Lifandi Fiskur

As Kevin entered the water alone, in the dark, with no sound but the small waves crashing on the shore and the wind blowing peacefully around him, he realized the water was below freezing. His cheeks hurt as his face went underwater, but he needed to do this. He wanted to do this. He had to do this.

Kevin McMasters is an Air Force Staff Sergeant stationed on a Navy base and the founder and president of the SCUBA club. He had to meet with the commanding officer of the base, Admiral Walters, to sanction his club. The admiral needed to verify that club members both understood dive safety and would adhere to the safety rules.

Rules that, at this very moment, SSgt Kevin McMaster is violating.

1. Never dive alone.

2. Always plan out your dive.

3. Always let people know where you are diving.

4. Never dive if you are not feeling well.

5. Always monitor your air supply.

Standing on the shore, he said out loud to the creatures of the ocean.

“Well, let’s see. I am diving alone in the dark with a head cold and lung issues on a tank that is less than half filled at the moment, and no one knows where I am or what I am doing.” He smiled, “I guess I broke at least five of the rules I harp on to the other divers at the meeting.”

Kevin is currently taking a college history class, and the time period is 1939-1949, World War II! His research led him to believe that the Icelandic Steam Ship Reykjaborg may have had parts of the ship wash up on the shores of its homeland after it was attacked by the German Attack Sub, U-522, on March 10th, 1941, nine months before the attack by the Japanese at Pearl Harbor, Hawaii.

He found old charts and weather information and completed his final report for the class. This led him to believe that the floating or partially buoyant components of the destroyed and sunken cargo ship may well be located just offshore here at Reynisfjara Beach, the southernmost point of Iceland. While researching this beach, he was advised by the Icelandic government and by local friends not to go into the water there. Everyone advises not getting any closer to the water than 30 meters (about 100 feet). It is that dangerous. The force of the waves, the unexpected currents, and tidal forces would pull a person into the water, never to surface.

Kevin expected to do a twenty-minute dive and get out safe, but cold. He did borrow a dry suit this time, and he had a battery-operated heated vest he was going to wear under his coat, inside the dry suit. After all, the current water temperature is 25°F (-4°C), and he checked it when he arrived.

Winter in Iceland is dark, cold, and snowy. The snow drifts on this beach stand in stark contrast to the black sand, volcanic power, and rock. You cannot walk barefoot on this beach, and it tears up your shoes if you walk on it too much, but he needed to at least look.

By his estimate, the shoreline is constantly shifting. Severe coastal erosion has caused the beach to narrow drastically in certain areas, leaving steep drops where the water is dangerously close to the shore.

He had a few days off work for the Christmas Holiday and decided today was the day to have a look. He brought a few flashlights, his Nikonos V camera, and a sealed underwater strobe (flash unit) to photograph anything he found in bright, vivid color, since touching something might not be allowed. His film was a 20-image roll of color slides. He packed it himself and the base, Keflavik Naval Air Station, in the photography hobby shop and planned to develop the film when he returned to the base after this dive. The photos and coordinates would make his report all the better. If he does find something, he will pass it on to the Icelandic Government, and they can act on it if they wish.

Dressing and prepping his tank and regulator, a Sherwood Magnum Blizzard – designed to be used in sub-freezing water – he walked towards the shoreline. His BC, buoyancy compensator, was attached to his tank, and he entered the water, cold water, with a partially inflated BC so as not to sink when he submerged. Floating for a moment, he checked everything and added air to his dry suit to keep it slightly inflated, making him warmer.

He pressed on the outside of his arm and felt the click on his shoulder. A minute later, he felt the vest’s heat begin to warm his torso. He glanced at his watch, exactly 4 PM. He looked up, and the yellow and green hints of the aurora borealis were beginning to appear. He loved the northern lights and could stare at them for hours.

Raising his arm high in the air, he pressed the relief button, letting the air out of his BC, and he submerged into total darkness.

He created and built his primary flashlight from a small 12V battery, a motorcycle battery, actually, and a car headlight. Placed it all in a waterproof container and used a magnetic reed switch and a relay to turn it on and off. He did not want to drill any holes since if they leaked, the light would fail miserably.

As he floated deeper into the unknown, he waved the magnet over the spot he knew would turn the light on, and it did, thankfully. He was at 48 feet according to the depth gauge, which was a red LED and a digital display. The pressure readout showed him at just under half a tank, and as he looked at it, the built-in computer estimated he had 56 minutes of air remaining.

Pointing the light straight down, he saw the floor. Sand and kelp covered the area, but he headed toward a clearing. Landing and standing, he added air to his drysuit, then to his BC, so he was light and heavy at the same time. Referred to as neutrally buoyant.

Almost 35 minutes passed, and he walked slowly around, looking, searching, and moving things out of his way. He kicked at the kelp in front of him and felt something, not a rock, and heard thunder. He found a thin sheet of metal.

As he moved around the spot, he realized there was a sheer cliff at his feet. Pointing the light, it illuminated nothing. This drop off was fast and deeper than he could imagine. Now he understood what happened if the waves pulled you into the water. An eternal cliff dive.

He found a rock and tied a rope to it, attaching it to his weight belt as a safety feature. Glancing at his gauges, he was at 63 feet, with roughly 18 minutes of air remaining in his tank. He thought to himself that if the tank had been filled like he wanted to last week, he would have more than an hour. He flipped over the gauges and saw 65 feet, noting that his NDL (No-Decompression Limit) at this depth was 45 to 50 minutes. That gives him about ten more minutes underwater and a leisurely trip back to the surface.

Kevin moved and removed vegetation from the sheet of metal. He cleared it off, and it turned out to be a metal box. On the side of it was stenciled.

Reykjavík, IS – Reykjaborg - Lifandi fiskur

Translated: Reykjavik, Iceland, The ship Reykjaborg, Live Fish.

Kevin got excited and pulled up his camera. He started taking pictures of it. He was about to move a net that was stuck to the box when he saw it. A partially mummified and decomposed skeleton. If not for the camera flash, he might have missed it. It made him jump back hard, and he was thankful he had tied himself to a rock, since falling off the edge of the cliff would not be fun.

He snapped a few more pictures and looked at his gauge set. 51 feet and 9 minutes of air remaining. He attached a rope to the metal box and pulled the pin on the CO2 charger, allowing it to float to the surface on its own. The yellow heavy-duty life bag would provide a means for the search team to find this poor soul who perished after that attack nearly 40 years earlier.

Bending down, he straightened his legs and launched himself, in slow motion, towards the surface. As you get closer to the surface, the air in your suit and BC expands, making you increasingly buoyant. As long as you are within your time limit and do not pass your bubbles on your ascent to the surface, you will be fine.

As he broke through the surface, he saw a lantern he had left and realized he was maybe a ten-minute walk from where he started. The box was directly underneath him, and he pulled up his compass, taking several bearings to determine his exact position on the map.

Reaching the lantern he left on the beach to mark his entry point, he picked it up and headed to his car. Taking off his gear, putting it all away, and sitting at a picnic table, he drew the lines of the bearings he shot.

158 feet offshore, 63.405 by -19.02 were his estimated coordinates. He would give this information to the Icelandic authorities, and they would recover and properly inter the person who perished tangled in that cargo net as the metal box of live fish floated submerged from where the ship sank to the shore of his homeland.

It was early enough, so he headed to the photo lab to develop and print the slides. He had a report to finish and provide to his professor and the Icelandic Government.