South Carolina, USA

Searching for Megs in the South of Carolina

AUTHOR
Andi Cross
PHOTOGRAPHERS
Adam Moore & Andi Cross
July 5, 2024
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Audio generated for accessibility using AI. Intonation does not express the true level of awe and stoke.

I must admit that Charleston was a far cry from the usual remote destinations we seek out on the Edges of Earth expedition. Yet, spending the Fourth of July in the USA took on a different meaning for me, having lived in the States for much of my life. After completing a grueling drive through Central America, crossing the Mexican border, and traveling across the USA from Texas to the East Coast, the thought of not finding shark teeth felt like it would be the disappointment of a lifetime. But we had to remind ourselves that nature doesn’t offer any kind of guarantees, nor does it respect our efforts to meticulously plan a worldwide expedition. Regardless, we pressed onward to our destination: Charleston, South Carolina. Why there? We were going diving for megalodon teeth in the lesser-known Wando River.

The megalodon was a species of shark that roamed the oceans between 23 and 3.6 million years ago. Known for its immense size (and perhaps additionally popularized by the gaudy Jason Statham action films), the megalodon is estimated to have reached lengths of up to 60 feet (18 meters), making it one of the largest creatures to have ever lived. This apex predator had a powerful bite force, capable of crushing the bones of large marine mammals, including whales, which were its primary prey. The sheer size and strength of the megalodon have captured the imagination of scientists and enthusiasts alike, making it a subject of fascination long after its extinction.

What makes the megalodon particularly special, aside from its colossal size, is the legacy it left behind—its teeth. These teeth, some over seven inches long, are among the largest ever discovered and provide a tangible connection to this prehistoric giant. Unlike the skeletons of most sharks, which are made of cartilage and decompose over time, megalodon teeth are composed of hard enamel, allowing them to fossilize and endure for millions of years.

Despite the allure of these fossils, it’s important to note that the megalodon is completely extinct. 

Some sensationalist claims suggest that these sharks might still lurk in the unexplored depths of our ocean, but these are purely fictional. The megalodon disappeared likely due to a combination of environmental changes that reduced its habitat and food sources, and the emergence of new predators and competitors. If megalodons were still around today, they would pose a significant threat to modern marine life. In fact, they’d be quite hard to miss. You'd see them on every corner of the globe, many divers and surfers would be scared to get in the water, and our ocean ecosystems would be drastically different as a result.

Today, South Carolina is one of the best places in the world to find remnants of this ancient predator. The state’s rivers and coastal areas, particularly the Wando, Cooper, and Edisto Rivers, are known for yielding a high count of fossilized megalodon teeth. These rivers, with their strong currents and shifting sediments, continually unearth fossils, making them hotspots for those eager to connect with the distant past.

What stood out to me about this kind of diving, aside from the fact that you can find actual prehistoric teeth at the bottom of these silty rivers, was the warnings we kept receiving about the level of skill required to survive it. According to those who had tackled it before us, this wasn’t going to be easy. Were we ready for this adventure of a lifetime? I was certainly unsure. As we drove through one of the hottest summers on record in the USA in a car nearly void of air conditioning, we didn’t fully grasp what was in store for us. Soaked in sweat, wearing only bathing suits, we rolled into pristine Charleston looking like we had been through quite the journey—and we had. But when there’s niche diving to be explored, we’re in it for the long haul. 

Anticipation, nerves, and excitement swirled as we counted down the hours until our first river plunge.

Diving in these rivers means immersing yourself in what’s essentiall no visibility conditions, even in broad daylight. Visibility is often less than three feet (or one meter), so you are essentially diving blind. You need to be lightly tethered to your buddy, with a pick in one hand to anchor yourself to the riverbed while the other hand feels around for teeth. Visually spotting these teeth is not really possible in these conditions. A helmet with mounted lights is essential, and relying on your buddy for moral support is too, as you’ll also be battling the river's powerful, and often changing currents. Your dive must be timed perfectly during slack tide, and going out with professionals who know these waters intimately is a must.

Some hardcore fossil hunters dive these rivers alone, spending hours searching for their precious finds. But solo diving here is risky. The currents can be dangerous, and the debris on the riverbed is real. Not to mention, there are deep areas with overhangs, and if you get yourself in the wrong spot, you can find yourself stuck. There have been fatalities, with divers going missing or getting injured. Despite the warnings, we were determined to dive, and Carolina Dive Locker, led by Jeffrey Eidenberger, was the team willing to take us out there.

We’ve encountered many divers and professionals during our expedition, many with military backgrounds or commercial diving experience. They’re often the best divers around, and they don’t compromise on safety. Jeff and his team were no exception—highly trained and by-the-book, they embody professionalism. Jeff, a decorated US Navy veteran, doesn’t flaunt his achievements, but his dive operation speaks volumes about his expertise. Covered in medals and awards, the dive shop walls are proof that Jeff strives for excellence in quite literally everything he does. But another quality that many seasoned divers share is humility. Jeff’s down-to-earth attitude meant that if you didn’t ask about the medals on the wall, you’d simply never know his decorated past. 

