THE LAST HARPAGORNIS?

Reconstruction of Harpagornis moorei (Markus Bühler)

Weighing 22-33 lb in adult female specimens, Haast’s eagle Harpagornis moorei, formerly native to New Zealand’s South Island, was the largest eagle of all time, and is widely accepted as the origin of traditional Maori legends referring to a monstrous human-killing raptorial bird known variously as the pouakai or hokioi. As it is believed to have preyed upon the very large flightless moas that also once inhabited South Island, it should come as no surprise to learn that this colossal bird of prey’s disappearance seemingly coincided with the demise of the moas (caused in turn by hunting and habitat destruction by humans), with its official extinction date estimated at approximately 1400 AD. Very recently, however, while browsing the Wikipedia entry for this species, I discovered a remarkable snippet of information suggesting that either Harpagornis itself or else another now-extinct but very sizeable bird of prey endemic to New Zealand may have lingered into much more recent times, only to be extinguished in the most demeaning manner:

"A noted explorer, Charles Douglas, claims in his journals that he had an encounter with two raptors of immense size in Landsborough River valley (probably during the 1870s), and that he shot and ate them. These birds might have been a last remnant of the species, but some might argue that there had not been suitable prey for a population of Haast's eagle to maintain itself for about five hundred years before that date, and nineteenth century Maori lore was adamant that the pouakai was a bird not seen in living memory. Still, Douglas'[s] observations on wildlife generally are trustworthy; a more probable explanation, given that the alleged three-metre wingspan described by Douglas is likely to have been a rough estimate, is that the birds were Eyles'[s] harriers [Circus eylesi]. This was the largest known harrier (the size of a small eagle) — and a generalist predator — and although it is also assumed to have become extinct in prehistoric times, its dietary habits alone make it a more likely candidate for late survival."

If, however, these were the last Haast’s eagles, what an ignominious finale for such a spectacular species – slaughtered and served up as dinner by a hungry Westerner, for whom the chilling age-old Maori legends of murderous winged marauders from the ancient skies were nothing more than quaint fables, despite the very substantial evidence to the contrary that his twin kills had presented not only to his eyes but also to his stomach!

AND NOW FOR SOMETHING COMPLETELY DIFFERENT! IT'S MONTYPYTHONOIDES - AND CO.

An oddly-named protist species, Kamera lens.

When Linnaeus introduced his system of binomial nomenclature during the 1730s and 1740s, it revolutionised the naming and formal biological classification of species. Every so often, however, as even scientists are only human, there have been some truly memorable, unexpected deviations from the usual, eminently serious and supposedly strictly accurate, relevant Latin* names bestowed upon the myriad of life forms sharing our planet (*'Latin names' is itself a misnomer, as many are at least partially derived from Greek!). Here, then, in no particular order, are 20 of my all-time favourite - and totally genuine, scientifically accepted - generic, binomial, and trinomial novelties:

Raphus cucullatus - variously translated as 'hooded bustard', 'cuckoo with seams', or (politely!) 'cuckoo's rump', given to the dodo, but why?!!

Polypterus mokelembembe - I kid you not, in 2006, this newly-differentiated species of bichir (an archaic fish lineage currently boasting around 15 modern-day species) was named after cryptozoology's very own Congolese neo-dinosaur, the mokele-mbembe, emphasising the bichirs' own antiquarian affinities.

Agra sasquatch - staying with cryptozoological appellations: in 1982, entomologist Terry Erwin gave this noteworthy name to a new species of carabid (ground beetle) that had big feet; and, clearly a crypto-fan, in the same year he named another new carabid species Agra yeti. Nor can we forget, a year later, Erwin's naming of another new carabid, Agra vation, and yet another, Agra phobia. Honestly!

Draculoides bramstokeri - named in 1995, this is a species of cave-dwelling, light-avoiding schizomid (short-tailed whip scorpion) with fang-like pedipalps, and a positively vampirish proclivity for sucking the body fluids out of its victims, not of course that you'd ever have guessed at any of these characteristics from its binomial!

Dicrotendipes thanatogratus - one for Jon's musical tastes here, as this chironomid (non-biting midge)'s specific name directly and deliberately translates as 'Grateful Dead'. Nor should we forget Zappa, a genus of goby.

