De Draconibus Americanis by C. Breeze
De Draconibus Americanis
Journals on the Subject of North American Dragons
by C. Breeze
FOREWORD
What follows are pages recovered from the personal journal of Francis Hildebrand, renown explorer and draco-herpetologist of international fame. His work on dragons around the world has inspired generations of scientists, adventurers, and dragon-lovers, and, in sharing his journal, we hope to bring the magic of dragonkind to generations more.
THE MACKINAC SERPENT
Thursday, April 18, 1912
Afternoon rain
Here begins my journey into the forays of North American draco-herpetology.
No—I need to introduce myself first. What you have before you are the personal journals of Francis Hildebrand: Europe’s finest draco-herpetologist. Some readers may already be familiar with my earlier work—a conference here, an expose there, and more than a few notable articles. But at this stage in my career, I have decided to try something a little different.
You will join me, dear reader, on my travels through North America, privy to my private musings and unpublished ideas. So, fear not, my friends, if you have no prior knowledge of draco-herpetology, as this journal will be open and layman-simple for all: a toe dipped into the whimsical world of dragons for anyone too busy to seek them out themselves.
As to the setting, having written extensively on the dragons found throughout northern Europe, I find myself bemused by their cousins over here on the other side of the pond. There is precious little in the way of credible research on North American dragons—emphasis on ‘credible’, for there are a few ‘scientists’, several of whom I have named and indeed refuted in other writings, who have made pitiful attempts to characterize the local fauna.
Ah, but I am quite content to pioneer this field; chasing native legends and mountain-man yarns is the essence of draco-herpetology at its finest.
All of which brings me to my current lodging and the beginning of our adventure. I arrived today on Mackinac Island and booked a room at the Grand Hotel. It is every bit worthy of that name; I first beheld her on the ferry from the mainland: a great breadth of patio pillars lined up like the spines on the back of a lindwyrm. The town of Mackinac is equally delightful, though in a quaint sort of way.
I suspect I will find this stage of my journey rather pleasant.
As for dragons, according to folk tales and news clippings, Lake Michigan is home to some variety of serpent, though seeing the puddle for myself I believe a healthy dose of skepticism is warranted. The sea serpents I observed in the Arctic and North Atlantic were large enough to destroy ships; a creature of even half the size would scarcely fit inside the lake, much less find enough food to sustain itself and a mate and brood or two of children. If there is a Mackinac Serpent, it must be a dinky, little thing.
In any case, my investigation will not commence until tomorrow as I have arrived late in the day and wish to take an evening of rest. Perhaps in the morning I can convince some of the locals to shed insight into this elusive creature.
For now, dinner is calling. I expect the meals at this Grand Hotel to live up to their reputation.
& & &
Friday, April 19, 1912
Light clouds
I did not see any serpents today.
I decided to begin my investigation on the island itself, walking along the perimeter and keeping an eye to the shore. Mackinac really is small; I explored nearly every corner while still sparing enough time for a lavish partridge lunch.
And yet the island is beautiful. The forests here are lush as jungles, and the rock formations are nothing short of awe-inspiring. In my adventures today I came across a stone archway, carved not by Man but by the Earth herself, large enough that even a tall and portly fellow could walk comfortably beneath it.
The waters are pristine and clear, and I suspect finding evidence of serpents—or proving them a myth—should be an easy task despite today’s lack of success.
In the meanwhile, I have secured the services of a local man who intends to take me out upon the lake tomorrow. With any luck the serpents will reveal themselves to us.
Oh, and I feel I must add—
The dinners here do indeed live up to their reputation. I enjoyed a platter of fresh fish with a trio of fussy, little tarts for dessert, one of which—quince, I believe—I shall dream about for weeks to come.
& & &
Saturday, April 20, 1912
Sunny
My newfound companion, a certain Don Grayson, took me out on his boat today. We spent the better part of the morning discussing my previous work on dragons in Iceland, in which he took great interest. Our conversation was indeed so riveting that had I not stopped to catch my breath and enjoy the sights of the lake I may have missed the serpent that passed not far from our boat.
I only caught a glimpse of her, but it was enough to confirm my suspicions; Mackinac serpents are charmingly diminutive—as compared with their oceanic cousins, that is. Upon the first breach, I imagined she might be a seal or a dolphin, forgetting for a moment that there are no such creatures frolicking about in landlocked lakes. Fortunately, I had my spyglass out just in time to watch her breach again and flash her unmistakably reptilian scales.
If this pygmy behaves as sea serpents do, she will be most active when the light is low—at dawn and dusk, to be clear. I was tempted to stay out on the lake late into the evening, but as I had already made dinner plans, I decided to pull in. Moreover, I do not want to test Mr. Grayson’s friendship; he has already agreed to meet me well before dawn tomorrow and I expect that his assistance will prove invaluable to my investigation.
They did not serve quince tart again tonight, though the custard may well have made up for it.
& & &
Sunday, April 21, 1912
Rain
I met Mr. Grayson early this morning, as agreed, and we forged onto the lake.
No sooner had the sun begun to rise than heavy clouds rolled in. As I have on my person at all times a variety of sketchbooks and scientific as well as personal journals, and as Mr. Grayson’s boat provided little cover, we decided to return to shore early, no more than an hour after our departure, and resolved to try again tomorrow.
