The water is so cold your immediate reaction would be jumping back out, shouting some distinct obscenities in a language this part of the world doesn't get to experience that often and digging your feet right back into your boots - but the beach is quiet and unusually sunny today, and you have a mate with you who's way tougher and actually in touch with Nature. You don't wanna look that weak in front of him.
It's up to my knees when I first have to stop and remind myself that I don't believe in monsters anymore. I'm thinking of Binns and Shine, and their predecessor, the guy who was going on about vegetable mats. Burton, I think his name was. Sober thoughts, scientific thoughts, cold hard facts, not as cold as this lake is all year around though, and the body of water in front of me is considerable and knowing its true depth is spookier than any monster tale can be. Still, there's these weird wakes on the surface. Been seeing them for two days now, and I see them right now, closer than ever. Expectancy bias, skeptics call it. If you have your brain tuned to see something unusual here, you will.
A couple of feet behind me on the shore, next to my friend changing into swimming trunks, rests a magnet I bought from Steve Feltham about 15 minutes ago. The man's been living here, right on the beach keeping an eye on the loch for 34 years now. I think I fanboyed out a bit too much, telling him that I've been seeing him in documentaries since the 90s and how cool it is that I finally made it here. "Thank you. Enjoy the sunny weather," he said. Definitely a rarity here, but the water remains cold and unforgiving.
I'm thinking of Witchell now, who demo'd the idea of something similar back in the seventies, and all the names and events I memorized from his book as a kid. James, Dinsdale, Sir Peter S, Mrs. Whyte... not a fan of the Rines crew in retrospect, but I love the scientific name those flipper pics ended up inspiring. Rhombopteryx. Diamond fin. As poetic as zoology can ever hope to be.
My toes are hurting. I don't even remember being this cold, ever. My mate is in the water now, going on about something called the Wim Hof method. Put my ass down, not just feel the cold but experience it and gain control over my body. It's not easy, neck-deep in, I want to scream. Instead I just shiver in silence and run a montage of memories and data in my mind. I'm here, closer than ever to the legend. Imagination running wild, I'm thinking on Watson's level now, kelpies, St. Columba, the close encounters, like that diver, Badger. Shit. I really do not want to think about Badger right now.
"Breathe," my buddy says, showing me the technique. My first attempt is more like a series of coughs and pants. It's a painful, slow process, but soon enough I'm getting it. Control? Not so much. Experience? Defo. I look down, and the water does look like tea, just like the books always say. Yellow, peat-heavy, but also like glistering liquid amber illuminated by sunshine today. My mind finally rests. As I'm staring into the distance, it's not the JAWS theme that starts playing in my head, but Shark Fin Blues by this aussie band The Drones. Eye on the horizon, man, you best not blink. Pitch-perfect lyrics for this moment. I am taking it all in.
Been about 30-odd years, since I've first heard about this place and the obsession was born. This summer will mark the 20th anniversary of me becoming friends with the man sitting next to me. I think we've been talking about doing this trip ever since, and I certainly had dreams about it. Now we've made it, the time is here, on my birthday, we're neck deep in Loch Ness, and although we're both way more cynical about our Fortean interests nowadays, I think I came across something valuable.
Thank you. May your heart always enjoy sunny weather.
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