The dragon can sense fear, he can smell it in yer blood. Will ye stand and fight the dragon like a warrior, or will ye cower and run, lettin' him haunt ye for the rest of yer days?

"No!"

The echo of my voice crackled across the Glen like gunfire.

Leaping to my feet, I tossed the vial of pills as far as I could into the bushes. "No more cowering. No more running. If I'm going to die, then let my death serve a purpose!"

Standing beneath that gray morning sky, I looked down upon the ancient waters of Loch Ness, my words growling beneath my breath, sending shivers down my spine. "Okay, beast, whatever you are, you've haunted my existence long enough. Now I'm coming, do you hear me?

"I'm coming after you!"

Police Sergeant George Mackenzie and I were standing among a group of people near Altsigh Youth Hostel watching two humps travel up the Loch doing ten knots. It was obvious these two humps were part of one animate long object, making it at least thirteen meters [42.6 feet]!"

—POLICE INSPECTOR HENRY HENDERSON, INVERNESS, 13 OCTOBER 1971

Suddenly there was a terrific disturbance in the Loch. In the midst of this commotion, my friend (Mr. Roger Pugh) and I saw quite distinctly the neck of the beast standing out of the water at a height we later calculated to be about three meters (ten feet). It swam towards us at a slight angle, then thankfully disappeared.

—FATHER GREGORY BRUSEY, FORT AUGUSTUS ABBEY, 14 OCTOBER 1971

Chapter 17

Drumnadrochlit, Loch Ness

For the first time in as long as I could remember, I felt a true sense of purpose. Feeling reborn, my long-dormant mind focused upon my mission like a laser.

As to my hydrophobia, I wasn't quite ready to rush back into the water. Still, I convinced myself that logic and reason would provide me with the courage needed when the time came… if it came.

First things first, I needed information.

I knew there were hordes of self-proclaimed monster hunters on the way to Loch Ness, and they'd be well equipped and financed, armed with the latest sonar buoys and remotely operated vehicles, underwater listening devices and high-speed cameras, strobe lights and depth sounders. They'd probe the Loch from dawn to dusk and dusk to dawn, just as they had for decades. They'd talk about capturing the beast in a net (though technically Nessie was still protected by Highland law) and brag about selling underwater photos to Time magazine and Life and the Times of London. As my stepfather, Charlie, would say, they were the embodiment of insanity, performing the same rituals over and over again, yet always expecting different results. Though each was willing to sell their souls for a fleeting glimpse of a fin or a passing signal on sonar, in the end, they'd fare no better than the rest.