Titanic Diary - Part 6
The Dive - Page 2
As we turned away from the bridge, I took one last look out the port viewing hole, thinking of the moment. "Viktor", said Ralph, interrupting my thoughts, " we go to port side wing bridge" Trimming the ballast once more, Viktor turned Mir and steered us to the next recovery target. This was a bridge telegraph base. The top had been recovered a few days before, but the base was firmly edged in a corner, thrown there after the bridge roof was ripped off in the ship's final moments. It was our task to reunite it with the rest of it topside. This was a difficult one. The sub was turned sideways so that we were on the wing bridge deck, but the bulkheads had collapsed forward, making it very tight. Inch by inch, we came into position, again leaning slightly forward. The arms extended forward, and it looked as though this was going to be a straightforward lift. We spoke too soon, for as the arms slowly raised the base and lowered it into the basket, it tilted sideways and fell back to the deck, stirring up a great cloud of rust. Our friend the yellow fog was back with us. Once again we lay down and waited. When it cleared again, the attempt was repeated. Several times Viktor nearly succeeded, but not quite.
After 30 minutes the base was finally secure and we proceeded around the mast again to the starboard wing bridge. Ralph had seen two brass timing switches on a previous dive on the corresponding fallen bulkhead. These were about nine inches in diameter and apparently lying loose, but when the claw went to retrieve the first one, it wouldn't budge. Lifting it up slowly we could see what was holding it fast. Eighty eight year old wiring! After much twisting, it eventually snapped and joined the telegraph base. We gave up on the second one after many attempts to free it, turning instead towards a small brass on/off switch, which again was held in place with the previously mentioned wire. This was retrieved after our fog had eventually cleared and we moved up to the Officer's Deck, still on the starboard side. The MIRs do not move in a hurry, and it's just as well. On quite a few occasions we bumped gently into an overhang, sending large amounts of rusticles down. It was at moments like these that you realise just how vulnerable you are, and how helpless if it all goes wrong. Indeed, as I write these lines I think of those Russian sailors who are trapped in their submarine in the Barents Sea. They are not in very deep water and yet their situation is grim. Naturally there is great concern with the crew on this ship for their fellow countrymen, but there is nothing they can do for them.
On the Officer's Deck we moved slowly. It was strange, it was as though I was walking along it. We paused to look into Captain Smith's cabin. The sidewall has fallen away in the last year and you can see into it more clearly. The bath with all it's fittings is alongside my viewing port. Would you believe it, it's still full of water! Over on my left I can see fallen lifeboat davits and the small mooring bollards that were at their base. One of these has been retrieved, and I identified on the log sheet their positions. Who were the lucky ones that boarded here? Who got left behind to their fate?
We move on and time is running out on us. It is nearly 19.00 hrs. I don't know where the day has gone. Viktor rests the sub and changes the scrubbers, the system that removes the carbon dioxide from the air. We move on and as we pass Captain Smith's cabin, I look into the next one and it's walls are also crumbling. A small white crab is sitting in a mass of jumbled debris. Outside on the deck, more piles of debris are lying up against the wall. We see a fallen bulkhead lamp and pick it up. I look forward and see a circular shape sticking out of it. "Viktor, look, over on the right, something big!", I shout. "Ralph," I continue, " that looks like a hub with an A frame support" Ralph is scanning with the video cameras, but the focus isn't quite sharp. I suggest that it's the ship's wheel. He agrees, nodding vigorously. "Rory, I think we have just redeemed ourselves", he says. This is quite incredible. It is the remains of the main wheel of the ship. It was formerly attached to the telemotor on the bridge deck where we left the plaque. The last person to handle this could have been Captain Smith himself. It was probably ripped off in the sinking, but somehow did not fall to the bottom, landing here about 20 metres away from its point of origin. The arms reach in, slowly picking it up. We see that the shaft is still on it. As it is pulled out from the rubble, another sight greets our eyes. There are the remains of three of the wooden spokes, protected by the pile they were buried in. You can see the wood turning on one of the stumps. This is a really important find. The ship's bell and the ship's wheel are synonymous with the heart of a ship. The bell was recovered on previous expeditions, but on this one we have now recovered both the auxiliary wheel and the main one.
