Framed by shadows from leafless trees lining the banks of the narrow canal, the already dim November sunlight disappears as murky, brown water swallows the drysuit, the BC, the air tank. The mask slowly settles lower, silt forming a grimy division on the lens, a surreal line of separation between the world of sight and sound and the world of darkness and silence. The water churns with bubbles, further shrouding this bleak place just inches below the surface, yet seemingly a million miles away from reality. It's a whole new environment, one of solitary silence, except for the occasional grinding of a propeller blade or the shouts of other team members. The boots stick in the deep mud, making each step a struggle. No need for fins, no gliding effortlessly through a crystal clear lagoon like SCUBA is portrayed in the movies.
This is no exotic dive resort, it's Sauvie Island, Oregon. And it's no vacation, it's the investigation into the disappearance of Kyron Horman. Among the many tragic, horrible subplots the Kyron Horman case has produced, it has also brought to light some positive ones. Case in point: the grim, thankless and yet important job of the volunteer search diver.
"I'm pretty adventurous," search diver Jayson Cottle told a local newscrew about the efforts on Sauvie Island. "I like going and doing unusual things that most people are not interested in."
That's an understatement. Search diving is a tough, grisly task that's not for the faint of heart. Most operations are recoveries, almost never for a live person, and it's compared to being a medical examiner, except dead and decomposing bodies are much different underwater. Sometimes the body will just turn or move around and appear to take a look right at you. Sometimes marine life moves around under the skin making it appear like the facial muscles are flexing and smiling or blinking the eyes. Often, due to the low-visibility conditions, divers report smelling, even tasting the bodies well before they actually see them.
Because of such horrifying situations, even the toughest of the tough wear down and give up on search diving, usually after only a couple of years.
The job can be one without much reward, and with a lot of personal expense. Most search divers are volunteers, driving themselves in their own personal vehicles to the search site, providing their own dive gear (up to $6,000 worth) and not getting paid a dime. Even the paid search divers are usually Firefighters or Police Officers are only compensated a tiny amount, in some cases literally $15 extra every two weeks.
But these folks aren't in it for the money. It's their higher sense of duty and altruism that calls them to this task. They feel like it's a job that nobody else wants to do, yet we all know somebody has to.
Somebody has to get into that muddy, cold water, fighting the currents and peering through two-foot visibility. It's probably the most important job in some crime investigations. Sometimes its the search diver who is called upon to find key evidence that could help to solve a case. Other times they are instrumental in recovering the body of a drowning victim, helping the family to at least have some sense of closure.
Whatever the motivation, there is something instinctual inside the people who become search divers that drives them to help others. Good thing, too, for in that dark world of solitary silence, instinct is sometimes the only thing they can rely upon.
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