The Daredevil Divers of Wreck Valley
Four centuries of transatlantic travel have left a treasure trove of secrets off the coast of Long Island. A handful of adventurous explorers are determined to unearth them.
It felt almost like trespassing. Captain Dan Berg motored his forty-foot Young Brothers fishing boat down the narrow canal, which runs like an alley between houses. His passengers squinted against the early morning sun. They gasped at the mangled docks lining the waterway, bruises from Hurricane Sandy. Facing shore, they could see that half of Paddy McGee’s Fishhouse on Waterview Road in Island Park had collapsed.
The morning was cold. The group moved into the boat’s small wheelhouse and secured the door with a bungee cord. Inside, their noise was less offensive to the thick silence on the water. At six a.m. it was the sort of silence that no one wanted to bump, that noticed every zipper and drag of an ice chest. Only the sound of the motor, tattering rhythmically like a diesel truck in idle, was permitted to stretch out.
The boat chugged under Long Island Boulevard and anticipation onboard grew. After all, the docks were not the sort of rubble this group of s…
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