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Welcome back to This Day in Scottish History. I’m your host, Colin MacDonald. Today, we dive into the murky waters of mystery and myth, as we recall the strange events of April 23rd, 2001—when a Swedish cryptozoologist named Jan Sundberg arrived at the shores of Loch Ness with an ambitious and highly controversial plan: to catch the Loch Ness Monster.

Yes, you heard that right. On St George’s Day, a day more typically marked with dragon-slaying legends south of the border, Scotland played host to its own monster tale—only this one wasn’t centuries old or rooted in folklore. It was real. Or at least, the attempt was.

Jan Sundberg, a man as enigmatic as the creatures he seeks, is a well-known figure in the niche world of cryptozoology—the study of animals whose existence is unverified by science. For decades, Loch Ness has been a pilgrimage site for cryptozoologists, monster-hunters, and thrill-seekers alike. With its deep, dark waters and centuries of reported sightings, it remains one of the most iconic alleged habitats of a cryptid: the elusive Nessie.

But Sundberg wasn't here to snap blurry photos or collect sonar readings like so many before him. No, he came armed with a six-metre-long steel and netting contraption—an enormous sea-serpent trap, affectionately dubbed a “creel,” borrowed from the traditional Scottish fishing term. His plan? To bait the creature with fish and catch it alive for scientific study. It was audacious. It was eccentric. And it caused an absolute media frenzy.

The creel was lowered into the waters with the cautious optimism of a man who believed that centuries of folklore could finally yield scientific truth. Cameras rolled. Journalists jostled for position along the loch’s edge. Tourists flocked to witness the spectacle. And deep beneath the surface of Loch Ness… well, if Nessie was watching, she wisely kept her distance.

While some applauded the effort as bold and imaginative, others were far less amused. Environmental groups were quick to voice concerns. The idea of baiting and capturing an unknown creature—if one even existed—raised ethical red flags. What if Nessie was real and an endangered species? What if the capture harmed not just the monster, but other aquatic life in the loch?

Scottish Natural Heritage, the government agency responsible for protecting Scotland’s natural environment, responded swiftly. Although they stopped short of directly intervening, the uproar prompted them to issue new guidelines discouraging any future attempts to physically capture cryptids—emphasizing the importance of conservation and the loch’s fragile ecosystem.

Ultimately, Sundberg’s trap came up empty. Nessie, if she exists, evaded capture once again. But the incident was never really about success or failure. It was about the enduring allure of mystery. About our deep, almost childlike need to believe in something magical lurking just out of sight. And for a brief moment in 2001, the world watched as science, myth, and media collided on the banks of Loch Ness.

This was far from the first Nessie hunt, of course. From the famous 1934 “Surgeon’s Photograph” to the 1970s sonar explorations, and more recently, DNA sampling of the loch’s waters, humans have been chasing shadows in these waters for nearly a century. But what made Sundberg’s attempt stand out was its blend of theatrical flair and scientific curiosity. It turned the loch into a stage for modern folklore—a real-time drama with a monster as its elusive star.

And whether you believe in Nessie or not, the story reveals something essential about us. It speaks to a uniquely human trait: the thirst for discovery, the hope that something unknown still exists in a world where everything feels mapped, measured, and categorized.

Since 2001, no one has tried to capture Nessie again—not with a trap, anyway. But the legend remains as strong as ever. Tourists still come in droves, hoping for a glimpse of a ripple, a shadow, a long neck arching through the mist. Souvenir shops brim with plush monsters and postcards. The loch’s mystery continues to drive local economies and spark the imagination of every child peering into its depths.

Jan Sundberg may not have caught a monster, but he reminded the world of Loch Ness’s strange, magnetic power—a power not just to attract scientific scrutiny, but to stir something ancient and primal in the human soul.

Thank you for joining me today on This Day in Scottish History. If you enjoyed our dive into monster lore, don’t forget to check out more curious tales on my blog at bagtownclans.com/thisday. I’ll be back tomorrow with another story from the past, full of history, heroism, and maybe just a hint of the supernatural. I’m Colin MacDonald—Haste Ye Back!

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