Based on our email exchanges leading up to this very moment, Jeff knew I was obsessed with finding fossils. He warned me that it was possible to come up empty-handed; some dives yield nothing for weeks, while others uncover fossils a plenty. To legally collect fossils, you need a hobby license from the state of South Carolina. Since we were traveling from Central America, we didn’t have a home address where the state government could send the license, so we had to obtain it in person. By a stroke of luck, we passed through Columbia, South Carolina, where the Maritime Research Division of the SC Institute of Archaeology & Anthropology is located. A liaison waited for us until 8:00pm to hand over the license that would determine our fossil-finding fate, and the word grateful simply wasn’t enough to express how I was feeling for that. Apparently, this type of state love doesn’t happen every day!

You can apply for a six-month or year-long license, and then you are required to report your findings. 

That’s because professional archaeologists also search this area, and us hobby fossil finders need to contribute to natural history if we can. It’s a delicate balance between diver and state, where a mutual understanding must be had. Divers find things, and if it’s noteworthy and contributes to advancing our understanding of the natural world, it needs to be reported and shared. 

The day finally arrived, and after lengthy preparation, we were ready to go diving. My dive buddy was Brian Heinze, an Assistant Scuba Instructor and active Police Officer based out of Isle of Palms, South Carolina, who was easily twice my size. He was going to show me the ropes down there (and likely pull me along to survive the current, given the fact he towered over me!). On our way to the dive site, Jeff explained that he wasn’t always in the business of shark tooth diving, as there were other operators who were far more obsessive and even more renegade. Jeff inherited shark tooth diving with the passing of local legend and water cowboy, Captain Tom McMillan, who had been running these types of dives for decades. In 2023, when he passed away, the doors opened for Jeff to take over and bring more rigor to the dives, which we were thankful for in both foresight and hindsight.

By the time we were jumping in, the currents were manageable, and the temperature was that of bath water during this particular slack tide. I was loosely attached to Brian with a tether that would allow an easy escape if necessary. I opted to leave behind my camera gear as there was truly no point—you couldn’t see a thing. Dropping down, it took me a solid 20 minutes to get my bearings. It was the first time in a long time where I felt genuinely uncomfortable underwater. It was broad daylight above me, yet total darkness around me, and I was in an environment unlike anything I’d ever experienced before.

But once I adjusted, it was sifting time. 

State rules prohibit digging for teeth, but you can use your hand to sift around the riverbed, searching for pointy pieces that felt like teeth. I wasn’t entirely sure how to navigate this situation, as the current suddenly picked up in a way that would terrify even the most seasoned of divers. Using a screwdriver as a pick, I held on for dear life as my fins flapped behind me in the current—one that was growing stronger by the minute. Slack tide had surely come and gone. Within minutes of our first dive, Brian found a gigantic, fully intact megalodon tooth. We both screamed into our regulators, knowing this was a once-in-a-lifetime find. Motivated by his success, I continued sifting, trying to calm my excitement and heightened adrenaline. The finds came slowly but steadily—shark teeth, whale vertebrae, ribs, and more. We realized we had hit the riverbed jackpot. After two back-to-back dives, we surfaced with bags full of fossils. My heart raced as my inner treasure hunter fully awakened. 

As a child, I would search for rocks, minerals, and fossils with my father, never imagining I’d one day be covered in mud at the bottom of a river, scuba diving for prehistoric treasures of this scale and size. Brian’s massive tooth was close to five inches long, one of the largest found in these parts. It was brownish-black, indicating it was perfectly fossilized—a stark contrast to the white teeth of more recently deceased sharks. Fossilized teeth are impressions of what the tooth once was, petrified over eons and left for us to discover. The rocks we found were in perfect formation, including fossilized teeth from great whites, mako sharks, sand tigers, and more massive megs.

Our second dive lasted for an hour, though the slack tide only provided a brief respite. 

While we were underwater, the current began raging out of nowhere—a stark reminder that conditions here can change in an instant, whether you're above the surface or below. The force of the current was so intense that the screwdriver I was using as a pick became almost useless towards the end. I had to fully deflate my BCD and use my weight to anchor myself to the bottom, grateful for every inch of my 3mm exposure suit as I became enveloped in mud and rocky shards. As we reached our bottom time limit, we surfaced slowly, realizing there was no way we could make it back to the main vessel without assistance. The spotter boat, which had been keeping a watchful eye on us, came to our rescue in the fast-moving topside chaos.

The larger vessel, manned by Jeff and holding our gear, remained stabilized in a single location. We were to grab hold of a lead line thrown overboard by the spotter boat. Brian and I both managed to catch it, holding on with one hand each. The current was so strong that we struggled to maintain our grip, even as we were rapidly pulled towards our safety net. Driving into the current while clinging to that lead rope, it felt as though my arm might give out from the strain. Yet, at that moment, something profound ignited within me—a passion that had always been there, sparked during childhood adventures, but now fully aflame in the heart of the Wando River with my newfound friends at Carolina Dive Locker.

The Wando River had revealed its ancient secrets to us, and we were fortunate to have been there at the right place and time. This dive, with its challenges and rewards, reminded me why we explore the edges of the earth—to come a bit closer to the hidden mysteries of our planet’s past and to connect with the stories that have shaped our world. The thrill of the hunt, the camaraderie of the dive team, and the satisfaction of finding something truly extraordinary are what keep us going, dive after dive. And as we pulled ourselves back onto the boat, I knew this would not be the last time I ventured into these murky waters in search of ancient history—and perhaps in search of even more answers to the unknown with this level of diving pros.

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