In the Pacific Northwest, they have Big Foot. In Nepal, they have the Yeti. On the Chesapeake Bay, we have Chessie, which one author describes as a “42-ton Chesapeake Bay retriever.” In Western Maryland, on the ridges of Catoctin Mountain and South Mountain and the valley between them, they have the Snallygaster, a beast born out of the legends of the German farmers who homesteaded there in the 1700s.
“Snallygaster” is an Americanization of the phrase, “Schneller geist” or swift spirit. Sightings reported in the local newspapers of the early 20th century describe the beast as having come from the bowels of the Earth: a winged, one-eyed dragon with a long beak, octopus tentacles and a screech like a locomotive. It was known to sweep down on farms, bearing off chickens, piglets and ill-behaved little children who refused to finish their wiener schnitzel.
Teddy Roosevelt was supposedly eager to hunt one for a trophy. Since he didn’t live long enough to get out that way, I decided I’d pick up the mantle and go on a quest to find the elusive cryptid for myself. So last weekend, I hooked my little camper pod up to my Forester, popped my faithful pup, Millie, in the back, and headed off to camp at Greenbrier State Park on South Mountain, about halfway between Frederick and Hagerstown.
The weather was perfect — strikingly blue sky, early autumn chill, the promise of a full moon, and mountainsides swaddled in a quilt of leaves just on the cusp of becoming gloriously colorful. Yes, the night was chilly, but the thermal output of a 75-pound Labrador retriever is about 325 BTUs per hour, which makes for a comfortable sleep. As long as you don’t mind the other canine emissions, that is.
Millie and I began our search along the trails in Greenbrier, which was a logical place to start. The park abuts the Appalachian Trail that runs along the ridge of South Mountain, and at least one sighting was just a few miles away at Turner’s Gap. We followed the Red Trail on the hilltop above the lake and found curious remains of low stone walls — what were they there for? — but no sign of our quarry; still, we didn’t let that spoil an otherwise delightful afternoon’s hike.
The next day, we drove a few miles across the Cumberland Valley to Devil’s Backbone Park, where I was sure we’d find a clue, if only because the name of the place is so appropriate. No luck there, either, so I slung out my fly rod and cast a line into Antietam Creek while Millie wandered around to see how the other anglers were doing.
Undaunted, on the last day, driving toward home, we meandered all up and down the valley north of Interstate 70 through the farmlands and hillsides, stopping to take little walks here and there. We drove along Foxville Road that runs through a gap in Catoctin Mountain and follows Hunting Creek that marks the line between Catoctin Mountain Park and Cunningham Falls State Park. The creek cascades down a narrow valley in a pleasingly picturesque manner. I pulled over and Millie led me on a stroll underneath the hemlocks by the boulder-strewn creek bed.
That road empties out at the town of Thurmont and from there, we zigged-zagged across the valley. This part of Frederick County makes for a delightful country drive, its luxuriously undulating hills dotted with farms, fields and pastures. One rise in the road gave us a view of the Catoctin ridge in the distance, the mountainsides a landscape in pointillistic dots of russet, yellow and red.
We came across Loy’s Station Park, where a covered bridge crosses Owens Creek. Regiments of both Confederate and Union armies crisscrossed this area on the way to and from the Battle of Gettysburg. I was particularly taken by the LeGore Bridge across the Monocacy River near Rocky Ridge. Built in 1903, it’s the oldest stone arch bridge in the county. There are five arches spanning more than 60 feet.
Along the way, we passed through charming little towns — Creagerstown, Woodsboro, Libertytown — stopping here and there to ask locals if they had ever heard of the Snallygaster. The responses we all in the negative, but always polite, despite the peculiarity of a large, bearded stranger seemingly garbling gobbledygook. While there were no signs of my monster, there were impressive displays of Hallowe’en decorations – giant skeletons, human and animal, witches, bats and jack-o-lanterns, all very festive in an appropriately macabre manner.
Eventually, we gave up our quest when our country road met up with Interstate 70 on the far side of Frederick, and drove back home. Yes, we had failed to find the Snallygaster, but we did have some splendid days and nights camping, hiking and fishing, and enjoyed a wonderful drive through the countryside.
Curiously, while we where out there, 100 miles west and 1,000 feet up the mountainside, we noticed the color of the leaves changing almost as we watched. By this weekend, they ought to be near their peak. A Sunday drive through the area would be delightful. I would recommend heading toward Frederick, turning north on Rt. 75 before you get there, and then turning off your GPS and simply roaming around. You might get lost for a while, but you won’t go anywhere that isn’t astonishingly beautiful.
Oh, one funny story. While we were at our campsite, a family pulled into the site next door, driving a big, gray SUV, similar to the one our daughter and son-in-law own. Millie, thinking it was them and hoping to see our two little granddaughters, went absolutely bonkers with joy.
Fortunately, we got back in time to attend their neighborhood Halloween parade. Their costumes were — no, not Snallygasters, but cute little unicorns. Oh, well, maybe next year.
Jeff Holland is the poet laureate of Annapolis and author of “Walk Around Arundel: 52 Places to Hike with your Dog and Other Best Friends.” You can learn more at www.jeffersonholland.com .