The Brick, the Trout, and the Lightning Bolt
We dove the Two Harbors break wall today. Nothing out of the ordinary, really. The day began with a bit of rain and the occasional theatrical flash of lightning on the drive north, but things had calmed by the time we were suiting up. Which was good, because while diving in the rain is no great hardship-but lightning is another matter entirely. As a diver, the idea of surfacing with your head being the tallest point for half a nautical mile in every direction is cause for considerable alarm.
Now, underwater, I’m told the risks of lightning are fairly minimal. Water is a decent conductor, and you’re wrapped in it like a grounded burrito. Still, Heather once had her dive computer fritz out following a nearby strike, which gives one pause.
The water’s warming up nicely now. Surface temps were in the mid-50s, and 48°F at depth. After a long winter of diving in what is basically an ice bath, that’s beginning to feel almost indulgent. It’s an odd thing, how the human body adapts. What was once punishing becomes normal, and then, somehow, it becomes pleasant. I wouldn’t recommend this kind of recalibration to the average person, but for divers in the upper Midwest, it’s just part of the rhythm.
Visibility was decent—maybe 20 to 30 feet. Not quite postcard-worthy, but clear enough that you could see the shape of the lake unfolding ahead of you. Enough space to feel like you were going somewhere.
The cave diver trying get a spatial sense of the new rebreather on her back.
There were fish today, which is always cause for modest celebration. I managed a photo of a lake trout so blurry and unfocused it may actually qualify as abstract art. Then came a salmon—a real, live salmon—that passed just feet beneath me, unphotographed and unbothered, but firmly lodged in the memory as the first I’d ever seen on a dive. A moment of pure, quiet delight.
Then, near the turnaround point at the end of the break wall, I spotted something strange in the sand. A brick. Not crumbling or moss-covered—just sitting there neatly, looking oddly purposeful. I gave it the usual curious nudge and brushed off some silt. It had been painted—fins, bubbles, some aquatic plants, and the Instagram logo with the handle “@CarlBroker.”
Proof that there was a trout. Not good proof, mind you—but proof nonetheless.
As it happens, I know Carl. Not well, but we’ve crossed paths. I took a photo and sent it to him later that day. He replied quickly and seemed genuinely delighted. Turns out, the brick had been painted by a friend’s daughter a couple of years back, and he’d helped place it there as a kind of quiet underwater marker. He meant to go back and photograph it himself but hadn’t gotten around to it. Life being what it is.
I forgot to mention the Sculpin! - a weird bottom dweller of the big lake.
So yes, it was just another dive. We’ve been here before. The water was cold. The fish were camera shy. But somehow, it turned out rather splendid. A salmon, a blurry trout, and a brick in 70 feet of water that made someone’s day. Maybe even mine.
And that’s why I keep doing this. Not for the grand discoveries—though those are nice when they happen—but for the quiet moments when the ordinary becomes just a little bit more.