I’ve always been fascinated by the legends of the Bunyip—a creature said to lurk in the billabongs and swamps of Australia, guarding its watery domain. The locals warn about its fearsome presence and describe it as part myth, part monster. So, naturally, I had to see if there was any truth to it.

It was nearing dusk when I reached the edge of a remote swamp, the sky casting an eerie, orange glow over the water. As I settled in, the usual sounds of the wetland creatures grew quiet, as if something had disturbed them. Then, out of nowhere, a low, guttural growl echoed across the water. My pulse quickened as I scanned the surface, looking for any movement. And then, I saw it—a pair of yellow eyes breaking through the murky water, staring straight at me.

The creature was partially submerged, but what I could see was enough. Its skin was rough and covered in patches of dark, wet fur, with a broad, flat head and tusks protruding from its wide mouth. It let out another deep growl, sending ripples across the water, and started to move toward the shore, where I was crouched. I could see the outline of its massive body as it moved through the water with a slow, deliberate grace, like it was sizing me up.

I didn’t stick around to find out what would happen next. As quietly as I could, I backed away, never taking my eyes off those glowing yellow eyes until I was out of sight. The Bunyip is real, and it’s guarding those waters as fiercely as the legends say. I don’t know if it’s a protector or a predator, but one thing’s for sure—I won’t be testing its patience again.