Viktor raises the unit, turning this way and that until it is secure in the basket. There is no way that he misunderstands our excitement. He knows this piece has got to get back safely. How many other times have people passed over this spot? This area has always been visited owing to it's historic location. We have been very lucky.
Our battery warning level lights are on, it's time to go. I ask Viktor if he will make one last pass over the wreck for me. He nods, lifting MIR 2 off the deck and heading aft. Looking out I see one of the funnel holes, air intakes, the Grand Staircase void, ladders, lights, more lifeboat davits. He circles the torn structure and we are at the section where the forward section of the ship broke away. It is a mass of tumbled metal and cables. He pauses, adjusting our trim and starts to pump out the water from our ballast tanks for the long trip home. Imperceptibly, MIR 2 rises. The decks of Titanic start getting distant. I don't want to go.
I cherish this moment. I take one long lingering look at the remains of this great ship that never completed her maiden voyage. She is disappearing from view, and she is disappearing into the seabed. Nature is reclaiming her, but we at least are bringing some of her back to share with the world. Finally, I can no longer see her, and I turn away from the viewing port. A calm envelopes me and I lie back.
Surprisingly, I dozed off for about an hour, falling asleep to the sounds of the Christy Moore Collection (sorry Christy). The next two hours dragged by, the cold and condensation getting worse. I look out the view port, spotting those strange glowing creatures of the deep. This is what Ralph warned me about, the low after the high. Finally at 22.35, our depth gauge reads zero. We have reached the surface, and we bob around waiting for the cavalry to rescue us. We are still slightly below the surface, so we can't see what's going on. Having seen the routine for the last two weeks, I know what to expect. Exchanges are made on the radio, the voices much sharper as they are now penetrating air space and not water. After half an hour we feel the sub being pulled upwards. The lights change, we see the ship, we are hoisted on board. I turn to Ralph, take his hand and shake it. "Thank you my friend, we've come a long way since 1988". He nods back at me. "I'm now handing the baton over to you, no one will invite me back to Ireland again", he says in his " I think I've created a monster" voice. I retort, "Give me a break Ralph, thirty dives against one, I don't think so". He smiles with that benefactor's look in his eyes.
Outside, the crowd are holding back, waiting for us to come out and examine our catch. Bill Sauder, our marine engineering expert is eagerly looking at the wheel. The hatch is opened, I get sent up the ladder, climb out on the roof and the gang are all down there, cheering. Then they break into a chorus of that Monty Python song again, so I do a little jig on the roof of MIR 2. Climbing down the ladder, the first person to welcome me back is Sean. "You were a long time buddy, I'm glad you're back" he says. Michael Harris, the man who granted me my wish is there, Dave Walker our operations manager, Jim our archaeologist, it's great to see them and share in the buzz. I talk about the finds and Bill does confirm that we have the main wheel. He states that this is probably the most important find of the expedition. Ralph very generously stands back, allowing me to bask in the limelight. The artifacts are brought to the lab, the crew shut down the operations, and I run to the toilet.
After a rushed cold meal at midnight, I have a few drinks with Sean and a few others in Ralph's room. The slagging went on for a few hours, Ralph finally throwing us out at about 2.30. I was still on a high, and had no interest in going to bed. Sean and I walked the decks for a few hours, and after boring him silly with the video playback of the dive, I fell into my bunk at 4.30 am and fell into a deep sleep.
The expedition would continue, but Titanic was my ship of dreams that night.
After 30 minutes the base was finally secure and we proceeded around the mast again to the starboard wing bridge. Ralph had seen two brass timing switches on a previous dive on the corresponding fallen bulkhead. These were about nine inches in diameter and apparently lying loose, but when the claw went to retrieve the first one, it wouldn't budge. Lifting it up slowly we could see what was holding it fast. Eighty eight year old wiring! After much twisting, it eventually snapped and joined the telegraph base. We gave up on the second one after many attempts to free it, turning instead towards a small brass on/off switch, which again was held in place with the previously mentioned wire. This was retrieved after our fog had eventually cleared and we moved up to the Officer's Deck, still on the starboard side. The MIRs do not move in a hurry, and it's just as well. On quite a few occasions we bumped gently into an overhang, sending large amounts of rusticles down. It was at moments like these that you realise just how vulnerable you are, and how helpless if it all goes wrong. Indeed, as I write these lines I think of those Russian sailors who are trapped in their submarine in the Barents Sea. They are not in very deep water and yet their situation is grim. Naturally there is great concern with the crew on this ship for their fellow countrymen, but there is nothing they can do for them.
