It’s cold. Painfully cold. So cold, I begin to question the logic behind my thrill seeking madness. It’s these sort of crazy people that end up on the news, right? The headlines screaming American Found Frozen Between Tectonic Plates, Iceland. The water is only up to my ankles, and already, a string of eclectic language has escaped my lips. It’s now or never, though. The frozen body of a Hawaii teen was located in the chilly waters of Iceland… I double-check that my mask is on tight, dry suit valves are locked and closed.

The dry sand crunches under my feet as I walk across the beach. Little crabs skitter out of the way, racing amongst the scattered fragments of coral and seashells long abandoned to flip into the sea. For once, the ocean is calm. There’s not a ripple to be seen, as far as the horizon. A glassy mirror, the water reflects the cerulean sky above. Besides the wind dancing through the trees and my bare feet softly padding over the sand, a blanket of peaceful silence has settled over the beach.