Finding Nemo’s Big Brother

From the Daily Telegraph: A monster hunter who has spent 26 years searching for the Loch Ness Monster claims to have taken the “best picture ever” of the beast, after dedicating 60 hours a week to his quest.

George Edwards spends his life on the loch – around 60 hours a week – taking tourists out on his boat Nessie Hunter IV, and has led numerous Nessie hunts over the years.

After watching the object for five to ten minutes, Mr Edwards said it slowly sank below the surface and never resurfaced.

 “I’m convinced I was seeing Nessie as I believe in these creatures. Far too many people have being seeing them for far too long,” he said. “The first recorded sighting was in 565AD and there have been thousands of eye witness reports since then.”


The reporters had left, sniggering as usual. Mr Edwards was used to that. Over 26 years he had been interviewed many times, and always the reporters had adopted a condescending air. This time one of them had asked him did he realize that The X-Files was not a documentary.

He didn’t care. Ever since 565 AD, when Edward the Deluded had drawn a black blur upon a piece of parchment, kindred spirits had braved public ridicule. They were called drunks, they were called weirdos, they were called mental. They were none of these, they were in fact generation after generation of a family business.

They survived on research funding. There was always some University with more money than faculties willing to pay them to sit for 60 hours a week on a boat in the middle of a beautiful lake. As jobs go it was one of the best – during the present Mr Edwards’ time on the boat he had read the complete works of Shakespeare, got an Open University degree in History of European Art and got to Level Two-Hundred-and-Two in World of Warcraft.

Every time it looked as if the funding would run out he’d produce another picture, and the money would roll back in.

He looked at the latest picture, the one that would appear in every paper in the world the following day. You couldn’t see what he knew was there. You couldn’t see, because he had painted over them, the words Nessie Hunter III upside down upon the upturned hull. He’d towed his old boat onto the lake, drilled a hole in it and brought a load of tourists along as witnesses as it sank slowly beneath the surface and never re-surfaced.

People thought he was a nutter. He thought of himself as career-driven.


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