I Simulated Plesiosaurus In the Modern Loch Ness, Chaos Followed

Added: 2026-05-11

[00:00:00]You are a baby plesiosaurus and you were born into something wrong. Not wrong like danger. Not wrong like a predator circling. This is deeper than that. A wrongness in your blood, in the water pressing against every inch of your skin and every breath your body tries to take. You're hours old and you don't have words for what's happening. But your cells know something is off before your brain figures out what. The water is pulling at you from the inside.

[00:00:26]That's not a feeling you should have.

[00:00:28]Water is supposed to be neutral. It's what you move through, the thing you hunt in, the place your species dominated for 150 million years. But this water is doing something active to your body. The fresh water is flooding into cells that were made for salt. Your blood is getting thinner by the hour.

[00:00:44]Everything is pulling in a direction that it was never meant to go. Here is what's happening in terms you would understand if you were a biologist instead of a newborn reptile. Your body evolved for seawater. salt water. An ocean where the salt levels outside your cells roughly match the salt levels inside them. The Loch Ness has basically no salt. It is pure fresh water draining down from Scottish Pete bogs. The moment you enter it, physics take over. Water floods into your cells through every surface, trying to balance a salt level that can never be balanced. Your body is literally absorbing this lake one molecule at a time, and it will keep doing that until you either adapt or die. You don't know any of this. You just know something is costing you and you can't stop it. And dear God, it is cold. Not cold like death, not yet. But cold like something your species has no memory of. A chill that presses against your skin never lifts, seeping into tissue that evolved in tropical seas 20° warmer than this, 7° C, constant from the surface all the way down to the black water 200 m below. You've never felt anything like it because you're a newborn. But nothing in your species entire existence has prepared you for this. Your ancestors dominated oceans that dropped below 15°. Warm, shallow, productive waters stretching across what would become Europe and Africa and the Americas, where temperature was a constant your kind could count on. Where cold was never a factor because cold simply didn't exist in the waters they swam. This is wrong cold. Unfamiliar cold. The kind of cold that doesn't kill you outright, but settles into your bones and makes you wonder on some level you can't name if something basic isn't working the way it should. Your mother feels it, too. You can sense her discomfort in the way she moves, slower than her body wants to go, more careful, like the water itself is pushing back against every stroke. She's been here longer than you. Long enough to know that this place is wrong in ways she can't fix. Long enough to have lost weight that she couldn't afford to lose.

[00:02:45]and long enough to understand the hunting here is different than anything her instincts prepared her for. Whatever cruel god decided to bring the plesaur back to life and put it in the Loch Ness, they were not very smart because this is not the environment it belongs in. But you're a plesaur. You don't understand concepts like gods. So you just keep swimming. Your mother keeps you close. She shows you the hunting grounds, the shallow southern end of the lock where the rivers feed in, the midwater column where the char hover and silver clouds, and the deep dark refuge where almost nothing lives, but where nothing can find you either. She does what mothers do when the place is hostile and the options are limited. She copes, she teaches, and she tries to give you the skills to survive a place that wasn't made for either of you. And when hunger comes, that first deep pull in your gut that says, "Eat or weaken," she shows you something that almost makes sense of this alien place. The prey here don't know what you are.

[00:03:42]Arctic char. Small silver fish.

[00:03:45]Thousands of them suspended in the water column like they've never encountered a predator shaped like you. Because if we're being honest, they haven't. The fish in this lock have been here since the last ice age. 10,000 years of evolution with otter and pike and diving birds as their only real threats.

[00:04:03]Nothing with a 4 meter neck. Nothing that comes up from below in a wide hunting ark. Nothing that sweeps through a school and picks them off before they can scatter. Your first hunt is embarrassing for them, not you. The char actually swim towards you, curious about this shape they have no instinct to fear. They circle at a distance that any Jurassic fish would have known was suicide. Close enough for your neck to reach. Close enough for your jaws to close on them before their tiny brains could send the signal to run. You take one. Your mother takes three. The school scatters, but even the scattering is confused. They don't know which direction is safe because they've never needed to know. This is wrong, too, but it's in your favor. In the Jurassic oceans your species was shaped for, prey had a 100 million years of practice avoiding animals exactly like you. They knew the silhouette. They knew what the long neck meant. They knew to scatter before you got close. They knew to read the water for the pressure wave of something coming up from below. Those fish made you work for every meal. And the ones that survived were the ones who swam the fastest. These fish know nothing. They have no defenses against you because they've never needed any.

