The Qalupalik

The arctic. It is a land where there is no shelter from the biting cold. This barren, windswept landscape is like an alien world—and beneath the immense sheets of ice lurks a creature so far known only in the hushed warnings given by parents to their children. Something stalks these frigid waters, inhabiting a world we barely understand, and glimpsed only through cracks in the endless white, like windows to a formless abyss.
The descriptions of this creature vary slightly, but the warning is always the same: Lest you find yourself pulled into that abyss by a scaly hand, do not go near the ice.

Discovery

I do not like the cold. There is a certain quality about it, an inherent loneliness that I’ve never been able to fully articulate. I am certain that it ultimately stems from the disappearance of my grandfather, who, as is well known, was swallowed by another frigid wilderness decades ago.
So when I received the assignment that would ultimately lead us to the arctic circle, I was somewhat… displeased.
Nonetheless, the thought of learning more about a relatively obscure Inuit legend won me over.
As I would discover, Inuit mythology is vast and deep, and unlike any I had studied previously. There are no cosmic rulers, per se, but rather, there is a rich tapestry of stories, rituals, and taboos that seem to shape their culture—and their interactions with an admittedly harsh environment.
One such legend has been largely dismissed in the modern era, reduced to a folk tale meant to frighten children into avoiding the danger of ice floes.
Venture too close, it is said, and a cold, webbed hand covered in slimy skin could erupt from the calm water, grasping , reaching. The qalupalik, as it is known, is a singular horror—a traditionally female, humanoid head with long, black hair, a fish-like tail, and disturbingly, wearing an amautik—a kind of parka used by local women to carry and protect their children from the cold.
Any unfortunate victim claimed by the qalupalik would be placed into this amautik, before being dragged down to the depths—usually never to be seen again.
At first inspection, these stories seem strikingly similar to the legends of sirens and mermaids found throughout the world—though, with a decidedly sinister bent.
In fact, some 300 years ago, explorer Henry Hudson, in searching the arctic for the fabled Northwest Passage, described an encounter with what he specifically described as a mermaid.
And indeed, my first inclination was to believe that this creature was some close relative of sirenus horridus, or perhaps even aquasapiens pisciformis.
One would think that by now, I would have learned to avoid assumptions of any kind.

---

Largely by dogsled and floatplane, my team and I traveled through numerous towns and villages bordering the Arctic Ocean, and in speaking with the locals, discovered invaluable insight into these cultures. Our methods of procuring an individual were unconventional, even by our standards. And in fact, we were able to procure multiple specimens, as the population we observed was presumably quite large.

Anatomy and Physiology

Put simply, the qalupalik is a very large fish, possibly related to Gobiidae—though, of course, unlike any species documented species.
I’ll begin with the most obvious: the creatures’ size, which, in our observations, can reach total lengths of roughly eleven feet.
Large sizes are not unheard of in arctic fish, such as the Greenland shark or pacific halibut. And indeed, the qalupalik shares many similarities with other cold-weather fish: it is an ectotherm, and exhibits proteins in the blood that prevent ice crystallization, and a cold-tolerant metabolism, for example.
The distal end of the body, the tail, is broad and muscular, terminating in a caudal fin that serves to propel it forward by what appears to be a kind of halfway point between anguilliform and subcarangiform locomotion.
Moving toward the head, we see a dorsal fin notable for its unusual size and shape—sail-like, rounded, and supported by spines that can relax against the body. This essentially makes the fin collapsible, improving hydrodyamics when swimming at speed. Extended, the dorsal fin serves a purpose yet unknown, though it likely has to do with sexual selection or perhaps intimidation.
However, it is the upper body that displays the most bizarre morphological characteristics, and where the qalupalik diverges most from a traditional piscine body plan.
First, and most obviously, is the presence of two articulate appendages terminating in digital extensions—a fascinating blend of fin and limb.
The structure of these appendages deserves its own discussion.
Unlike typical actinopterygian fishes, where fins are primarily used for propulsion and stabilization in water, these appendages possess a joint structure reminiscent of those seen in oxudercidae—particularly in the ‘shoulder’ joint, which does allow for pivotal movements necessary for aquatic navigation. However, beyond this joint, the appendages resemble the more flexible limbs of land-dwelling amphibians, with an ‘intra-fin’ joint facilitating bending and greater flexibility.
The distal segments of these appendages are particularly notable, with digit-like extensions that exhibit surprising dexterity. Each limb exhibits advanced musculature, complete with extensors and flexors that work on the wrist analogue joint, retractors at the intra-fin joint, and adductors at the shoulder girdle.
The digits themselves are controlled by a rudimentary group of muscles that doesn’t appear to provide great articulation individually, but is enough to flex and extend them as a whole.
Needless to say, this highly unusual limb structure gives the qalupalik the ability to not only swim with efficiently, but to pull themselves onto land—and even to grasp at prey. This is a point to which we’ll return shortly.