Harryhausenia - had I known that the CFZ were going to devote a multi-contributor blog to the amazing Ray Harryhausen a few days ago, I could have blogged about this recently-named genus of fossil sand crab (commemorating Ray's stupendous stop-motion giant crab in the film Mysterious Island), but better late than never! Happy 90th birthday, Ray!

Han solo - not from a galaxy far far away, but rather from a time far far distant, this Chinese species of agnostid trilobite was named in 2005 as a dare, but its Star Wars binomial is perfectly valid.

Godzillius - this monstrously-named genus houses the largest species of Bahamanian remipede - exceedingly small but taxonomically monumental crustaceans first made known to science as recently as the early 1980s.

Pimoa cthulhu - one for Richard Freeman and fellow Lovecraftian devotees, a new spider named in 1994 after the latter writer's sinister fictional deity.

Eeyorius - for lovers of more gentle, inoffensive characters, this genus of Australian fish was named in 1986 after A A Milne's melancholic donkey, because just like him these fishes enjoy living in damp, shadowy, secluded localities.

Phallus daemonicus - I'll leave you to guess what this fungus looks like!

Volva volva volva - ok, Linnaeus, we get the message! Named by the great man himself in 1758, he clearly wanted to emphasise which part of the female anatomy this subspecies of cowry resembles!

Csiromedusa medeopolis - described earlier this year, this new Tasmanian freshwater jellyfish has a generic name that commemorates CSIRO (Australia's eminent Commonwealth Scientific and Industrial Research Organisation), and a specific name that translates as 'city of gonads'. Don't ask me - I only blog these things! (Apparently, its gonads resemble a series of skyscrapers.)

Crikey steveirwini - named after the late, great Steve Irwin in 2009, this new Aussie land snail's genus immortalises Steve's most famous catchphrase.

Heerz lukenatcha - had someone been watching too many Humphey Bogart films when they named this new braconid wasp in 1993?

Kamera lens - a snappy little name given to a protist in 1917.

La cucaracha and La paloma - two musically-inspired moths (pyralids, actually) named in 1966.

Vini vidivici - one for our more classically-educated readers! Named in 1987, this is - or was - the conquered lorikeet, a now-extinct parakeet from the Marquesas Islands in the South Pacific.

Ytu brutus - And still with Caesar, this is a genuine species of water beetle from Brazil.

Mustela africana - the South American (yes, American) weasel, go figure!

And finally, a couple of truly wonderful zoological monickers that, tragically, have not survived the test of time, or taxonomy:

Montypythonoides riversleighensis - inspirationally christened in 1985 after the famous British TV comedy show, this giant fossil python from Australia has since been rechristened Morelia riversleighensis as it has been shown to be very closely related to various modern-day species belonging to this latter genus, but was this recognition of affinity really so vital as to warrant the loss of such a uniquely-iconic generic name as Montypythonoides ?

Similarly, the once enchantingly-named clam Abra cadabra has now been reclassified in the genus Theoria, but Theoria cadabra just doesn't have the same ring (magical or otherwise!) to it, does it? Shucks! I take it back - scientists don't have a sense of humour after all!

A GIANT MYSTERY!

As I am presently in the process of completing two major books, I'm sure that you'll understand why my blogging has been somewhat infrequent lately. A few days ago, however, while browsing in my local bric-a-brac market, I made a discovery intriguing enough for me to break off from my books and - after spending quite some time searching vainly for information regarding it - post it here, just in case there is someone out there who can offer any clues concerning this enigma.

The discovery in question was the very old, sepia-tinted postcard reproduced above. The reverse bears the following simple, if somewhat clumsily-worded, caption: "View on the Helmets of the Giants", which is also given in French and in German. No other detail, not even the location of these remarkable-looking exhibits, is present. The postcard had not been used, so there is no writing or stamp to give any clue as to its age or origin either.

So what, precisely, are these colossal-looking, and extremely ornate, helmets, and where were they being exhibited? Any suggestions or information would be very greatly welcomed.

Answers on a postcard - but not this one!


UPDATE: MARCH 2011 - GETTING AHEAD WITH THE GIANT HELMETS!