[00:05:12]For 10,000 years, the most dangerous thing in this lock was a pike hiding in the weeds. You are very much not a pike.

[00:05:19]For a few weeks, this is your edge. You and your mother hunting the lock like it's a buffet, taking char and trout and the occasional eel that blundered into range, building the reserves your body desperately needs. It's a constant battle between your saltwater body and the fresh water pressing in from every direction. But you're eating enough to make up for it. Burning energy to stay stable and eating enough to replace what you burn. It's not sustainable, though.

[00:05:43]The lock can't support this much hunting forever. There are only so many fish and you're eating through them faster than they can breed. But you don't know that yet because you are a reptile and reptiles don't do math the last time I checked. All you know is that you're an apex predator in a place that forgot apex predators exist. And for a brief strange window of time, that actually works. But then the surface betrays you.

[00:06:08]Your mother surfaces to breathe. That's what plesiosaurs do. They're air breathing reptiles. Every ancestor you have going back 200 million years would be surfacing to fill their lungs and then diving back down. It is not a choice. It's as automatic as blinking would be if you had eyelids. She's done it thousands of times in her life. It has never been a problem before. But she surfaces in the wrong place at the wrong time near something she's never seen. A boat. She doesn't understand boats. The same way fish don't understand you, you don't understand boats. Nothing in her past prepared her for floating wood with two-legged things inside making sounds that she can't interpret. In the Jurassic, the surface was safety, air, and light, and nothing that could threaten something her size. The threats were below, in the deep water, where plyosaurs hunted, and ichthyossaurs competed. The surface was where you went to breathe and rest and feel briefly like nothing could hurt you. She doesn't understand that the surface has changed in the modern lockch nests. She doesn't understand nets either. Rope woven into squares designed to catch fish scaled up by humans who noticed something large moving through the char schools and decided to find out what the fishermen on that boat have probably heard the stories. Everyone around the Loch Ness has heard the stories. There's a monster deep in the lock. And when something breaks the surface that shouldn't be there, something with a long neck in a body like nothing they've ever seen, they do what humans do. They try to catch it. Try not to think too hard about what happened after that. Because whatever it was, your mother didn't come back from it. The net catches her neck.

[00:07:47]The long neck. The same anatomy that let your ancestors sweep through schools of fish with perfect efficiency, snatching prey from angles that slower predators couldn't reach. The neck that defines your entire body plan. The structure that made plesiosaurus plesiosaurs for 150 million years. here in the wrong lost world against an enemy that doesn't even live in the water. It becomes a trap. She thrashes, but she can't dive.

[00:08:12]The net pulls against her. The rope tightens around the base of her skull.

[00:08:16]The surface holds her in place. The things on the boat are making sounds she doesn't understand. Then she's being pulled towards something above the waterline. That makes no sense. And then she doesn't come back down. You wait.

[00:08:30]What else do you do? You're less than a year old and your mother has been the constant in every moment of your existence. The warmth against the cold water, the guide to the hunting grounds, the shape that meant safety in a place where nothing else makes sense. She went up and she didn't come back. And your instincts have no framework for what that means. You wait at the depth where you last saw her for hours, then a day.

[00:08:54]You surface to breathe and descend again to the same spot, circling in a pattern that accomplishes nothing. The concept of gone forever doesn't exist in your brain yet, but your species gives live birth. Your species has parental care.

[00:09:08]So, your species probably has something like grief. And based on what we know, they probably did. By the second day, something shifts. Not understanding because you'll never really understand what happened up there, what those shapes on the boat were, why the rope closed around the neck that taught you to hunt, but something close to it. An absence where presence used to be. A gap in the pattern that won't fill back in no matter how long you wait. You're alone now. The last one in this lock.

[00:09:37]The last one maybe anywhere. There are no others of your kind to find. No population to rejoin. No mate to search for in some other body of water. Just you and the cold and the dark and the fish that are slowly learning to be afraid of you. And here's what you don't know. Because you're a reptile and calendars mean nothing to your kind. She died in the easy season. Summer, the warmest the water gets, which is still cold. The most active the fish are, which is still not enough. The most naive the prey will ever be. And that window is already closing. Because every successful hunt teaches the survivors to run. Winter is coming and everything that made your species perfect for 95 million years is about to start working against you. But before we get to that, if you enjoy watching prehistoric apex predators in environments they don't belong in and me simulating other types of simulations of other dinosaurs, then you should definitely like this video and subscribe. If this video gets 30,000 likes, then whatever the top comment says, we'll make a simulation about next. But let's find out how the story ends. The first month alone teaches you something your instincts can't process.

