CASE 2 - ABCs

Buoyed up by the massive success of my ‘Nessie adventure’, I wanted the next cryptid to be less high-profile than the huge scoop I got in ‘maybe hearing Nessie’ and ‘kind of seeing a flipper of something that might look like a flipper or wood’, as critics have insisted on putting it. Mr Johnston, if you think you can do better, then please do. We can all criticise.

Well, I’ve an absolute doosey for you this time, matey!

Smilodon populator - Translated means: Aaarrrrggghhhh!!!!!

The next cryptid I’ll be seeking out for a slap will be an ABC! An Alien Big Cat! Not an ET alien; a big cat that shouldn't be here in Scotland. Like my neighbour's cat in my bloody flower beds - but bigger.

An ABC is any non-native or extinct species of big cat; like a lion, tiger or lynx. But they’re boring as hell. Any nutter could have imported a tiger in his shoe and let it loose in Duthie Park (though it would piss all over that talking cactus they’ve got. And those terrapins).

A big bastard cat sod right here in the UK! Where did they come from, how did they get here? That’s what I sought to answer, but probably won’t. How would I? Be realistic folks. I will, however, bust its chops.

Even better than some mangy panther, it could be a sabre-tooth tiger. Holy fucking shitballs! That’s nearly a bloody dinosaur! Tell you what, it’d have a good go at one anyway. It'd mess up Moschops, i guarantee it. They were big mental bastards with teeth like a pair of machetes.

Sod off Simba

There have been loads of sightings all over the UK and beyond. Most are probably stupid people who mistake Felix next door for a jaguar, or see a dog with a weird haircut and think it’s a leopard. Seriously, if you have to make a dog look stupid, just put a coat on it. Don't shave it and make it look a total fanny in front of other dogs.

Scientifically speaking, you’ll know an ABC when you see it, as it will likely be in your guts mauling your spine at the time. Seriously. For my own safety, in this case, I’m packing some heat. I wouldn't normally want a 'piece', but I'm not facing those fangs with nothing but my awesome karate skills.

I had a word with my dad and he categorically denied loaning me his shotgun. Short-sighted of you, dad! I am an only child, apart from my brother, and I have no kids, so it’s in your interest to keep me safe, if you ever want to teach someone rugby; someone who won’t cry in the scrum.

I tried buying a 9mm pistol in a pub down the harbour, but got laughed out of the place. Instead, I bought an ultra-realistic pellet gun. The ABC isn’t going to know it’s fake, so I’ll have time to get the boot in before it realises anything’s amiss. Also, it fires tatties; which is environmentally friendly.

'Betsy'

There have been sightings of ABCs all over the UK, and beyond, but this cryptid led me right to my own doorstep! There were sightings of big cats, possibly Lynx, around the Westhill area, a few years back. Westhill is a suburb of about thirty thousand folk, near Aberdeen.

Unfortunately, Westhill has expanded rather a lot since I lived there, so the line of houses has incurred on land once only inhabited by field mice and underage drinkers, the latter of whom roam the streets like baying mobs of arseholes. This brings ‘civilisation’ rather closer to the places where these ABC sightings took place, and I doubt that big cats like ‘civilisation’; even if it means a ready supply of garden rabbits and slow pensioners.

Still, I wasn’t going to be deterred. I made contact with a local ABC expert, who we shall call ‘Peggy’ (not for security reasons – the TV licence folk are after her). She had already photographed a pair of ABCs in the area. When I saw the photos, I was blown away.

Two smilodon fatalis hanging out at a secret location.
'Peggy' 2010

What brilliant evidence. I was very impressed by these proud majestic creatures, and couldn’t wait to kick one up the arse. Peggy, a retired teacher who smelt of incense and really liked dragons, accompanied me to a secret location in the woods near Westhill, where we set up a hide.

