Zoologist, media consultant, and science writer, Dr Karl Shuker is also one of the best known cryptozoologists in the world. He is the author of such seminal works as Mystery Cats of the World (1989), The Lost Ark: New and Rediscovered Animals of the 20th Century (1993; greatly expanded in 2012 as The Encyclopaedia of New and Rediscovered Animals), Dragons: A Natural History (1995), In Search of Prehistoric Survivors (1995), The Unexplained (1996), From Flying Toads To Snakes With Wings (1997), Mysteries of Planet Earth (1999), The Hidden Powers of Animals (2001), The Beasts That Hide From Man (2003), Extraordinary Animals Revisited (2007), Dr Shuker's Casebook (2008), Karl Shuker's Alien Zoo: From the Pages of Fortean Times (2010), Cats of Magic, Mythology, and Mystery (2012), Mirabilis: A Carnival of Cryptozoology and Unnatural History (2013), Dragons in Zoology, Cryptozoology, and Culture (2013), The Menagerie of Marvels (2014), A Manifestation of Monsters (2015), Here's Nessie! (2016), and what is widely considered to be his cryptozoological magnum opus, Still In Search Of Prehistoric Survivors (2016) - plus, very excitingly, his first two long-awaited, much-requested ShukerNature blog books (2019, 2020).

Dr Karl Shuker's Official Website - http://www.karlshuker.com/index.htm

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Friday 19 February 2021


Representation of the mbielu-mbielu-mbielu, based upon eyewitness descriptions (© Drawn by David Miller under the direction of Prof. Roy P. Mackal, colorized here by Dr Karl Shuker)

In addition to the very famous sauropod-lookalike mokele-mbembe and the somewhat less famous nose-horned emela-ntouka (but click here for an extensive ShukerNature article concerning it), a third sizeable cryptid has also been reported from the Republic of the Congo's vast, scarcely penetrable Likouala swamplands. Namely, the mbielu-mbielu-mbielu – so good, they named it thrice! During his two expeditions to this region during the early 1980s, veteran cryptozoologist Prof. Roy P. Mackal collected some interesting anecdotal evidence concerning this hitherto-obscure Congolese mystery beast, and also regarding a fourth, possibly related one, which he duly documented in his classic cryptozoology book A Living Dinosaur? (1987) and which are eminently deserving of being recalled here on ShukerNature.

According to one of the mbielu-mbielu-mbielu's alleged eyewitnesses – a young woman called Odette Gesonget, from the village of Bounila – this triple-termed cryptid is a semi-aquatic beast "with planks growing out of its back". In a bid to identify it, Mackal showed Gesonget several illustrated books depicting animals from the present and also from the distant past – and the picture that she unhesitatingly selected was of the prehistoric plate-bearing non-avian dinosaur Stegosaurus. Comparable descriptions were offered independently by native eyewitnesses s encountered elsewhere during Mackal's Congolese travels too.

Life restoration of Kentrosaurus (public domain)

Yet although at least one stegosaur genus, Kentrosaurus, is indeed represented by fossil remains found in tropical Africa, there is no suggestion from fossil evidence that stegosaurs exhibited any amphibious inclination. But who can say whether, during the intervening 65 or more million years from the most recent known fossils to the present day, an evolved surviving stegosaur might have become secondarily aquatic?

It is possible that this beast, whatever its taxonomic identity may be, is related to (or is even one and the same as) yet another mystery animal from the Likouala swamplands – the nguma-monene, which has been reported from the Mataba tributary of the Ubangi River. According to native descriptions, it resembles a colossal snake (at least 130 ft long!), but bears a serrated dorsal ridge along most of its body's length consisting of numerous triangular protrusions, possesses four short legs, and can walk upon land, with a low-slung body and forked tongue. Suggestions that have been offered for the nguma-monene's taxonomic identity include a snake-like non-avian dinosaur, a very elongate varanid (monitor lizard), and even a primitive reptile descended from the ancestral forms that gave rise to lizards and snakes.

Representation of the nguma-monene, based upon eyewitness descriptions (© Drawn by David Miller under the direction of Prof. Roy P. Mackal)

A remarkable modern-day sighting of the nguma-monene by a Westerner was recorded by fellow Congolese cryptid seeker William J. Gibbons in his own book Mokele-Mbembe: Mystery Beast of the Congo (2010), which also documents the various other Congolese and Cameroon cryptids sought by him during his expeditions. The eyewitness in question was Pastor Joseph Ellis, who informed Gibbons personally of his encounter.

It took place one clear sunny day in November 1971, when Ellis was journeying north in his 30-ft-long motorised canoe on the Motaba River. Suddenly he spied a huge, elongated, snake-like creature with a series of ridges like the edge of a saw running the length of its back. It was moving just across the river from the right bank, only around 100 ft away. Turning off his canoe's engine, an astonished Ellis watched as the creature, which he could see was at least as long as his canoe, swam slowly across the river to its left bank, onto which it clambered, crawling through the thick grass and then disappearing into the jungle.

Roy Mackal's book and William Gibbons's book (© Roy P. Mackal/E.J. Brill & William Gibbons/Coachwhip Publications)

Ellis never saw its head, but just the section of its body that was visible to him was at least 30 ft long, and was greyish-brown in colour. Although he had personally seen many of this region's large species of animal currently documented by science (including elephants, monitors, pythons, turtles, and crocodiles), he had never spied anything like this creature before, and, having no interest in cryptozoology, had not previously known of its existence here. What could it have been?

Mackal favoured a single, very large, and radically new species of monitor lizard as the most satisfactory explanation for both the nguma-moneme and the mbielu-mbielu-mbielu. Nonetheless, the latter's stegosaurian parallels are evidently difficult to dismiss absolutely – because as he confessed in his book: "For me, mbielu-mbielu-mbielu remains an enigma".

