Editors' Prize Winner | April 22, 2026

Safe Haven for Monsters 

Deep beneath the waters of Lake Champlain is a graveyard of shipwrecks, accessible only to scuba divers zealous enough to brave the cold temperatures and low visibility. Even in midsummer, hypothermia can be a risk to those who don’t take precautions, and caliginous currents obscure wrecks so only pieces can be explored at a time: A severed sail suffocating in algae. A bloated boom, blistering and peeling. A mangled tiller laced with waterweed. All floating into vision one-by-one, as if dismembered. Generally, only hardcore divers are willing to undertake the endeavor for such little reward. And even fewer dare the attempt in the offseason, when temperatures plummet to just above freezing.  

In the spring of 2016, back when my survival instinct was still slow-witted, I was one of those divers.  

As I shimmied into my dry suit, diving hood, and neoprene gloves, I looked around at my equally fanatical companions: Brad, a UVM grad student researching stormwater management; Laura, a serial hobbyist attempting to find her latest and greatest wild adventure; and Orson, a local fishing guide hunting for Champ, the region’s beloved lake monster—a purported plesiosaur often compared to Nessie of Loch Ness. We were a ragtag group brought together because we were the only four people from our diving club willing to venture out into Vermont’s glacial spring waters. After all, diving season was still six weeks away.  

But we had a common goal: to explore an off-the-grid shipwreck. Orson’s fishing line had snagged on something the previous day, and after performing multiple depth tests, he was certain it was large enough to be an undiscovered barge or schooner. He’d immediately reached out to the online community bulletin, and I’d responded on a whim. Luckily, Brad was able to procure us four nitrox tanks. We were planning to descend to 105 feet, where the temperature dropped to 35 degrees. Due to the depth and the cold, we allotted ourselves only twenty minutes to explore. A friend of Orson’s would stay behind and man the boat while we investigated.  

“Okay, party people: let’s not shine our lights directly at anything that slithers. Champ might not like the spotlight,” Orson said, handing me a waterproof flashlight. His wild and wavy silver hair looked like a lake monster all on its own. “If you see something large moving down there, signal me with three on/off flashes.”  

Brad rolled his eyes, but Laura hung on his every word. She was there for the adventure, after all. “Do you really think this could be Champ’s nest?” She slipped on her large black flippers, which made her long, slender legs appear swanlike.  

“I don’t think plesiosaurs have underwater nesting grounds. But, you know, it’s possible this could be his main lair.” Orson passed out the remainder of the flashlights, his hands noticeably trembling—from cold or excitement, I wasn’t certain. He was of the mindset that the only reason Champ had not been spotted beneath the surface was that his central habitat was in a portion of the lake not yet plumbed. To him, an undiscovered wreck was just another opportunity to discover Champ’s refuge. He clapped Brad on the back. “You excited, buddy? Not every day you get to search for a legendary monster.” 

“I’m here for the wreck,” Brad said flatly. He tightened the strap on his buoyancy compensator (BC), which strained against his stocky chest. I often wondered why Brad, a serious scientist, put up with our shenanigans. But I knew he was curious about whether snowmelt pollution had impacted that area of the lake—and perhaps the allure of being among the first to discover a shipwreck of possible historical significance was too great an opportunity for even him to pass up. After all, some documented military wrecks dated all the way back to the early eighteenth century, when Lake Champlain was occasionally used as a battlefield.