Me and me father spent years on the loch. Just as he did with his father, and his father before him.
As he has past, I now spend my free time out there with my son. We call it fishing, but he's heard all the stories, from his grandfather and from me. We sit in the boat, baiting hooks and dropping a line in...all because of the sighting and the story that my grandfather told me about his grandfather.
The story has been retold ten thousand times if it was retold once. Our entire village knows our family and why we are always out fishing. We fish because we have to, we fish because it is our way of fighting an inborn fear.
Some ride roller coasters, some sky dive, some spelunk deep in the earth...my family, we fish on the loch where the story happened. It is our destiny, it is our quest, it is our life to regain the family name and pride and actually see for ourselves the monster of the loch.
A combination of expectation, anticipation and trepidation you've never felt. And it is all the same every day we set foot in the boat. With the knowledge of the story, you'd think we'd get a bigger boat. But no, we've upgraded from the old row boat to a 5 man john boat...truly it is only big enough for three, and really plenty of room for my son and me. We don't use the motor, we row out into the fog, not a sound can be heard accept for our oars slapping the water and the drips off them as we return for another stroke. It isn't quite true, we can hear the sounds of doors closing, and people talking on the nearby shore. We can hear the butcher opening his shop, and every car start and folks drive off to town for work. We can even hear some cars in the distance climbing the grade on the other side of the loch.
But none of that really disturbs the quiet, or stops us from hearing our oars, and the water lapping at the side of the boat, and our breath, and our nervousness. My son is 12, I can't think of what is going through his mind, as I know what is going through mine, Why, why are we out here to prove the old man right, if in fact if he is it could mean our death?
What, what was that noise, it sounded like something surfacing, we peer through the mist, not saying a word. Nothing, we look at each other and reel in our lines. Fishing is supposed to be a time for a man and boy to bond. Telling stories, finding out the intimacies of each others day. It isn't for us, there is rarely a word spoken, we've heard all the stories, and we don't talk until we are back on the dock.
Suddenly it happened, out of the fog something did surface. Our hearts leaped a beat as we saw this figure in the haze. Searching, straining the shadow grew, we were sure it was the monster of the loch just like the stories told. I pulled the oars quietly in the direction to get a look at the beasts face. We wanted to go back and report exactly what we saw...but low once again it slipped beneath the surface and all we glimpsed was another tall tail. The same as before, the same as each generation before us, how long will it go on we wonder, as we row back to shore. "We gonna say anything to mom, dad?" my son asks, "No, just give her the catch, and tell her the big one got away."