Artistic representation of the Bombays' encounter with a muhuru (© William M. Rebsamen)

Nor are the two Congolese examples documented above the only dorsally-distinctive crypto-reptiles on record from Africa. One day in summer 1961, missionary Cal Bombay and his wife were driving through the Rift Valley on their way to Nairobi, Kenya, when they had to pull up sharply in order to avoid hitting an extremely large reptile apparently sunning itself in the middle of the road. The Bombays estimated that the creature, which was dark grey in colour, measured around 10 ft long, had a snake-like head, four stubby legs, and, most remarkable of all, bore a series of diamond-shaped serrations running down its entire mid-dorsal line, from the back of its head to the tip of its tail.

After about 20 minutes, thus giving its observers plenty of time to peruse it closely, this languorous mystery beast finally stood up, and sauntered lazily into the bush. When some Kenyan natives heard of their encounter, they referred to the creature as a muhuru, but nothing like it is known to Western zoologists.

This ShukerNature article is excerpted and adapted from my book Still In Search Of Prehistoric Survivors.

Thursday 18 February 2021


Giant stone tortoise at Karakorum, Mongolia (© Frithjof Spangenberg/Wikipedia – CC BY-SA 2.5 licence)

In the Russian republic of Buryatia (in southcentral Siberia), the Russian Far East, the Korean Peninsula, and, particularly, Mongolia (which, incidentally, contains no known present-day chelonians of any kind), a number of very large stone statues of tortoises can be found – but these are no ordinary tortoises, as documented by chelonian expert and palaeobiologist Prof. Viacheslav Mikhailovich Chkhikvadze, from the Georgian Academy of Sciences in Tbilisi.

In a Priroda article from 1988, Prof. Chkhikvadze focused much of his attention upon three such statues in Mongolia, still standing amid the palace ruins at Karakorum, which was once the Mongol Empire's capital city. The biggest of these statues dates back to the 13th Century, and measures 92 ft long, 34.5 ft wide, and 41 ft high. The Mongolian name for it sounds like 'jastmel'chij'.

A second giant stone tortoise at Karakorum, Mongolia (© Methos31/Wikipedia – CC BY-SA 3.0 licence)

They all portray a type of huge long-shelled tortoise with a giant head on a thick neck, protruding eyes, and – incongruously for a tortoise - a pair of short, closely-pressed ears. Equally odd are the sharp teeth that project from the upper jaw (chelonians are normally toothless), and all four feet have five long claws. One of the statues incorporates an inset seat for visitors to sit upon.

A particularly old example of these statues, dating from the 8th Century, was found in Mongolia's northern province, and has subsequently become the subject of much study at the archaeological department of the Academic History Institute in Ulan Bator. Moreover, there were further examples at each gate on the four sides of the city wall at Karakorum. Steles (pillars) were present on the backs of these tortoises, which were crowned with beacons for travellers in the steppe.

The giant stone tortoise originally on the grave mound of Asikui, now at Khabarovsk Museum (© Glucke/Wikipedia – CC BY-SA 3.0 licence)

Perhaps the most famous of the giant stone tortoise monuments outside Mongolia is the example discovered by early Russian settlers in 1868, on the grave mound of the Jurchen general Asikui, where it had been installed in c.1193. Originally sited near the village of Nikolskoye (today the city of Ussuriysk) in what is now the Russian Far East, in 1895 it was transported to the I.N. Grodekov Khabarovsk Territorial Museum of Regional Studies. It dates from the Jin Dynasty (1115-1234).

What made them so intriguing to Prof. Chkhikvadze is that in his view, their basic tortoise form that is revealed once its stylised non-chelonian features – ears, teeth – are stripped away bears a remarkable similarity to the American snapping turtle Chelydra serpentina. In prehistoric times, its taxonomic family, Chelydridae, was distributed widely in Europe, Asia, and the New World, but today it is confined exclusively to the Americas (except of course for snapping turtle escapees/releases from captivity, several of which have been found living in British and other European ponds and lakes during recent years – click here to read about some sizeable, highly-publicised examples that were found some years ago very near to my home in the West Midlands, England).

American snapping turtle, 1842 engraving from John Edwards Holbrook's book North American Herpetology (public domain)

Consequently, as noted by Chkhikvadze, it remains a riddle how Central Asiatic sculptors in the Middle Ages knew a type of tortoise that in the Old World had been considered extinct for the past two million years. There is a remote possibility that these sculptors had seen fossilised remains of prehistoric Asian chelydrids. Unusual or eyecatching fossils have inspired a number of medieval representations in a wide range of localities globally, so such a situation would hardly be unique. Also remote, but again not impossible, is that a species of large Asian chelydrid survived into much more recent times than is currently known from the fossil record, and either directly or via generations of verbally-transmitted descriptions inspired the sculptors responsible for the statues.

Incidentally, such explanations as these may also account for another anomalous portrayal, but this time at Marcahausi, which is a plateau 13,000 ft above sea level, and situated some 50 miles northeast of Lima, in Peru. It was here that in 1952 Dr Daniel Ruzo discovered a series of fascinating megalithic sculptures. Not only did they include some enormous human figures carved from the rocks but also a wide range of animals, including lions, camels, elephants – and one that in Ruzo's opinion seemed to represent an amphichelydian – i.e. belonging to a taxonomic group of prehistoric chelonians characterised by their non-retractable neck.

Modern-day statue of a Chinese bixi (© Dr Karl Shuker)

Interestingly, the carving of giant stone tortoises in the Far East underwent an evolution of its own down through the ages, witnessing as already noted the popular addition of a stele to the tortoise's back, so that it became a symbol of heavy loads and burden. And in more modern times, especially in China where dragons have always played such a significant and diverse role in this country's mythology, the giant tortoise has itself acquired the head of a dragon - yielding a ferocious-looking hybrid monster known as a bixi. (NB – this name is also applied more generally to all giant tortoise sculptures by some researchers, including those from Mongolia documented by me here.)

This ShukerNature blog article is excerpted from my book Mirabilis: A Carnival of Cryptozoology and Unnatural History.

