Novel Species of Mermaid Discovered in Pacific

"Lastly, isolation, by checking immigration and consequently competition, will give time for any new variety to be slowly improved; and this may sometimes be of importance in the production of new species."

- Charles Darwin

A few weeks ago I packed my bags and left South Dakota to study mermaids and other mythical creatures along the coasts of California. Due to technology and climate change, the belief systems in this part of the world are changing rapidly, and I plan to document and preserve the magic that remains here.

Hopefully by creating believable, life-like characters more wonder will be instigated in the world. Because anyone can go out and take part in the sounds and sights of the outdoors. We just have to step out the door...

Wandering the shores, watching the tides, exploring sea caves (dark venemous things live in those shadowy places) and frequenting the fish markets to interview fishermen has been life as of late. Last weekend the grey harbor was a bit chilly, and under a stall sat an old sailor selling sea cucumbers and urchins. He gave me a purple urchin called "uni" to hold, and its tiny spiked limbs jabbed into my hand.

The old fisherman then told a tale of a silent plague below the churning waves. As we sat gazing out at the Channel Islands to the west, he spoke of the death of the sunflower sea stars. These sea stars sprouted up to 24 legs, and glowed a bright orange like their name insinuates- truly strange things straight from a Dr. Suess illustration. The stars ate the dark uni, in a complimentary color war of orange versus purple. But as temperatures rose the sunflower sea stars wilted, and the uni multiplied, covering the sea bed in their voraciously greedy bodies.

Although slow, the uni tirelessly creep upon their spindly spikes and eat the kelp this watery region is known for.

But with a shine in his blue eyes the fisherman launched into an animated train of thought. There were growing rumours of a new creature rising to take the sea star's place called the kelpmaid. I was then instructed to go out to the beach at low tide to listen for their songs. As the market closed I headed for the windy shores and took a seat with my notebook and a sweater in a rocky crevice to wait and to listen.

After a few hours, I got up to leave when over the waves there came a high-pitched whistle moving up and down as the tide ebbed in and out. Describing it is like trying to portray colors to someone who is colorblind, or the taste of watermelon to somone who has never had it. So I will leave the song of the kelpmaid to grow in the imagination, for I'm untrained in the art of audio illustration.

Upon hearing this strange sound I crept out of the rocks and onto the newly exposed tide pools. As I walked I heard a singular tiny whislting sound. Thrilled, I darted closer and saw a small figure swimming in circles in a little pool, stranded until the next wave cycle came in. When it saw me, the being froze and adhered itself tightly against the rock of its pool like a barnacle. The camouflage was so adept at masking the form that I would have never seen the kelpmaid without having chanced upon it swimming. This makes me wonder how many kelpmaids I've overlooked on previous shoreline wanders. And further more, what other species still await to be noticed. One can only imagine.

I was able to make a painting of the creature with the remaining light that day, and attempted to paint its flute-like song in a wavish spectrogram that explores how its melody mimics waves and the seashell swirls they culminate in as they form tight knots of sound which are what I suspect to be akin to words... Nautical creatures tend to have incredible spatial and temporal awareness, making their perception of time, rhythm, and sound very different from land-dwelling creatures.

After a few minutes, the kelpmaid relaxed as it saw I was preoccupied with my paper and paints. I think these artistic tools made the kelpmaid curious, as it eventually came to the edge of the little tide pool and peared at me with an eyeless face. The absence of eyes shocked me, as all other mermaid species have possesed striking human-like faces. No eyes makes a creature a bit unnerving and hard to read, as we obtain so much information from gazing into "the window of the soul". Yet for everything it lacks on an optometrical level, the kelpmaid makes up for with its incredibly ornate ears. These structures are similar to sea shells, with various ridges of convex and concave forms spiraling out from their craniums like little galactic whirlpools. These eleborate ear structures are the reason for their songs, since nothing sings for nothing in this big blue world.

As people, we will never fully understand the shape of the songs of the kelpmaids, and many other songs sung by other species that share this planet. Songs seems to be more fitting than langauge when imagining how animals talk, as music transmits data without dogma, and I like to hope some creatures sing along to rather than speak of the wild currents of earth's cycles. We can only guess as to what dolphins, whales, and sirens cry and laugh about, but if we listen long enough, their world will become clearer. This is the great observational quest we get to embark upon as wonderers on Loreland.

If the answers to our questions swim in the ocean blue,

then we must take off our hats and jump in too.

If you're interested in sound, and how sampling from the natural world cna be made into music, the work of sound artist Ben Mirin does this. He attempts to recreate ecosystems via the sounds of the animals that make up that environment's vocal tapestry. His jungle soundscapes are compelling, as they transport one to a surreal place somehwere between reality and imagination.

Thanks for reading my friends. I hope adventure finds you ready.

Feel free to reach out with any questions or thoughts on the world of animal communication.

More adventures can be found on Instagram, Etsy,

and a new book being released November 5th!

Happy Fall to all!