A traditional depiction. Credit: Joy Ang

The advantage provided by the articulate limbs is clear: the qalupalik is able to briefly hunt in an entirely new domain—on land—reducing competition and providing more diverse food options—facts which have likely contributed to their immense overall mass.
Now, as we’ve discussed, the legends of the qalupalik include vivid descriptions of two unusual traits: long, dark hair and and a kind of hooded parka.
If it were to have any grounding in reality, the first of these would seem to suggest a mammalian creature, as with aquaspaiens.
However, in part because of a relatively large sample size my team and I were able to acquire, it quickly became clear that in this aspect, the legends are true—it is not hair that hangs from the qalupalik’s body, however—it’s algae.
Ice algae is extremely common in the arctic, usually found on terrestrial and glacial ice. From below the water, it can be observed clinging to the underside of ice sheets, drifting lazily in the currents.
Intriguingly, the qalupalik species seems to have formed a kind of symbiosis with this algae, and in many individuals, relatively large algal colonies have been observed growing directly on their body—particularly in the head, nape, shoulder, and occasionally dorsal region.
This relationship between fish and algae appears to have multiple benefits for both organisms: the algae gains increased exposure to sunlight and areas of rich nutrition, while the qalupalik gains a kind of camouflage and enhanced oxygenation.
Algal symbiosis is not unheard of in nature, such as in sea slugs, and coral, but this level of interconnectedness is unusual.
Still, the presence of algal colonies varies greatly among individuals, and the size of the colony is likely highly seasonal. In short, not every sighting includes the characteristic “hair,” and this could certainly explain why.
The second aspect of the legends, the amautik, is more difficult to explain from a biological standpoint. However, given the large, extensible dorsal fin, the various ornamental growths along the fins, and varying size of algal colonies present, it is possible that these creatures could appear to be wearing a kind of coat, if you will.
Of course, it is just as likely that this aspect of the legend is a kind of cultural projection—essentially the ascribing of familiar characteristics to a bizarre and unknown entity.
In any case, though the finer inspirations for much of the lore surrounding this creature may warrant further study, there is one part that, after our observations, has proved conclusive: the qalupalik does hunt… humans.

---

When Alison, Marcus, and I determined a location from which to launch our investigation in full, we had little idea what to expect.
We set up camp near the ocean shore, in a region near Hudson Bay. The sounds of massive floes creaking and shelves of ice falling into the sea were, admittedly, rather eerie at first.
Eventually, those sounds faded into the background, as most things tend to do. But then, late one evening, mere days after beginning our research, a new sound called out from water—a low, ethereal humming—and more than the cold, it sent a chill down all of our spines.
We engaged in more direct observation then, and took shifts searching the icy water for any sign of this creature. I was the fortunate first to glimpse it.
From the edge of a floe, I saw a scaly hand emerge from the waves, sent out from the depths like a probe. It came to rest on a nearby ice shelf, and began to repeatedlytap its digits on its surface, its “claws” etching into the hard-packed snow. It wasn’t terribly precise, as we might expect with human fingers, but I immediately understood its intention: the creature was attempting to lure me. And all the while, the humming sound grew in intensity.
I present to you now a recording of this sound, made early on in our investigation.

