PHOTOS BY SEAN COLLIER

It is a cool, clear morning in northern Pennsylvania, and I am looking for a squonk.

I first heard of the squonk, the Keystone State’s resident cryptid, a few years back. The almost-certainly fictional beast is said to be a four-legged creature so overwhelmingly ugly that it lives in a constant state of weeping shame. Aware of, and bemoaning, its wart-covered, slack-skinned appearance, it constantly cries and hides, hoping never to be spotted.

Naturally, the squonk — first referenced in the late 1800s and described in detail in a 1910 book, “Fearsome Creatures of the Lumberwoods” — prefers to get around at night, when it can better conceal its hideousness. But I’m hopeful that I might find a squonk somewhere near Tom’s Run Trail, an easy loop near the Heart’s Content Recreation Area in Allegheny National Forest.

Is it known to be prime squonk sighting territory? No — although squonk merchandise, including refrigerator magnets and a very fetching t-shirt, is available at nearby Allegheny Outfitters. But it was a very convenient place for a hike, so here I am.

I have brought no particular equipment and certainly nothing like a net or bag; when captured, the squonk is able to spontaneously dissolve its entire body into tears, rather than have its unfortunate appearance displayed to the world.

The squonk is, in fact, a very Gen-Z cryptid: Self-conscious, emotionally volatile and preferring to stay out of sight whenever possible. The squonk must have loved 2020.

As I stroll through the lovely woods, I’m struck by the relative quiet of the area. It’s a cool, windy day, so I’d imagine most of the wildlife is taking it a bit easy; I don’t see more than a stray chipmunk for the first hour of my quest. The peacefulness of Allegheny National Forest is remarkable; there are some isolated areas that can feel intimidating in their remoteness, but the lush forest and beautiful color of the leaves makes this spot instantly soothing.

The quiet is fitting for my mission, as I am able to listen intently for the weeping of the squonk. The mythical beast has been immortalized in many forms; it’s the namesake of a lauded performance troupe and the subject of a song by Genesis. The squonk even has its own festival, Squonkapalooza, held annually in Johnstown; the event aims to draw the squonk out with fun and festivities, though any self-respecting squonk would likely see that as some form of ruse.

SQUONK MAGNET FOR SALE AT ALLEGHENY OUTFITTERS IN WARREN, PA.

If there are squonks in the vicinity of Tom’s Run Trail, they’re too clever for me; they seem to have momentarily silenced their sobbing and are doing a fine job of hiding. As I resign myself to the fact that I’m unlikely to meet a squonk today, I realize I had no idea what I would do if I were to find one; would I try to photograph the unsightly critter, thus adding to its sad plight? Would I attempt to somehow soothe or compliment it? Or would I be shocked and recoil, adding to its misery?

Perhaps it’s better that I didn’t find a squonk — in fact, perhaps it’s best if no one does. If the squonk does exist deep in the Pennsylvania forest, its lot in life is an unhappy one, soothed only when it can succeed in secreting itself away. We shouldn’t disturb the squonk, which only seeks solitude and may actually dissolve if we find it.

In a lot of ways, it’s the best kind of cryptid; one that seeks never to be found and cannot be captured, making its existence impossible to either prove or disprove. By definition, we cannot know if there are squonks among the trees; we cannot, therefore, know that they aren’t out there. At any given moment, there may be a squonk nearby; we’ll never know.

As I emerged from Tom’s Run Trail, I wasn’t sad that my search was squonk-free; I was relieved. The fun of the squonk is its mysteriousness — how impossible to find it is. To actually find one would ruin it.