-Titanic Captain E.J. Smith, in
. . a New York Times interview.

. . . The muffled sound of the circular hatch closes a few feet above your head and your ears feel the forced pressure as the rotating wheel of the watertight lock is turned securely from the outside. You take your position, along with your two comrades in the three man sub and the first thing you notice is the lack of space. There is no standing room in the Russian submersible- MIR-1, you lay down. There is a florescent light dangling in the rear, but most of the light is still coming in from the three portholes positioned in front of the capsule. As you look around you notice many switches lining both sides of the small cabin. Digital readout screens, monitors, and colored lights make up the rest of the wall space.

. . . You are now starting to sweat because you’re dressed in a fire retarding Nomex IIIA flightsuit which is required because your submersible’s life support environment is 100% oxygen. But your Russian pilot pulls his suit off to his waist and wipes the sweat away with a towel. You do the same and hope n o one decides to “light up.”

. . . The stainless steel clamp from the ships crane loudly clicks into place and suddenly your capsule starts swinging free with the pitching of the boat. A quick look out your porthole tells you that you are being raised from the deck. This scene is soon replaced as you pass over the ship’s rail and view the sea beneath you. An occasional glimpse of the red and white support vessel Koresh rolling in the waves nearby along with a rubber Zodiac raft poised with it’s divers intently watching you as you swing from the single huge line that still connects you to the ship.

. . . Slowly, the distance between you and the rolling waves become shorter as the huge crane slowly feeds out more of your umbilical. Suddenly, your capsule is lifted by a wave and almost at that precise moment the boom sets you in the water. Bubbles rush up, swirling around your porthole. The scene drastically changes through your window as the thought and sight of entering one world and leaving another behind plays out in your head.

. . . After viewing this exercise on a daily basis from the deck of the ship, you know, but don’t feel, the Zodiac is rushing on top of you, depositing one of the three Russian divers who quickly unclasps the steel lock from your sub to set you free of the mother ship. A moment later you feel a slight forward tug as the Koresh begins to tow you away from the waves that you know are slamming against the hull of the vessel you just left. Bubbles, again stream up and over your porthole as you glide through a beautiful shade of bluish-green water.

. . . After a few moments of being towed out to sea and away from the research vessel, the bubbles cease and the rocking motion of the wave action is more noticeable. It’s quiet, very quiet, and you know, but don’t feel, the same diver who has rode out on top of your sub is disconnecting your tow line from the Koresh.

. . . A speaker in the sub blares out a few words in Russian and your Russian pilot shakes his head in the affirmative and replies through his microphone. You also know, without asking, that the message was to tell you that you are now free from any tenders and to begin your decent.

. . . Viktor, your submersible pilot, reaches across and over your head and flips some switches. His hands then reach to the control panel in front of him and clasps two of the four joysticks in front of his porthole and pushes them forward and to the left. The rocking motion of the sub soon stops and the bluish-green water turns bluer and darker. Within 15 minutes there is total blackness through the portholes and your only light is from the one florescent lamp and the glow of the subs monitors. One of the digital readouts behind your head clicks off the depth- 300 meters. Suddenly the realization finally impales itself upon your brain that you are now spiraling underwater in a two and a half hour decent into the abyss, twelve thousand eight hundred feet below the North Atlantic to view Captain Smith’s unsinkable Titanic.

. . . When Michael Harris, Vice President of RMS Titanic, invited me to join him in this years expedition to salvage more of the remains of this famous ship, I gladly accepted. My expertise in marine salvage has been mostly in the recovery of colonial period shipwrecks, one of which just happened to be Mel Fisher’s Spanish Galleon Atocha.

. . . Our paths had crossed on several occasions on legal matters in the courts concerning the ramifications of commercial salvage in the 21st century. So when Mike and his family came to Key West I was happy to give them a tour of Mel Fisher’s museum and conservation facilities as well as a trip out to the Atocha site for a dive.

. . . The Atocha was now yielding bits and pieces of what appeared to be the sterncastle section of the ship, something we have been searching for since finding her main cultural deposit (“Mother-Lode”) of 47 tons of silver and gold in 1985. The sterncastle of the Atocha very likely contained over a hundred million dollars more in personal jewelry stowed aboard the ship by aristocrats and notables of some importance.