I fought my curiosity, though the battle was hard won. Eventually, when I failed to approach, the creature withdrew entirely. Fortunately, my curiosity would soon be satisfied, as over the next few weeks, we would capture several specimens for observation and dissection. But more importantly, we saw how these creatures hunt. It should be noted that most often, the qalupalik are generalist feeders, regularly incorporating fish, carcasses, and even seals into their diet. It just so happens that where their habitat overlaps with human settlements, tragedies were—and are—bound to occur.
In short, the qalupalik is an apex predator built for the ambush and consumption of land-based prey. Sadly, in times past, this would often include humans—especially those small enough and most likely to be drawn to their particular method of luring.
Ultimately, the Qalupalik’s predation strategy is heavily reliant on its advanced lateral line system. Running along the sides of its body, this system is incredibly sensitive to vibrations in the water and can even detect subtle disturbances transmitted through ice.
It appears that this adaptation is particularly effective in the Arctic environment, where sound travels well through the dense, cold medium. The Qalupalik uses its lateral line to patrol its territory, constantly scanning for the faint tremors that indicate potential prey.
This lateral line’s sensitivity is augmented by a series of neuromasts – specialized cells that can detect minute changes in water pressure. In fact, these cells are distributed densely across the creature’s body, providing a detailed “map” of its surroundings based on the vibrations and currents in the water.
The result is a predator able to perceive movements and vibrations with remarkable precision.
But once potential prey has been sensed, the qalupalik often relies on its keen eyesight to hone in on its target.
These eyes are highly adapted for the polar environment, where light conditions can vary drastically. They are equipped with a large number of rod cells, enhancing their ability to see in low-light conditions under the ice and during the polar night.
Furthermore, the position of the eyes likely provide excellent binocular vision, allowing the Qalupalik to gauge distance and depth with precision—a highly unusual trait to be found in fish. Though similarly-positioned eyes can be see in certain deep-sea species, to my knowledge, it has not been observed in epipelagic predators.

Once the Qalupalik has locked onto its prey, it exhibits a calculated and patient ‘stalking’ behavior. It approaches cracks or openings in the ice stealthily, and will often wait for several minutes just below the surface. As it waits, the Qalupalik continues to use its lateral line to sense any vibrations or movements from the potential prey above. The combination of this sensory input and its keen vision allows the Qalupalik to precisely time its strike, ensuring a high likelihood of success.
When the time is right, it will then do one of two things, depending on the target’s proximity to the water. As I described earlier, if the prey is still distant, it will extend one or both of its forelimbs to the surface, and produce a “drumming” with its webbed digits.
In many cases, this is likely enough to draw the attention and curiosity of some unsuspecting creature–such as human children.
If the prey is close, however, such as a resting seal or unsuspecting human, it will launch itself into the surface directly, using its appendages to propel it upward and forward. It will then grasp at its prey with both appendages, taking hold, and then use its considerable weight to slide back into the water—pulling its victim down with it.
In ideal conditions, all of this occurs in mere milliseconds—usually far too quickly for the prey to react in any meaningful way.
But there are exceptions to this hunting pattern.
The qalupalik is surprisingly adept at terrestrial locomotion, able to utilize its unique forelimbs to pull its body along with great speed, and even to leap forward with a thrust of its powerful tail.
In fact, the qalupalik may be accurately categorized as an amphibious fish. You see, while in the water, like most other fish, it makes use of its gills to extract oxygen from the water. But when on land, these creatures employ cutaneous respiration, absorbing oxygen directly through its integumentary system. This skin-based gas exchange is supplemented by buccopharyngeal respiration, wherein atmospheric air is gulped and absorbed into oral mucosa. From there, enlarged gill chambers and a ventromedial valve in the gill slit allow the qalupalik to trap air inside, essentially allowing the gills to function even when exposed to air.
Furthermore, I have observed increased capillary density in their skin, which no doubt facilitates these methods of respiration.
These adaptions enable these creatures to survive on land for several hours at a time if necessary. However, in natural conditions, this is usually far longer than the qalupalik needs.
If the prey is small enough, the qalupalik is able to engulf it within its mouth in a single, swift motion. This is possible because of its exceptionally large oral cavity and a rapid expansion of the jaw, somewhat like that seen in lophiiformes.

