I’ve been called worse to be honest. A hoax, a shadow, a floating log. But long before grainy photographs and sonar blips, I peacefully swam these waters under a sky forgotten by time. I wasn’t always a legend. I was just a wee Scottish sea creature hatchling in a cold, dark loch, nudged awake by instinct and surrounded by silence.
I can’t even remember those days anymore.
Before you ask, no, I won’t tell you my species, what fun would that be? I’m not a dinosaur, not a serpent, and definitely not your uncle in a weird green rubber suit. I’m something older. Wilder. Slipperier than truth.
Loch Ness is cold and deep, a perfect hiding place. I learned early to keep quiet. Humans are curious creatures, always chasing what they don’t understand. You surface once for a breath and suddenly you’re in tabloids next to Beyonce and Bigfoot.
You wouldn’t believe how many times I’ve almost been caught. A tourist boat here, a documentary crew there. Once, in the ’70s, I swear someone dropped a flashing gadget thing into the water trying to “track anomalies.” I swam off with a headache and a grudge.
1933 was a big year for me actually. Some couple claimed they saw me cross the road (I wasn’t even near the shore that day, but I let them have their moment). Suddenly, I was famous. Headlines. Photos. Hoaxes. Oh, the hoaxes! If I had a coin for every fake sighting, I could buy my underwater castle.
And yet… fame is a strange thing. They chase you, but they never really want to find you. Because if they did, the mystery would die. And me with it. Ill admit, it’s pretty cool being a wee celebrity without ever being seen.
You think hiding was hard before smartphones? Now every child has a 4K camera strapped to their wrist. But I’ve adapted. Night swims. Deeper dives. Occasionally I send up a ripple, just enough to keep the believers believing and the sceptics arguing.
I’ve been on mugs, T-shirts, plush toys. I’ve seen myself cartooned, glamorized, mocked, idolized. The world built a whole identity around me, a mystery that refuses to be solved.
I like it that way, I feel cool! Although that may also be because the Scottish water is absolutely freezing.
Why I stay hidden you ask? It’s not fear that keeps me from surfacing. It’s choice. Because the moment they prove I’m real, the magic dies. They’ll tag me, cage me, study me until I’m nothing but a specimen. A chapter in a biology textbook. But as a myth? I’m eternal. I live in whispers, in glances over misty waters, in wide eyes peering through the fog. I am the possibility that not everything has been discovered.
While I have you hear I wanted to ask you a wee favour and deliver these messages to the world above:
- Number 1, Bring respect, not cameras.
- Number 2, stand by the water. Be still. Be patient.
- And number 3, if you see a ripple that doesn’t quite make sense, or a shadow that moves against the current, maybe, just maybe, I’ve decided to say hello.
But I doubt you will ever be THAT lucky. After all, mystery is my favourite camouflage.
