On the northern edge of Chania prefecture, tucked beneath the White Mountains, lies Lake Kournas—the only natural freshwater lake in Crete. Tourists pedal across it in plastic boats, snapping selfies with the changing shades of turquoise and emerald. Ducks and terrapins pose obligingly near the shore. But what most never see are the lake’s true residents: the eels.
Swimming is not allowed here, which only adds to the sense of mystery. Visitors remain on the shore or in small boats, peering into the clear water without ever stepping into it. The eels, safe from curious swimmers, keep their secrets well hidden.
Local children grow up with warnings and whispers. “The eels come out at night,” grandparents say, nodding toward the water as it darkens. Fishermen tell of sudden ripples breaking the glassy surface, of shadows sliding just beneath their oars. Nobody can quite describe them—long, dark, a glimmer of silver scales in moonlight—and nobody can agree how many there are.
For most visitors, Kournas is a picnic site, a paddle-boat ride, a postcard-perfect stop on a coach tour. But for those who linger past sunset, the lake feels different. The ducks quiet down. The reeds shiver. The water deepens to black. And somewhere under that surface, the eels move.
Between Myth and Migration
Like much of Crete’s folklore, the truth is wrapped in layers of story. Some villagers say the eels are the lake’s protectors, born from the tears of a girl turned into a serpent after breaking a vow. Others call them “dragons,” too slippery to ever be caught.
Science adds another layer of intrigue. These are European eels (Anguilla anguilla), creatures with one of the most mysterious life cycles in the animal kingdom. They hatch in the distant Sargasso Sea, drift as transparent larvae across the Atlantic, and eventually find their way into European rivers and lakes. Normally, after decades, they transform into silver eels and swim back to the ocean to spawn.
But not in Kournas.
Here, the eels are trapped. There is no outlet large enough to carry them to the sea. They are migrants cut off from their final journey, living as permanent residents in Crete’s only lake. How they arrived in the first place remains unsolved:
- Some believe that in ancient times, when sea levels and waterways were different, there may have been a connection to the coast.
- Others suggest they slipped in through hidden underground channels, part of Crete’s complex water veins.
- The most practical explanation? Humans may have carried them, intentionally or accidentally, centuries ago.
None of these theories excludes the others. And perhaps that is the beauty of Kournas eels: they are both science and speculation, fact and folklore.
A Creature of Ripples and Whispers
By daylight, tourists at Lake Kournas will see everything but the eels: ducks waddling for bread, terrapins sunning on rocks, lazy fish darting near reeds. But the eels? They leave only signs. A sudden swirl in water no paddle touched. A ring of ripples spreading across stillness. A fisherman’s tale that gets longer with each telling.
And so, the eels remain what Crete does best: a blend of myth and biology, visible and invisible. Hidden, slippery, never fully revealed. The lake would not feel the same without them.
