"There's an older woman who comes in here who swears her father made up the whole thing."
--New Hamburg bartender.
I teased this in the previous post. On May 17, 2025, I photographed the Nith River Monster in its natural habitat.
Oh, I braved danger to accomplish this feat. But first, I must present you with the tedious backstory.
Around 2007, I was writing "The Book of Den(n)is," which was short-listed for the now-defunct Ken Klonsky Novella Contest. You can find it in Live Nude Aliens and Other Stories, one of the best-reviewed pieces in the collection and the only one that doesn't have an overt SF or fantasy element.
It hints at these, however.
The story's key events takes place at ten-year intervals between 1957-2007. A crucial moment occurs in 1997, when Dennis attempts to track his friend Carol's runaway daughter. He leaves his home town on Ontario's Huron coast and attends an event not far from Toronto. His town doesn't really exist; it's an imaginary place whence a handful of my characters hail. The event didn't happen, either, although ones superficially like it did. Granted, he doesn't exist, either; it's called "fiction." I nevertheless felt as though I needed a bit of reality in this section, an actual place for this key moment to occur.
I looked at where, roughly, I imagined his home town to be, and where, approximately, the event would have taken place. I then mapped out a route and decided where he would be when he stopped for dinner.
New Hamburg, Ontario.
I'd never heard of it.
Along the way, I noted details of this part of Ontario, in order to keep the description sounding grounded and weathered, but not shop-worn.
I walked around to get a sense of the town. I found a recently-closed hotel with a pub-like restaurant that was central and had been operational in 1997; the internet later provided me with details through photographs from its heydey and of the recently-closed auction of its trappings and trimmings. I also spent a couple of hours in the library examining local history.
Paul Knowles' A History of New Hamburg, published in 2002, not only provided me with a sense of the town and its history, it also handed me something more.
He discussed, briefly, the Nith River Monster.
At the time, only two references could be found online. One of these was a local blogger asking what the heck that was, because someone had asked about it and the blogger certainly had never heard of it. I was inspired to return to the local archives, in nearby Baden, Ontario, and to other points, which produced a piece on the then-forgotten monster.
Shortly after it appeared, Baden's Castle Kilbride (in the basement of which the archives reside, including those of the New Hamburg Independent), incorporated the legendary cryptid into their Twilight Family Night, a haunted Halloween event. The timing is such that they had to have been planning the inclusion before anyone could have read what I wrote.
The renaissance the monster has experienced must, I think, be credited primarily to Paul Knowles. Nithy has since reappeared at local events, given its name to a local softball team, and reappeared, in the form of a now-restored 1957 fibreglass model that had been sitting in someone's barn.
I returned, for the fourth time in my life, to New Hamburg, on a summer-like May 16, 2025. New Hamburg has always been its own variation of the classic North American small town, but it felt weathered the first time I went. It has grown shinier, more prosperous, and more aware of its tourist potential. At the Peel Street Beverage Company Taproom (which is on Huron Street-- long story) I began my first street-level discussions of the town's cryptid, over a locally brewed Nith River Monster IPA.
I also went out to the recently-opened Mike Schout Wetlands Preserve. Under blue skies I observed a heron close up, sundry other birds, frogs, a school of fish, and a baby snapping turtle. The turtle was, courageously but slowly, crawling its way across the entrance to the parking lot and towards the water. A passing jogger informed me that the wee turtles had been doing that for the last couple of days.
And of course, I saw and photographed Nithy itself.
A statue has been placed near the far end of the elevated route.
Of course, I did not encounter an actual creature unknown to science.
But I really did face danger!
Firstly, I had to climb over the wooden rail and make my way to the ground. I am not so young anymore. I might have fallen and been injured.
Secondly, I had to ignore the park rules. These require you to stay on the path so as not to disrupt nature. Of course, I only went as far as I needed to, being mindful of my steps. I gingerly made my way over a dead snake upon which insects were feasting. Granted, I had not yet seen the signs telling me not to leave the elevated wooden paths, but really, I assumed there was such a rule.
I could have encountered a live snake. I might even have found myself in trouble with the municipal parks authority.
I believe the statue to be the restored '57 model, though no one I met yesterday could confirm that. I have emailed some people who would know, and left my contact information for others.*
All of this services the significantly revised version of my original piece, which will appear as a chapter of the book on which D.S. Barrick and I are collaborating.
Shelby, who works in the New Hamburg Library, confirms that no one she knew heard about the Nith River Monster until she was ten, which would have been around 2011. Then it seemed to be everywhere.
All the evidence indicates that the monster started its life as a light-hearted hoax, originally intended to promote a forthcoming festival in 1953, but that is neither here nor there.
It's 2025. Nithy lives!
*Update: no, it is a new statue in the wetlands.