Champ of Lake Champlain: Vermont & New York's Legendary Lake Monster and North America's Oldest Cryptid

Straddling the international border between Vermont, New York, and Quebec, Lake Champlain—a massive, glacier-carved freshwater lake stretching 120 miles long, 12 miles wide at its broadest point, and plunging to depths of nearly 400 feet—has been the stage for one of North America's most persistent and captivating cryptid legends: Champ, the lake's resident monster. Described across centuries as a long-necked, serpentine creature with multiple humps, a horse-like or camel-like head, dark smooth or scaly skin, and a length ranging from 15 to 50 feet (some reports claim up to 200 feet), Champ has been sighted by thousands of witnesses, including fishermen, tourists, military personnel, and everyday boaters. The legend draws from deep indigenous roots, colonial explorer accounts, 19th-century newspaper sensations, the famous 1977 Sandra Mansi photograph—the most compelling visual evidence ever captured—and modern sonar hunts that continue to stir debate. Champ is not merely a regional curiosity; it stands as one of the oldest documented lake monsters in North America, predating the Loch Ness Monster by centuries in oral tradition and rivaling Nessie in public fascination and scientific scrutiny. Like other New England enigmas—from Connecticut's elusive Winsted Wildman lurking in the woods to the giant Thunderbird soaring over Massachusetts' Bridgewater Triangle or the spectral Black Dog omens haunting Meriden's Hanging Hills—Champ embodies the region's profound connection to water, wilderness, and the persistent human desire to believe in something ancient and unknown just beneath the surface. But is Champ a genuine surviving prehistoric survivor (plesiosaur, giant sturgeon, or unknown species), a product of wave phenomena and misidentification, or a powerful cultural myth sustained by tourism, hope, and the lake's unique ecology? Drawing from indigenous oral histories, historical journals, eyewitness affidavits, scientific expeditions, and contemporary analyses, let's thoroughly trace the origins, key sightings, investigations, rational explanations, and enduring cultural legacy of Champ, Lake Champlain's legendary monster.

The story of Champ begins long before Europeans arrived in the Champlain Valley. The Abenaki people, whose traditional territory surrounds the lake (known to them as Bitawbagok, "the waters between"), shared oral traditions of a great horned serpent or underwater spirit called Tatoskok or Gitaskog. This being was both protector and danger, capable of surfacing to create massive waves or dragging canoes beneath the water. Similar accounts appear in Iroquois and other Algonquian oral histories, describing a long-necked creature that could control storms or guard sacred places. These indigenous narratives framed Champ not as a mere animal but as a spiritual force tied to the lake's ecosystem—respecting its power was essential for safe passage and fishing.

When French explorer Samuel de Champlain "discovered" the lake in July 1609, he recorded an encounter with a large fish he called a "chaousarou" (likely a garfish or lake sturgeon) measuring 5–10 feet with a double row of teeth. While often exaggerated in later retellings as the first Champ sighting, Champlain's journal entry provided a seed for European monster lore. Throughout the 1700s and 1800s, sporadic reports emerged from settlers, loggers, and fishermen: overturned boats, massive wakes, and glimpses of humped backs in calm water. These accounts blended indigenous tales with Old World myths of sea serpents and leviathans.

The modern Champ phenomenon exploded in the late 19th century. On July 24, 1883, the New York Times published a widely circulated story of a 50-foot serpent seen by multiple witnesses near Port Henry, New York. The creature was described with a horse-like head, three humps, and a speed that outpaced boats. Subsequent sightings in the 1880s–1890s—often in summer during calm weather—created a regional sensation. Newspapers dubbed it "Champ" or "Champy," a playful nickname that stuck. The early 20th century saw intermittent reports, but interest waned until the 1970s cryptozoology revival.

The single most famous piece of evidence is the Sandra Mansi photograph, taken on July 24, 1977, near St. Albans, Vermont. Mansi, a tourist from Connecticut, captured a black-and-white image of a long-necked creature surfacing near her family boat. The photo shows a serpentine neck and humps rising from the water. Cryptozoologists like Joseph Zarzynski consider it the strongest visual evidence, though skeptics note possible pareidolia (a log, wave, or boat wake illusion). Despite extensive analysis, no conclusive proof has emerged that it is authentic or fraudulent.

Other notable sightings include:

• 1945 — U.S. Army pilot Captain William McKay observed a 20–30 foot creature from the air near Burlington.

• 1983 — Over 100 witnesses in Charlotte, Vermont, saw a 15–20 foot animal with multiple humps.

• 2005 — A Vermont fisherman captured blurry video of a large wake and object moving swiftly.

• 2019–2020s — Numerous smartphone videos and photos from Burlington, Plattsburgh, and Port Henry show humps or unusual wakes, often shared on social media and local news.

Scientific efforts to prove Champ's existence have been persistent but inconclusive. In 1977, the Academy of Applied Science and the University of Arizona conducted sonar sweeps, detecting large moving objects but no definitive animal. Joseph Zarzynski's Champ expeditions in the 1980s–1990s used side-scan sonar, underwater cameras, and hydrophones, recording anomalies but no conclusive proof. Skeptical investigations by Joe Nickell, Benjamin Radford, and others attribute most sightings to natural phenomena: wakes from boats, wind rows, standing waves, or large fish swimming in formation. The lake's unique ecology—deep, cold, and connected to the St. Lawrence River and Atlantic—supports large sturgeon (up to 8 feet), lake trout, or eels that can appear serpentine when surfacing. Optical illusions in the lake's 400-foot depths and variable weather conditions further distort perception.

Rational explanations dominate scientific consensus:

• Giant sturgeon — Lake sturgeon in Champlain reach 6–8 feet and can appear serpentine.

• Wave phenomena — Boat wakes, wind rows, or standing waves create humps in calm water.

• Misidentification — Otters, beavers, swimming deer, or logs mimic a monster.

• Cultural priming — The legend, amplified by tourism and media, leads witnesses to interpret ambiguous sights as Champ.

Despite skepticism, Champ remains a powerful cultural icon. The creature is a mascot for Lake Champlain tourism—statues in Burlington, Plattsburgh, and Port Henry; annual Champ Day festivals; and merchandise ranging from T-shirts to boat tours. The 1983 "Champ Day" sighting by dozens of witnesses boosted local pride. In literature and media, Champ inspired children's books, documentaries on Discovery Channel and Animal Planet, and appearances in shows like The X-Files and American Dad. The lake's ecology—deep, cold, and connected to ancient glacial systems—fuels speculation about surviving prehistoric species.

In the broader context of New England and New York cryptids—alongside the Winsted Wildman, the Black Dog of the Hanging Hills, the giant Thunderbird of the Bridgewater Triangle, or the High Hat cannibal giant of Western New York—Champ stands out for its accessibility, longevity, and tourism-friendly appeal. It represents the enduring human desire to believe in the unknown, even in familiar waters, and the delicate balance between science and wonder.

So, is Champ a living relic from the Ice Age, a misidentified lake dweller, or a cultural icon sustained by hope, tourism, and the lake's unique ecology? Evidence leans toward the latter—a powerful symbol of mystery in a well-explored body of water. Cruise Lake Champlain at sunset; watch for humps breaking the surface. Likely just a sturgeon... or something older, still swimming beneath the waves.

Mike D. is a Connecticut-based writer who prefers to remain hidden—lest the sea monsters come knocking.