I’d gotten a cheap tent from Tesco, and a sleeping bag from my folks’ loft. We pitched the tent and had a cup of tea. As it got dark, Peggy wandered off to have a cigarette. It smelt funny; she said it was menthol, and the cats liked the smell. I liked her attitude; professional and knowing, yet cuddly. Like a tie-dye Ray Mears. When she returned, I noted she looked tired, with bloodshot eyes. She giggled, and wiggled a bag of cat-nip.

We’d made a trap out of a bucket of tuna hanging from a branch and we hid behind a log. The plan was for her to turn on the torch and I’d set off the timer on my camera, which would give me 5 seconds to pelt it over and drop-kick the sabre-tooth up the arse.

Previous attempt at ABC capture using 'tuna trap'. 'Peggy' 2010.
1 - ABC notes tuna bucket.
2 - ABC gets stuck in.
3 - ABC tans bucket - the bugger.

I’ll be honest, I was bricking it, and held that spud-gun close to my beating heart. I checked it was loaded, then re-checked. Peggy told me to stop fidgeting, and 'be one with the woods; listen to the leaves and feel the vibrations of the cool earth'. She said the sabre-tooths would let us know by telepathy that they were coming. It was at this point that I realised she was mental.

Not eat my face and wear me to my own funeral mental, but not quite just exposing herself in ASDA’s mental either. Just then, I heard the noises; rustling in the undergrowth nearby. I tried to grab the torch, but Peggy stopped me. Then all hell broke loose, with terrible wailing noises and snarling. Peggy bolted off with the torch. She left me there like a lump of tasty meat for the sabre-tooths. I quickly formulated a plan; I ran like buggery.

As I ran through the trees and undergrowth, with the howling growing more intense behind me, thoughts flew through my mind… Had she set me up as some kind of sacrifice to the cryptids? Why had I so readily trusted a person who didn’t have a lock on their toilet door? Why hadn’t she brought a sleeping bag? She didn’t think we were sharing did she? Had she been trying it on?

My body and mind were ready to explode, so I threw myself up a tree and wedged myself uncomfortably into some jabby branches. The plan had been fool-proof. The problem was human error, or even human-cryptid collusion. Surely not? Surely Peggy hadn’t sold her species out? I thought back to the bucket of tuna hanging off a tree. It was perfect and should have worked, if only she’d kept her nerve (or hadn’t betrayed me).

The next morning I climbed down and went back. The camp was a mess. The sabre-tooths had ransacked it completely. The tent was shredded and smelt of wee. They had set fire to my sleeping bag, and there were empty beer cans everywhere. A tattered jazz mag lay nearby, and the tuna bucket was battered and bent.

Note L to R - smouldering sleeping bag, nudey mags,
high-alcohol beers, ripped and widdled upon tent.
Also note excellent 'Yetismack Leaf-Camo' system.

I have two theories regarding the destruction of the forest camp. The first is that the peeing was territorial markings, the destroyed sleeping bag and fire(!) were attacks on the encroachment of urban living, and the booze and bongo mags were an attempt to blow off steam by a likely youthful male grouping of sabre-tooths.

The second theory is that sabre-tooth tigers are fucking dicks, with no respect for other people’s property: that tent cost twenty quid, and the sleeping bag was old, but perfectly usable. Kiddie-winks and dog walkers use those woods and shouldn’t have to negotiate porn and beer cans to do so. These cryptids are just dickheads.

Based on the facts as I have them at the moment, I tend to favour the second theory.

Sabre-tooths typically acting like knobs:
mugging a sloth, probably for drugs.

I must add that it’s incredible that they have utilised fire (I wonder at a modern-day Promethean/Peggy origin), but did they have to use such a vast leap forward in societal technology for knackering my kit?

Once, sabre-tooth tigers roamed the world, from arctic tundra to arid desert. They were the lords of all they surveyed, and feared nothing. Now they are reduced to eeking out a living in the forests near Scottish suburbs, where they have developed anti-social habits such as binge-drinking and rampant thuggery. Pissed up on booze in a bush; Christ, I gave that up when I was 16. How long 'til they're stealing cars and smashing up greenhouses? They’re 42 million years old and should know better.