I've finally solved the mystery of these giant helmets, thanks to some investigations on my behalf by Fortean Times's art director, Etienne Gilfillan - thanks, Etienne! I have documented Etienne's discoveries in my latest Alien Zoo column, in FT #274:

"Etienne conducted some enquiries of his own, which led him to contact Micheline Ruyssinck, a curator at Belgium’s Royal Museum of Art and History. Intrigued by the postcard’s picture, she in turn sent details to Laurent Duibisson, curator of the Museum of the Giants in the city of Ath (housing various huge figures and other exhibits that have been created for folklore-inspired festival processions in Belgium). And sure enough, he knew all about them. It turns out that the postcard depicts the backs of two extremely large, helmeted, manufactured heads that represent a pair of traditional Antwerp giants – Druon Antigonus and Pallas Athena (Laurent sent photographs of other old postcards depicting them from the front and wearing the helmets shown on my postcard).

Laurent's postcards depicting the giants' heads as seen from the front and wearing the helmets in my postcard (Laurent Duibisson)


"These very elaborate heads featured each year in Antwerp’s annual Ommegang (purification) festival’s procession until 1872, when they were replaced by some new heads and were then stored in the Steen, a castle now housing Belgium’s Navy Museum. They were later transferred to Antwerp’s Museum of Ethnology, where they were placed on display. Following some restoration work to recreate their former glory, in 2001 Laurent saw the heads there himself, and in 2002 his Museum of the Giants hosted an exhibition devoted to them. These spectacular heads are currently in the collections of Antwerp’s new Museum aan de Stroom (MAS), due to open in May 2011."

Procession of giants at Ath, Belgium (EDEN/Flickr)

WHATEVER HAPPENED TO THE AUSSIE NIGHTGROWLER?

Representation of the Queensland tiger (William M. Rebsamen)

So many times in cryptozoology, an unusual creature hits the headlines and then abruptly vanishes without trace, never to be mentioned again.

One such example is the Australian nightgrowler. As documented in the Queensland Sunday Mail for 12 November 1995, that was the year when, according to inhabitants of Goldsborough Valley, south of Cairns in Queensland, Australia, this region was being prowled by a mysterious, exclusively nocturnal creature whose mere presence in the vicinity was enough to terrify the local dogs, and which earned its name from its deep, ferocious growls. People who heard these were convinced that they were not of canine origin, thereby ruling out dogs and dingoes, but were unquestionably feline, reminding them of a tiger's sounds.

Speculation was rife that the elusive nightgrowler may be one and the same as the mystifying yarri or Queensland tiger, which is banded with black and white stripes, has a feline head and tusk-like teeth, and is believed by some cryptozoologists to be a surviving member of the officially extinct lineage of thylacoleonids or marsupial lions. A team of investigators, including local naturalists and a ranger, and led by Pat Shepherd, was keen to capture a nightgrowler, in the hope of finally unmasking its cryptic identity, but this never happened - otherwise the whole world would nowadays be familiar with this cryptid.

OUT OF THE ARCHIVES... MYSTERY CATS OF THE WORLD AND ANTHEA TURNER!!

Long ago, in a galaxy far far away, there was a time when I was young, still had hair, and shared a television studio with Anthea Turner. And if you don't believe me, here's the proof:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sj3jOUWK4SA

SEEKING TROLLS ON CANNOCK CHASE

Here I am on sunny (for some of the time!) Cannock Chase

Today, on Britain's May Bank Holiday, I spent part of the afternoon (the part when it wasn't raining!) seeking trolls, as you do, on Cannock Chase - a vast expanse of woodland not far from where I live. Just in case you are wondering whether I've been spending too much time in the sun (though in rainy old Britain, opportunity would be a fine thing!), please let me explain.

Cannock Chase, a vast protected expanse of wooded and heather-carpeted countryside near Stafford in Staffordshire, England, has been for many years the scene of alleged encounters with a bizarre hairy entity variously likened by its startled eyewitnesses to a bigfoot or even a werewolf. These reports (some of which, according to one investigator, have come from such credible claimants as scout leaders on patrol, military, police, ex-police, and even a local postman) have attracted considerable interest and attention from local paranormal and cryptozoological researchers. Moreover, a wide variety of suggested identities have been proffered – from paranormal man-beasts, or crazed tramps, to huge stray dogs, or even extraterrestrial aliens.