My little feng shui bixi (© Dr Karl Shuker)


Wednesday 17 February 2021


CFZ Deputy Director Graham Inglis holding the Falmouth pilot whale skull back in June 1996 when we met at Hay-on-Wye (© Dr Karl Shuker)

I was recently perusing through various old photograph albums as well as a sizeable number of unsorted packets of sundry photos that I'd snapped long ago, stored away, and largely forgotten about afterwards when I opened two such packets whose contents I'd not seen in many years, but which were and still are of notable cryptozoological significance. Consequently, after having made those pictures public for the very first time anywhere when I posted them on Facebook a few days ago, I am now formally publishing them for posterity as a ShukerNature exclusive, a mere 24 years after they were snapped, together with the somewhat sketchy background information that I have uncovered so far concerning the specimen depicted in them. If any readers have additional details or amendments appertaining to what I have documented here, I would be very grateful to receive and incorporate them herewith, fully-credited as always.

CFZ Director Jonathan Downes and I, presenting the Falmouth pilot whale skull's left-hand profile, at Hay-on-Wye, June 1996 (© Dr Karl Shuker)

A somewhat grey, windy, but thankfully dry day in June 1996 found me taking an 80-mile ride on my motorbike from my West Midlands home to Hay-on-Wye, the small yet world-famous 'Town of Books' on the English-Welsh border, which at its peak of popularity contained within its modest-sized borders almost 40 second-hand book shops. You'll not be surprised to learn that this town had long been a popular place of pilgrimage for me as a serious bibliophile, visiting it and making profuse purchases there several times annually for many years (sadly, however, most of the bookshops that I used to visit are now long gone, and they have not been replaced by any others either, so it has been several years since I was last there).

Close-up view of the Falmouth pilot whale skull's left-hand profile (and making handy use of Graham's packet of Golden Virginia tobacco as a source of scale for the skull's size!) (© Dr Karl Shuker)

On this particular day, however, its books and bookshops were, for once, of only secondary interest to me, because the primary reason for my visiting Hay that afternoon was to meet up with a coterie from the Centre for Fortean Zoology (CFZ), who were bringing with them a remarkable cryptozoological specimen for me to see in the flesh – or, to be precise, the bone, as it was a skull, but no ordinary one. After what seemed like an interminable time caught behind what was assuredly the lengthiest and slowest-moving articulated lorry in existence, and on rural roads far too winding for me to risk overtaking it, I finally reached Hay-on-Wye where, waiting to greet me and anxious as to why I was so late, were CFZ Director and longstanding crypto-friend Jonathan Downes, his first wife Alison, and the CFZ's video/films expert Graham Inglis (who is also now its Deputy Director).

Jon and I, presenting a dorsal view of the Falmouth pilot whale skull that clearly reveals its nasal cavities and characteristic pilot whale rostrum (© Dr Karl Shuker)

Moreover, carefully carried by Graham was the specimen that had brought us all together that day – what I shall refer to here as the Falmouth skull (see later for details), aka the alleged skull of a certain Cornish sea monster. Needless to say, the briefest of glances revealed that in reality it was from a cetacean, specifically a pilot whale, which we already knew anyway, but it was wonderful to see and hold it, a truly spectacular zoological and erstwhile cryptozoological exhibit, as my photos of it here readily reveal. But what was its history? As I noted above, the details concerning this specimen that I have so far uncovered are somewhat sketchy and currently incomplete, but they do provide a general overview, and are as follows.

Close-up of dorsal view of the skull – like all toothed whales, pilot whales possess a pair of internal nasal cavities but only a single external blowhole (© Dr Karl Shuker)

The Cornish coasts have long been deemed to be the domain of a Nessie-like sea serpent dubbed Morgawr, and particularly during the mid-1970s a fair few alleged sightings of a long-necked maritime cryptid with humps along its back were reported by the media. So too were the notorious 'Mary F' photos, ostensibly depicting just such a beast, which were sent anonymously to the local Falmouth Packet newspaper and published by it during March 1976 after having supposedly been snapped a month earlier at Trefusis Point. Back in January of that same year, however, and first brought to cryptozoological attention via a brief mention in A. Mawnan-Peller's privately-published booklet Morgawr: The Monster of Falmouth Bay – A Short History (1976), what to some had seemed to be more substantial evidence for a sea monster, albeit a dead one, had surfaced, literally, on Durgan Beach, Helford River – the carcase of an unidentified creature, where it was encountered by Falmouth resident Mrs Kaye Payne.

Vintage illustration of the dorsal view of a pilot whale skull, whose very appreciable morphological correspondence to the Falmouth skull confirms that the latter is indeed that of a pilot whale (public domain)

Despite inciting much local speculation that it may actually be the corpse of Morgawr itself, this intriguing specimen was carried back out to sea by the outgoing tide before any scientists had visited to examine and formally identify it. After the Falmouth Packet reported Mrs Payne's discovery of it, however, the newspaper was contacted by teenage amateur naturalist Toby Benham, from Mawnan Smith (a village roughly three miles south of Falmouth). As the Packet then reported in an article entitled 'Not a sea monster, says Toby', published on 5 May 1976:

The mystery of the bones of Durgan Beach may have been solved this week by 13-year-old Toby Benham, a keen student of skeletons.

Toby believes the bones, found at Durgan by Mrs. Kaye Payne of Falmouth, come not from a 20 foot sea monster as has been suggested, but from a whale.

He came to this conclusion because he thinks the bones form part of a skeleton he discovered on nearby Prisk Beach just after Christmas.

Toby of…Mawnan Smith, studied the "Packet's" photograph of Mrs. Payne holding a bone from the beach, and he is convinced it is one of those he saw.

"I am sure it is from a whale," the young naturalist said emphatically.


His explanation for their appearance at Durgan is equally emphatic. Storm tides swept them around from Prisk, he says.

The original skeleton was about ten feet long and the skull which is now one of the prizes in Toby's collection of bones, looks like that of a whale.

