Champ, Part II: What Is Swimming in Lake Champlain?

IF YOU HAVE NOT READ PART 1 OF THIS TWO PART SERIES, YOU CAN READ IT NOW BY CLICKING HERE.

When Sandra Mansi's photograph became public in 1981, Champ suddenly became something more than an old Lake Champlain legend. For generations, people had described strange animals, serpentine shapes and unexplained humps moving through the lake. Now there was a photograph showing what appeared to be a large dark body with a long neck rising several feet above the water.

The photograph was compelling enough that researchers took it seriously. Early examinations found no obvious indication that the image itself had been manipulated, and attempts to calculate the size of the object produced some enormous estimates. For people who already believed something unusual inhabited Lake Champlain, Mansi seemed to have accomplished what generations of witnesses had failed to do.

She had apparently photographed Champ.

More than four decades later, however, we're still arguing about what is actually in the picture. That's where Part II begins, because once we move beyond the legend and start examining the evidence, Champ becomes considerably more complicated.

Putting the Mansi Photograph Under the Microscope

One of the biggest problems with the Mansi photograph has nothing to do with the photograph itself. Sandra Mansi didn't keep the original negative. She later explained that she routinely discarded negatives after having her photographs developed, which isn't particularly suspicious behavior for a casual family photographer in 1977. Unfortunately, it deprived later researchers of the best version of the image for detailed analysis.

The location created an even larger problem. Mansi was unable to satisfactorily identify the exact spot where the family had been standing when she took the photograph. Without that location, investigators couldn't reliably reconstruct the shoreline, establish reference points or determine how far the object was from the camera.

That makes calculating its size extraordinarily difficult. Something seven feet long relatively close to the photographer can occupy roughly the same portion of an image as something 30 feet long much farther away. Early analyses produced very large estimates, while later investigators using different assumptions concluded the visible object could have been much smaller.

That difference matters because the smaller Champ becomes, the more ordinary the possible explanations become.

Could the Famous Champ Photo Have Been a Tree?

One of the more convincing skeptical explanations for the Mansi photograph is also one of the least exciting: a partially submerged tree. FYI - the "official Oddagaddon take on this theory is that its BS, but it is an active theory so read on...

Look at the photograph expecting to see a plesiosaur and the resemblance is obvious. Now imagine a waterlogged trunk floating horizontally just beneath the surface with a large root or broken branch curving upward. The apparent neck begins looking considerably less anatomical.

A floating tree can also appear surprisingly alive. Waves cause it to rise and fall, while currents slowly rotate or move it through the water. If most of the trunk remains submerged, a witness has very little visual information available for judging its actual dimensions.

That doesn't mean Mansi photographed a tree. Her account included observations that aren't captured in the single image, including her belief that she watched the creature move and turn its head. She reportedly observed it for several minutes before it disappeared. Any explanation of the encounter therefore has to contend with the testimony as well as the photograph.

Still, without the original negative or precise location, we're unlikely to settle this one. The Mansi photograph remains one of the most intriguing images in cryptozoology, but it isn't the proof of Champ that it first appeared to be.

Fortunately, the lake wasn't finished giving us evidence.

The Way-Out-There Oddageddon Theory on the Mansi Photo

WE don't usually add our theories to the fray, but this one is just too good.

Look, I've been on and in Lake Champlain MANY MANY times, and I am absolutely open to a Champ-like creature living in it. The lake does have that "Yeah, something might be in here" vibe. Not in a scary way, just in a matter-of-fact way. So, when I examine the Mansi photo, I am looking at the photo itself, not debunking Champ.

The Mansi photo is bad-ass, however, when I look at it I keep seeing one thing: Orca.

I know, I know. Hear me out on this. My theory has two possible tracks:

• The photo was NOT taken at Lake Champlain

• An escaped Orca made its way into the lake

What we do know is that orcas in captivity commonly experience Dorsal Fin Collapse. This may be due to environmental issues with tank water or, more likely stress and physical issues that result from a large creature living its life in a confined tank. While significantly less common, it can happen in the open ocean as well.