In May 2007, moreover, a local resident (who has chosen to remain anonymous) hit the headlines in this area with a new and truly extraordinary proposal. He has soberly claimed that a tribe of primitive humanoid beings may be inhabiting the vast honeycomb of subterranean tunnels and passages beneath the surface of Cannock Chase, which was formerly a major mining area, but occasionally coming above-ground to hunt deer and other wildlife for food. And it is rare sightings of these latter-day trolls, he believes, that is responsible for the accounts of hairy bigfoot- or werewolf-type entities – as well as for an unexpectedly high number of local pets going missing here.

Sadly, I did not encounter any trolls during my own brief foray here today, but remembering from Nordic folklore their carnivorous proclivity, this is probably no bad thing!

THE GIANT MOLE OF MESTY CROFT

A common mole Talpa europaea

People often claim that objects, buildings, animals, etc seemed much bigger when viewed as a child than they do now when viewed as an adult. Yet I can’t say that I’ve ever noticed this, personally speaking. Everything that I can recall from childhood and which still exists in unchanged form today looks just the same to me now as it did then – which is why I cannot use this notion as an explanation for the giant mole of Mesty Croft.

Between the ages of seven and eleven (i.e. during the late 1960s), I attended Mesty Croft Junior School in Wednesbury, West Midlands, and whereas for many other erstwhile pupils of this fine establishment their abiding memories may well be of childhood classmates or even of teachers whom they liked or disliked, my most tenacious recollection of Mesty Croft is an extraordinary exhibit – one that fascinated me throughout my time there, and which I secretly coveted for what I now realise to be reasons of slowly-awakening cryptozoological awareness.

The exhibit was a taxiderm mole, mounted on a wooden plinth, and placed on a shelf beneath a window in the main assembly hall. For a child who hoarded dead insects in matchboxes, enjoyed birdwatching in the countryside at weekends, collected frogspawn and sticklebacks in jam jars, gathered up seashells off the shore on seaside holidays, and visited every major zoo in Britain, it is hardly surprising that I entertained daydreams of owning this wonderful item and displaying it in pride of place in my bedroom. However, thanks to a loving but responsible upbringing by parents who left me in no doubt about the evils of theft and other misdemeanours, a wistful daydream is all it ever remained.

It wasn’t until some time after leaving Mesty Croft that I saw other taxiderm moles, and was astonished at how small they were (no more than around 5 inches long at most) in comparison with the example that I had known so well at junior school, and which I now realise was almost as big as a rat in terms of body size (but with only a very short tail). Not only that, their fur was always velvety smooth, whereas the Mesty Croft giant mole’s was decidedly curly and much harsher, as I well remembered from having stroked it on a couple of occasions when walking by its shelf in the assembly hall.

Could it be that the latter specimen’s fur had deteriorated over the years since its pelt had originally been prepared by the taxidermist? Yet if so, a more likely outcome would surely have been fur loss, not increased curliness? And how can this mega-mole’s size be explained? Is it possible that it was not a specimen of the common mole Talpa europaea, but of some much larger, exotic species from outside Europe? Its fur was jet black in colour, whereas that of the common mole is more often dark grey, thus providing further support for the prospect that this was no ordinary British mole.

Today, the trail of Mesty Croft’s giant mole is so cold that there seems little hope that it can ever be thawed out. As far as I am aware, none of the teachers who were at Mesty Croft during my time there are still alive; and in less than a decade from when I left, the entire school was razed to the ground and later completely rebuilt in a totally new layout. So whatever happened to its mole of mystery? Was it simply discarded during this major upheaval, or did someone rescue it from such a cruel fate, so that somewhere out there it may still exist today - preserved in scientific anonymity, perhaps, on someone’s windowsill, bookshelf, or mantelpiece?

I appreciate that it is a very remote possibility, but if there is anyone reading this who can shed any light on the very curious case of the long-lost giant mole that once resided proudly on a shelf in Mesty Croft Junior School, Wednesbury, West Midlands, I’d very much like to hear from you.