—
Hank set up the tripod and screwed the camera onto it while Ellis spread out a blanket and pulled a variety of things from the bag—beakers, binoculars, compasses, a thermometer, maps, and logbooks. Although I hadn’t gone to college, it all looked terribly scientific to me.
I arranged myself on the blanket and looked out over the loch’s glistening surface. If Hank was right about how deep it was, I was having trouble imagining it. Were its depths as low as the hills were high? The loch became so deep, so dark, so quickly, it seemed as impenetrable as the fortress beside us once was.
Ellis ran through the plan. “First, we record the temperature of the water. Then we take a sample to see how much peat is floating at the surface. It affects visibility, and also tells us how strong the undercurrent is. Then we record surface conditions, weather conditions, wind speed and direction, et cetera. We’ll repeat all of this once an hour.”
“And in between?” I asked.
Hank took over. “In between we scan the surface of the water and watch for disturbances. If you see something, call ‘Monster!’ We’ll confirm its location by compass, and I’ll begin filming. You two keep it in your sights at all times, in case I somehow lose it in the viewfinder.”
There were supposed to be three pairs of binoculars and three compasses, but one of the compasses was missing. Ellis gave me one of the remaining two, insisting that he and Hank could share.
When I finally admitted I didn’t know how to use it, I expected some kind of smart-aleck response, or at the very least an eye roll. Instead, they simply showed me.
“It’s easy,” said Ellis, guiding my hands. “Turn it, like this, until the arrow points north. Now, imagine a straight line from the degrees marked around the edge to the object you’re looking at, and read the number next to it. And really, that’s all there is to it.”
I successfully confirmed the location of a speck of shore on the opposite bank, which we decided would define one edge of my viewing area. I was to start there and scan to the left, slowly, carefully, before coming back and going just far enough past the landmark to ensure a little overlap with Ellis. Hank had no boundaries, which I thought hilarious, but since they hadn’t made fun of me for my lack of technical knowledge, I refrained from making a joke.
A few minutes after we began, I thought I saw something and swung my binoculars back. A rounded thing was poking out of the water, moving steadily, and leaving a series of V’s in its wake.
“Monster!” I shouted. “Monster!”
“Where, Maddie? Where?” said Ellis.
I leapt to my feet, pointing strenuously. “There! Over there! Do you see it?”
“Use your compass!” Ellis cried.
“Keep your eyes on it!” Hank ordered, dropping his binoculars and getting behind the camera. He bent over it, peering through the viewfinder, cupping one hand around it for shade.
“I can’t do both!” I said desperately. “What should I do?”
“It’s okay! I see it!” Ellis shouted. “Maddie, keep your eyes on it. Goddammit, I think we’ve got it!”
He jumped up and held the compass right next to the camera so Hank could steal glances at it while aiming the lens.
“It’s at seventy degrees,” Ellis said, coaching Hank. “Still at seventy. Now it’s just past seventy. Still moving. Call it seventy and a quarter.”
“Got it,” said Hank. He began turning the crank handle on the camera, quickly, at least two rotations per second.
I had my eyes locked on the object in the water. It flipped on its back, exposing whiskers and a black nose.
“Oh my God,” I said, utterly deflated. “I’m so sorry.”
“About what?” said Hank, still cranking away.
“It’s an otter.”
“Ellis?” Hank said, continuing to film.
Ellis picked his binoculars back up. After a short pause, he lowered them and said, “She’s right. It’s an otter.”
Hank let go of the handle and straightened up. He shaded his eyes with his hand and gazed over the water. “Oh well,” he said, sitting down. “Never mind. At least we know Maddie’s got sharp eyes.”
Ellis recorded the event in the logbook, Hank lit a cigarette, and they passed a flask, which I declined.
—
“I’m sorry,” I said, after calling the alarm over a duck.
“It’s all right,” Ellis said with false cheer. “Better to have a hundred false alarms than to miss the real thing.”
He duly recorded it. He took the water’s vitals again, and we resumed our watch.
—
“I’m really sorry,” I said, after a floating log.
“Never mind,” said Ellis. “I suppose it did look a little like a creature’s back from that distance.”
—
When I apologized for the jumping fish, Hank said, “Ellis, maybe you could take a quick peek at whatever Maddie’s looking at before anyone calls the official alarm?”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Ellis said, clearly dispirited. “Because if it’s the real thing, that kind of a delay would give it time to dive down. That’s why my father only got three pictures.”
I stared at his back.
He really did believe his father. This wasn’t just about fixing himself—it was also about vindicating the Colonel. How could I have been so clueless about my own husband? I sat beside him on the blanket, so close our shoulders were touching.
Hank sat next to us and lit a cigarette. “That’s all well and good, as long as we don’t run out of film,” he muttered. “Pass the flask, will you?”
Four and a half hours later, Hank had smoked eleven cigarettes, he and Ellis had finished a third flask, and I had seen a twig, two thrashing ducks, and a second airborne fish.