More Sabre-tooth anti-social behaviour.
There's a 60% chance this incident is alcohol-related.

I’ll be honest, I no longer wish to give the ABC/sabre-tooth tiger a good kick in the chops. I feel sorry for it, for how far it has fallen both morally and socially. Operation YetiSmack is, despite the connotations, a positive endeavour of overcoming fear; but there is nothing positive about the antics of these sabre-tooth bellends.

I have written to Westhill's MSP regarding the ABC/sabre-tooth menace, and await a reply. Never bothered with the council; what's the point?

It’s terrible how the encroachment of Westhill’s ‘civilisation’ has clearly had such a negative effect on this once proud and noble beast, but they need to wise up and act like grown-ups.

What a shame. What a crying shame.

A Sabre-tooth tiger: now mostly a thing of the past - good.

Carry on to the next case...

CASE 1 - NESSIE

I needed to decide on what cryptid to seek out first. I agonised for days, but eventually decided to keep it local. I had a long weekend coming up, so took advantage and packed the car full of cans of tuna, salmon, and crab meat. With my bait in place, I headed off to Loch Ness. Yes, you guessed it, Nessie was in for it!

Loch Ness 2011

I got to Loch Ness about midday, parking my car next to some caravans in a secluded spot. I brought my notepad, three pens (red, blue & green), my fancy new digital camera I got for Christmas, and a Dictaphone for sound recording; I wasn’t sure what sound I’d be recording, maybe Nessie groaning as I hoof it in the ribs? I thought of bringing ropes or chains to tie Nessie down, but decided that’d probably be cruel. All I wanted to do was punch the beast, and let it be on its way; no need to annoy the monster too much.

Too late, I realised that I needed a cameraman. Someone had to hold the camera whilst I laid about Nessie. So I called in on the nearest caravan and met Tom. He seemed a nice bloke, and we hit it off pretty quickly. He liked the ethos behind my quest and agreed to act as cameraman for the two days, in return for half my tuna supply.

I calculated that Loch Ness being fresh water, then Nessie wouldn’t be into tuna as much as salmon. Anyway, it was a risk I had to take in order to acquire Tom’s services, so he got the tuna, and looked well chuffed too.

I knew I’d found the right man when Tom showed me a sketch of an incident from the previous month, when Nessie stole one of his shoes. The shoe later turned up under his caravan: all slobbery. Tom felt the beast must have had some feeling of guilt about its actions. But I wasn't there to judge, I was there to YetiSmack! Note lack of fourth flipper/leg; perhaps due to fight with other monster, propeller injury or lost to another cryptid hunter. Or does Nessie just have three legs? It’s possible.

 

Tom's earlier Nessie incident.

DAY 1

I’d borrowed a dinghy from my neighbours, Val and Jim who enjoy boating, and we set off onto the loch. I rowed and Tom kept the camera ready. I felt alive at the thought of finally starting the hunt. It was incredible, all the hours of research in the library had been worth it; here I was on my first cryptid hunt. Operation YetiSmack was underway.

We reached the middle of the loch and I dumped a bucket of tuna mayonnaise over the side. Tom had mistaken my instructions for the bait, but I assumed that the beast wouldn’t mind mayo. Then we waited. We sat in silence and watched. As we bobbed up and down in the sunlight of that beautiful spring day, with the water rippling blue-green and the wind gently swirling around us, I had a massive panic attack.

I was in the middle of a huge loch with some guy who lives in a caravan and a load of seafood, waiting for a gigantic sea monster, which I was going to punch. It was all too much. As I sat under a blanket, Tom rowed us back to the shore. We’d had a few beers by this point, and I’m ashamed to say that I soon nodded off; only for a few moments, but it was so unprofessional! Of course, this was the point when my first cryptid chose to appear. Nessie emerged from the waters; ferocious and primal.

