Mysterious Times

Pull up a surfboard…

Stand on any British headland for long enough and you’ll understand why our ancestors believed the sea was alive. It growls on calm days. It whispers through shingle beaches. It takes entire ships without warning and gives them back years later, broken and barnacled. It hides entire landscapes beneath its surface and, every so often, it offers a glimpse of something nobody can quite explain.

For centuries, sailors have returned to harbour with stories that sounded too extraordinary to believe. Long necks rising from the waves. Great coils rolling through the swell. Creatures longer than fishing boats, slipping silently beneath the surface before disappearing into the depths once more.

Sea serpents have become one of folklore’s oldest residents, yet unlike dragons or griffins, they have never entirely disappeared from the modern world. Reports continue to surface from Britain’s coastline, witnessed by fishermen, coastguards, holidaymakers and experienced sailors alike.

Are they simply tricks of light and sea? Misidentified animals? Tall tales embellished after one too many nights in the tavern?

Or is there something about the ocean that still refuses to surrender all of its secrets?

Perhaps nowhere illustrates that mystery better than the windswept islands of Orkney. In September 1808, the remains of an extraordinary creature washed ashore on the island of Stronsay. Measuring more than fifty feet in length, it possessed what witnesses described as a long neck, three pairs of limb-like appendages and silvery-grey skin covered in coarse hair. Local fishermen examined it, sketches were produced and the carcass caused such excitement that it was investigated by the Natural History Society of Edinburgh.

The animal became known as the Stronsay Beast, and for a time many believed Britain had discovered proof of an unknown marine creature. Later zoologists suggested the remains were probably those of a decomposing basking shark. As these enormous fish decay, their jaws and lower body often disappear first, leaving a surprisingly long neck-like appearance. Their exposed cartilage can create the illusion of limbs, transforming a familiar animal into something almost mythical.

Yet even today, not everyone is convinced.

Travel south-west to Cornwall and another sea serpent waits beneath the waves. Unlike the Stronsay Beast, the Morgawr has never washed ashore. Instead, it appears in fleeting glimpses.

The name means “sea giant” in Cornish, and sightings have been reported around Falmouth Bay since the 1970s. Witnesses have described an enormous creature with humps breaking the surface and a long neck rising from the water before slipping silently away. Much of the Morgawr legend is intertwined with the artist and magician Tony “Doc” Shiels, whose dramatic photographs helped propel the creature into the national press. Shiels later admitted to enjoying elaborate hoaxes and practical jokes, leading many to dismiss the photographs entirely.

Yet the story didn’t end there. Independent reports continued long after the photographs were published, made by people with no apparent connection to Shiels. Whether they saw an unknown creature, seals travelling in line, drifting debris or something altogether more ordinary remains open to debate. That uncertainty is precisely why the Morgawr continues to fascinate.

Britain’s waters are far from alone in producing monsters. Scotland has its own coastal sea serpent traditions alongside the more famous Loch Ness Monster. Wales preserves tales of monstrous creatures inhabiting deep estuaries, while Irish folklore speaks of enormous eels and serpentine beings inhabiting remote waters. Even England’s largest lake has its resident mystery.

Bownessie, said to inhabit Windermere, has been reported numerous times over the past two decades. Witnesses describe a dark, undulating creature moving through the water, sometimes producing several humps in succession. Sceptics suggest floating logs, large fish or the optical illusions created by waves. Believers point to the consistency of many reports. Neither side has produced conclusive proof.

Victorian newspapers were particularly fond of sea serpent stories. Throughout the nineteenth century, reports arrived from merchant vessels around Britain’s coastline describing gigantic creatures moving through the sea with astonishing speed. Captains, naval officers and experienced seamen often insisted they knew the difference between whales, porpoises and anything they claimed to have witnessed.

Modern readers sometimes smile at these reports. Yet it’s worth remembering that these were men who spent their lives at sea. If anyone understood the appearance and behaviour of marine animals, surely it was them. That doesn’t necessarily mean they saw monsters but does mean they saw something unusual enough to write about. Science, meanwhile, offers several intriguing possibilities.

The decomposition of basking sharks has almost certainly fuelled more than one sea serpent legend. Their skeletons transform dramatically after death, producing elongated remains that bear little resemblance to the living animal. Then there are oarfish. These ribbon-like giants can exceed eight metres in length and inhabit the deep ocean, rarely approaching the surface. Long, silver and serpentine, they look remarkably similar to the creatures described in centuries of maritime folklore. Whales travelling in line can resemble a chain of humps. Groups of seals surfacing together may briefly appear as a single animal. Giant conger eels, floating timber, unusual wave formations and atmospheric conditions have all contributed to sightings that initially seemed inexplicable.

The oceans still cover more than seventy per cent of our planet. We know more about the surface of Mars than we do about large areas of the deep sea. New marine species are discovered every year, from bizarre translucent fish to colossal squid that remained almost legendary until comparatively recently. That doesn’t prove sea serpents exist. But it reminds us that the ocean remains one of Earth’s last great frontiers.

So, the next time you find yourself standing on a cliff as the tide rolls in, pause for a moment before you turn away. Watch the swell. Follow the line where sea meets sky. Because if Britain’s coastline has taught us anything over the centuries, it’s that the sea is very good at keeping secrets.

And every so often…

It lets us wonder.