He said the skull had what appeared to be blow-holes and it seemed very similar to pictures he has of whales' heads.

If Toby was correct in his assumption that the Prisk carcase he saw and the Durgan Beach carcase encountered not long afterwards by Mrs Payne were one and the same, and that his 10-ft size estimate for the Prisk carcase's length was also correct, then we must assume that the 20-ft estimate attributed to it when on Durgan Beach was an exaggeration. Also, bearing in mind that he took away the skull from the Prisk carcase, it would be interesting to know whether the Durgan carcase was headless – if so, this would strengthen Toby's case for the two carcases being one and the same. Conversely, if the Durgan carcase included a skull, this would obviously disprove his case.

Close-up of the Falmouth pilot whale skull's right-hand profile (© Dr Karl Shuker)

Indeed, it is because of the above-revealed uncertainty as to whether this skull does have anything to do with the Durgan Beach carcase that, unlike various other chroniclers, I have deliberately chosen to refer to it here on ShukerNature not as the Durgan Beach skull but merely as the Falmouth skull. Taking these nomenclatural nuances even further, a far more appropriate, unequivocally accurate name for it would be the Prisk Beach skull, because we do at least know that it was obtained by Toby from the Prisk Beach carcase. Just to make matters even more confusing, the skull has also been dubbed by some the Durgan Dragon (more details concerning this moniker's origin would be greatly appreciated).

With Jon, Graham, and the Falmouth pilot whale skull at Hay-on-Wye, June 1996 (© Dr Karl Shuker)

Anyway: as the years passed by, Toby reached adulthood and moved out of the family home, but he left the skull behind, where it remained outside as an unusual garden ornament and door stop for quite some time, until finally his mother donated it to the art department of Toby's old Falmouth school (name presently unknown to me, and now closed), as revealed both in a Morgawr review article penned by Jonathan Downes that appeared in the 2002 CFZ Yearbook, and also in a short account on this specimen contained within English cryptozoologist Neil Arnold's book Shadows on the Sea: The Maritime Mysteries of Britain (2013). According to Neil's account, after learning about the skull and its whereabouts, Jon contacted a teacher in the school's art department named Mr Brown, and was granted permission not only to take as many photographs of it as he wanted, but also to borrow it for direct examination and identification, which Jon did (in 1996), whereupon he readily recognized that it was a whale's skull.

A living pilot whale (public domain)

Further study narrowed the skull's taxonomic identity down to one or other of the two species of pilot whale – the short-finned pilot whale Globicephala macrorhynchus and the long-finned pilot whale G. melas. These exhibit considerable anatomical variation and overlap with each another, thereby making it difficult to specify the skull's precise species, but British palaeontologist and fellow crypto-enthusiast Dr Darren Naish who has closely examined it has informed me that he believes it to be G. melas, stating in a Facebook post:

If you look at the tip of the whale's rostrum, you can see that the maxillae are visible virtually all the way to its end, rather than roofed by the premaxillae for most of the rostrum's anterior half. This feature shows that it's G. melas rather than G. macrorhynchus.

Vintage engraving of a pilot whale from 1900 (public domain)

Meanwhile, as confirmed by Jon in  his afore-mentioned Morgawr article, the proprietors of Toby's old school kindly agreed to donate this skull to the CFZ Museum, which is where it has resided ever since. It is good to know that this cryptozoologically-relevant specimen is safely preserved and its current location verified – all too many crypto-specimens have been lost, discarded, or even destroyed down through the years. And so, another monstrous mystery of the maritime kind is duly if belatedly documented here on ShukerNature.


My sincere thanks go to Jon and Graham from the CFZ for kindly making the skull available for me to directly observe back in June 1996. Be sure to click here to visit the CFZ's official website and discover who they are and their substantial contributions to cryptozoology.

Jon looking on while I balance the skull of a pilot whale on my knees, as you do… (© Dr Karl Shuker)



Sunday 14 February 2021


Any flea that was 20 times as big as the all-too-familiar human flea Pulex irritans (a giant model of which is shown here) would certainly deserve to be designated as the emperor of all of its bloodsucking brethren, but in the case of the imperial flea, appearances can – and did – definitely deceive! (© David Ludwig/Wikipedia – CC BY-SA 3.0 licence)

It was way back in 1997, within my book From Flying Toads To Snakes With Wings, when I originally documented the tragic tale of the imperial flea. In those far-distant, pre-internet days (at least for me, because at the time of my researching and writing that book I'd yet to purchase my first PC, let alone log online for the first time), I had succeeded in unearthing only a few, very sparse details concerning this entomological enigma (from an Antenna article of 1982, and even that only mentioned it in passing). Hence my coverage of it in my book was necessarily brief.

In later years, conversely, with the internet's vast, ever-growing archive of data readily available online, I have compiled a comprehensive file of additional information on this intriguing subject. This has enabled me at long last to piece together what I hope is the entire and highly (albeit unintentionally) entertaining history of the imperial flea, as well as unraveling several twisted strands of confusion and contradiction regarding this contentious creature. So here it is.

My book From Flying Toads To Snakes With Wings (© Dr Karl Shuker/Llewellyn Publications)



It all began in Gateshead, a large town close to the city of Newcastle upon Tyne in north-west England, when one morning in early 1857 a Dr Backhouse (not Blackhouse, as occasionally claimed) woke up to find a most unwelcome, highly unexpected visitor in his bed. The visitor in question was a sizeable insect, which the good doctor lost no time in permanently dispatching, allegedly with the able assistance of one of his boots. It seemed to him to be a siphonapteran, i.e. a true flea, but one that was far bigger than any that he had ever seen before.

Hoping to learn more, Backhouse sent the flattened ex-hexapod to naturalist friend Thomas John Bold in nearby Long Benton (now Longbenton), for his opinion on what it could be. Bold, however, was unable to identify the creature, but deemed it sufficiently interesting to warrant being sent for formal examination and identification to eminent entomologist Prof. John Obadiah Westwood (1805-1893), based at Oxford University in England. So that is precisely what Bold did.