Tom got a few photos off before it disappeared back underwater, and then kicked me awake. Unfortunately, for some reason, the photos didn’t save; the card didn’t work or it crashed or something. I hadn’t had time to show Tom the manual. Oh well, you live and learn! Not to be deterred, Tom drew me a technical sketch of what he saw. He assured me it was completely accurate. Note the four flippers/legs: can they grow back?

 

Tom's sketch of DAY 1 incident.

I had missed Nessie! Still, it had been a good start for YetiSmack. I had a cameraman and had obviously picked a good spot to hunt cryptids: so we celebrated. That evening, things got a little lary. As we got into the whisky (I’d taken some to disinfect my penknife, in case I had to take tissue samples for the lab (shed)), we rambled about by the loch-side discussing cryptozoology and fighting things. Turns out, Tom’s well into all sorts of mad stuff. He nearly found Atlantis once, but got caught by the Coast Guard. We went back to the caravan, where Tom recalled some more facts about the day; information that had slipped his mind during the excitement of the initial sketch of Nessie.

 

Tom’s additions to original sketch.

Astonishing! It seems Nessie may have been wearing some form of head covering. I thought it unusual, as this had never been mentioned before in the source materials I’d read, but perhaps Nessie had developed casual head-wear habits; perhaps to avoid the sun, or perhaps to mimic the tourists who flock to the area in summer.

 

2) shows an alternative hat.

3) places the original design at a ‘jaunty’ angle.

4) proposes a snorkel Tom thinks he maybe saw.

We were interrupted at around 3am by a neighbouring caravan type, complaining about the flashing torch light and noise coming from Tom’s caravan, as well as the stink of seafood from all the empty tins. We explained the scientific nature of the vigil, and that the singing was related to the quest for Nessie (it wasn’t, we were having a Skynyrd sing-a-long). Tom was all over the place and gesticulating about Nessie eating seagulls or something. She was having none of it and started shouting, so I ran off to the woods, where I was terrified and crawling about in undergrowth for hours.

It was literally the worst part of the trip so far, but I did hear weird noises as I lay in some thistles It was like something gurgling and gagging in the distance; it was horrible. If it was Nessie, then I’m glad of the day’s panic attack. My last memory, as I rolled around in a massive nettle patch, was trying to make my Dictaphone work and hoping the tuna mayo hadn’t made Nessie sick.

DAY 2

I woke up under Tom’s caravan surrounded in vomit; though I don’t remember eating tuna mayo. As I was looking at my gaunt face in a puddle, Tom crashed out of the caravan shouting about a discovery. He’d heard some terrible noises the night before too. After the bint from along the road had left, he’d passed out, but soon woke to some ungodly yelping and groaning in the nearby trees. I was horrified to hear I may have missed yet another Nessie clue.

Map of key events; including Nessie making noises, the DAY 1 sighting area, the vomit, Tom’s caravan, and the bint emerging from hers to complain.

Day 2 was mostly a write-off. I passed out on Tom’s sofa, and he fell asleep with some beans and salmon on the go. I awoke to smoke, and him swearing. He later let me hear a recording of the ‘Nessie’ sound he’d heard the night before. He only managed to tape a brief section before ‘becoming ill’. It sounded like something rolling around in pain and branches breaking, but not much more.

We were ready to head out onto the loch again, but the police arrived to enquire about some missing gas canisters from a farm up the road, and I cleared off out the back window. Tom was arrested, and my folks called to say they needed a hand with putting a cupboard together, so I called it quits for the expedition.

I can only state that, as a first shot at cryptozoology fighting, this was a massive success. Some people go a whole lifetime without kind of hearing or maybe nearly seeing a cryptid, and I had achieved both on my virgin YetiSmack expedition. With the help of my new-found friend, Tom, I had done brilliantly!

A week later, I received an email from Tom containing a photo he’d taken of what appeared to be the legendary monster in a straw hat; perhaps in readiness for summer. Incredible. It’s an astonishing piece of evidence. Maybe I’ll go and deck Nessie in the future, but for now, she is safe to continue with her new fashion habits. I have other cryptids to hunt!

Carry on to CASE #2...

 

 

Tom’s photo 2011