This is a disappointment, but disappointment is something I have gotten used to in my many years as a draco-herpetologist—let us not forget that famous Norway incident.
At very least, this has given me the opportunity to take part in a rather exquisite high tea offered at the Grand; the cucumber sandwiches were exactly as crisp as a cucumber sandwich ought to be, and the pecan scones were nothing if not divine. If we come back in time tomorrow, I’ve heard that they’ll be swapping the menu for strawberry-rhubarb tarts, and those might be too tempting to miss.
& & &
Monday, April 22, 1912
Cloudy, light rain
Dragons!
It rained only a little—though the clouds threatened all morning—and so Mr. Grayson and I had a spectacular day of dragon sighting. The low light and heavy cloud cover must have drawn the beasties out, for we were able to watch them well into the afternoon.
That is to say: I missed today’s tea, and I am glad for it.
I counted at least fourteen individuals, suggesting a sizable and stable population. Most of the serpents were no larger than a man, with the very largest only ten feet long or so. They range in color from silvery to grey-green, with lighter bellies and a dappling of dark spots along the tail.
More curiously, the neck, torso, and tail are all in equal portion, and the four flippers are likewise similar in size. This is in stark contrast to sea serpents, which have very long tails and hind flippers near atrophied as compared to the fore. It is my inclination to believe that the lake serpents use their more substantial flippers to pull themselves ashore; a lake-dweller, it goes to reason, would find this ability far more useful than would a creature that crosses oceans.
I spied at least one hatchling: a tiny thing scarcely as long as my forearm and swimming flush with its mother. I’d wager the dragons, like most Earthly creatures, spawn in early spring, once the worst of winter has passed. As it is indeed very early in this so-far miserably cold spring, I suspect this little one to be among the year’s first.
While sea serpents tend to avoid humans—save, of course, the rare few who become man-eaters—these spritely Mackinac serpents were more than happy to swim within an arm’s reach of our boat. They perhaps mistook us for fishermen and were looking to steal a sample of today’s catch.
I do assume that the serpents prefer to dine on fish, though with the abundance of birds and turtles as well they may enjoy quite the varied diet. I found, in my preliminary research, no suggestion of attacks by the Mackinac serpent against humans, and I am inclined to uphold this opinion given their amicable disposition and diminutive size.
In all, I am thoroughly charmed by the dragons of Lake Michigan. I recorded a wealth of data and should have enough material to take to the European Journal of Draco-herpetology and Mythology when I have the time to review and polish it. In the meanwhile, I plan to spend another day compiling local stories and exploring a few of my more interesting theories.
Alas, Mr. Grayson will be leaving me. Though he has graciously entertained my eccentricities in the few days I have known him, I cannot expect any man to happily give up his goings on for the sake of a stranger. I have decided to continue my study of the Mackinac serpents from the shore now that I have established the best hour and place for observing them.
Came in too late for dinner tonight but managed to buy a meat pie and some fudge from one of the local shops. Unbelievable abundance of fudge here on Mackinac, and all excellent.
& & &
Tuesday, April 23, 1912
Morning clouds, afternoon sun
Watching serpents from the shore is a fool’s errand.
I spent most of the morning staring out at empty waves wishing I were back in bed or at least back in the dining hall for another round of cherry-filled crepes. The handful of dragon sightings I enjoyed were distant and fleeting, and at least one may have been a large fish.
But the day did not go entirely to waste; I wiled the hours between breakfast and afternoon tea wandering the village and speaking with the locals.
Mr. Reginald Williams, a portly man who owns one of the many charming and sinfully delicious fudge shops, claims that the serpents are more numerous—or at least more readily visible—in spring and autumn. This observation all but confirms my suspicion that young dragons hatch in the spring and implies an autumn breeding season.
Sea serpents, I must note, dive so deep into the oceans that their mating habits have neither been witnessed nor described; perhaps by returning to watch the Mackinac serpents in the fall I can gain insight into the livelihood of both species.
Another local, Mrs. Melany Mayweather, directed me to her boy Charlie Mayweather who seemed almost bored to recount an up-close meeting with a dragon on the pebbled beaches just north of the village.
According to his description, the dragon was around the size of a grown man with a green back and a spotted tail; this matches my own observations. The beast had heaved itself onto the rocks by the shore and was basking in the sun when the boy, who had at the time been searching for skipping stones, chanced across it. When he got too close, the dragon pushed itself off and into the lake.
It is tempting to believe this story as first-hand evidence that lake serpents use their flippers for amphibious adventures, but I must keep in mind that a boy no older than ten is not a reliable witness. I do, however, still intend to include his encounter in my formal report—with qualifications.
With all that, I regret to say that tonight I will enjoy my last dinner at the Grand; if I am to complete my American expedition as planned, I must bid quaint Mackinac farewell.
I have found more than enough material here to argue for—and indeed secure funding for—a longer, future expedition. I will also recommend an exploration of the other Great Lakes; most dragon sightings are reported in lake Michigan—around Mackinac Island in particular—but I find it difficult to believe that a lake as large as Superior, so close to a population of semi-land-capable dragons, would remain uninhabited.