Among many other titles and academic positions, Prof. Westwood was President of the Entomological Society of London (now the Royal Entomological Society), as well as a Fellow of the Linnean Society of London. After a cursory examination of Backhouse's squashed specimen, he exhibited it during meetings held at both of these societies – a fact rarely mentioned in previous coverages of it.

The first (but only rarely alluded to) of these two meetings took place on 3 February 1857, at the Linnean Society of London; the second (much more famous) one occurred on 4 May 1857, at the Entomological Society of London. At both of them, Westwood orally described the insect as being a specimen of a hitherto-unknown species of gigantic flea, approximately 20 times as big as the common human flea Pulex irritans. Fittingly, he proposed imperator ('emperor') as the taxonomic species name for this veritable emperor among fleas.

Prof. J.O. Westwood in c.1850 (public domain)

Westwood's exhibition and naming of this specimen was duly if briefly reported as follows on p. 70 of the Proceedings of the Entomological Society of London for 1857:

Mr. Westwood also exhibited a gigantic species of flea, for which he proposed the specific name of imperator. The specimen, which is about twenty times the size of the common Pulex irritans [sic – taxonomic binomial names should always be published in italics], was found dead in a bed at Gateshead.

It was also reported (but even more briefly) as follows on p. iv of the Journal of the Proceedings of the Linnean Society, Zoology, Vol. 2 for 1858:

Read, secondly, a "Description of a new species of Pulex (P. Imperator, Westw.) found in a bedstead at Gateshead;" by J. O. Westwood, Esq., F.L.S.

Just under a fortnight following Westwood's exhibition of this specimen at the Entomological Society of London, Long Benton-based Bold confirmed in print his action that had been instrumental in bringing about this very curious creature's scientific debut. He did this by way of the following brief recollection penned on 17 May 1857 and then published shortly afterwards in the Transactions of the Tyneside Naturalists' Field Club:

Pulex Imperator [sic – the 'i' in imperator should not be capitalized], Westwood. A friend of mine [Dr Backhouse], resident in Gateshead, brought an immense flea, which he had found in his bed, for my examination. Not being able to identify it, I forwarded the creature to J.O. Westwood, Esq., by whom it has been described as new, under the above appellation, in a paper recently read before the Linnaean Society.

It is important to emphasise Bold's intermediary presence in these proceedings, because virtually every previous account of the imperial flea's history that I have read mistakenly claims that Backhouse sent the specimen directly to Westwood, rather than via Bold.

The type – and only – specimen of Pulex imperator, the immense but ill-fated imperial flea (© Dr Darren J. Mann)

The full formal taxonomic name of any given species includes not only its binomial portion (i.e. the genus name plus the species name for that species) but also the surname of whoever formally described and named that species, plus the year in which its binomial name was first published. Consequently, it is well worth explaining here how the full formal taxonomic name of the imperial flea – Pulex imperator Westwood, 1858 – came about.

Although imperator was proposed as its species name by Westwood at both scientific society meetings where he exhibited and orally described this specimen in 1857, he did not provide at either of them a published description formally naming it as Pulex imperator. Similarly, within the brief above-quoted report published in its Proceedings for 1857 of Westwood's exhibition and oral description of this specimen at its meeting of 4 May 1857, it can be seen that the Entomological Society of London did not refer to its species as Pulex imperator either.

Conversely, in the Linnean Society of London's even briefer above-quoted report published in its own Journal of Proceedings for 1858 of Westwood's exhibition and oral description of this specimen at its 3 February 1857 meeting, it did refer to its species as Pulex imperator – which is generally deemed to be the very first time that this binomial name had appeared in print. This in turn is why the imperial flea's full scientific name contains the year 1858, rather than 1857, despite the latter year being the one in which the specimen was given the binomial name orally by Westwood. (Having said that, I cannot help but wonder why Bold's published naming of it as Pulex imperator in his 1857 Transactions of the Tyneside Naturalists' Field Club communication did not take precedence over Westwood's in 1858…?)

Anyway, taxonomic technicalities aside, there seemed no denying that Westwood's imperial flea Pulex imperator was a truly extraordinary addition to the entomological fauna of Britain and, indeed, the world, because this was unquestionably the largest flea species known to science.

Specimen labels alongside the type specimen of the imperial flea Pulex imperator (© Dr Darren J. Mann)

So far, so good – until, that is, following his initial cursory examination that had incited him into describing and naming it as a gigantic flea, Westwood decided to conduct a much more detailed, extensive scrutiny of Backhouse's Brobdingnagian specimen. Only then was the awful truth, the embarrassing reality, of its taxonomic nature duly revealed to him.

What Westwood had originally assumed to be the creature's long, blood-sucking proboscis, a flea characteristic, turned out instead to be the basal section of a long multi-segmented antenna. Such lengthy antennae are structures conspicuous only by their absence in all bona fide fleas, whose own antennae are tiny ones that for much of the time remain concealed for their own protection within deep grooves located slightly behind the fleas' eyes. And the reason for its laterally compressed body, another flea characteristic, could now be clearly discerned as nothing more significant than the inevitable physical outcome of having been flattened side-on with considerable force by Backhouse when he struck it with his boot!

Further studies determined the tragic truth that, far from being a truly extraordinary, exceptionally large flea, the type (and only) specimen of Pulex imperator was simply a decidedly ordinary, unexceptionally-sizeable, and undeniably squashed nymph (juvenile stage) of the Oriental cockroach Blatta orientalis, a common invasive species in England.

