#roperite

The roperite! You remember this little cryptid from way, way back in "The Makeshift Man" issue 2? Well, here's a new painting of it! Done for the Made You Look exhibition of independent comic book art.

Roperite: A cryptid creature from North American folklore.

It is described as a fearsome beast with a rope-like beak that it uses to snare and drag its victims to their deaths. The creature is said to be incredibly fast and can easily outrun any man or animal, and its leathery skin and flipper-legs make it impervious to thorns and sharp rocks.

According to some tales, the Roperite is the spirit of early Spanish ranchers, and its rattlesnake-like tail produces a whirling sound when it pursues its prey. Lumbermen in the region between Pitt River and the southern end of the Sierras were eager to capture a living specimen of the Roperite.

In modern interpretations, the Roperite has been depicted as a web-footed, flightless desert bird with horns and a lariat-like mouth. It is believed to be the reincarnation of a cruel Western rancher named José Maria Dominguez, who was punished for his cruelty and transformed into the Roperite. Science offers an alternative explanation, suggesting that the Roperite is born when a male toad hatches a sow's egg under a gibbous moon.

Little is known about the origins of Roperites, whether they are born, hatched, or emerge from deep caverns. Despite claims of sightings, including one by A.B. Patterson in Hot Springs, California, in the early 20th century, the existence of the Roperite remains shrouded in mystery and is often considered a product of folklore and imagination.

Follow @mecthology for more cryptid lores and myths.

Pic Credit: Cryptidophilia

Asgdhsjdia thank you! For context, I originally drew it to look like a roadrunner, but then decided that was too obvious. So I thought, what’s the absolute goofiest beaked creature to have running around at high speed in the desert? And I settled on a leatherback turtle…

I know I complain a lot about influencing future renditions with an overly original take, but in this case I think the roperite had enough art (including “official” art) that it won’t poison the well too much. I hope.

You could definitely see where the old stories came from, and how this species ingrained itself in local folklore. Running as fast as the wind, with the cacophonous rattling as it zeroed in on prey. With a thunderous crack, that whip would be wrapped tight around its prey and the hunt would be over. There was no hope for any jackrabbit once they were lassoed, as they would be yanked off their feet and dragged along the arid landscape. To be battered and dragged across the rocks and dust was certainly a terrible way to go, but you would quickly change your mind once you saw that Roperite head towards its favorite thorn patch. Death by a thousand cuts, while the hunter comes out with hardly a scratch on them. Truly they were a legend of the Old West, but eventually the old must give way to the new, and the Roperite faced the ironic fate of being forcibly dragged into a brand new world. The dusty landscape went through a whole lot of changes over the decades, and the Roperites soon found their favorite raceways being carved up and settled. The long stretches of rock and thorns were being cleared away, making room for housing and tourist destinations. The spiny brambles they once barreled through were turning into vineyards, their prey no longer being shredded by spikes but splattered in useless grape juice. It didn't take long for them to be turned into pests, trampling farmland and lassoing pets. This new classification caused bitterness in many hearts, as the older locals viewed the removal of this species as the killing of the land's spirit. The Roperite was a species from a wilder age, often fantasized running along with the ol' cowboys and cattle drives. Every bit of them brought memories of the Old West, and there were plenty not willing to part with it. Unfortunately, nostalgia does not make expensive wine, though some do argue that such feelings indeed ferment into something bitter and intoxicating. Owners of the vineyards made good money and paid good money, so their opinions were bought better seats when they were shipped to the governor's desk. The Roperite wound up on the pest control list, now running with a target on their back the second they started prematurely stomping the grapes. However, not all was lost. While they were no longer welcome near the homes and fields of man, special preserves were setup just for them, protecting the last few remnants of the Roperite homeland. There they could run free, often to the delight of wildlife photographers and tourists. This is where the Roperite can still be found, or at least it should be. Establishing the special wildlife preserves was meant to excuse the eradication of more local Roperite populations. Since there were healthy populations over there, no one should raise of fuss when a couple were knocked off near town. Indeed a fuss was still made, but this particular mess was getting both sides riled up. Those on the side of the Roperite were furious to see such majestic creatures cut down, and demanded that the species as a whole be put on a protection list. Those that wished these beasts long gone were now squabbling that such eradication efforts weren't happening fast enough. Turned out, the creatures known to overtake roadrunners and jackrabbits were a lot harder to hunt then previously thought. Sure, people succeeded in taking down a handful of them from time to time, but their numbers and speed made such efforts negligible. Killing just one would cause the whole group of them to scatter, turning into a blur that wouldn't slow down til they were four counties away. Large scale efforts were almost impossible, as a single shot would cause them to vanish and traps did little to slow them. Eventually, the attempts became so many that the Roperites learned the signs and sounds of wildlife control, and were gone long before the hunters got within shooting range. It seemed that the spirit of the Old West refused to be forgotten. While some would take this as a sign to leave these bounding beasts alone, unfortunately, things have gone too far to turn back. After failing to cull them normally, an effort was made to disrupt their habitat and force them to leave. The bramble patches and thorny chaparral were cut down and removed, with the hopes that the loss of their favorite hunting and nesting spots would change their minds. During the first few months, the effects could be plainly seen. The Roperites struggled with their hunts and wandered aimlessly. It would only be a matter of time before they vanished into the wilds in search of better habitat or perished. In the end, the Roperites took none of these options. The clever creatures that once figured out the tells of a hunter now turned their brains onto this matter. With no thorny brush to help kill their prey, what else could they do? Their answer wound up being the bane of every truck driver in the state. The rough asphalt of the roads provided some real grit to wear down prey, choosing death by road rash instead of shredding. Roperites would lasso prey then drag them down the side of the highway, often banging them off signs and posts as they sprinted along. Road crews despised the damage and drivers were furious at the wrecks, as collisions with Roperites began to rise. After numerous of these beasts were splattered alongside their prey, people hoped that their clever ways would teach them to abandon this type of hunting. Indeed, the Roperites learned a lesson. The wrong one.

Cryptid of the Day: Roperite

Ropertyte