For now my journey continues westward where I hope to encounter some of the more impressive flying dragons. If all goes well, I will establish America as the new frontier for Draco-herpetology, and I her pioneer. Until then, we shall consider this chapter of our adventure concluded, and I will meet my readers again in the wild woods of Montana.
THE GLACIER FIREDRAKE
Saturday, April 27, 191
Light cloud cover
I have arrived at the outskirts of the recently created ‘Glacier National Park’ for the next leg of my ongoing expedition to observe and record the habits of North American dragons. Here I hope to find evidence of a few dragon varieties, not the least of which being the Rocky Mountain and in particular Glacier firedrakes.
I am currently lodging at the Belton Chalets, a charming arrangement of log buildings with exquisite Swiss architecture and stunning balcony views. My dinner tonight consisted of local delicacies: venison, served with wild mushrooms—‘morels’, they are called—and a sweet sauce made from huckleberries. These are a variety of mountain berry similar to the blueberry and endemic to this part of the United States. I find them wonderfully delicious and look forward to furthering my rather petty hobby of studying, cataloguing, and recommending a fine meal.
But, of course, I am not here for the eating; I am here for the dragons.
Although the temptation to linger in the dining hall for after dinner drinks and desserts was certainly hard to resist, there is much work to be done before I can begin my investigations here in Glacier.
I keep records of all the information I have collected on dragons I might find in the area, and while it is disappointingly scant, it does merit regular attention. After all, the purpose of my expedition is to confirm, deny, and supplement these preliminary sources.
I spent the evening on the balcony poring over my notes. Based on the descriptions in local legends and sightings, I have determined that there may be as many as seven different species of dragon living in and around Glacier National Park.
The largest and most notable is a beast that has come to be called the Glacier Firedrake, a local variant of the more widely-recognized Rocky Mountain firedrake. After the little hiccup I had studying highland firedrakes back in Scotland, I am both apprehensive and resolute in this new endeavor. Firedrakes are, on account of their eponymous fiery breath, among the more dangerous dragons. They are, therefore, among the more exciting.
Tomorrow morning I will set off into the park for a bit of early reconnaissance. I expect the breakfast here at the Belton Chalets to be as delicious as the dinner.
Note to self: Ask about water at the front desk. The cold spigot does not seem to be working; I’ll have to go without shaving tonight.
& & &
Sunday, April 28, 1912
Sunny
After rereading yesterday’s entry (and, in doing so, remembering to see the front desk about my unfortunately faulty bathroom sink), I feel as though I must provide an update on my dining accommodations; breakfast was indeed delicious, and I plan on purchasing a few jars of huckleberry jam to take with me when I leave Glacier. It is perhaps my new favorite variety of jam, and it is a shame I must travel so far out into the untamed West to find it.
However, I have many more and more relevant updates with regard to my expedition.
Today I headed into the park on foot. The area is large enough that I will likely hire a horse for travel in the future; nevertheless, I was able to reach Lake McDonald and explore the surrounding area with relative ease.
I can see why President Roosevelt (Note: Taft—I really do need to take more care with these sorts of details, even if irrelevant!)signed this land into a national park. The lush woodland, crystal-clear water, and breathtaking mountain vistas instill a sense of wonder and majesty. I could sit for hours at the lakeside, listening to the quiet lapping of the waves and the trilling of birds in the trees.
This is certainly one way to keep an eye out for dragons, though I do prefer a more direct approach.
As for the dragons themselves, I did not find any evidence of the Glacier firedrake today. I did, however, encounter a small colony of frostbites. I found them by means of a young man who had visited the park to find inspiration for his poetry and who took a great interest in my draconic studies. He remembered seeing a frostbite the day before and was kind enough to point out their apparent haunt.
Frostbites are a small and already well-studied variety of dragon, each no more than two feet long from nose to tail-tip. They are found all over the world, and I hold them in fond regard as some of the first dragons that sent me down the path to becoming a world-renown draco-herpetologist. While not particularly interesting from an academic standpoint, I do therefore have a guilty affection for the little creatures and was delighted to spend the afternoon observing the colony.
The North American variety does differ from the familiar European frostbites in a few characteristic ways—most notably in color and spine length—which may prove worthy of publication.
So the day was rather successful, even if I did not find the Glacier firedrakes. And it concluded most happily with a serving of pheasant.
& & &
Monday, April 29, 1912
Sunny, marred by smoke
An employee of the chalets interrupted this morning’s breakfast to advise me against travelling into the park on account of a growing wildfire. As a draco-herpetologist, I found this information far more exciting than concerning. I finished my meal quickly with the intention of heading straightaway to the belly of the blaze.
Howard Glen, the gruff man who runs the local stables, no doubt thinks me completely insane. But after some delicate negotiations (and a handsome sum of money) he agreed to let me take one of his horses into the park.
The smoke must have been visible for miles, towering as it did into the sky. Wildfires do occasionally come about as the result of lightning strikes or careless men, but I ought never to risk missing an encounter with a wayward firedrake, even at the cost of my personal safety.
