Absolutely riveting description Ed. Thanks. -----Original Message----- From: Ed Beall [SMTP:Beall@jps.net] Sent: Thursday, February 05, 1998 2:03 PM To: BEALL-L@rootsweb.com Subject: [BEALL-L] LOCH NESS LOCH NESS by Ed Beall We had brunch in Ft. William, a rough-hewn, sluiced-out kind of town. (The latitude of Ft. William is approximately the same as the center of Hudson Bay.) It was a bonny day, bright sunshine and a few fluffy clouds, and spirits were high as our bus headed north toward Inverness. The highway followed the chain of lochs and canals that mark the geological fault that nearly splits Scotland in two. We sang a few songs and enjoyed the wild beauty of the land, sometimes skirting the shore of a loch, sometimes wayfaring through beautiful woodlands or admiring a fine example of Scottish baronial archirecture as we passed by the manor of a local laird. The English tour director told some ethnic jokes about Scotsmen. We took the microphone away from him and told some ethnic jokes about Englishmen. Suddenly, it seemed, we descended from a winding stretch of road through a sort of pass and came upon a large, but narrow and steep-sided loch that stretched away to the north. In the space of a few seconds the mood changed. Here, a low-lying layer of clouds cut off the sun and the land lay barren and cheerless in shadow. The dull, leaden appearance of the loch gave no cause for cheer. The bus stopped and those of us who alighted found ourselves being whipped by gusts of a chill wind that blew steadily from south to north. Most stayed in the bus. Some wrapped themselves in their jackets and walked a few yards to inspect a couple of highland cattle that were browsing nearby; smallish dark-red animals with shaggy hair hanging from their bellies almost to the ground. Only two of us started down the path to the ruins of Castle Urquhart near the shore of the loch. The castle had once guarded a point of land that jutted out toward the water. From a distance it seemed that two of the towers were still standing, but up closer they were nothing but snaggle-toothed empty shells of gray stone. A few pieces of walls stood among thickets of brambles and climbing weeds. It was a gloomy place, calling to mind visions of the claymore cleaving neck from shoulder, the treacherous thrust of the dirk, drops of blood congealing on stone steps. Seen close up, the water was the color of weak coffee, darkened by layers of peat in the soil around the loch. The wind blew patches of ripples scudding along the surface and giving an eerie appearance of motion in the water. The other man had already returned to the bus. Shivering, I pulled my jacket close around me and strode briskly back up to join the others. Later, in the public room of the hotel in Inverness, I sat with three of the local gentlemen, sipping the incomparable locally-made Scotch whiskey and looking out over the River Ness. ("Inver" means "mouth of the river".) As an American tourist, I had to ask the obvious question and it was time to get on with it. "Well, then," I said. " Is there really a monster up in the loch?" One of the Scotsmen across the table took a thoughtful sip of Scotch. "I don't know why they call her a monster," he said, in a thick Scottish burr. "She's never done harm to anyone, has she?" ***