The Loch Ness Monster_ Fiction & Fact

Part I. Fiction

People used to say of Alex that he would never tell a lie to save his life. He would never even tell a white lie. If asked to a party he did not want to go, instead of inventing a prior engagement, for example, he would simply decline the invitation, and when pressed for a reason, the best he could do was to say, do I really have to give a reason? If that still proved insufficient, he might blurt out a hurtful explanation, like, ‘I don’t like your parties to tell you the truth.’

Surprisingly this made him few enemies, people respected his frankness, and some of his friends even claimed to feel more at ease with him because, as they said, With Alex you always knew. How I wish I had his forthrightness, some would say.

Alex knew of his reputation among his circle of friends and was very proud of it.

Although he often joined his friends for excursions, midnight walks on Arthur’s seat, walks in Roslyn Park, interminable coffees at the Négotiants, what he loved most was to put his bicyle and tent on the train of a Thursday afternoon and go away for a long week-end. He did not have lectures on a Friday. He had a passion for morels and chantrels, and could spend a whole day looking for them, taking photographs from all angles, although he did not eat mushrooms. This was so intense an activity that he never indulged in it in company. He also loved camping in the glens or on the shores of the lochs, taking photographs of unusual plants and lichens.

It was late spring, and he had pitched his tent on the shores of Loch Ness, although it was not really allowed. He had taken a few monochrome shots of salmon jumping up into the air, on his Voigtlander _ he disliked digital photography _ and was quite pleased. At half past ten the light began at last to fail, and he put his Burns aside, and decided to have an early night, as he was rather tired. He locked his bicycle and tied the chain round his ankle. This was sometimes painful when he woke up in the night, but he was very fond of his two wheels, and was willing to pay the price to hang on to them. He was quite used to this by now.

When he woke up, it was around four, and although it was misty, he could see the shapes of the pine trees and the rocks quite clearly. The silence was absolute except for the discreet lapping of the waves. In the distance he could hear some gulls making a racket, and smiled. It was a bit nippy, and he sat at the opening of the tent huddled up in his sleeping bag looking at the dark gentle waters.

It was then that he saw it- or her. Nessie. At first it was only a shape, just like in the postcards, half-immersed sine curves. It’s the mist, he thought, it creates optical illusions, but the mist suddenly lifted and the picture became clear and distinct. The creature was about fifty metres away, and he could clearly see her eyes, dark and shining. And she started gliding towards him. He grabbed his camera and pointed it at Nessie, and still she drew nearer and nearer. In complete silence, except for the faintest sounds of ripples. She seemed to have seen him, and kept drawing nearer, slowly, as in a dream, or a slow motion film sequence. Maybe I am dreaming, Alex thought suddenly, but the photograph will disprove that. He pressed the shutter, and to his shock realised that the camera was empty. The unused films were at the bottom of the rucksack, and it would take ages to locate them and put one in. Suddenly Nessie stopped, less than fifteen metres away, and began to gently rotate, almost like a peacock, as if to show herself to him. The scales were dark brown with a hint of green, like polished tortoise shell. The head was that of a tame dragon, and Alex thought that she had laughing eyes. He was entranced by this sight, and was unable to move his hands in his rucksack. Nessie made one complete revolution, and then dived and disappeared.

I know I am not dreaming, Alex muttered to himself, and decided to establish this by looking at his watch, noting the time and writing a brief account of the experience. He then went back to sleep, and when he woke, it was all there, the notebook with the account.

He shook his head in disbelief. There he was, possibly the most truthful person on earth, and he had proof incontrovertible of the existence of the Loch Ness monster, and no one would believe him. His reputation as the most truthful man on earth was very important to him. Should he tell people about his experience, no one would believe him, and on top of everything, he would lose his reputation. He decided that he would take his secret to the grave.

The above was a piece of fiction, but Part II is a truthful account.

Loch Ness Monster

Part II.

After I had written the story above, I found that Radio Forth, a BBC branch broadcasting locally to the Highlands Region was looking for short pieces, and I sent it to them. They informed me when it would be broadcast, but the service was not available in Edinburgh. I was curious, and wrote to them about it. At the same time I asked how much they were paying me and when did I expect the cheque.

They wrote back to say that they had no funds to pay for unsolicited material They were sorry I was not able to hear the broadcast, but if I sent them £7.00, to cover cost and postage, they would be happy to send me a tape.