Midnight Snack For a Lake Serpent
Case File: The Seljord Serpent - Seljordsvatnet (Lake Seljord), Telemark, Norway
“It’s coming toward us.” The tone in Pol Visser’s voice was a combination of delight and agitation. At least he was in the protected cabin of the boat. I was alone on the bow, peering into the inky-black water with my night-vision binoculars.
“I don’t see anything,” I shouted back to him.
“It’s something really big,” he exclaimed. “Really big, on your right. I reckon 5 to 7 meters. Might surface any second now.”
I braced myself on the edge of the boat and frantically scanned the water. I fumbled for the camera while keeping an eye on whatever might surface. Pol cut the engine and the boat coasted along. The only sound was the water lapping the sides of the boat as it cut through the water, creating a subtle wake.
Even though it is August, it is cold out in the middle of Lake Seljord (Seljordsvatnet) in Telemark, Norway. And it’s eerie, especially when there’s a possibility that a legendary lake serpent might surface for a midnight snack.
Lourdes and I, as well as South African cryptozoologist, Pol Visser, were the only ones on the boat this night. The rest of the team was back at the inn, scheduled for the morning shift.
We are all looking for evidence of the famed Seljord Serpent, or as the locals call it, Selma.
Sightings on the lake go back to the mid-18th century. Locals describe something large and serpentine, often moving just below the surface.
Both locals and international teams have tried to prove it for years with expeditions, sonar sweeps, and even a large-scale search in the late 90s that was filmed for the Discovery Channel. But nothing conclusive came of any of it.
Still, every few years something surfaces — the usual grainy footage or photographs — just enough to keep people like us interested and looking.
The most recent video had been captured only weeks earlier. That was enough to bring us out here once more.
“What’s the status?” I called out to Pol, who was rapidly looking back and forth from the monitor to the lake.
“It veered off,” he finally said.
This was the third night that we’ve been on the lake, and this is the closest that we’ve come to seeing anything.
The lake is a bit small to supposedly contain a large, five meter long sea serpent (some reports have it longer than that). The size of the lake makes it fairly easy to monitor. But so far we’ve turned up nothing.
There are stories about caves beneath the lake as well. It is said that tunnels lead all the way out to sea, and this is why the lake serpent is so elusive. But no one has ever found them.
Our sonar equipment has turned up no anomalies. Our fish finders hadn’t shown anything approaching the length of a lake serpent. Our remote camera submarine, despite struggling with low visibility, also hadn’t captured anything unusual.
There’s no doubt that some lake monster sightings are nothing more than natural phenomenon that can be explained — floating logs, boat wakes, tricks of the light (or perhaps, the imagination.)
I glanced over at Lourdes who scanned the water off the left side of the boat. Pol stared intently at the monitor in the cabin.
“There it is again!” he shouted, excitement returning to his voice. “It’s in front of us!”
Lourdes and I turned our attention to the water ahead, searching the surface with our night vision binoculars.
“I reckon it's ten meters away,” Pol said. “It’s coming straight toward us!”
I waited in anticipation but nothing broke the surface of the dark water.
“It’s to our left now, slow approach,” Pol shouted from the cabin.
I readied the night-vision camcorder and turned on the infrared flood light. The boat rocked gently, but peering through a 200-millimeter lens made me nauseous.
“It’s right up under us,” Pol said. I couldn’t help but crack a smile over his excitement. “I’m getting good, clear readings,” he continued as he compared the paper printouts with what he was seeing on the screen.
I left the railing of the boat and popped into the cabin to take a look at the scanner screen.
“Ag, man,” Pol muttered as I entered. I looked at the screen but there was nothing there. Nothing big, anyways.
“What happened?” I asked.
“It just swam under us for a few seconds, then it disappeared,” he said, disappointment tempering his usual exuberant demeanor.
What I saw on Pol’s printouts looked like a large, maybe serpentine object. Without a visual, though, there was no way to know for certain if it was one five-meter long creature, or shoaling fish.
We floated on the lake for about ten more minutes but saw nothing. We fired up the boat engine and circled around a few times but still saw nothing. The rest of the night was uneventful.
Two days later when we wrapped our investigation on the lake, we left with only our odd experience and fond memories of Norwegian hospitality. And a remaining mystery.
Lake Seljord from Seljord, Norway