If you missed it, don’t fret. From up here, the raised thumb of the Yucatan Peninsula passes beneath me sixteen times a day. Whenever possible, I finger-trace the submerged impact depression of the Chicxulub Crater through a portal. Stroke the big rock that ended the Cretaceous Era. When you can touch something that’s never been touched, it should be the final act of your life.
Twenty years ago, as the tour guide prattled on about diving-depth limits, this was on my mind. See, I hadn’t flown a thousand miles to Chicxulub to hunt for pearls. Nor did I end up here last week just to drop a few steel sepulchers into geosynchronous orbit. But to straddle time, one needs staging.
Human physiological limit with scuba gear is around two hundred feet.
A five millimeter layer of Neoprene, a quarter inch of tank steel, and assorted plies of rubber and…
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