It was after ten and summer's dusk was nearly upon us, the mountains fading into rolling purple shadows, the bleeding scarlet horizon graying into night. True and I wandered along the perimeter of Urquhart Castle, each of us carrying a golf club and a small bucket of practice balls. Moving south along the grass-covered knoll, I paused to look down upon the steep twenty-foot drop on our left.

Below, a foreboding black surf rolled against the rocky vertical embankment, cloaking the Ness's extreme depths.

"This is where it must've happened," I said.

"Aye. It's a survivable fa' though, dependin' upon where he goes off. 'Course, he could have hit his head on one o' thae rocks, an' that wid have been that. Come on then."

True lead me to a hill that overlooked the castle parking lot. To the south was the lighted construction site of what would soon be Cialino's five-star resort. "Nice, huh? Fancy pools an' restaurants, an' a' its rooms wi' a Loch view. They're even sellin' time-shares, so I hear. Johnny C. would have made a killin' on that place if only he'd have lived tae see it."

"There's still the merry widow."

"Aye. From whit I hear, she gets everything. An' she's no' exactly hard on the eyes, yeah?" True removed a golf tee from his pocket, grabbed a ball from his bucket, then addressed the shot. "Okay, the construction fence's 220 yards, the patio's 227, the pool 235, an' if ye plunk it doon in the hot tub, ye automatically win. We'll start the pot at ten pounds an' raise it two pounds a shot."

I teed up to his left, giving those long arms of his plenty of space. "True, what did your father mean when he said those bastards are ruining the Great Glen?"

True swung, his ball soaring high over the construction fence, ricocheting off a bulldozer. "Forget my faither, he's strictly auld school. Alban MacDonald wid sooner bash a computer wi' a cricket bat than learn how tae use it. In my mind, it's plain hypocritical no tae encourage development. The auld Clans have aye held ontae the best acreage around Loch Ness, yer faither bein' among the first tae sell. More will follow, wait an' see. Go on then, take a swing."

I gripped the driver, took a few practice swings, then wound up and struck the ball, watching it rise, then curve left into Loch Ness.

"Jesus, Zack. My Auntie Griselda hits a better ball, an' she's doon tae one leg."

"Blow me." I teed another ball.

True hit his next shot, a line drive that disappeared over the bulldozer. "Ye heard they selt Aldourie Castle, aye? Word is some big firm's comin' in, convertin' the whole place intae an exclusive country club, sort o' like they did wi' Skibo. Figure one day I'll retire frae oil rig divin' an' get a job there as a golf pro."