Loch Ness Monster Explained

Chapter 11b - THE MONSTER - The Dinsdale Film

In 1960 Tim Dinsdale, an aeronautical engineer, became interested in the Loch Ness monster and decided, as so many of us have, that it should be relatively simple to solve the mystery. He borrowed a 16mm movie camera from believer-turned-sceptic Maurice Burton. Dinsdale is shown overleaf in a staged monster-hunting pose during a later expedition.

Close to the end of his first visit to the loch in 1960, Tim was high above the loch near Foyers. Unfortunately it is not possible to see the loch from the actual point any longer owing to the growth of a pine forest.

Amazingly, far beneath him, he could see a dark hump in the water and reached for his binoculars. The object appeared to be stationary and also seemed to have a mahogany coloured patch on one side. Then it started to move across the loch.

Filming in long bursts, only stopping to wind the clockwork mechanism as necessary, he filmed as the object zigzagged gently across the loch maintaining more or less the same profile. Then it appeared to submerge and move parallel to the far shore, throwing up a huge wake.

It became clear to Dinsdale that the object would shortly disappear behind trees as it made its way south-westwards and so he stopped filming, jumped in his car and dashed down the main road, onto the Foyers side road and down to the lochside.

I have since tried driving this route and driving as fast as possible safely and it was close to 10 minutes including getting in and out of the vehicle etc. Dinsdale estimates it at 2 or 3 minutes at the most. His description of the taking of his film is relevant and so it bears repeating here:

Through binoculars ... "The object was perfectly clear and now quite large. Although when I had first seen it, it lay sideways on, during the few seconds I had taken with the binoculars it seemed to have turned away from me. It lay motionless on the water, a long oval shape, a distinct mahogany colour. On the left flank a huge dark blotch could be seen, like the dapple on a cow. For some reason it reminded me of the back of an African buffalo – it had fullness and girth and stood well above the water, and although I could see it from end to end there was no visible sign of a dorsal fin. And then. Abruptly. It began to move. I saw ripples break away from the further end, and I knew at once I was looking at the extraordinary humped back of some huge living creature!

"I dropped my binoculars, and turned to the camera, and with deliberate and icy control, started to film; pressing the button, firing long steady bursts of film like a machine gunner, stopping between to wind the clockwork motor. I could see the Monster through the optical camera sight (which enlarged slightly) making it appear very clear indeed; and as it swam away across the loch it changed course, leaving a glassy zigzag wake. And then it slowly began to submerge. At a point two or three hundred yards from the opposite shore, fully submerged, it turned abruptly left and proceeded parallel to it, throwing up a long V wash. It looked exactly like the tip of a submarine conning tower, just parting the surface, and as it proceeded westwards, I watched successive rhythmic bursts of foam break the surface – paddle strokes: with such a regular beat I instinctively began to count - one, two, three, four – pure white blobs of froth contrasting starkly against the black water surrounding, visible at 1,800 yards or so with the naked eye.

"Awestruck, I filmed the beast as it proceeded westwards in a line straight as an arrow, panning the camera to keep pace with it. I knew that as I had already exposed a length of film the day before there would not be much in reserve, and a quick look at the footage indicator proved this to be the case – I had only 15 ft remaining. Faced with an appalling decision, and only seconds in which to make it, I stopped filming. The monster was now a long way off, and going at a considerable speed in a westerly direction. I glanced at the second hand of my watch again, in 4 minutes the animal had swum nearly three quarters of a mile, and was almost out of range; a mile and a half away at least. I dare not risk these last few precious feet of film, because at any moment I knew it might come to the surface again, or change direction and come dashing back across the loch with head and neck upraised. It was the head and neck I wanted. I had now recorded the wake on 20–30 ft of film and could add nothing useful to it, so I decided on a sudden gamble – I knew it would be possible to drive the car across a field, right to the water's edge at a point to the west of lower Foyers and that in so doing in just a very few minutes, two or three at the most, I could get nearly a thousand yards closer."