Now I do remember what happened back in Scotland, and I was prepared to abide the necessary precautions should I get close to the fire itself. However, it did not come to that.
Firedrakes use their breath for many purposes; battle with other firedrakes, mating displays, and, most importantly, hunting. When a firedrake hunts, she sets small fires which she then uses to frighten, herd, and ultimately snare everything from deer to wildcats to—in the case of especially bold firedrakes—men and bears.
When these fires grow out of control, they can consume the countryside. Many farmers and mountain men consider firedrakes to be a nuisance and hunt them like vermin, but I see the beauty in the destruction. Fire regenerates the forest, clearing out the old and dying trees to make fertile ground upon which new flowers and saplings may grow. And watching a firedrake in the heat of a hunt is as riveting as it is awe-inspiring.
I did not have to get very close at all, scarcely past Lake McDonald, to see her. The Glacier firedrake is one of the largest creatures I have yet seen in the skies, no doubt on account of their access to enormous prey, such as elk and moose, which their European cousins have no opportunity to hunt. She patrolled the smoke column on the watch for escaping deer, diving every now and again in hot pursuit of her quarry.
By my estimate, her wingspan was at least twenty feet, perhaps as great as thirty. Her wings were pale grey-brown in color, disguising her against the smoky backdrop, with a darker body. I was unable to make out any more details due to the great distance, which I begrudgingly maintained for fear that she would take me—or, more likely, my horse—for an easy meal.
The blaze will likely draw out all of the firedrakes in the surrounding mountains, each one eager for some well-done venison. I myself took my venison medium-rare tonight, with an extra round of drinks and a lavish chocolate cake in celebration. Even after so many years of fieldwork, I still consider myself extremely privileged every time I have the chance to watch a dragon on the hunt.
As I look out at the sunset from my balcony, I am reminded of the beauty of firedrakes. Through the smoke the sun is a rich and ominous red, as if jealous of the color of the blaze. But the ash is enough to make me cough and I will have to shutter my windows for the night. I hope to see even more firedrakes with tomorrow’s excursion.
& & &
Tuesday, April 30, 1912
Heavy smoke
Alack! My study of the Glacier firedrakes must come to an end.
The stable master informed me today that he would not be sending any more horses away from the barn, and indeed would be moving the herd to a ranch out on the plains. He further explained that I am a lunatic, a devil, a fool, and a few other, more colorful things that do not bear repeating in this journal.
Then, upon returning to my lodging to recover my hiking gear, I was informed that the Belton Chalets would be evacuated and closed for business effective immediately. The Great Northern Railway was gracious enough to offer myself and the other displaced guests transport to the nearest city; this is where I find myself with a moment for my journal.
It is extremely disappointing to be sent away from Glacier so soon and in the wake of such an unprecedented opportunity for dragon watching. I find myself despising the local worrywarts who sounded the alarm, though I cannot begrudge their concern for human life. I only wish that I had been able to count the dragons flying today, a number which would provide the groundwork for an estimation of the Glacier firedrake population.
Instead I find myself with a dinner falling woefully short of the standard set by the chalets, rearranging my expedition schedule to accommodate this sudden change in plans. My next major destination will be the famous Yellowstone National Park, which I should arrive at, barring further disruptions, Thursday afternoon.
THE YELLOWSTONE AMPHIPTERE
Thursday, May 2, 1912
Afternoon rain, perhaps snow?
To my delight, I have discovered that huckleberries and their assorted compotes are common throughout the northern Rocky Mountains. I was able to enjoy sweet huckleberry sauce paired with an exquisite bison steak here at Old Faithful Inn, a lodge which, in spite of its cabin-esque style, is as grand and lofty as any place I’ve yet stayed.
Yellowstone National Park itself—which was signed into being by President Roosevelt, as I twice confirmed this morning after mistakenly crediting him with Glacier the last time—is a sight to behold.
Glacier had already impressed me with towering mountain vistas and untouched wilderness, yet compared with Yellowstone, the prior may as well be ordinary. In the short time since my arrival, I have seen all manner of rainbow springs and ancient rock formations. The mineral pools have a peculiar and unpleasant scent, but their fascinating colors are well worth this slight displeasure.
Unfortunately, I am not the only man to appreciate the wonderland beauty of Yellowstone. I have encountered many other travelers since arriving here, swarming in droves around the most impressive and beautiful landscapes. I fear that the crowds will make it difficult for me to find my quarry.
I suspect many of the smaller and more common dragon varieties found up north are found here as well; frostbites, no doubt, and a few Rocky Mountain firedrakes. However, I am most interested in the elusive Yellowstone amphiptere. I will need to scour the park for the least populous areas if I am to have a chance at finding one, or else venture out into the nearby wilderness among the Tetons.
But not yet. Yellowstone is too great a natural treasure to be left unexplored. Though I complain about the crowds, I find that I, too, am drawn to the impressive and unique features of Yellowstone National Park. I intend to spend the entire day tomorrow touring the most well-known sites and suppressing my dragon-hunting instincts.
Of course, if a Rocky Mountain firedrake passes overhead, I will oblige a few notes.
Already I am eager for the wonders that await me here in Yellowstone. I will scarcely sleep tonight.