Example of pharyngeal jaws in another organism

Once inside the large mouth, the prey finds no escape. The Qalupalik’s teeth, though not as prominent as those of some predatory fish, are recurved and designed to prevent the prey from wriggling free. This, coupled with pharyngeal jaws adapted from modified gill arches – ensures that once captured, the prey is moved directly into the esophagus. From there, its highly elastic stomach can stretch to accommodate meals of substantial size relative to the creature’s own body.
These feeding adaptations, while little more than intriguing in other species, are immensely disturbing in the qalupalik. Because of its size, we have observed it swallowing prey of over five feet in length. This is presumed to be uncommon, but even so, it is no less alarming, as no matter the form of attack, the fate of a qalupalik victim is not to be envied.
But, as previously described, you will often hear the qalupalik before you see them. The creatures appear to emit this characteristic “humming” sound while hunting, but also as a form of territorial threatening.
At first, I thought it likely that this sound was produced by the interaction of muscles and a swim bladder, as we see in certain Micropogonias species. However, this proved not to be the case, and in truth, the sound was too different in any case.
Stridulatory mechanisms, such as two bones rubbing against each other, were also ruled out, given this method’s inherent high frequency.
At this time, the true source of this sound production remains a mystery. It could be that the creature use certain muscle regions to “hum,” and utilize another part of their body as a transducer. But more study will be require to discern the source for certain.
But now, let us move beyond their form of attack. Having the luxury of thorough observation, I am able to present further insight into these fascinating creatures’ behavior.
It is clear, for example, that the qalupalik exhibits some level of social behavior, something like the communal interactions observed in many fish species. Basic forms of cooperation, including occasional group hunting, appears to occur more often when food sources are abundant, or in breeding seasons, where multiple individuals converge in specific locations.
However, outside of these scenarios, these creatures tend to be more solitary, preferring to maintain territories of their own.
Reproduction in this species is not unusual for a fish—spawning is undergone once per year, and involves the female releasing eggs into a carefully constructed burrow, likely in an ice wall or on the seabed. The eggs are then fertilized externally by a male. The eggs themselves are covered with a gelatinous coating to insulate them from the cold and provide nutrients. Once again, like many fish species, hatchlings are small and vulnerable, and guarded by the female for a time, until they are mature enough to venture out on their own.
Lifespan remains a mystery, at least for now—the coming years should provide ample data on this subject. However, it is likely that maturity is reached within roughly twenty years, and, given signs of healed injuries, certain specimens we observed were likely far, far older.
For now, the populations near Hudson Bay appear healthy, but like many arctic organisms, they are likely highly sensitive to changes in their environment. Population density should be studied at regular intervals over the next few decades.
By the time my team and I began to pack up our equipment, we had discovered more than we’d ever dared to hope.
Indeed, though we have seen many, many… unusual… things, each of us would agree that for us, each new discovery is just as momentous as the first.
But there was something about this discovery that I couldn’t quite shake. The creature itself, while fascinating, seemed to represent something… larger.
As an organism, it exists at the interface of the known, the familiar, and the deep—cold, primal fears that we have attempted to cover with layers of “enlightenment.”
But there are still… cracks. And what is it that threatens to emerge from that abyss? My team and I have spent years trying seeking out that question, but it seems that the people that call this barren landscape home have already come to terms with its answer.
My only hope is that, even as we approach the edge of that abyss, it will not reach out… and pull us in.

Watch the video here: