I’ve got a passing interest in cryptozoology. Not in the sense that I actually believe there are dinosaurs living wild in the Congo, or hairy hominids roaming the North American continent, or plesiosaurs splashing around in a certain well known body of water not too far from where I currently sit (even though I am apparently blind to the evidence provided by Google Earth itself in that last case).
No, it’s more a case that I would like to believe all that stuff, and find those who do, the stories they tell and the quests and investigations they undertake interesting and vaguely appealing. There’s a certain romantic instinct – a sort of longing for mystery and strangeness in the world – that seems to be part of the mindset, and I think that’s a very basic human attribute. A very high proportion of us are drawn in one way or another to the mysterious and the strange, and we find our own personal ways of bringing those elements of the world into our lives. The search for unexpected wildlife fits the bill in a lot of respects.
And although I dismissed the plausibility of some of the most famous cryptozoological icons right at the start, there are several other cases that I tend to think of as ‘semi-cryptozoological’ that appeal much more strongly to both my heart and my head. For example, there’s the possibility of big cats living wild in the UK, eating our sheep.
Or, and here we get to the thing that really captures my imagination, and even moves me, there’s the thylacine. Could there be, somewhere in Tasmania, or even mainland Australia or New Guinea, a surviving population of the largest modern marsupial carnivore? Living in the wildest places it can find, skirting the fringes of human awareness and imagination? I would be utterly delighted if that one day proved to be true, not least because it’s humanity’s fault that the poor old Tasmanian Tiger disappeared in the first place.
I think part of the reason the thylacine has a hold on my imagination, and that of many other people, is that we have film of what may well have been the last individual of the species. Call me a big softy if you like (my excuse is that I’m a wildlife fan by instinct and by education) but I find this clip really quite moving. Was this animal, at the time it was filmed, the very last of its kind on the whole planet, thanks to us:
Probably. But not necessarily, if you climb aboard the cryptozoology wagon. There have been heaps of alleged thylacine sightings, and even some films, including one from this very year that’s now drawing to a close.
Not exactly conclusive, huh? Unless you were after proof that there are mangy-looking dogs and foxes running around the Antipodes, in which case – well, make your own judgement.
But this, out of all the cryptozoological tales, is the one I want to be true. I reckon it’d be wonderful if in one of those clips we were looking at an animal that had survived, hidden, despite humanity’s best efforts – both intentional and otherwise – to rid the world of it. If I was a multi-millionaire with time on my hands, I wouldn’t be remotely tempted to embark on expeditions in search of the yeti or the sasquatch; but the thylacine … yes, I could spare a fraction of my vast wealth to mount a quest in the wilds of Tasmania. Guess I’m just a romantic at heart.
(Though if I did find something out there, whether or not I’d tell anyone, I’m not sure. If anything deserves a bit of privacy, a bit of human-free peace and quiet, it’s the thylacine.)
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