A Globster , or Blob , is an unidentified organic mass that washes up on the shoreline of an ocean or other body of water. The term was coined by Ivan T. Sanderson in to describe the Tasmanian carcass of , which was said to have "no visible eyes, no defined head, and no apparent bone structure". A globster is distinguished from a normal beached carcass by being hard to identify, at least by initial untrained observers, and by creating controversy as to its identity. Globsters may present such a puzzling appearance that their nature remains controversial even after being officially identified by scientists. Some globsters lack bones or other recognisable structures, while others may have bones, tentacles, flippers, eyes or other features that can help narrow down the possible species. In the past these were often described as sea monsters, and myths and legends about such monsters may often have started with the appearance of a globster.
The Quest for the Sea Serpent: An Oarfish or Something More?
sperm whale | Size, Teeth, Diet, Habitat, & Facts | conundrumsoft.com
It is a long, serpent-like beast with flippers, a camel-like head and a hairy neck. Its length can vary between 40 to 70 feet, and there are more than sightings of the Caddy sea monster up to date. Two members of the Provincial Government reported seeing the creature, giving the same description of it. Later that year, two fishermen saw two monsters in the bay. One was 60 feet long, and the other was half the size.
Is Cadborosaurus for Real?
Now two British Columbia scientists have pieced together what they believe is compelling evidence of the existence of the fabled, long-necked creature known as Cadborosaurus. They say that in the past l0 years at least six specimens of the sea creature have been discovered, including a live baby and a dead youngster found undigested in the stomach of a whale. Bousfield says he himself is convinced that the serpent with the small head, affectionately known as Caddy, is not simply a figment of the imagination of ancient Indians, grizzled sailors and tourism promoters.
F rom the back deck of a house on Telegraph Bay Road near Victoria, pointed northeast over the Strait of Georgia, a lone video camera stands sentinel. The ocean is steel grey, pockmarked by little waves that lap at the pebbly beach below, sounding like a thirsty dog at a water bowl. And there have been other people.