It is possible that the photo was not taken on Lake Champlain. Investigators point out that Mansi was not able to determine WHERE she took the photo on the lake. What if it was at the ocean?

Here is where my theory gets a little crazy - it WAS taken in Lake Champlain and it IS an ORCA!

Picture this: An Orca gets super lost, makes its way down the St Lawrence Seaway, takes another wrong turn into Richelieu River, and overcoming a number of odds against it, makes its way all the way down into Lake Champlain! Click on that link to follow the path on Google Earth. As we say at Oddageddon, Improbable does not mean impossible!

Alternatively, an Orca either escapes, or is dumped from an illegal captivity situation (OR... escapes from a shady government facility) somewhere along the Richelieu River and makes its way downstream to the lake. For my conspiracy theory people, that government facility escape works well because the Orca could have been see for a day before getting "dissapeared".

Even without a government coverup and extraction, Orcas cannot survive in fresh water for long and, once again, theoretically, Lake Champlain is large enough for a decomposing whale carcass to wash up on shore and nobody ever finds it. Especially in 1973.

Honestly, that's a way better theory than a freaking tree!

When Researchers Started Listening

By the early 2000s, Champ hunters had tools that earlier investigators couldn't have imagined. One of the most interesting efforts involved bioacoustics researcher Elizabeth von Muggenthaler and the Fauna Communications Research Institute, which participated in a Lake Champlain investigation associated with a Discovery Channel program.

Researchers recorded unusual underwater clicking sounds that were compared with the echolocation produced by animals such as beluga whales and dolphins. Neither animal lives in Lake Champlain, which immediately made the recordings interesting.

There is an important distinction, however, between recording an unusual sound and identifying what produced it. Lakes contain fish, invertebrates, boats and mechanical and environmental sources capable of producing unexpected noises. Even if some of the sounds were biological, that doesn't establish that a giant unknown animal produced them.

Still, the recordings added another piece to the Champ file. The lake had given us eyewitness reports, a famous photograph and now unexplained underwater sounds.

Then two experienced fishermen encountered something they couldn't identify.

The 2005 Encounter

On July 11, 2005, Dick Affolter and Pete Bodette were fishing near the mouth of the Ausable River when they noticed something unusual near the surface.

Their initial reaction is important because neither man immediately yelled “Champ.” Affolter thought they might be looking at something like a floating railroad tie or tree. As they moved closer, however, the object appeared to move on its own.

The fishermen described seeing a large living creature with portions of its body appearing near the surface. They never saw the entire animal, which makes their estimate of its total length uncertain, but they believed it was substantial. Bodette eventually grabbed a digital camera and recorded part of the encounter.

The video later appeared on Good Morning America. Two retired FBI forensic image analysts examined the footage and found no evidence that it had been fabricated or digitally manipulated. That established something useful about the video, but not necessarily about Champ. One of the analysts acknowledged that he couldn't clearly identify an animal or other object breaking the surface.

The fishermen themselves were appropriately cautious. Bodette said he was certain about what they had seen but wasn't certain what it was, while Affolter described something that simply didn't match any animal he immediately recognized.

Interestingly, the men considered one possibility that keeps appearing whenever we investigate Champ.

A very large fish.

The Sturgeon Theory

If you're going to build a freshwater monster out of a known animal, a sturgeon is an excellent place to start.

Sturgeon look prehistoric because, in evolutionary terms, they practically are. Their bodies are covered in rows of bony plates rather than conventional scales, and their elongated shape, large size and distinctive tail give them an appearance unlike most familiar freshwater fish.

The sturgeon explanation has been repeatedly raised in connection with Champ, including by Affolter and Bodette after their 2005 encounter. They thought they might have seen a giant sturgeon before deciding the animal didn't behave quite like anything they recognized.

A large fish also solves several problems that a plesiosaur creates. We don't need to explain how an animal supposedly extinct for 66 million years survived into modern times, and we don't need a long-necked air-breathing reptile repeatedly surfacing without eventually leaving unmistakable evidence.

But sturgeon create their own problems when we try to make them responsible for every Champ sighting. They don't have long necks, they don't raise small heads several feet above the surface, and some of the classic descriptions simply don't fit.

