When it comes to Upper Midwestern oddities and folklore, the Hodag is up there among the best of 'em. Just look at this thing — it's a little more interesting than a blue ox. (No offense, Babe, but you are a complete snoozefest in comparison to the Hodag. Objectively.)
If you know anything about this fearsome creature already, you might think that the story of the Hodag begins and ends in Rhinelander, Wisconsin...
So we'll tell you that story first.
During the late 1800s, Rhinelander (a small, northwoods logging town about 60 miles north of Wausau) was facing hard times. Like many other logging towns in the Upper Midwest, they found themselves in a jam (trees don't grow on trees, y'know?), and racing to establish new industries to keep their community alive as lumber became more scarce.
In 1893, local timber cruiser, prankster and marketing genius way ahead of his time Eugene Shepard decided to stage an elaborate hoax. Using the local newspaper as his own personal Reddit, Shepard started spreading rumors about the Hodag, a terrifying creature roaming around Rhinelander with "the head of a frog, the ginning face of a giant elephant, thick short legs set off by huge claws, the back of a dinosaur, and a long tail with spears at the end." He breathed fire and smoke, and smelled like "a combination of buzzard meat and skunk perfume." The Hodag feasted on white bulldogs, but only on Sundays.
LOL.
Not surprisingly, Hodag fever swept the town and soon Shepard was able to stage a Gaston vs. Beast-style hunt to prove the animal's existence to the rest of the world. The photo op (below) displays a charred Hodag and the proud, strong hunters who (their words) had to resort to dynamite to kill the creature. This picture made it to the big city papers, people were hooked and we're fairly certain that there's a Bugs Bunny episode based on this exact plot.
The original Hodag capture of 1899. Eugene Shepard is on the far right, holding a stick. His son Layton Shepard is the seven-year-old on the ground. He'll be back later.
Three years later in 1896, Shepard captured a live Hodag by surprising it with a dose of chloroform and several bear wrestlers (bear wrestlers, guys!). He created an attraction, showcased the animal at the first Oneida County Fair and later brought it to county fairs around the region (even the Wisconsin State Fair in Madison). Spectators would visit the Hodag in a dimly lit tent, and most who saw it were totally sold on the authenticity — over the years, thousands came to see the Hodag in a shed on Shepard's property.
Newspapers all over the country started picking up the story of the Hodag, and eventually a group of scientists from the Smithsonian decided to travel to Rhinelander to investigate this big discovery. It was their announcement alone that finally forced Shepard to pull the plug on his prank and admit that the Hodag (both of them) was a hoax, or in the case of the live one — a stump covered in ox hide, with cattle horns, its movement controlled by wires and its growl supplied by Shepard's sons (for shame, Layton). By the time all was revealed though, Rhinelander had already adopted this strangely lovable beast as its town mascot and there was no going back.
After he came clean, Shepard explained why he did it:
By no means is all the progress to be credited to the Hodag, but the Hodag did his bit! Not only hundreds but thousands of people came to view the Hodag... and not one of them went away without having learned a little more about northern Wisconsin, and it is safe to guess that each one of those thousands told others what they had seen and heard. In this way, the beauties, opportunities and resources of northern Wisconsin spread, and many who came out of curiosity only have come to make their home with us. Long live the Hodag!
Today, the Hodag is still a huge part of Rhinelander's identity, culture and tourism industry. Businesses, sports teams and even the city's annual country music festival are all named after the Hodag — and yes, the keychains, T-shirts and cheesy photo ops abound. Beyond the commercialism though, local golfers attribute all lost balls to the Hodag. Fishermen lose record-breaking catches to the clutches of the Hodag. The Hodag ate half of your donut earlier. In other words, the Hodag most certainly lives on.
But it's not over yet, guys.
We want you to meet Mishipeshu, the Ojibwe water panther who very well may be the original Hodag.
TWIST!
Mishipeshu Pictograph at Agawa Rock in Lake Superior Provincial Park, Ontario
Mishipeshu is "The Great Lynx," one of the most important water beings among the Great Lakes tribes, and it is found commonly in pictographs and burial mounds, as well as oral history. He's depicted like a panther with spikes coming down his back and long, devilish horns on its head. In Native American tradition, Mishipeshu was often seen as a guardian of the waters (as well as copper), but also a sinister being who brought people to their deaths.
Though Hodag, archeological and Native American experts disagree on whether or not there's any connection between two, their matching silhouettes are hard to ignore. Like a game of telephone, it's fairly easy to see how perhaps a French fur trader might've seen a painting of Mishipeshu somewhere and told his friend about it. And then that friend told another friend about it. And so on and so forth until tall tales of a vicious, spiny beast entered logging camps. And then one day Eugene Shepard is like, "I'm bored of logging let's pretend we found a Hodag!"
What do you think? Is the Hodag a product of Eugene Shepard's imagination or Mishipeshu lost in translation?
Words by Annie D'Souza
Hodag Illustration by David Huyck
