September

The Hunt for LBGM

Elroy James

CW: Mentions of drug use

I have never been diving. Luckily for me, decades ago my Dad and his mate ran a fishing and diving business up in Far North Queensland, so I’m pretty sure it’ll come naturally. I try to whisper affirming statements to myself. As it turns out, that’s pretty difficult with a breathing apparatus over your face, so I give up and enjoy the sensation as the preplanned waters of our fair capital envelop me.

I am on a mission to find the elusive Lake Burley Griffin Monster, the mysterious LBGM. My interest was sparked by a conversation with Tim the Yowie man, an expert in cryptids, which apparently is the formal term for legendary creatures. Bunyips, werewolves, Bigfoot, the whole shebang. I jokingly asked if we might have a rival to the Loch Ness Monster right here in the Bush Capital. Imagine my excitement when he said there were rumours! Although he immediately postulated that sightings of it were likely ascribable to an oversized Murray Cod, or a telegraph pole that fell in, I knew in my bones that he’d hit on something. Even if he didn’t know it himself.

The first thing I see as I glide smoothly through the water with the grace and body shape of a seal is a veritable graveyard of shopping trolleys. Figures. I’ve always wondered why people are driven to destroy things that exist purely for the convenience of society. My theory is that in the early stages of childhood there is nothing more important tha—

SHIT! Someone nearly dropped a Neuron scooter on my head. As the orange blur sinks down I jerk and narrowly avoid a purple meteor; I spot a Beam floating down beneath me. Note to self, avoid swimming under the bridges. Fucking degenerates.

Next, a cloud of unearthly jelly fish floats towards me. At first I panic, but as they get closer I realise they are used condoms. Then my panic intensifies. The sheer variety of size, texture and colour on display is strangely mesmerising. But the question as to how recently those condoms saw action is alarming enough to propel me in another direction faster than a man shooting heroin outside Smiths Alternative at 11am on a Wednesday. Last night was a Thursday after all.

I float up and focus on pushing away thoughts of voracious schools of condoms swarming me. After drifting for a bit, I look up and to the west spy Black Mountain Peninsula. To the east I can hear the bridge on Commonwealth Avenue humming with traffic. I dive back down. I am not prepared for what I see.

A city! Or at least some sort of regional centre! Our very own Canberran Atlantis! Lick my taint, Plato!