[00:10:50]This place is emptying out beneath you.

[00:10:52]Not slowly, not in some far off future you can't feel. But right now, fish by fish, hunt by hunt, the lock is running dry, and there's no way to stop it. The lock nest contains about 300,000 kg of fish at the most total. Every species combined, the char, the trout, the salmon passing through, the eels hiding, the silt. That sounds like plenty until you calculate what you need just to stay alive. 5 kg every single day. That is not eating to grow or build strength.

[00:11:24]That is not thriving. That's the bare minimum your body demands to keep itself warm in water 20° colder than what you were made for. That is not enough to support you long term. There are other things eating those fish, too. And even if it was just you, you would last a couple years at the most. And that is assuming you catch everything, which you won't because the fish are learning because the char don't swim towards you anymore. That window closed somewhere around week three. The ones who approach out of curiosity dead. The ones who scattered the first pressure wave, whose instincts told them to run even though they'd never seen anything like you.

[00:12:01]Those are the ones who survived. Those are the ones who bred and their offspring know exactly what to do when something big moves through the water.

[00:12:09]You created your own problem. Every easy kill was a lesson to the survivors. And now the survivors are all that's left.

[00:12:16]You're ranging the entire length of the lock now. 23 mi end to end because you have no choice. The southern shallows where you learned to hunt are picked through. The midwater column where Char used to hover scattered and empty. You are swimming miles just to find fish worth chasing. And every mile costs calories that you can't afford to lose.

[00:12:37]And it's not just the total number of fish, it's how fast they can come back, even if you stopped eating entirely. The lock only grows so many kilograms of new fish per year. And you would need much more to survive. This population can't recover from what you're doing to it.

[00:12:52]This is the trap nobody warned you about because nobody could. In the ocean your species came from, prey never ran out.

[00:13:00]The fish were so dense that hunting was almost passive. You had squid-like creatures drifting in swarms and a food chain so rich that you could cruise for months without going hungry. Your body was shaped for that abundance. How you stay warm, how much you need to eat, how far you can push yourself. All of it was designed for a world where the next meal was always close. The Loch Nefs is not that world. This lake produces almost nothing. The water is too cold, too acidic, too dark for much to grow.

[00:13:30]There's no thick base to the food chain like there was in the Jurassic. Just pete stained water draining down from Scottish highlands feeding a handful of fish species that are used to scarcity.

[00:13:41]You're a warm-blooded predator made for tropical seas stuck in one of the least productive lakes in Europe. The math doesn't work. It was never going to work. This is Europe for crying out loud. Nothing works there. You just don't know that yet. All you know is that you're hungry more often than you should be. And the hunting is getting harder every week. And then there's the other problem, the one from above.

[00:14:06]You've started noticing patterns in the disturbances at the surface. Vibrations that don't match any animal you've encountered. Shadows moving in straight lines, which nothing in nature does. A low hum that travels through the water and reaches your body before you can tell where it's coming from. Boats. You don't know that word, but you know the feeling. The same dread from the day your mother went up and didn't come back. Every time you surface now you scan first. You listen. You wait for the moment when everything seems quiet. And then you breathe fast and dive before anything can spot you. This is new behavior. Your ancestors surfaced when they needed air because the surface was safe. There was nothing up there that could threaten something their size. But this isn't the Jurassic. And the surface belongs to something else. Now you learn to stay deep 200 m down where nothing from above can reach you. It's dark, completely lightless below 20 m because the pee blocks everything. Cold, colder than the shallows. It's a constant pressure against your body that never eases and empty because almost nothing lives down there. You hide because you have to. The surface feels like death now. Some instinct screaming danger even though you don't understand what you're hiding from. So you stay in the dark.

[00:15:25]You come up only when you must, fast and alert, and you're gone before anything can react. It's working in the sense that nothing has caught you. But it's costing you. The deep has almost no prey. Every hour hiding is an hour not hunting, and every hour not hunting is an hour closer to the point where your reserves run out. Weeks pass, then months, and you're thinner than you've ever been. The reserves you built in those first easy weeks are gone. Spent staying warm, spent searching for food that keeps getting scarcer. Your body is eating itself now. Your muscles breaking down to feed the furnace that keeps you alive. You're not dying. Not yet. But you're not stable either. You're sliding every week a little weaker. Every week the hunger lasting a little longer between meals. You can feel the change in how you move. slower, more careful, rationing effort in ways you never had to before. Somewhere ahead is a line that you can't come back from. You don't know where it is. You just know you're getting closer. And then in early autumn, something changes. You feel them before you see them. Pressure waves moving through the lock in patterns you've never sensed before. Big bodies traveling in a corridor from the north towards the rivers in the south. Salmon.