That's when another candidate becomes interesting.

And this one is definitely swimming in the Lake Champlain watershed.

What If Champ Is an Eel?

The American eel (Anguilla rostrata) is one of the stranger animals living in the Lake Champlain basin.

Its life begins far away in the Sargasso Sea of the Atlantic Ocean. Young eels migrate toward the North American coast and enter rivers and freshwater systems, where they may spend years growing before eventually beginning an extraordinary migration back toward the Atlantic to reproduce.

The U.S. Fish & Wildlife Service has conducted American eel sampling in Lake Champlain, so unlike a plesiosaur, we don't have to invent a route explaining how eels could have reached the lake. They're already there.

The attraction of the theory becomes obvious when we compare an eel with some Champ reports. Eels are long, dark and serpentine. Their bodies undulate as they swim, and a large individual moving immediately beneath the surface could produce the impression of an elongated animal appearing and disappearing through the water.

There's also a fascinating detail connected with Sandra Mansi.

At a 1981 scientific seminar devoted to Champ, Mansi described the creature she saw as having skin with a texture “like an eel.” Her overall description, particularly the apparent long neck and distinct head, doesn't neatly describe an eel, but the comparison is noteworthy because it came directly from the witness responsible for the most famous Champ photograph.

The problem is obvious. American eels aren't 20 feet long. At least not usually.

How Big Would the Eel Really Need to Be?

The eel hypothesis becomes more interesting if we stop requiring the animal to match the largest Champ estimates.

U.S. Fish & Wildlife Service sampling provides a useful reality check. American eels collected from Lake Champlain during surveys from 2007 through 2016 were measured in centimeters, not monster-movie dimensions. The largest reported in those sampling years was about 760 millimeters—roughly 30 inches.

A 20-foot American eel would therefore not simply be an unusually large specimen. It would represent something extraordinary that would demand biological evidence of its own.

But perhaps some Champ sightings don't require a 20-foot eel.

Judging distance and size across open water is notoriously difficult, especially when the observer never sees the entire animal. Imagine watching a dark serpentine body undulating just beneath the surface from several hundred feet away. One portion appears, disappears, and another disturbance emerges farther along. The observer naturally connects those visible points into a single animal and estimates how much body must be hidden between them.

A six-foot animal could become ten feet surprisingly quickly. Add waves, distance, excitement and only a few seconds of observation, and the estimates become even less reliable.

That doesn't explain a 30-inch eel becoming a 30-foot monster. But it raises an interesting possibility: what if there are unusually large eels in Lake Champlain that remain within the boundaries of biological plausibility but look considerably larger under poor viewing conditions?

We don't currently have evidence demonstrating that such unusually large specimens exist. But as a general body type for some Champ encounters, an eel fits surprisingly well.

It gives us the serpent without requiring the sea serpent.

A Monster Made From More Than One Animal

There's another possibility we think deserves more attention.

Perhaps Champ isn't one thing.

A large fish moving near the surface could account for one encounter. Several otters swimming in line can produce an extraordinarily convincing series of humps. Swimming deer look surprisingly strange when only the head and neck remain visible, while floating timber, boat wakes and unusual wave patterns can account for still more reports.

Then there are sturgeon-like large fish and eels, two animals that can produce very different pieces of the Champ silhouette.

The mistake may come when we take hundreds of sightings spanning more than two centuries and assume every witness saw the same species. A fisherman reporting a serpentine shape in 1873 and a family watching several humps in 1995 aren't necessarily describing the same animal simply because both encounters occurred in Lake Champlain.

Over generations, all of those stories get poured into one container. We call the result Champ.

And What About the Plesiosaur?

We hate to do this to one of our favorite versions of Champ, but the plesiosaur theory has enormous problems.

Plesiosaurs disappeared from the fossil record approximately 66 million years ago. Lake Champlain in its current form is a product of the much more recent retreat of the glaciers, meaning there is no plausible scenario in which a population simply remained trapped in the lake since prehistoric times.

