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After we load our gear, Keldysh clears the harbor of St. John’s and begins the twenty-hour cruise to the Titanic wreck site. We arrive in the early morning hours of September 1. The crew of Keldysh prepares for the dive by dropping three acoustic transponders around the wreck to help the two Mirs to navigate and to give mission control aboard Keldysh an indication of where we are 2¼ miles below them.
Five days of diving — a total often dives, each with two passengers and a Russian pilot — follow. As we slowly circle this famous patch of ocean, I stare out over the dark blue water and then up at the clear night sky, the stars burning brightly, unobscured by city lights. I can’t help thinking about what happened at this very site eighty-eight years ago. Ballard was right when he said this is a spooky spot on the ocean. The power of the human imagination, and the fact that I am exactly where the tragic events happened, bring to mind that ill-fated ship poised on the brink of her final plunge, the silently bobbing bodies, deck chairs, broken wood and steamer trunks. The next morning, some people confess that during the evening they came up on deck, or like me, looked out of an open porthole, and felt the impact of being here—it was an emotional moment. Those of us who will be diving in the subs are wondering how we will feel, how we will react, when we reach the ocean’s floor and see Titanic.
In conversations with the other divers and participants, the motive for their presence on the expedition is a constant and early question. Each of us wants to know why the others chose to do this dive. One motive is historical interest — a British non-diving passenger is a keen student of Titanic’s history, and many others have more than a passing acquaintance with the ship’s famous story. Another is that it is an opportunity to participate in the exploration of a shipwreck and to see a part of our world that few ever visit. There is a powerful intellectual curiosity afoot, stoked not just by this famous shipwreck but also by working with a top team of scientists and technicians to experience first hand these amazing submersibles and to view the ocean depths. By volume, the sea covers 99.5 per cent of our biosphere, with 78.5 per cent of that taken up by deep ocean.
There is probably more diversity of life in the deep sea than on land, and the opportunity to see some of that life, as well as the very real possibility of discovering a new species through observation as the subs drop through the water, interests a few of the diving passengers. For others, there is the rarity of what we are about to do. And for most, if not all, there is the passionate desire to learn more, to co
Driving the need to visit the wreck now is a concern over reports that Titanic is deteriorating rapidly. A USA TODAY story, published just before we departed, quoted scientists who think that Titanic will collapse within two years. There is also a concern that the ongoing salvage of Titanic’s artifacts by RMS Titanic Inc., an American salvage firm, is diminishing the “time capsule” effect of the wreck. Since 1987, RMS Titanic Inc. has made over a hundred dives and pulled nearly six thousand artifacts from the sea.
RMS Titanic Inc. is seeking to cover the costs of its dives through public displays of these artifacts, as well as film deals and souvenir sales that include small pieces of coal from Titanic’s bunkers. Recently, the company, which has no museum or permanent home for the collection, raised the possibility of selling the artifacts. While that sale idea has been blocked, for the time being at least, by the U.S. courts, there is a risk, whether through nature or by human activity, that the opportunity to explore the ultimate Titanic museum — the shipwreck site itself and the associated artifacts — is at risk.
We assemble in the lab at 9:30 a.m. Mir 1 is loading, and we watch as the huge crane picks up the submersible, swings it over the side and then, timing the waves, lowers it into the water. As the support boat Koresh (“friend” in Russian) comes alongside, a Zodiac roars up and a wet-suited diver leaps out from it onto the partially awash Mir. After unhooking the huge umbilical that co
Now it’s our turn. My dive partner is Scott Fitzsimmons, president of Zegrahm. After a quick chat with Anatoly Sagalevitch, the senior scientist, and our pilot, Evgeny “Genya” Chernaiev, we climb up the ladder one by one, at 9:45 a.m. At the top, two technicians take our shoes (no shoes are allowed inside in order to keep the sub’s delicate electronics dust-free) and hand us our gear as we lower ourselves through the narrow hatch. A thick rubber O-ring is positioned on the hatch’s tapered rim to make a watertight seal. Looking at it, I can’t help but think about the explosion of the space shuttle Challenger. Faulty O-rings doomed Challenger and her crew in a disaster caused by an over-reliance on technology — and many observers have compared Challenger to Titanic. I take a hard look at the O-ring but am reassured by the careful inspection that the Russian crew give it.
Scott follows me in, and we take up positions on either side of Genya as he preps the sub for launch. We lie, half-flexed, on narrow padded bunks that have me tucking my feet into a crowded corner between cables and stowed gear. The crew lowers the hatch and Genya secures it, then he folds up the internal ladder and locks it over the hatch. He switches on life support, and as the air gets richer with oxygen, the muffled bumping above us signals the arrival of the crane. Peering out the tiny view ports, we watch the deckhands unshackle the cables that hold Mir 2 to the deck, then we rise up and over the gunwale. It is a smooth ride, and not until we hit the water do we feel any movement. We roll with the waves as Koresh tows us clear of Keldysh. Genya reaches overhead and floods our ballast tanks with 3,300 pounds of sea water, then suddenly, just 9 feet beneath the waves, the sub stops rolling. We’re dropping now, at a rate of about 105 feet a minute, slowly picking up speed as we free-fall all the way down to the ocean floor. The slow spin of the sub’s compass shows we’re spiraling, just the way that water does when it goes down a drain.
It’s hot inside the sub — about 75° F — and as we fall, Genya rechecks the systems. Only one small light is on, and Genya is playing light jazz on the CD player. In two minutes, we pass 213 feet, the maximum depth I’ve reached as a scuba diver. Scott exchanges a grin with me — we’re looking forward to hitting bottom in a couple of hours. The feet click away on the electronic display behind me, and we both watch at 492 feet as the last light disappears from the water. Light blue gave way to dark magenta, but now it is pitch black outside. The light from inside the sub dimly outlines the manipulator arm and video camera mounted near my view port, and as I watch it, I notice the occasional flash of a bioluminescent sea creature as we continue to fall.
At 10:50 a.m., we reach 6,560 feet. Genya switches on the powerful external lights for a check and examines the motors of Sergeytch, our small remotely operated vehicle (ROV), in its external “garage.” The ROV is a small robot camera linked to Mir 2 by a cable. It has not worked all week, and technicians spent long hours fixing a thruster problem so that we can get some close-in interior photos of Titanic. All systems are “go” as Genya fires up Sergeytch and tries the thrusters. At 11:17, Mir 2 reaches 9,840 feet, and Genya turns on the sonar and pings the seabed below us. At 11:42, Genya starts Mir 2’s thrusters, and we slow to lightly touch down at 11:45.