[00:16:44]Atlantic salmon returning from the ocean to spawn in the rivers where they were born. They pass through Loch nest because that's the route they've used for 10,000 years. They have no idea you're here. No memory of anything like you. And they are big. They're 4 kg each on average. Five. And some of them are eight or nine. These are adults that spent 2 years at sea gorging themselves.

[00:17:07]Now fat with stored energy and ready to burn it all on the spawning run. It's more food in a single fish than a full day of hunting char. These aren't the educated fish survivors who know to flee. These are ocean fish on a mission, focused entirely on getting up river, barely aware of anything else around them. They've never seen you. They have never seen anything like you. You find the narrows near the Yukurard Bay where the lock squeezes tight and the salmon have to pass close. For 2 weeks, you eat like you haven't since your mother was alive. This is what your body was made for. Concentrated prey, efficient kills, and the feeling of reserves building instead of draining. For 2 weeks, you're almost stable. The constant hunger fades, the muscle loss slows, and you feel something you might call hope. Some ancient circuit lighting up that says, "Keep doing this." But somewhere in your nervous system, another pattern is firing, too. This could work. This place could sustain you. Just keep doing this.

[00:18:08]Except it can't. The salmon run doesn't fade. It just stops. One day, the pressure waves are everywhere. Big bodies moving through every hour. The next day, silence. The fish have gone up river to spawn into water too shallow and narrow for you to follow. They're gone, and they won't be back until next autumn. You've gained weight, real weight, for the first time in months.

[00:18:31]But now you're back to char that know to run, eels that know how to hide, and a lock that's already been picked clean.

[00:18:38]Winter is 7 weeks away and the water is getting colder. That chill you felt all summer. Yeah, that was the lake being gentle. That was as warm as this place ever gets. Now the surface is giving up its heat and the cold is reaching down into the depths where you hide. 5° heading towards four. Your body is a furnace that runs on fish. You just watched your best fuel source swim away.

[00:19:03]The warm blood that made your ancestors unstoppable in every ocean they entered is about to turn on you. In water this cold, staying warm takes energy that you don't have. Calories you can't find. And winter is not going to wait for you to figure this out. It's December. The water drops to 4° and holds. It's different. It's a cold that finds the heat inside of you and drags it out faster than you can make more. Your body is working at maximum now. Every cell producing warmth to keep your core stable and water that wants to pull you down to its temperature. And the fuel for all of that work is almost gone. The char have gone deep and still. They barely move. Their cold-blooded system slowing to match the water, saving energy in ways your body won't allow.

[00:19:50]The salmon died in rivers you couldn't reach. The eels have burrowed into silt and shut down until spring. Everything that knows how to survive this place has either left or gone dormant. You can't go dormant. Your body runs hot and it doesn't know how to stop. Every hour, every minute, you're producing heat to stay alive in water that never stops pulling it away. That takes food.

[00:20:13]Massive amounts of food constantly. Food from waters you've already stripped bare during a season when nothing is moving and nothing will move for months. The reserves from the salmon run lasted 6 weeks, maybe seven. Now you're burning through what's left of yourself. Your muscles breaking down to keep you warm because your fat stores are long gone.

[00:20:34]Because the alternative is your organs failing from cold. But you hunt anyway.

[00:20:40]What choice is there? 200 m down in total blackness, sweeping your neck through water you can't see, searching for anything still alive, your sense of smell, that smell that your ancestors used to track prey through murky Jurassic seas, strains to catch the chemical trace of any fish. Any fish, just something to eat. Sometimes you find one, a char, sluggish and half dormant, easy for you to catch because it's barely moving. One fish, maybe two in a good day. Half a kilogram of food when you need five. The gap between what you catch and what you need gets wider every week, and there's nothing you can do to close it. Most days you find nothing. The deep water is empty, and you spend more energy searching than you get back from the rare kill. That's the equation that ends this. Not a dramatic collapse, just the slow math of output exceeding input until there's nothing left. And here's the part that would almost be funny if it weren't killing you. The very things that made your species dominant are the things failing now, like your warm blood. The internal heat that let your ancestors out compete every cold-blooded predator in ancient seas. The engine that kept them hunting longer and harder than anything else in the water, which made plesaurs at the top of every food chain they entered in warm prey rich oceans. It was a superpower. But here in forgery water with nothing to eat, it is a countdown with no end. Or your neck, that long neck that defined your kind for longer than mammals have existed. The tool that let your ancestors sweep through schools of fish and grab prey from angles nothing else could reach. In the Jurassic, it was deadly efficiency.