& & &
Friday, May 3, 1912
Light rain
Today was warmer than yesterday—though not warm by any reasonable standard—though I could hardly complain for the awe of all I stopped to see.
I of course went to see the famous geysers. Most are unimpressive, dinky little things that spout water so infrequently and unpredictably that they are not entirely worth the notice. However, I was enchanted by the brilliant splashing of the aptly-named Old Faithful waiting just outside my lodge.
The geyser erupts roughly every hour, and I was curious enough about its regularity to stay for two spouts. At each occurrence a great number of people gathered on all sides of the geyser in anticipation; I imagine very few were disappointed. It is difficult to believe until one sees it for himself: a column of scalding water, shot straight out of the Earth as if the land were sea and the unassuming mound were the back of a whale.
Yet the eruption lasts for a surprisingly long time, gurgling out wave after wave onto the stained rocks below. I find myself wondering how much water must reside beneath the Earth that such quantities can belch out every hour without drying up. Were I not so committed to the study of dragons, the intriguing geology of this region might prove a worthwhile pursuit.
I was perhaps even more impressed by an enormous pond called Grand Prismatic. The name is well-deserved; never have I seen such rich and unnatural blues, yellows, and reds swirled together in any place made by Earth and not by man. I was inspired enough to climb a nearby mountain ridge for a broader view.
From above, the countryside takes the shape of an artist’s palette after a long day painting. Pots of color blend together and spill out over the stone, mixing in intriguing patterns and yet maintaining their brilliance. It seemed a shame to climb back down the ridge and continue with my journey.
While Yellowstone’s geological features are the main draw and treasure, the wildlife I encountered was near equally impressive. While I did not see any Yellowstone amphipteres—nor did I expect to—I encountered an enormous herd of bison, a most impressive elk stag, and all manner of birds of prey, not the least of which being America’s iconic bald eagle.
I saw one dragon that I suspect to be a Rocky Mountain firedrake flying at a great distance along the mountains, and I found tracks belonging to a family of frostbites. Even if I do not find the amphipteres, I will certainly leave Yellowstone with fond memories and proud discoveries.
However, I do not hope to be disappointed.
Consulting with the local guides I have determined that the best place for observing wildlife away from human crowds is a valley known as the Lamar Canyon. It is my intention to head there at a small hour tomorrow, before first light if possible.
To this end I am retiring early tonight, after a scrumptious dinner of wild game pie finished with an irresistible delicacy known as huckleberry ice cream. I find this flavor far superior to the usual chocolate and vanilla.
Tomorrow will be my first real day of dragon-watching in Yellowstone. I pray it will be successful.
& & &
Saturday, May 4, 1912
Sunny
Yellowstone continues to prove itself the most exciting of all my expeditions.
Upon arriving in the Lamar Canyon—later than I had hoped, but still quite early in the morning—I witnessed a coordinated elk hunt by a pack of wolves. No doubt hearing the commotion, a Rocky Mountain firedrake soon descended upon the scene, scaring away the wolves and taking the remainder of the kill for herself. This theft behavior has only rarely been observed among European firedrakes and will certainly receive mention in my publication.
And yet, the most impressive dragon sighting was yet to come.
I spent the better part of the morning hiking along a ridge above the river, eyes trained on the distant mountaintops in search of amphipteres. I stopped for a bit of lunch just after noon—a meager meal, consisting of jerky, a roll of bread, and an apple—and watched a bison herd moving through the valley below. I found myself intrigued by the mighty creatures and paused to watch, only to fall back in surprise when an amphiptere dropped out of the sky.
Amphipteres are serpentine dragons, having lost the clawed limbs of their cousins. They kill by asphyxiation, like the constrictor snakes found the tropics, and are thus capable of taking down prey far larger than themselves. Still, I never expected to see an amphiptere fall upon something as large and formidable as a bison.
The amphiptere was probably in the realm of thirty feet long with a wingspan of around ten to fifteen feet; among the larger varieties of dragon, but not quite up to the enormity of the Glacier firedrake I watched last week.
She chose a bison lagging behind the others—though no less mighty—and dispatched it with remarkable speed and a writhing mass of coils. She then dragged the prey to shelter beneath the trees on a nearby hillside, no doubt trying to protect her kill from thieving firedrakes.
I am reminded of the amphipteres I saw in Africa. This American variety has a shorter wingspan—perhaps owing to the tight canyons and mountain valleys—but is otherwise of similar size and coloration. African amphipteres are known to have taken down prey as large as cape buffalo, though I have never had the honor to witness such an act myself. To see the American amphiptere on the hunt—truly inspiring.
After such a day, another celebratory cup of huckleberry ice cream seemed warranted. My assumption that the Lamar Canyon would be an excellent location to look for wildlife has turned out more than correct, and I plan to return there again tomorrow.
& & &
Monday, May 6, 1912
Light clouds
It seems in my excitement I neglected yesterday’s journal entry. My apologies, dear readers; it will not happen again.
In any case, I will also need to catch up on sleep on the road to Colorado, as I have been enjoying late nights and early mornings.
The Lamar Canyon never ceases to surprise me. With the exception of today’s long morning of only bison and prairie dog sightings, every minute has been filled with close and incredible encounters.