Nymph of Oriental cockroach Blatta orientalis (© Zeptomoon/Wikipedia – CC BY-SA 3.0 licence)

As documented in greater detail on p. 60 within the Proceedings of the Entomological Society of London for 1859:

He [Westwood] also exhibited an insect which he had received some time previously from Mr. Backhouse, of Gateshead, as a gigantic flea, and which he had exhibited to the Society on the 4th of May 1857 (without, however, having previously had an opportunity of carefully examining it), and for which he then suggested the name of Pulex Imperator [sic]. He had, however, recently examined the insect more minutely, and had ascertained that it was a very young larva of a Blatta [sic], much distorted by being crushed flat in rather an oblique position, and with most of the limbs broken off. A small portion of the base of the multiannular antennae was visible in such a situation as to seem like a part of the mouth, but on microscopically examining it, as well as the portions of the legs still remaining, it became evident that the insect was not a flea, and on dissecting the mouth, its true character was at once de­tected.

[This account was also included almost verbatim within a communication concerning the imperial flea that was penned on 9 April 1894 by R. M'Lachlan of Lewisham, London, and published by the journal Entomologische Nachrichten in June 1894.]

To his credit, and in spite of the great personal shame that he must have felt, at a meeting of the Entomological Society of London held on 7 March 1859 (and attended by the afore-mentioned R. M'Lachlan among others) Westwood publicly recanted his previous pronouncements, quashing the imperial flea's taxonomic standing by unmasking its true nature as a squashed cockroach nymph (and duly documented once again in the Proceedings of the Entomological Society of London). Thus ended the brief but infamous reign of the flea realm's erroneous emperor.

Nevertheless, its crushed corpse lives on, at least in preserved state, housed in the Oxford University Museum of Natural History's very extensive Hope Entomological Collections. These were amassed by, and duly named after, English entomologist Frederick William Hope (1797-1862), who donated them to Oxford University after having founded a professorship there. Together with Westwood, he was also a founder of the Entomological Society of London in 1833.

Frederick William Hope, painted in c.1851 by L C Dickinson (public domain)

Finally, for the sake of completeness, here is that scant little account of the imperial flea that I wrote for and included in my book From Flying Toads To Snakes With Wings more than 23 years ago, but which fired my enthusiasm for seeking out all of the additional information that I have now compiled in my much more extensive documentation above:

As for the enormous "imperial flea," formally described during the 1800s by J.O. Westwood, its only known specimen (housed in the Hope insect collections at Oxford University Museum) was later unmasked as a rather squashed juvenile Blatta orientalis – a common species of cockroach!



Although the imperial flea is nothing more than an imposing imposter, there really is a genuine species of giant flea out there. And despite sporting rather less prodigious proportions than those of the imperial flea, it is still more than sufficiently sizeable to claim with ease the official zoological superlative of the world's largest flea species, some specimens of which are up to one third of an inch long.

Yet, remarkably, whereas so many of its far smaller kith and kin had been known to science and the general public alike for untold centuries, this bloodsucking behemoth remained zoologically undescribed and unnamed until little more than 100 years ago.

A 6-mm-long specimen of Hystrichopsylla schefferi (© Ryan Eide/BugGuide – Creative Commons licence for more details; reproduced here on a strictly non-commercial Fair Use basis for educational/review purposes only)

Needless to say, such an outstanding creature readily claimed its place in all three of my volumes on new and rediscovered animals of the 20th and 21st Centuries. So here is what I wrote about it in the most recently-published tome in this trio, The Encyclopaedia of New and Rediscovered Animals: From Okapis To Onzas – And Beyond! (2012):

In 1921, publication of the formal scientific description of Hystrichopsylla schefferi introduced zoologists to the world's largest species of flea. When its original name, H. mammoth, was disallowed on a nomenclatural technicality, it was renamed H. schefferi, after its discoverer, agricultural researcher Theophilus Scheffer, from the USA's Bureau of Biological Survey. He had collected the type specimen whilst in Washington State, finding it inside a nest belonging to the world's most primitive species of rodent – Aplodontia rufa, the sewellel, though also referred to popularly but very inappropriately as the mountain beaver (it is neither a mountain-dweller nor a beaver!). Other specimens have been collected since, some of which are more than 8 mm (0.31 in) long.

Subsequently nicknamed 'Super Flea', H. schefferi appears to be a specific parasite of the sewellel; most specimens have been obtained from individuals of this rodent, or from their nests. A few have also been taken from the fur of mink and spotted skunks, but as these are carnivores that are known to prey upon sewellels it is likely that they received their over-sized parasites directly from their prey or, once again, from its nests. Little is known either about the natural history of 'Super Flea' or about that of its host, so the mystery of why the world's most primitive rodent should be exclusively parasitised by the world's largest flea has yet to be solved.

An illustration of the sewellel or mountain beaver from 1918 (public domain)

Incidentally, the taxonomic and nomenclatural niceties relating to this significant insect species are more complex than I had space to elaborate upon in my above account, so here is the full story.

What we now know to be Super Flea was initially described by American zoologist Dr Edward A. Chapin under the name Hystrichopsylla schefferi in 1919 (in a paper published by the Bulletin of the Brooklyn Entomological Society), and whose type specimen was a 6.2-mm-long female. But then in 1921, Chapin described a second, marginally bigger species, which he named H. mammoth (in a paper published by the Proceedings of the Entomological Society of Washington), and which was based upon a 7.38-mm-long male type specimen plus a 7.53-mm-long female allotype specimen, thereby making it the world's largest flea species (as it was even larger than H. schefferi). However, this latter, bigger species was later shown to be one and the same as H. schefferi.

Nevertheless, for a while it was still the rather more dramatic 1921 name H. mammoth by which Super Flea was generally referred to. Eventually, to clear up the confusion, the rules of nomenclatural priority were brought firmly into play, and as the name H. schefferi had been coined two years before H. mammoth (albeit by the same person), the latter name was disallowed (i.e. demoting it to a synonym of the former). So it is H. schefferi that is used by most (though still not all) researchers for this species today. As a result, Super Flea is nowadays technically deemed to have been described in 1919 rather than 1921, because even though the two 1921 specimens were bigger than the 1919 specimen, this is irrelevant now that the species that the 1921 specimens represented, H. mammoth, has been subsumed into H. schefferi. Who'd be a nomenclatural taxonomist?!



