the skipper’s wife

Aye, I’m a Morar lass, born and bred. Grew up right down by the loch — wee row of council houses by the shore. That was us.  That water was everything when we were wee. Swimmin’, fishin’, makin’ dens.  

The loch’s always felt calm to me. Quiet. As a teen I’d sit down by the water, just lookin’ out — thinkin’, dreamin’, broodin’ a bit, probably. It was just... peaceful. Still is. 

And of course, there was Morag — our own monster. I'd say we were proud to have her. Tourists don’t usually know about her ‘til we tell them, but we grew up with the stories. The old folk never said exactly what she looked like — just big, and down there in the deep. I always pictured her like Nessie, dinosaur-like, only ours. 

My granda, he was a fisherman. Was out on the loch every Saturday.  He used to say the water made the best dram.  He’d row out to the deepest part just to scoop it up for his flask. 

Swore blind he’d seen her — him and his pal John.  Not just once, mind. Said there was somethin’ movin’ under the water, makin’ bubbles and big splashes. Not a deer, not an eel. He believed it, and when he told it, so did I. 

I’d watch for her sometimes, sittin’ out in the boat. Not scared, just curious. The older ones maybe used her to keep us from the deep water, but I was always in. Never felt unsafe.  

My man works over at Loch Ness — skipper on the tourist boats. He sees how wild it gets over there. Folk stretch the truth, fake photos, all that. He says the stories stop bein’ stories, they turn into sales pitches. That’s why I like how we keep Morag quiet. Still sacred, in a way. 

And it’s not just her — we had other legends too. The Meoble dog. The fairies in the cave. The black pig runnin’ the banks. Folk think we made them up, but I think they came from the land itself. From the mist and the stillness and the hills. You grow up in a place like this, and your imagination does the rest. 

Can’t wait to pass the stories on to my boy. Gonna tell him his great-granda saw Morag. Maybe he didn’t. But he meant it. And that’s the magic of it.