Based on my observations, I estimate the population of Rocky Mountain firedrakes hunting in the Lamar Canyon to be around four. I am certain of at least three distinct individuals.
One is a likely juvenile for it is markedly smaller than the others and has poor hunting success. Another, likely the mother of the first, I have witnessed on two separate successful hunts, each with the juvenile flying nearby and joining in the feast. The third is an older individual with a slightly torn wing; it is easily recognized by its unsteady flight patterns.
My suspected fourth is a lone dragon I have watched only from a distance. I am not certain that this dragon is truly different from the second; it may be the case that the mother flies, on occasion, absent the child.
The area also boasts a healthy colony of frostbites, one of which was bold enough to steal a nip of jerky from my pack while I stopped for rest yesterday. Frostbites are not often found this far south, and as these were not quite as pale as others I have seen in any part of the world. I thought to try and capture one for further study, though my attempts were unsuccessful; small though they are, frostbites are admirably wily.
And then the amphiptere.
I can confirm the existence of only one individual, though I am not sure that I have seen the same one every time. Nevertheless, I have observed her on two separate occasions after the first. Yesterday I watched her basking on a large rock on the riverside; she was difficult to spot on account of her light yellow-brown and indeed rather rock-colored scales, but she managed to catch my eye while stretching her wings.
On the second—or third, rather—occasion, I saw the amphiptere soaring over the valley in search of prey. She must not have been very hungry for she never dropped, though she did circle for nearly half an hour before flying on to other parts of the wilderness.
Of course, neither of these sightings could compare with the first, but nevertheless I have acquired more material and managed to create one rather detailed sketch of the creature.
Still, my adventure here in Yellowstone is drawing to a close. I enjoyed a last bowl of huckleberry ice cream tonight; it will be sorely missed. I do not know if huckleberries are as common in the Colorado Rockies, and I sincerely doubt I will find any once I reach the Sierra Nevadas.
I intend to return to Yellowstone. Perhaps next year once my publication is complete and winter has lost its edge? Until then, I will savor the last sights and sounds as I depart.
THE ROCKY MOUNTAIN FIREDRAKE
Wednesday, May 8, 1912
Sunny
I had expected the quaint ranching town of Gunnison, Colorado to be a quiet detour to break up the otherwise long and miserable journey toward the Sierra Nevadas. It was, so I had heard, an area well-populated by Rocky Mountain firedrakes—dragons which, though common and already rather well-studied, are nevertheless an interesting and important species. I assumed I would have a chance at a bit of decent dragon watching, if fortune favored me well, and a few nights at a charming, back-country lodge.
I cannot begin to describe how wrong I was on every account.
For the first, I spotted on my way in not one, nor two, but three different Rocky Mountain firedrakes flying between the eponymous rocky mountainsides. There are so many dragons here that they have, as I have discovered, become quite a nuisance for the locals.
Each person I met, upon hearing the purpose of my visit, was quick to rave at me as to the large number and vicious disposition of the dragons in the area, one going so far as to ask after the best method for killing dragons—I shudder at the thought! I do hope that in my time here I will be able to convince a few of these cowboys to respect the importance and beauty of these magnificent creatures.
As for my second assumption, what I presumed would be a simple lodging has turned out to be perhaps the most extravagant hotel I have had the pleasure of staying at since the Grand on Mackinac. The La Veta, as she is known, stands triumphant over the small ranching community with broad balconies, luxury furnishings, and gourmet dinners. She even boasts the largest mirror in the west! Isn’t that a fun tidbit? Heard that upon checking in—I didn’t even realize anyone kept track of that sort of thing.
Ah, and the food! The filet mignon I had tonight was beyond compare, brought in fresh from one of the local ranches, though I must add that I was disappointed to learn that huckleberries are not nearly as popular here as they were at my prior destinations. Nevertheless, I shall not want for exquisite dining on this leg of my journey.
And so, though I have only just arrived in Gunnison my hopes and ambitions have already been well exceeded. My excursions tomorrow and in the days that follow will take me along the Gunnison and Taylor rivers, and perhaps as far as the Axetel ranch along Spring Creek, which I have heard is plagued by a particularly large and wicked firedrake.
I will also want to spend some time educating the locals about proper neighborly behavior where dragons are concerned. I am horrified by reports that the Mexican amphiptere—the Quetzalcoatl, as the locals sometimes refer to it—has dwindled to numbers so low that draco-herpetologists question whether any remain at all. I do not want the same fate to befall dragons here in the United States.
For now, however, that is not a concern; tonight I may merely enjoy the sunset and watch for dragons along the red horizon.
& & &
Thursday, May 9, 1912
Sunny, touch of rain
Oh the wealth of dragons in Colorado!
I made my way up to the Axetel ranch today to speak with the owner and farmhands about the firedrake that has been terrorizing them. I was not able to see that particular beast, though I encountered two others along the way. I created a few sketches of these for my scientific journal.
The Axetel ranch is beautiful and quiet, set into a narrow valley cut by a quaint little stream called Spring Creek. One of the ranch hands pointed out to me the location he believes to be the dragon’s den: a hill on the east side of the valley with a large rock formation jutting out near the top. It does, I must admit, seem a perfect place for a dragon. I spent the whole day stealing glances at the rocky outpost hoping to see her out sunning herself and surveying her domain.
