A mischievous cryptid has arrived! Expect unexpected pranks, slippery creatures, and questionable scientific explanations. The Lunkfudder’s antics might have you scratching your head, but don’t worry—it’s all in good fun!
Steamboat Dispatch
Chateaugay Lake, NY
Special Edition – July 17, 1894
“The Madness of the Mysterious Lunkfudder”
By The East Bellmont Correspondent
“The lunatic, the lover, and the poet, are of imagination all compact.”
– A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Act V, Scene 1
A most perplexing and decidedly mischievous tale has been brought to our attention by no less than a dozen witnesses—summer visitors, a couple of guide-types, and, curiously, a few members of the Steamboat Pirate Syndicate (who, one would imagine, have seen their fair share of unconventional occurrences in these parts). The tale is that of a bizarre creature—neither fish, fowl, nor ordinary beast—that has stirred up considerable chatter at the upper end of Chateaugay Lake, causing both confusion and, one might say, hysterics.
Now, dear readers, we must first assure you that we are not, by any means, making light of the matter. The Lunkfudder (as it has been aptly named by the locals, though we dare say the creature might prefer “The Trickster of the Upper Pond”) is not something you’ll find in your typical field guide to local fauna. In fact, it is no more a “critter” than a steamboat is a rowboat. Nevertheless, its antics have left many a good person scratching their heads, and indeed, a few good hats off their heads entirely.
The first reported sighting occurred, of all places, at the secluded cove at the backside of Upper Chateaugay Lake, around sunset, when shadows grow long and the waters are particularly quiet. A young couple of honeymooners, Miss Arlene Ponderworth and her husband Cuthbert, were strolling by the shore when they spotted something peculiar—a large, misshapen figure, resembling a cross between a confused beaver and an unbalanced porcupine, gliding just beneath the surface of the water.
Miss Ponderworth, in an unfortunate fit of dramatics (likely brought on by too much late-night long-hair New York City opera), shrieked, causing her husband to leap into the water in an uncharacteristic and quite heroic act of bravery. The result was what can only be described as a slapstick display of marital strife—Cuthbert ended up neck-deep in the muck, much to his dismay and no doubt the amusement of whatever creature had inspired such panic. The Lunkfudder, it seems, was merely a curious observer, causing quite the splash but doing little else.
But it was the behavior that followed which truly earned the creature its fame.
Local Chateaugay Lake Steamboat Pirates—those same swashbuckling souls who’ve enchanted our shores (and scratched our sensitive ears!) with their loud avant-garde improvisational unbridled local hootenannies—have been known to be particularly fond of their late-night card games by the cove. And here, indeed, the Lunkfudder made its next appearance. The pirates’ campfire flickered as the beast (if one dares call it such) crept near the edge of their gathering, making odd clucking and snorting noises that sounded eerily like a drunken goose. This led, as one might imagine, to an absurd game of “hide the lantern,” wherein each pirate tried to outwit the others by sneaking the light from one end of the camp to the other—clearly under the influence of some unknown force.
But the real trouble began when the Lunkfudder, distracted as they searched for it in vain, and apparently fond of such antics, took to stealing the pirates’ fishing rods—one by one—only to leave them dangling from nearby tree branches, swinging lazily in the wind, like poorly executed stage props in a farce. It was said that some of the pirates, in the middle of their attempts to retrieve these prized possessions, were nearly struck by sudden fits of laughter.
“It was like somethin’ out of a circus,” said one witness, old Mr. Thomas ‘Hoss’ Bunker of Bellmont, who, by all accounts, is no stranger to the occasional misstep in the direction of folly. “You couldn’t make head or tail of it! The critter seemed to be enjoyin’ itself, like some wild spirit possessed the air.”
One rather remarkable aspect of this Lunkfudder is its apparent love of misdirection and pranking. It is said to slink away just when it seems trapped, always reappearing in places where it should not be—such as atop trees, under boats, or even, as some locals report, inside overturned baskets of potatoes. There are whispers of an old legend about a mischievous water sprite that once lived at the far side of the lake, a creature that delighted in confusing those who sought its power. Could the Lunkfudder be a reincarnation of that very spirit?
Our most learned observer, Dr. Eugene Miller (known as “Old Veritas” for his endless ponderings on the mysteries of the world) has offered his own speculative theory.
He believes that the Lunkfudder may be a “cross-dimensional creature,” influenced by recent disruptions in the fabric of time and space caused by the strange acoustics and vibrations emanating from the nearby steamboats. These vessels, with their ever-growing orchestras of musical misfits, might be causing some unseen tear in the world of the Lunkfudder, allowing it to slip through into our reality—pranking us with the abandon of a trickster god on a holiday.
In his own words, Dr. Miller declared, “What we have here, my dear friends, is not mere superstition but a cosmic anomaly, a whimsical rupture in the delicate lace of existence itself. Surely, our own folly is as much to blame for summoning such a creature as the steamboats pirates’ blasted sound waves.”
As for the Lunkfudder itself, the creature remains a true mystery.
Some describe it as a long, serpentine shape, its body glimmering like silverfish scales in the moonlight, while others insist it is no more than an overgrown raccoon playing at trickery. Perhaps the most disturbing aspect of the entire saga is its ability to cause inexplicable bouts of inexplicable mischief among the locals—turning fishing rods into pole-vaults, hiding bait beneath rocks, and mysteriously swapping the positions of lanterns. Is this merely an elaborate joke, or has some supernatural prankster descended upon our fair lake?
One thing is certain: the Lunkfudder will be remembered, whether it is a trick of the mind or a creature from the murky depths. In the coming weeks, it is certain that more sightings—and more tales of unexplainable chaos—will follow.
And for now, the only advice we can offer is this: Keep a close eye on your lanterns, your fishing rods, and most certainly, your sense of humor.
The Steamboat Dispatch will continue to follow the Lunkfudder story closely, though we must admit, its true nature remains just as slippery as its strange, elusive form.
For further updates, or if you believe you have encountered the Lunkfudder yourself, send your reports to the Steamboat Dispatch office or join the Steamboat Pirate Syndicate’s next concert.
What mysteries of Chateaugay Lake haunt you?