I understand wind breaking up surface ice and sending it offshore. That makes sense. But the five-foot piles stacked on land? Did they walk away? Enroll in college? Relocate to Thunder Bay? It was a total transformation. Mysterious and magnificent.

We geared up and hauled everything down using winter sleds, which might be my favorite seasonal perk. In summer you shoulder 80 pounds of existential commitment. In winter it just… slides. I may need to engineer some sort of summer wagon system. There’s no reason suffering should be seasonal.

I brought my new Insta360 camera — a compact little contraption that looks harmless until you attach it to a telescoping selfie stick and wave it around like a moderately expensive antenna. These cameras shoot in full 360 degrees using two opposing lenses and then, through sorcery and software, erase the selfie stick from existence. Later you can reframe the shot however you like — forward, backward, overhead — as if you had a floating drone following you underwater. It’s both impressive and faintly unsettling.

The Insta360 comes with a tidy little neoprene pouch that keeps it protected and easy to clip off when you’re not using it. On its own, it’s compact and manageable. But when you’re already diving a rebreather, carrying an AL80 bailout bottle, and wrestling a full-sized DSLR housing with strobes, the definition of “small and convenient” shifts dramatically. At that point, even something modest begins to feel like one more plate to keep spinning.

I clipped the 360 to my bailout bottle, which worked fine until I needed it. Retrieving it required unclipping the bailout, extracting the camera, and reversing the process. Mildly inconvenient. Also excellent practice. If I can’t unclip and re-clip bailout bottles smoothly in 33-degree water without thinking, I have no business pretending I’m organized.

We descended. Bubble checks. No leaks. No drama.

There is something deeply satisfying about diving regularly with someone who treats diving as something you prepare for, not something you improvise. Heather shows up squared away. Gear serviced. Batteries charged. O-rings where they belong. We don’t spend an hour diagnosing mysteries in a parking lot — we kit up, bubble check, and go diving. It’s wonderfully uneventful.

Last weekend, while I was at work, she dove with a few other folks. The day reportedly involved lost keys, free-flowing regulators, extended surface troubleshooting, and roughly fifteen minutes of actual underwater time for several hours of collective effort. Which is less a dive and more a mechanical symposium with brief aquatic intermission.

I occasionally grumble about working weekends, but if I didn’t, I might be spending much of the summer standing around in small groups solving other people’s gear puzzles while the lake sits there perfectly dive-able. As long as Heather and I can steal a couple weekday dives together, my schedule may in fact be a strategic advantage. And it’s hard to overstate how nice it is to have a dive buddy you can count on — not just to show up, but to be ready.

The lake was cold, as Lake Superior enjoys reminding us. Heather’s computer hovered between 32° and 33°F. Mine optimistically declared 34°. Either way, it was brisk.

I wanted to explore the stern section more deliberately. Managed a shot of Heather I quite like, though I wish she’d been a bit farther off the wreck for separation. Which, conveniently, gives us an excuse to go back. Tragedy.

The 360 camera produced some surprisingly compelling clips. The highlight was Heather swimming the camera straight through the smokestack. Watching it later feels like being pulled through a metal lung. I’m not certain I would physically fit through there, and I am entirely certain I have no interest in trying. If you’re claustrophobic, viewer discretion advised.

It’s interesting reviewing 360 footage afterward. You’re not just looking at where you aimed — you’re looking everywhere. The silt you kicked up. The trim you thought was perfect. The moment you fiddled with something for too long. It’s like having a polite but relentless witness.

The dive itself was lovely. Calm water. Sun overhead. Air warm enough to linger on shore afterward without feeling like a frost giant.

Which made what happened a few days later almost comical.

The wind swung northeast and began gusting to 60 mph. Nearly two feet of snow fell up the shore. Massive waves pounded the coastline and shattered the remaining ice outside Duluth. I suspect visibility will be somewhere between “milk” and “regret” for at least a week.

Which may be just as well.

Heather mentioned her ankle had been bothering her for over a week. It wasn’t improving, so she went in.

Fracture.

Now she’s in a walking boot awaiting an ortho appointment.

So perhaps this is the universe suggesting a brief intermission. The lake has been rearranged. The wreck isn’t going anywhere. And I’ve got regulators that could probably use some attention.

In the meantime, the Insta360 will be charged. The sleds will be ready. And we’ll wait for Lake Superior to decide we’re allowed back in.