The ranchers are not so enchanted with her.
Mr. Axetel has taken it upon himself to put out a bounty on the poor creature’s head. He claims she has taken the best of his cattle and terrorized his workers and family.
While firedrakes do, on occasion, take prey as large as cattle, they generally prefer deer or even smaller creatures like beavers and marmots. Their fiery breath is formidable, but not a weapon useful for hunting; a burst of flame will hurt a cow, but also frighten it and send it fleeing to the hills. Firedrakes usually only use fire to corral prey or frighten attackers, and older dragons—as I assume this one is, based on descriptions of its size—almost never employ this tactic.
I explained all of this to Mr. Axetel, who did not seem to hear a word of it. He is resolved to kill this dragon and claimed he would spare it only if I could remove it from his property.
It is an unlikely endeavor, but I am tempted to try.
Dragons will sometimes relocate if they feel that their den has been compromised. If I am careful enough, I may be able to seek out the dragon’s den and make enough mischief to send it elsewhere.
Now, this is not just a hare-brained idea to save one silly firedrake; it is also an opportunity for me to get detailed information on firedrake dens and nesting behavior. I will have to get out my fire-retardant suit if I am to have a chance; the firedrake will probably not attack directly, but I do not want to take the risk of being scorched.
It is something I will have to consider as I lay in bed tonight.
* * *
Friday, May 10, 1912
Sunny
I decided to seek out the dragon’s den.
I mulled it over for a long time, and was still not quite decided even as I enjoyed breakfast this morning (eggs and biscuits, seasoned with herbs and cooked to perfection), but ultimately, I realized that my notes on dragon domestic habits are woefully lacking, and it has been nearly a decade since the last time I observed a den up close.
Such an adventure is long overdue.
So, like an absolute fool, I returned to Axetel ranch and offered up my intentions. Mr. Axetel no doubt finds me a complete lunatic, but the cowboy who pointed out the den for me yesterday, a man of no more than twenty-five named James, offered to show me the way and Axetel allowed it.
The route to the rocky outpost was steep but short and surprisingly easy to navigate. In less than an hour we had reached the rocks and had a clear view of the ranch and the whole Spring Creek valley. I found significant evidence of dragon activity there: claw marks on the rocks and trees, bone shards, and a scorched patch of ground. It was not the den, but certainly a place the dragon likes to visit.
The climb to the top was more challenging. In a few places James had to help lift me over treacherous rock formations, and for the first time I wondered if I am getting too old for this sort of thing. One can’t stay a bright-eyed and twenty-something adventurer forever, you know.
Though the outpost had looked to be the peak or very near it from my original vantage point on the ranch grounds, it was actually no more than two thirds of the way there. When we finally reached the gentle, meadowed slopes I announced a well-earned break.
We ate jerky and chatted about the ranch and the dragons while James busied himself with the silly, pointless task of arranging fallen trees and piece of quartz into little cairns and other such mindless patterns. After a time, I thought to ask the purpose of such a symbol, to which he simply responded ‘no reason.’ Yes, I am old indeed. I think back to my days skipping stones and making sand doodles on the beaches of Sicily.
It was as I contemplated the peculiar nature of humans that we saw the Axetel dragon flying back to her nest from the Taylor River valley down east. Her path took her straight over the ridge and over our heads, frightening both of us more than either would care to admit. We gave chase as soon as she passed out of sight, though not in time to see where she had gone. It is amazing how well the pine forest can hide even a creature as large as a firedrake.
We never did find the den. It was probably for the best, since we had every reason to suspect that our dragon had returned for an afternoon nap.
The trip back down the mountain was perhaps even worse than the trip up. The rocks and soil are wont to give way without warning, not to mention that they are already slanted downward at frightening degrees. I was tempted at times to slide down the hill on my bottom, though I decided that the damage done to my trousers would not be worth the savings in vitality. Thanks entirely to James, I was able to make it down the hill with my bottom intact, and indeed I came to realize how fortunate I was that he had chosen to accompany me.
It also appears I was able to sway James with my wistful stories about dragons. He became convinced along the way that the dragon living on the hill was not a terrible demon but a beautiful and awe-inspiring creature every bit worthy of her rocky throne. I hope he will be able to convince Axetel to back down from his bounty, though if he really has lost a fair price in cattle I cannot hope for much.
I count this as a successful day. After two nights of beef I decided to try the trout this evening, fresh caught from the Gunnison River, and it was divine. For such a small-town establishment, the La Veta knows how to treat her guests well.
I still have a whole day left tomorrow, but after that it will be on across the Utah desert toward the Sierra Nevadas. I wish I had more time to ease local tensions, but, alas, I did not expect Gunnison to be such a wonderful little place to conduct my research.
I must do what I can tomorrow.
& & &
Saturday, May 11, 1912
Sunny, light rain
Oh, give me a home where the Buffalo roam
Where the Deer and the Antelope play;
Where never is heard a discouraging word,
And the sky is not clouded all day.