We move on and time is running out on us. It is nearly 19.00 hrs. I don't know where the day has gone. Viktor rests the sub and changes the scrubbers, the system that removes the carbon dioxide from the air. We move on and as we pass Captain Smith's cabin, I look into the next one and it's walls are also crumbling. A small white crab is sitting in a mass of jumbled debris. Outside on the deck, more piles of debris are lying up against the wall. We see a fallen bulkhead lamp and pick it up. I look forward and see a circular shape sticking out of it. "Viktor, look, over on the right, something big!", I shout. "Ralph," I continue, " that looks like a hub with an A frame support" Ralph is scanning with the video cameras, but the focus isn't quite sharp. I suggest that it's the ship's wheel. He agrees, nodding vigorously. "Rory, I think we have just redeemed ourselves", he says. This is quite incredible. It is the remains of the main wheel of the ship. It was formerly attached to the telemotor on the bridge deck where we left the plaque. The last person to handle this could have been Captain Smith himself. It was probably ripped off in the sinking, but somehow did not fall to the bottom, landing here about 20 metres away from its point of origin. The arms reach in, slowly picking it up. We see that the shaft is still on it. As it is pulled out from the rubble, another sight greets our eyes. There are the remains of three of the wooden spokes, protected by the pile they were buried in. You can see the wood turning on one of the stumps. This is a really important find. The ship's bell and the ship's wheel are synonymous with the heart of a ship. The bell was recovered on previous expeditions, but on this one we have now recovered both the auxiliary wheel and the main one.
Our battery warning level lights are on, it's time to go. I ask Viktor if he will make one last pass over the wreck for me. He nods, lifting MIR 2 off the deck and heading aft. Looking out I see one of the funnel holes, air intakes, the Grand Staircase void, ladders, lights, more lifeboat davits. He circles the torn structure and we are at the section where the forward section of the ship broke away. It is a mass of tumbled metal and cables. He pauses, adjusting our trim and starts to pump out the water from our ballast tanks for the long trip home. Imperceptibly, MIR 2 rises. The decks of Titanic start getting distant. I don't want to go.
I cherish this moment. I take one long lingering look at the remains of this great ship that never completed her maiden voyage. She is disappearing from view, and she is disappearing into the seabed. Nature is reclaiming her, but we at least are bringing some of her back to share with the world. Finally, I can no longer see her, and I turn away from the viewing port. A calm envelopes me and I lie back.
Outside, the crowd are holding back, waiting for us to come out and examine our catch. Bill Sauder, our marine engineering expert is eagerly looking at the wheel. The hatch is opened, I get sent up the ladder, climb out on the roof and the gang are all down there, cheering. Then they break into a chorus of that Monty Python song again, so I do a little jig on the roof of MIR 2. Climbing down the ladder, the first person to welcome me back is Sean. "You were a long time buddy, I'm glad you're back" he says. Michael Harris, the man who granted me my wish is there, Dave Walker our operations manager, Jim our archaeologist, it's great to see them and share in the buzz. I talk about the finds and Bill does confirm that we have the main wheel. He states that this is probably the most important find of the expedition. Ralph very generously stands back, allowing me to bask in the limelight. The artifacts are brought to the lab, the crew shut down the operations, and I run to the toilet.
After a rushed cold meal at midnight, I have a few drinks with Sean and a few others in Ralph's room. The slagging went on for a few hours, Ralph finally throwing us out at about 2.30. I was still on a high, and had no interest in going to bed. Sean and I walked the decks for a few hours, and after boring him silly with the video playback of the dive, I fell into my bunk at 4.30 am and fell into a deep sleep.
The expedition would continue, but Titanic was my ship of dreams that night.
