderfully eerie and sumptuously atmospheric as the movie is, it is not the presence of an scarcely seen ape-man that unsettles me, more the people in it.

Maybe I am being unfair to a town that now has a population closer to a thousand and has developed seemingly beyond the hairy chinned hick town so sleepily portrayed in a forty year old film. Maybe Fouke is the little heavenly slice of small town Americana that the film’s director and Fouke local Charles B. Pierce, was looking to show off.

Pierce died in 2010 not quite living long enough to wish his creature feature a happy 40th birthday. But he did enjoy a varied but busy career in the TV and movie industry which included a starring role in a sequel to Boggy Creek entitled The Barbaric Beast of Boggy Creek which he once again directed. A 2011 movie simply entitled Boggy Creek was released on DVD just in time for the 40th anniversary but, despite its claim to be a remake of the original, it is instead a straight forward horror movie which sees the creature simply go ‘ape-shit’ and kill every screaming teenager it gets it’s great big hands on, nostalgically doing its best to reduce the human population of Fouke back to 1972 levels when times were more like the sleepy woven visions of Pierce’s original.

Yep, Fouke is a right pleasant place to live… unless you’re a ten foot hairy fella… then we’ll just shoot ya!

The Bloop: Mystery Song of the Sea

As a sceptic, I find it difficult to find a mystery that generally doesn’t come with a collection of credible and well publicised explanations. I am inherently frustrated as I find myself caught between my own scepticism and my desire to encounter something truly anomalous. Therefore it is no wonder my interest has been hooked and keenly retained for many a year by the eerie deep sea exultation known simply as ‘The Bloop’.

The Equatorial Pacific Ocean Autonomous Hydrophone Array (known as the Sound Surveillance System when operated by the US Navy during the Cold War for Soviet submarine detection) picked up and recorded in 1997, the drawn out noise that would be accurately dubbed as ‘The Bloop’ due to it’s distinctive blooping sound. Heard on several occasions throughout the summer months of ’97 and triangulated generally to the South Pacific region which boasts the deepest ravines in the earth’s surface, experts are at odds with the sound, ruffling their brows and scratching their mop-a-top scalps as they struggle to account for the sound. The consensus seems to be that the sound is NOT man-made and is quite possibly, even probably, biological. In short this could be an unknown animal. 

When referring to ‘experts’ in such cases, many writers are guilty of simply selecting the most convenient bleats of the ubiquitous pseudo-scientist and amateur investigator to justify labelling a tale a mystery. But in this case, those experts are the real deal. Marine biologists, oceanographers and even acoustic engineers have all taken a swipe at the mystery and not yet satisfied themselves or the mystery buffs with any robust theory.

By now you may wonder what the excitement is all about. The sea is no silent void. It is positively rippling with sound waves from creaks in the earths crust to the mournful bellows of marine mammals. The sounds of the deep are as hair raising as they are beautiful and there are a swathe of mystery sounds cutting through the depths. But this sound, if biological in nature, belongs to something big.... very big!

The loudest known call of the sea belongs to that marine giant; the magnificent Blue Whale. Yet the Bloop drowns out even this mighty bawl. If this sound is emitted from a sea creature it originates from something far bigger than any creature known to stalk our oceans, a true sea monster! So loud was this song that it was heard by several listening posts over 3,000 miles apart!

In 2008’s Cloverfield movie, a rampant creature emerges from the sea to plough through New York in an unstoppable brawl with the US Military. Yet throughout the movie and the numerous viral marketing websites and adverts threading through the Net, there are occasional hints that this creature is in fact the source for the Bloop. Go ahead and Google ‘Slusho is Bloop’ for more on the Cloverfield connection.

Cloverfield... Bloopy?

Whilst we can’t necessarily accept that the Big Apple is in any danger from Bloopy (as I shall call it), its proposed immense size and the lack of any identification do make it surprising that Hollywood haven’t really run with the tale with greater aplomb.

Perhaps the lack of appeal to Tinsel Town is due to the fact that the sound hasn’t been heard since 1997 despite an awful lot of listening by some very quiet people with some very big microphones! As with all good cryptic subjects it made a brief appearance, disappearing as mysteriously as it had emerged. An enigmatic call of the sea, retaining it’s secret despite suggestions the sound is little more than a giant squid call, the creak of a collapsing ice shelf or a cracking of the earth’s crust. These theories are not popular ones and indeed some have been completely dismissed meaning Bloopy is still lording it over science and technology and defying explanation… the way all good showmen (and Cryptids) do.

For me Bloopy has proved one thing; sometimes a lack of satisfaction is all the more satisfying.