I choose to begin today’s entry with this little diddy, sung to me by a shockingly drunk cowboy, for I find that I have enjoyed here the most perfect weather of the whole expedition.
Save a few, brief, afternoon drizzles, the skies have indeed been cloudless. The La Veta, so I have been told, offers a free lunch to any man who suffers a cloudy day, and it’s a bet I believe they seldom lose.
For that reason—and many others, I do terribly regret leaving Gunnison so soon.
My last day was not as exciting as the prior two, but it was nevertheless quite a joy.
I spent the day hiking along the Gunnison River. There are many interesting rock formations, marshes, and rivulets teeming with life: birds of all varieties, deer, marmots, squirrels, and, of course, dragons.
Two Rocky Mountain firedrakes, to be precise.
I suspect they are siblings from the same clutch; both were males—distinctive for their small size and comparatively short wingspan—and one never strayed far from the other. They coordinated hunting efforts and, as I watched, managed to enjoy quite a feast. One would set a small fire to scare animals out and away while the other waited with open jaws.
I have not seen anything like it. Firedrakes are generally solitary creatures, only seen together during the mating season or when hatchlings are still young enough to stay at their mothers’ sides. The bond that this pair shared was inspiring to watch, and will receive special notice in my upcoming publication.
I made certain, upon my return, to share this discovery first with the locals I met at the bar. Perhaps, I reasoned, they will come to appreciate dragons more if they understand the complex relationships the creatures are able to cultivate. A few seemed surprised and impressed, and one woman was particularly interested in hearing all about dragon lifestyles (though I somewhat suspect that she was merely vying for my attention, as her dress and manner suggested to me that she was looking for a paying customer).
I fear few were convinced, or can be. Everyone seems certain that firedrakes are man eaters and refuses to hear that such incidents are so rare as to be almost unheard of.
Ah, but I cannot change the world simply by chatting. More research, more books, more public outreach will be what protects dragons. I need to keep searching and keep telling stories if I am to ensure mankind’s continued appreciation for and wonder at the mythical reptiles.
And so I must leave Gunnison behind. Tonight’s steak was, as anticipated, perfectly juicy, and even the mashed turnips I asked for on the side were far more excellent than turnips have any right to be. I even ordered a slice of apple pie for dessert; I doubt I will be eating well at all for the next few days.
Tomorrow, I begin my journey further westward, through the crags and canyons of Utah, toward my next destination high in the Sierra Nevada mountains. From there it will be on to the Redwood forest: the last stage before I return to Europe to polish my writings for publication. My scientific journals first and foremost, but this one as well.
Indeed, I have full confidence that, soon enough, the world will have a greater appreciation for North American dragons.
THE UTE WYVERN
Monday, May 13, 1912
Sunny
I did not plan on stopping until I reached the Sierra Nevadas, and indeed there are no reasonable hotels or restaurants in the area, yet I find myself so completely baffled that I cannot help but rearrange my plans and for an emergency diversion.
I have been travelling through Utah, a barren and yet beautiful desert, carved with some of the most awe-inspiring rock formations I have ever seen. Buttes, mesas, canyons, ridges, painted every shade of red, brown, grey, and yellow, stretching to every horizon.
Why, it had even occurred to me to imagine dragons flying across such a landscape. I dismissed this thought; such a place could not possibly hold enough prey to support even a small dragon.
I was wrong.
While admiring the formations yesterday, I spotted a heretofore unheard-of species soaring over the canyons. It was so enormous and so unexpected that, at first, I thought it must have been a mirage or hallucination, were it not for the fact that the man in the seat in front of mine insisted that he saw it too.
She was much bigger than anything I would have thought could live in lands so barren, with a wingspan of ten, perhaps even twenty feet. Even more surprising, she had no front limbs that I could distinguish; I may have discovered the first-known North American wyvern.
In my publication I intend to name this species the Ute wyvern. It will take much more in-depth study to determine whether my Ute wyvern is indeed a new species or whether it is a northern dwelling variety of the Cortez wyvern found throughout in Central America.
Wyverns are the most dangerous dragon family, even without fire breath. Firstly they are enormous; the ten-to-twenty-foot wingspan I observed for this specimen would put her in the small range for her family, with some of the more impressive exceeding thirty feet. They are also particularly aggressive, venomous, and more likely than any other variety to stoop to man-eating.
And yet I cannot possibly stay away! I all but hopped off the train mid-journey in my excitement! The presence of a wyvern variety in the American southwest is completely unreported and unprecedented. This could very well be the defining moment in my career as a draco-herpetologist! Or, at least, the final defining moment in my career—let us not forget my impressive body of earlier works.
Regardless, I am already making plans to set out tomorrow toward the part of the canyon where I spotted the wyvern. With any luck, I will be able to get a good view of her hunting habits and flight patterns.
To think—by my next entry I may be the first civilized man to observe this incredible species!
& & &
Note from the Editor: This is where the journal ends; the remaining pages have been left blank. The book was returned to the Hildebrand family after it was traded for a bottle of liquor by a local Indian, who, when asked how it came into his possession, replied only that it had been found with a “white idiot.”
* * * * THE END * * * *
Copyright C. Breeze 2024
