It has long been suspected that Trillium Lake masked many mysteries.
Certainly, the spirit of Mount Hood — that hovers over the lake like a scenic
scimitar — is shrouded in secrecy.

But the veil has been lifted.

Along comes Tillie, horny head and all.

"Aye, she’s a beauty," shouted Lemon Rinds, distant daughter of the
redoubtable Dr. Robert Rinds, the famous Nessie Hunter from Scotland,
president of the Academy of Applied Science in Boston, master taster at the
Loch Ness Single Malt Distillery, and accused (later admitted) abuser of sonar
equipment.

"I have to admit I was feelin’ a bit peel y-wobbly I was," Lemon said as a
ridiculous rash broke out on her cheeks. "If me daddy could see this he’d be
driven back to the devil’s bottle."

Lemon had been summoned by Sylvan Hardy, the notorious vice-chair of the
Loch Ness Phenomenological Society, and former beer truck driver turned
raconteur.

Noted for his skill and wit – and loose operation of the fact machine – it
appears Hardy was the first to spot the monster April 1 at Trillium Lake.

"It was only my experience with Nessie (of Loch Ness) that provided me the
insight to spot the turmoil on the Trillium Lake surface and know it for what it
was," Hardy trilled. "There were others on the shoreline busy with their hiking
folly and paying no attention at the time."

Further investigation confirmed Hardy’s observation.

"I was just playing with my shutter speeds, minding my own business," said
Ranz Pavlov, a camera nut from Bulgaria who was on the scene. "And there
was this Hardy character jumping up and down, pointing into the lake. I
shrugged it off at first until, out of nowhere, actually out of Trillium Lake,
came the horned head of a hideous thing."

Fortunately, Pavlov recovered and snapped the first of what will certainly be
numerous flashy, phenomenal photos of Trillium’s monster.

On the spot, true to the nature of beer truck drivers and phenomenologists,
Hardy named the monster Tillie.

"It’s hard to explain, this knack for naming things in the moment," Hardy said,
fondling his underwater stroboscopic camera. "We monster mavens are a
marvelous phenomenon in our own right."

Lemon was thrilled with the Tillie moniker.

"Tillie is the name of a pan-fried, seldom-eaten cake in Scotland," she said.

"How appropriate."

Pavlov was unimpressed with the wild fuss displayed by Hardy, and hearing of
Lemon’s excitement he sank into what can only be described as a central
European snit.

"In my country, when we see greeny-brown animals we fish them out of the
stew," Pavlov said. "Especially if they smell. And that monster had a smell,
whew, and let me tell you I’ve experienced a few. There was this Black Sea
stench that spread through the Balkans, whew ..." then he drifted into a self-
absorbing, Cyrillic reverie.

A buzz of concern shot through the Mountain business community as fears
mounted regarding a flatlander drop-off due to the Tillie affair. An insurrection
was avoided when local entrepreneur Rick Peargate provided the antidote.

"You think we’re losing out?" Peargate inquired with a twinkle in his eye. "Wait
until the entire Loch Ness Investigation Bureau and Academy descends on us."

The renewed enthusiasm was dampened momentarily when an anonymous,
soft-spoken source (Steve Silent) intoned: "Maybe, but don’t forget. They’re
Scots."

Locals are advised to stay clear of Tillie when visiting the lake as her exact
intentions, and source of her odor, are not yet known. Hardy’s claim that
"she’s a herbivore" may be some consolation, except in the case of Mountain
Times weatherman Herb Miller and any other local Herbs.

( Editor’s note: April F. Day is an annual reporter for The Mountain Times. No
foolin’.)