[00:22:19]Here, it's just surface area. And surface area in cold water means more heat loss. Every inch of that perfectly evolved hunting tool is bleeding warmth into the water that takes it without giving anything back. Or your size.

[00:22:34]You're big because big was better.

[00:22:37]Better reach, better dominance, better access to larger prey. In productive oceans, size meant power. Here, it just means hunger. Your body demands more than any cold, dark lake could ever feed. You were made for abundance.

[00:22:52]You're dying of scarcity. And every adaptation that made your ancestors unstoppable is now a liability you can't get rid of. 95 million years of evolution made you perfect. Just for a world that stopped existing 95 million years ago. Weeks pass and your body changes in ways you can feel but can't understand. You move slower now, conserving effort in ways that are new.

[00:23:16]The hunger that used to come in waves is now just constant. A low, grinding noise that never lifts and never peaks. It's just there always. It's the background noise of a body slowly losing. You've been alone for almost a year now. No others of your kind, no social contact of any type, just you in the dark, in the cold, in the silence of a lake that's slowly winning. If Plesiosaurs felt something like loneliness, and based on what we know, there's a good chance they probably did. You've been drowning in it for months. A year of isolation in an alien place, watching the gap between what you need and what you can get grow wider every day. The end to this story is not like a fairy tale. There is no final battle, no predator fight, no dramatic last stand against an enemy that you could see. You just run out. It happens in early spring. The water is still cold, barely warmer than the worst of winter. And somewhere above, the days are getting longer. The char will start rising soon, and in a few weeks, salmon will begin returning from the sea. But you don't have a few weeks. You surface one last time. An instinct, the same instinct your mother followed on the day she never came back. The same behavior that kept your species alive for over a 100 million years. Rise, breathe, dive, hunt, survive. You've done it thousands of times now. Your ancestors did it millions of times across their long reign over the oceans. This time when you try to dive, nothing happens. The muscles that powered you through the water are depleted, broken down over months of starvation. The reserves that should snap your body into motion are gone. You try and your body just can't.

[00:25:00]You hang at the surface, held between water and air, too weak to descend. The boundary that killed your mother holds you now. Not with a net, just with exhaustion and physics and the simple truth of a body that has nothing left to give. Nothing in Loch Ness killed you.

[00:25:18]No predator, no disease, no enemy you could have fought or fled or outsmarted.

[00:25:23]You were the only large hunter in these waters the entire time. The top of the food chain with nothing above you. And it didn't matter because the thing that killed you wasn't in the lock. It was you. It was your own perfection. You were never a monster. That's what all the legends of the Lochess monster miss.

[00:25:44]You were just an animal. A perfectly adapted animal dropped into a place that turned all of it against you. The last plesiosaur, the last of a lineage that ruled the world's oceans while dinosaurs walked above them. You die alone in silence in water. Your body was never meant to survive. Legend will keep going. People will scan the depths with sonar and take blurry photos of waves and driftwood, hoping something ancient is still alive down there. The mystery will always be more fun than the answer.

[00:26:14]It always will be. But the truth is simpler, sadder, and it's ended in its own way more interesting than any monster story. You were real once. You were magnificent. The perfect ocean predator. The end of a line that ruled the seas for longer than mammals have existed. and you died because the world you were perfect for is gone. So yeah, that is what would happen if a plesur was put into the lock nest. To be honest, I'm not even sure it would last this long due to the whole saltwater freshwater issue. Uh that didn't really make for a good story though, so I kind of like wrote it so it could have adapted, but likely it probably wouldn't have lasted even a week. And for any of you that were believing in the story of the Lochess monster, well, there is your answer. There is no way that lake is able to support an animal that size.

[00:27:05]Even if you argue they adapted for the fresh water or the cold, there's still the issue of the food. There's just not enough food in that lake to support an animal that size. If you enjoyed watching this video, make sure to give it a like and comment down below what other dinosaurs you would like to see us talk about in our next video. Make sure to subscribe and hit the post notification bell so you don't miss out on any of our uploads as we upload multiple times per week. And if you want to watch another dinosaur simulation, then you should click the one that's on your screen right now, and I'll see you