Upali Karuna worked for the Sri Lankan Ministry of Culture, History, and Archaeology, or “MOCHA.” They’d gone to school together at Michigan Tech, just about as antipodal as you could get from the perpetually sweaty hug that was Sri Lanka. It was Upali who’d invited Tusker to Sri Lanka for a visiting fellowship, and he who had given him his nickname, a play on his last name, but also a reference to the elephants of Upali’s homeland that grew big ivory. Julian latched onto it after a lifetime of hating the first name his parents had cursed him with.

After graduating, Upali had gone on to get a Ph.D. at the University of Miami and then returned to his native Sri Lanka to teach and dive, before finally settling into a director’s job with MOCHA. He liked to joke that he’d invited Tusker to Sri Lanka this year as “payback” for the long winters in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula and the frigid dives they’d done in the Great Lakes. “I’ll keep your drysuit for you,” Tusker had told him when he left. “You know you’re going to miss it.” That was over a decade ago and Upali had still never returned. Meanwhile, Tusker stayed on, becoming faculty at Michigan Tech, teaching underwater archaeology there, and using the plentiful shipwrecks of the Great Lakes as his classroom. As he liked to tell Upali, “It's unsalted and there are no sharks.”

Tusker turned back to the task at hand. Two months of surveying and digging had exposed a good deal of the wooden structure, but there was much to be done and work would continue long after he returned to the States. He peered at his wristwatch, a huge, old Aquastar Benthos. It was a gift from his father, who’d worn it during his stint as a support diver on the U.S. Navy’s Tektite project in the early ‘70s. Its timing ring was faded and its case had a dent, but Tusker had faithfully kept it serviced since his father’s death and it never left his wrist. He never wore a modern dive computer unless he really needed its additional functionality.

The watch’s bright orange hand showed that 45 minutes had passed since their last tank swap. When he finished with this one, they’d break for lunch. Then Ian Walsh, the salty expat Brit, would swap places with Upali underwater.

Twenty minutes later, Tusker’s tank was down to 200 psi. Time for lunch. He banged on his tank to get Upali’s attention and gave the thumbs up “ascend” signal. Upali signaled back with an “OK” and started to ascend. Tusker slowly lifted off the sea bed, following Upali to the surface.

“‘Bout time,” said Ian, who was sweating profusely under his broad-brimmed hat as he leaned over the gunwale of the rickety skiff. “I’m starving.”