"Loch Ness's food chain begins with microscopic vegetation called phytoplankton. From there, it progresses to zooplankton, then worms and small fish, tadpoles, minnows, and so on and so forth. Then you've got your bigger fish, salmon, sea trout, brown trout, charr, pike, lamprey, eel, and sturgeon, some of which can weigh in at several hundred pounds. Somewhere along that food chain is a major break in one or more of its links. I want to know where it is, and what caused it."

"An' this'll tell ye where oor Guivre's hidin', aye?"

I shook my head. "You know, you really have to ease up on those deep dives. Cuts off oxygen to the brain."

"Okay, take yer jabs, Dr. Doolittle, as long as ye're no' playin' in the mud jist tae avoid gettin' yer feet wet."

Maybe he wasn't such a dumb strongman after all.

* * *

We walked all morning and late into the afternoon, passing Port Clair and Cherry Island until we eventually rounded the southern tip of the Loch. We passed the old pier at Bunoch, arriving finally at Fort Augustus, the largest town on the waterway.

The village was immersed in a carnival atmosphere, overflowing with locals and tourists and scores of media. True headed off to the nearest pub for a pint of Guinness while I followed the crowd to the wharf and the just-arriving Nothosaur, a forty-two-foot research vessel named after a long-necked, sharp-toothed member of the plesiosaur family that had lived during the Triassic Period.

The boat's name alone told me everything I needed to know about its owner.

Michael Hoagland, a well-built, blonde-haired, blue-eyed German in his mid-thirties, waved to the crowd from the bow of his command like a conquering hero while a news reporter waited impatiently for his camera crew to set up.

"Mr. Hoagland, Grady Frame, BBC Scotland. Welcome back tae Loch Ness."

"Thank you."

"You've logged quite a few hours in our little Loch."

"About twelve thousand in my boat, another four thousand hours on land. I know this Loch like the back of my hand."

"Then perhaps ye'd describe the monster ye'll be huntin' for our viewers."

"She's got a head the size of a horse, with a long neck, perhaps three, maybe four meters, and her total length's at least twice that. She probably weighs between twelve and twenty tons."

"Wow. An', in your opinion, she's definitely a plesiosaur?"

"That's what I've been saying, yes. Do the science. Plesiosaur remains have been found all over Britain. Seven thousand years ago the entire north end of Loch Ness was open to the sea. It's easy to see how these ancient monsters could become trapped in our little playground. The Loch is full of wildlife, has an unlimited supply of food, no pollution, and maintains a year-round temperature of four to seven degrees Celsius. Quite ideal for—"