We'd need plesiosaurs to survive somewhere else for tens of millions of years without leaving convincing evidence, eventually reach the Champlain basin and establish a breeding population.

That last part is particularly troublesome because Champ cannot biologically be one ancient animal. If the reports represent a species that has inhabited Lake Champlain for generations, there must be enough individuals to reproduce.

Large vertebrates eat, reproduce, shed biological material and eventually die. A population of 20-foot animals inhabiting a lake used by fishermen, boaters and researchers should eventually leave behind something more substantial than photographs and stories.

After more than two centuries of modern Champ reports, we don't have a verified carcass, bone, tissue sample or DNA sequence belonging to an unknown giant animal.

The plesiosaur looks great on a T-shirt.

Biologically, we're putting our money elsewhere.

Our Take

After looking at the evidence, we don't think a surviving prehistoric reptile is swimming around Lake Champlain. The biological problems are simply too large, and after generations of sightings we'd expect considerably stronger physical evidence if a breeding population of enormous air-breathing reptiles actually inhabited the lake.

We also don't think all of the witnesses were imagining things. Lake Champlain is a huge body of water containing large animals, and experienced fishermen have occasionally encountered things they couldn't immediately identify. Some Champ reports can undoubtedly be explained by otters, floating timber, swimming deer, unusual wakes and ordinary animals viewed under difficult conditions. The Mansi photograph may ultimately belong somewhere in that category as well.

But we're going to leave the door open a little wider than we did before.

If there really is a biological animal behind some of the better Champ encounters, a very large fish or an unusually large eel strikes us as far more plausible than a plesiosaur. Both explanations begin with animals rather than prehistoric survivors. The sturgeon hypothesis gives us a large, powerful, prehistoric-looking fish capable of producing an impressive wake and substantial body at the surface. The eel hypothesis gives us something equally important: the long, dark, serpentine shape and undulating movement that appear repeatedly in lake-monster reports.

Neither explanation is perfect. A sturgeon doesn't have Champ's famous neck, while the American eels actually sampled in Lake Champlain are nowhere near traditional Champ dimensions. Claiming that a 15-foot eel is hiding in the lake without producing one is still cryptozoology, not zoology.

But we wonder if the eyewitnesses have unintentionally made the mystery harder by giving Champ a size it never actually had.

Imagine an abnormally large eel appearing in pieces at the surface. The witness sees several feet of dark body, loses it beneath the water and then sees another portion emerge farther away. Or imagine a very large fish briefly rolling near a boat, exposing a body unlike anything the fisherman recognizes. In either case, the encounter is real even if the size estimate isn't.

That possibility appeals to us because it doesn't require hundreds of witnesses to be lying and it doesn't require a reptile to survive 66 million years without leaving a body behind.

Maybe Champ isn't a prehistoric monster. Maybe it's an unusually large version of something that already lives—or historically lived—in these waters. And that is OK with us. We got your back, Champ!

So, for now, Champ remains exactly where a good lake monster belongs: somewhere between folklore and zoology.

Like Champ? Check out these other aquatic Cryptids: The Altamaha-ha and The Gloucester Sea Serpent

Field Notes: Champ Quick Facts

📍 LOCATION: Lake Champlain — New York, Vermont & Quebec

👀 FIRST DOCUMENTED SIGHTING: 1819*

🐍 CLASSIFICATION: Lake Monster / Aquatic Cryptid

💀 THREAT LEVEL (1–10): 2

📖 STATUS: Unconfirmed — File Remains Open

🔎 ODDAGEDDON VERDICT: Most sightings probably involve known animals or natural phenomena. If a real animal lies behind some of the stronger reports, an unusually large fish or eel is more plausible than a surviving prehistoric reptile.

*Indigenous traditions involving powerful water beings predate European settlement but shouldn't automatically be interpreted as zoological Champ sightings. As discussed in Part I, the often-repeated claim that Samuel de Champlain saw Champ in 1609 isn't well supported.

Could Champ be an enormous American Eel? Credit USFWS

A White Tail Deer Buck swimming. Could a doe without horns be responsible for at least some of the sightings? Credit Matt Weegman, USFWS

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