We Went on a Hunt for the Giant Sea Monster Living in London's Thames River

Photos by Tim Noble

The second a bullet tore through the back of John F Kennedy's head; the mysterious transportation of an aircraft to that top secret Area 51 hanger; man setting foot on the moon for the first time in 1969. Once every so often, something happens that goes on to transfix and define a generation. For millennials, that moment just happened.

I don't mean to alarm you, but a giant, unidentified creature has been caught on camera swimming in the Thames. Look. Look at that fucker. What is that fucker?

The answer is: nobody knows. Even the experts from Sea Life London Aquarium and the London Wildlife Trust—the most expert people alive—are as flummoxed as you. Or, at least, that's what they want us to believe. They say, "Oh, just forget the incident—ignore the enormous Thames monster; it's probably nothing!" But do we just take their word for it and get on with our lives? Or do we go to the Thames and find out what the fuck is going on?

We go to the Thames and find out what the fuck is going on, for we are generation truth. We must have the answers.

When the feds have already gagged the experts, where do we turn? You have to follow the voices that won't be silenced—the people who aren't afraid to speak up. So I reached out to the offices of John Henderson, director of both the 1996 film Loch Ness and the straight-to-DVD Mee-Shee: The Water Giant, to have him cast over eyes on the footage.

He had, to quote Mr. Henderson, "no interest" in doing that. They'd got to him, too. Knock-backs from former wrestler/conspiracy theorist Jesse Ventura and Most Haunted presenter Yvette Fielding, who was on holiday in Guernsey, further muffled the truth. Was everyone too scared to speak their mind? Was no one willing to pitch their head above the parapet?

After exhausting all other options, I turned to unexplained-mysteries.com, where scores of commenters were positing their own theories: user MissJatti saw a "spinosaurus"; qxcontinuim thought they had seen a "sub"; while grimsituation6 warned of the great beasts that have swum the English Channel since the Roman Empire.

I quickly realized that this was presenting more questions than answers. There was an unidentified sea monster to find, and I was going to do it with my own two hands. So I packed some bait and equipment, got my wits about me, and made my way over toward the docklands.

The air was bleak and crisp underneath the glass fortress of Canary Wharf. Despite the cold, stormy weather, I wasn't surprised to see my comrades out, waiting at the side of the river, deeply inhaling cigarettes and hoping to catch a glimpse of the beast. I noticed one man staring intently at his phone.

"How long have you been waiting for?" I asked.

"Excuse me?"

"For the beast—I've only just got here. How long have you been waiting?"

After our short exchange, it became apparent my friend had no intel. Eager to enlighten him, I showed him the mobile phone footage. Alas, he told me, he doesn't "really buy into that stuff."

They'd got to him, too.

Changing tack, I realized I should try to entice the beast with a small token—the only thing known to adequately ensnare a monster that was also available in the only drug store I passed: Pirate's Booty.

Battling the gales swooping across the surface of the water, I kept my eyes alert for movements. I couldn't believe it: on the horizon, a large figure briefly surfaced before rushing away from me. I packed my bag and gave chase.

Hot on the trail, I noticed a man clambering out of a Thames tour boat. "Excuse me," I said, "have you seen a giant sea creature anywhere out on the water today? I'm trying to report on it."

"Fuck off, mate, I'm on my break," he laughed, shaking his head. "Aren't you a bit old to be playing around like that? I've been working since 6AM. Shouldn't you be in class or something?"

Feeling as though they had beat me to it, silencing all qualified experts and any potential witnesses before I made it to the Thames, I loaded the video up again on my phone to remind me of why I was there.

"What, that video is real?" said a nearby man, Pepe, as he puffed on his cigarette.

"Yeah, it is absolutely real. I saw it in the Metro."

"Fuck. Are you being serious, man?"

"I am! I think I just saw it swimming further along by the docks, so I'm following the water."

"You're not fucking with me, are you?"

"No, I'm absolutely not!"

"Holy shit! So it's not just…"—Pepe mumbled in Spanish, searching for the word—"orcas, or anything like that?"

"The experts say it's too big to be orcas, but I wouldn't trust them."

Pepe was a kindred spirit: woke and generous with the cigarettes. We spoke and watched the water. Something lurks in there, my friends. I felt it. Pepe felt it.

I soon found myself alone on a beach, Pepe-less, feet wet. There was still no sign of the beast, so I unpacked my box and made the most of every tool I'd brought with me, putting my HazMat suit on and setting traps along the shore.

Strolling back and forth, watching the waves wet the tips of my toes, I wondered why I'd invested so much into this crazy dream. Was the captain of Duck Tours right? Was I merely looking for my own jobless, childlike reflection in the water? Could I be the monster? Then, as the surf washed over me, my quest was once again justified: I had been offered a hunk of the Leviathan's flesh.

On closer inspection, the flesh had a dense, sponge-like texture. Fascinating, but what is a discarded piece of flesh when you have no host? Yes, it 100 percent belonged to the sea monster captured on camera, but how could I prove it? Desperate to go one step further, I rushed over to my tool kit and cast my rod into the water once again.

The bait was gobbled up within seconds. There was no doubt I was in the presence of the beast. My gaze tracked the surface of the water until it met with something for a brief moment: the eyes of our temptress. Before photographer Tim could get the camera on it, the feds rushed onto the bridge and shut the operation down.

At least, that's what they thought.

Sure, they got there quick, but not quick enough. On our camera lies one photo—one clear piece of evidence sure to mark a moment in history:

The Thames monster is real.

Listen, I'm going to have to lay low for a while, because these words could very well be my last. But I need you to promise me one thing: don't let the truth go. There will be a cover-up. Why? Because they want us to forget the Thames monster, for it to be buried and cast out into the seas of history. But when we come across a grain of certainty in this world, we have to clutch onto it.

So write a tweet about it, share the photos and spread the word everywhere you can, because I can't. I'll be in hiding, operating from the darkest reaches of the internet. If you still have questions, you may just be able to find the answers at thamesmonstertruth.new.org.

Follow Oobah Butler on Twitter.

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