The earliest known prehistoric representatives of the true fleas that possess modern morphological features are of comparably tiny size to their present-day counterparts, and date back at least 40-50 million years, having been discovered embedded in both Baltic and Dominican amber, but none dating back to Mesozoic times (65-250 million years ago) are currently known. Due to their laterally flattened bodies, these prehistoric true fleas most probably parasitized mammals and birds, just like present-day true fleas do, rather than any form of scaly reptile.

In 2012, however, Chinese scientists revealed the former existence of a hitherto-unknown lineage of prehistoric parasitic insect, unrepresented by any present-day species, whose members were considerably bigger than true fleas, whose bodies were flattened dorsoventrally rather than laterally, and which, by dating from the Jurassic and Cretacous Periods of the Mesozoic Era may well have targeted some of the mighty dinosaurs as their preferred hosts. A memorable case of greater monsters having lesser monsters upon their backs to bite them??

They were discovered independently in the same Chinese sites by two different teams of researchers and are currently known from four different species, all belonging to the specially-created genus Pseudopulex, which translates as false flea or pseudo-flea. As a result, scientists colloquially refer to these exceedingly sizeable flea analogues as pseudo-fleas, thereby emphasizing that they were not true fleas. In contrast, exhibiting their usual predilection for headline-grabbing hyperbole over sober scientific authenticity, a fair few media reports have instead burdened them with such melodramatic monikers as "monster fleas", "gigantic horror fleas", and sundry other sensationalized nicknames.

As readers who have seen such headlines but without realizing their less than accurate nature may therefore expect me to document these noteworthy insects here, I have indeed decided to do so, even though they are not true fleas, but rather because it provides an ideal opportunity to present the facts and dispel the fallacies associated with them.

Restoration of the likely appearance in life of the prehistoric pseudo-flea Pseudopulex jurassicus (© Oregon State University/Wikipedia – CC BY-SA 2.0 licence)

The four species of pseudo-flea so far described are P. jurassicus, P. magnus, P. tanian, and P. wangi, with most scientific work so far having been conducted upon the first two species, both from China's Inner Mongolian region. As its name indicates, P. jurassicus lived during the Jurassic Period, specifically during the mid-Jurassic, approximately 165 million years ago. P. magnus, the biggest species, is of younger age, dating from the early Cretaceous, approximately 125 million years ago, P. tanian is the smallest pseudo-flea species currently known, while in P. wangi the females were much larger than the males, indicating sexual dimorphism. All four species bore longer claws on their feet than those of true fleas.

The most readily obvious morphological differences between the past and present true fleas and the exclusively prehistoric pseudo-fleas are the shape and size of their bodies. In true fleas, their body is laterally compressed, which greatly facilitates the ease of these ectoparasitic insects' movement between hairs in furry mammals and feathers in birds (and possibly in prehistoric feathered non-avian dinosaurs too) in order to reach their host's soft skin that they can then pierce with their narrow, fine proboscis and suck forth its blood, upon which they subsist.

In pseudo-fleas, conversely, their body is dorsoventrally flattened (more like those of bedbugs and lice), which, while greatly impeding these ectoparasitic insects' movement between hairs and feathers, would readily enable them to squeeze between scales, in order to reach the soft skin underneath, which they could then pierce using their broader, coarser proboscis (see below), and thence draw forth the blood that they subsisted upon.

Line diagram and fossils of the prehistoric pseudo-flea Pseudopulex tanian (Wikipedia/public domain)

Consequently, scientists deem it likely that whereas true fleas seek out mammals and birds as hosts, pseudo-fleas would have instead parasitized reptiles, including scaly non-avian dinosaurs, and possibly pterosaurs too.

As for body size: all of the pseudo-flea fossils so far discovered are far bigger than true fleas – measuring from 17 mm to nearly 22 mm (i.e. almost 1 inch long), whereas most true fleas are less than 6 mm long (even H. schefferi rarely reaches 8 mm long). Moreover, their mouthparts are proportionately much larger than those of true fleas, and of particular note is that their proboscis is not only broader but also serrated in a far coarser manner than the much narrower, finely-serrated proboscis of true fleas. This in turn means that when a pseudo-flea plunged its proboscis into the soft skin of its host, it is likely to have caused the pseudo-flea's dinosaurian host much more pain than the mammalian and avian hosts of true fleas experience.

In fact, to quote Oregon State University zoologist and fossil insect specialist Prof. George O. Poinar Jr speaking about pseudo-fleas in a newspaper interview from May 2012: "It would have felt about like a hypodermic needle going in – a flea shot, if not a flu shot. We can be thankful our modern fleas are not nearly this big". We can indeed!



I mentioned earlier in this present ShukerNature blog article of mine that Prof. J.O. Westwood lost no time in publicly conceding that he had been wrong in previously declaring the squashed remains of a juvenile cockroach to be those of a hitherto-unknown gigantic flea – but the rapidity of his recant should not really come as any great surprise. For notwithstanding his celebrated status as an entomologist of no little eminence and esteem, when it came to promoting mistaken identifications the good professor definitely had form.

In my previously-mentioned 1997 book From Flying Toads To Snakes With Wings, directly preceding my brief note concerning the imperial flea I had included the following short account concerning another erroneously-classified insect, the so-called bee louse Pediculus apis:

Equally delightful is the story of the bee louse. Its victims included among their number the very eminent eighteenth-century zoologist Johann Cristian Fabricius, who formally christened it Pediculus apis [a name that directly translates as 'bee louse']. There is no doubt that this small insect does indeed resemble a louse, but appearances can – and do – deceive. Many years later, the 'bee louse' was revealed to be the first larval stage of the oil beetle Meloë violaceus, but it is so unlike any other type of beetle larva that Fabricius can certainly be forgiven for taking its louse-like form a little too literally.

