WALKER LAKE MONSTER

by Skylaire Alfvegren

Cecil, the mechanical serpent who does double duty as Hawthorne’s goodwill ambassador and high school mascot is no PR pipe dream. Indian legend says that when Lake Lohontan began to dry up, a pair of serpents were forced apart. The male made his way to what became Walker Lake, while the female burrowed north into the land, creating Sand Mountain. 600 feet high, the shifting sands sing: it’s said the music is simply the serpent whimpering for her beloved.

Historically, the Walker Lake monster has Nevada’s strongest record of sightings, and we don’t mean Cecil’s patriotic lumber down Main Street in Hawthorne’s annual Armed Forces Day parade.

When white settlers founded the town on the south end of Walker Lake in 1881, they noted a strange absence of fishing boats--the local Paiutes refused to traverse its waters. According to the Hawthorne Arsenal, it was “believed to be have been the only lake in the country near which resident Indians had no boats, and they had no desire for any.” Traditional teachings said one or more huge serpents lived in the lake.

According to legendary Fortean John Keel, “Early Indian settlers around the lake became annoyed because the monster occasionally dined on members of the tribe. They decided to launch a major effort to trap and kill the creature. But, somehow, the swimming sneak overheard the plot, surfaced, and held a pow wow with his persuers. A bargain was struck. If the Indians promised not to kill him and turn his hide into moccassins, he would promise to eat only white men.” When a small steamer was launched by whites in the summer of 1876 and quickly decommissioned, the natives weren’t surprised.

The Walker Lake Bulletin reported in August 1883 that settlers near the lake were “awakened by a horrible, soul-shrinking screech” when a pair of monster pythons, writhing in battle, took it ashore. The Paiutes made a peace offering of the loser’s corpse, which was measured at exactly “seventy-nine feet, seven inches and a quarter in length.” The victor slithered back into the lake—but, like many of his brethren, was fond of sunning himself lakeside. A quarter century later, local businessman E. J. Reynolds told the Goldfield Daily Tribune the uncoiled beast was seen “wallowing” on the sand, and estimated its length at as least 70 feet.

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