A low fog was rolling in with the dusk. And breaking the surface—just at the forefront of the twilight creeping across the loch—was a head. I rolled up onto my knees and peered through the gloom. Maybe it was a dolphin, like the ones in the Moray Firth?
A long, white head was emerging from the dark green waters of the loch.
Not a dolphin head.
I scrambled to my feet, staring. Was it—could it be …?
Jumping up onto on the log I’d been leaning against, I rubbed my eyes and blinked, but the head didn’t disappear. It came closer. My heart pounding like a bodhran, I stood frozen with fear atop that splintery bit of log.
The nostrils belonging to the head snorted out a blast of water and steam. The head turned, and huge brown eyes blinked as it swam toward me.
There was nowhere to go. I was on top of the log, with my back against the rock wall that I had been valuing for its privacy just moments before. I opened my mouth to call for help, but nothing came out.
In seconds it was over.
The head, which turned out to be attached very firmly to a neck and below that to a body, emerged from the water’s edge. It belonged not to a disembodied monster after all, but to a fine, white horse, draped in a bit of lake greenery. After arising like Venus from the cool waters, the horse paused to shake itself from head to tail. Small fragments of algae or seaweed littered the pebbly shore at its feet. The animal stood a moment, regarding me, and then blinked its eyes once before trotting into the bushes that lined the lane leading off from the main road.
A horse—in the waters of the Loch?
The feeling came back into my legs just as I heard gravel spatter above me, and I ran as if my life depended on it up the hill to meet Hamish’s truck.
“Sorry I was a bi’ long, luv …” he began, but stopped when he caught sight of my face. I blathered out the whole story to him, stumbling over my words, but was so caught up in the magic of it all I could hardly articulate.
When I was done, he chuckled.
It was not a “laughing-with-me” kind of chuckle.
“Yer havin’ me on,” he scoffed. “I’ve niver heard of a horse swimmin’ in the loch. It’s too deep, for one, and it’s near freezin, still, innit? Now jump in to the lorry, will yeh? I’m right starvin’. Let’s go see if we can find a McDonalds, aye?”
I climbed in the truck. “No—no, wait,” I cried, but he’d already spun the truck back onto the main road.
“But—I found a nice little place we could have a picnic,” I pleaded. “I could show you the splash marks from where the horse came out. Then you’d know it was real.”
He jammed his hat down on his head. “It’s a quarter-pounder for me, luv,” he said, shifting gears on the truck. “Dontcha know that’s what every McDonald has unner his kilt?”
He slapped his leg and roared.
“I haven’t had a chance to find out,” I said mournfully, but he’d pushed a button on his dash and Springsteen came on to drown me out, singing Tunnel of Love.
Fantastic Figment…?
7:15 pm, July 3
Nairn, Scotland
Morag is making noises about getting Wi-Fi at her farm. I am encouraging her in the direction of getting a computer, too, because the lightning moments in which I can actually post a blog here at the library and Tourist Center are getting fewer. But I believe I just have time to share a magical moment I had last night on the shores of Loch Ness.
Yes, that Loch Ness.
I found the perfect setting for a romantic picnic with my Highlander, and while I was waiting to him to arrive, a beautiful white stallion arose from the water. He had been swimming in the loch! He trotted out of the water and shook himself before running off.
Has anyone ever heard of a horse doing this? Swimming for the sheer joy of it? It was a beautifully warm day, apart from the little bit of rain that fell. Maybe he just wanted to cool off.
Another mysterious Highland memory for me.
- ES
Comments: 23
HiHoKitty, Sapporo, Japan:
Oh, Miss Emma. It must have been the water horse! Claire’s beastie! Your picnic sounds so romantic. To have true love such as you and Hamish share is a rare wonder. I envy you.
(Read 22 more comments here…)
To:
[email protected]
From: SophiaSheridan@angstandarg*t.com
July 3
Emma,
I’ll get straight to the point. I’ve had it with communicating only through your blog. Jollying you along has not worked, and I insist on a proper reply to this email. I expected you’d be back long before this, but your stubbornness has won out, as usual. I fully assumed your little jaunt into madness would last two weeks——three at the most. And here it is July!