Engraving of Johann Cristian Fabricius (public domain)

Incidentally, as a brief digression, I wish to point out here that I obtained my information concerning the bee louse's supposed scientific naming as Pediculus apis by Fabricius (1745-1808) from Ewald Reitters book Beetles (1961), which states:

Johann Cristian Fabricius (1745-1808) believed it to be a louse and named it Pediculus apis F., the bee louse.

However, I have since discovered that this name was originally given to it by none other than the originator of the taxonomic binomial system himself, a certain Carl von Linné (1707-1778), aka Carolus Linnaeus. He duly dubbed it on p. 614 in the monumental 10th edition of his pioneering work Systema Naturae, which was published in 1758 (at which time Fabricius would have only been about 13 years old).

Adult oil beetle Meloë violaceus (public domain)

Anyway, whereas the adult oil beetle is a notably short-winged but otherwise fairly typical glossy-black coleopteran of the free-living, non-parasitic kind commonly seen scuttling about in sunny gardens and other dry flower-nurturing habitats across Britain, continental Europe, and northern Africa, its first larval form, which hatches directly from this species' eggs, is very different morphologically, and actively parasitizes bees.

Known as a planidium, this tiny but highly specialized larva's body is long and thin (filiform), ferruginous brown in colour, very flattened dorsoventrally, and highly sclerotized, so it does indeed look superficially louse-like and entirely unlike its adult form. Moreover, each of its six limbs terminates in three long claws (as a result of which it is sometimes called a triungulin, more about which later).

Planidium of the oil beetle Meloë violaceus (© Janet Graham/Wikipedia – CC BY 2.0 licence)

Climbing up the stalk of a nearby flower in swarms and sitting in wait upon its blossom, the planidia use their claws to latch onto any bee that arrives to sip nectar and collect pollen from the flower, and these miniscule parasites are then carried by it (phoresy) back to its hive, nest, or burrow (depending upon whether the bee is a social or solitary species). Once there, the planidia duly lay waste to the bee eggs and larvae present, as well as any stored pollen, devouring them hungrily as they gradually metamorphose from one larval stage (instar) into another, until eventually they pupate into the adult beetle form, after which they then exit their apian host's domicile and live normal, non-parasitic beetle lives thereafter in the outside world.

Due to its louse-like form and the knowledge that it could be found inside bee hives, however, Linnaeus failed to make any connection between the oil beetle's planidium larva and the adult oil beetle. Instead, he mistakenly assumed that the planidium was a genuine species of louse, which, as noted earlier, he duly christened Pediculus apis, the bee louse (not to be confused, incidentally, with various highly specialized species of wingless dipteran fly, the braulids, which are colloquially dubbed bee lice because they too parasitise bees).

Linnaeus, painted by Alexander Roslin in 1775 (public domain)

Nor was Linnaeus alone in this misconception – the afore-mentioned Fabricius also labored under it, as did a number of other insect authorities too, including prominent French naturalist Léon J.M. Dufour (1780-1865), who in 1828 named the bemusing little bee louse Triungulinus andrenetarum, from which the term 'triungulin', often applied to such larvae, originates. Yet another binomial name applied to this insect was Pediculus melittae, in 1802, by English entomologist William Kirby (1759-1850).

By the mid-1830s, however, it was becoming increasing accepted in entomological circles that the bee louse was actually the first larva of the oil beetle. Even so, this view was not without its skeptics, and one dissenting voice in particular was none other than that of Prof. J.O. Westwood.

Engraving of a youthful Prof. J.O. Westwood holding a goliath beetle (public domain)

In a Transactions of the Entomological Society of London paper originally read by him at the Society on 6 June 1836, which dealt with a bizarre taxonomic order of tiny parasitic insects known variously as strepsipterans, stylopids, or twisted-wings (only the males are winged, the female are both wingless and limbless), Westwood also considered the issue of bee louse/oil beetle synonymity. Yet despite acknowledging that bee lice had been directly observed emerging from oil beetle eggs, he was still not entirely convinced that the former were indeed the first larval stage of the latter. Instead, he speculated that perhaps the bee lice were of external origin and had somehow penetrated the eggs of the oil beetle, thereby giving rise when they subsequently emerged from these eggs to a misconception that they had actually originated within them:

No one, it is admitted, has ever seen the larva of Meloe, except as one of these minute Pediculi melitta, as Kirby calls them; and I have elsewhere said that, notwithstanding all the apparent proofs of their being the larvae of the Meloe, I cannot but think them in some unaccountable manner or other to be parasites, not only upon the bees, but also within the eggs of the Meloe. It is true many observers have seen them hatch from the eggs of the Meloe.

Westwood even speculated that perhaps the minute parasitic stylopids might actually be "the younger state of the Pediculus melittae". This is despite the notable fact that the stylopids belong to an entirely discrete taxonomic order from all other insect forms. Named Strepsiptera, it was created for them by none other than the afore-mentioned William Kirby, in 1813, i.e. almost 30 years before Westwood's above-quoted paper was published, so he was well aware of their taxonomic distinctness.

Scale line drawing of male (winged) and female (wingless) strepsipterans (public domain)

Happily, in 1851, distinguished English entomologist George Newport (1803-1854) revealed beyond any shadow of doubt the extraordinary life cycle of the oil beetle. For he not only had observed planidia being carried by Anthophora bees into their nest, but also had described the later, recognizably beetle larval stages in the nest's cells – and, in so doing, had thus confirmed the bee louse's true taxonomic identity.


In conclusion, the histrionic and in places quite hysterical histories of the imperial flea and the bee louse readily demonstrate that not even the most experienced experts are immune to error – but as they are, after all, only human, we should not be too surprised.


My sincere thanks go to Dr Darren J. Mann for very kindly permitting me to include his photos of the imperial flea specimen and its specimen labels within this article.

William Kirby, who created the taxonomic order Strepsiptera for the tiny parasitic stylopids or twisted-wings (public domain)