. . . Along with Mike on his dive of the Atocha site were two other members of his Titanic 2000 expedition, his attorney David Concannon and photographer Ralph White. The day proved to be very successful as the crew on our salvage vessel “J.B. Magruder” recovered several swords, two rifles and many “pieces of eight” (silver coins). Although what we didn’t know at the time was that just a few hundred feet away from where we were, lay gold bars, gold chains and perhaps the biggest treasure recovery since the Atocha’s motherlode in 1985. Was it the Atocha’s sterncastle? We wouldn’t know right away. However, those bars and chains were not going to be found until the Titanic expedition was well under way several weeks later.

. . . Mike made my arrangements to join them through his chief coordinator, Valerie Moore. Val was not a newcomer to this business. She’s been on several expeditions including coordinating for Jim Cameron during the filming of his blockbuster movie “Titanic,” and after working with her for over six weeks I understood the trust everyone put in her, she was truly a professional.

. . . The ship we were using was a Russian research vessel named the Akedemic Mstlav Keldysh. Everyone just called it the Keldysh (pronounced Kel-dish). Val made the arrangements for all personnel who was crewing the Keldysh to be able to rendezvous with the ship at a certain date on the site. One ship, “The Ocean Intervention” left with a crew from Norfolk, Virginia and another ship, “The Explorer,” left from Newfoundland. The Keldysh itself was departing from Kiel, Germany on the 14th of July. That is where Val and Ralph White would board. Since I was in Paris at the annual UNESCO convention through the 7th of July, Val arranged for me to depart with them from Kiel.

. . . I left Paris on the 10th for Germany and spent some time with a close friend who lived in Berlin. On the 14th, Val and Ralph picked me and my luggage up at the hotel an der hÖrn in Kiel and we drove to the harbor where the Keldysh was docked. The Keldysh was 442 ft. long and was fully equipped for oceanographic research. She also had two of the worlds deepest manned submersibles- the MIR-1 and MIR-2. These were the capsules that we would eventually spend a minimum of twelve hours per dive in while exploring the Titanic.

. . . Since this type of mid-Atlantic offshore deep diving wasn’t really for everybody, Valerie had to make sure everyone understood the harsh possibilities involved in this type of an expedition, and she didn’t pull any punches. A letter she sent to all potential submersible wannabes went, in part, like this:

. . . If you are claustrophobic or prone to motion sickness- DO NOT EVEN CONSIDER DIVING! There are no bathroom facilities in the MIR’s although “man-hour extender bottles” are available. Temperatures in the MIR will begin at ambient temperature on the ship and fall to near freezing as you descend to the site... As you descend, the interior of the MIR will “cold-soak”- the moisture will condense and cause it to “rain” inside the sub. Although the MIR’s have an excellent safety record please consider that you will be at a depth of two and half miles, under 6,800 psi. In the event of a leak you will become, as the pilots affectionately say, “consommé in a can.”

. . . There is also the risk of fire in the 100% oxygen internal atmosphere, hence the requirement that you wear a Nomex suit. Nonetheless, in the event of a fire at depth, it is unlikely that the Nomex suit will help you survive... The closest recompression chamber is nearly 400 miles away, and a medical evacuation may not be possible due to weather... The North Atlantic is known as one of the roughest oceans in the world. We will be working in a narrow weather window before the height of hurricane season... Seas can range from flat calm to hurricane force conditions and it is not uncommon for the weather to be so severe that it becomes necessary to tie down your cabin furniture to prevent injury. You may wish to see “The Perfect Storm” before leaving on this expedition.

. . . This was not your typical Carnival cruise line brochure, so it got a few “wannabes” back to the Discovery channel and their arm chair adventures, just the way it was intended. As it turned out, we learned this was not merely scare tactics, this was the harsh reality of the expedition and everything she said was true- and the outside chance of a hurricane hitting the Titanic site this year turned out to be more than just a possibility.

. . . The trip to the site on the Keldysh took about two weeks, and it was pretty much uneventful except for a few highlights. One was leaving Kiel and going through the locks from the Baltic Sea to the North Sea. It only took about an hour, but the complex hydrographic technology involved in raising and lowering the sea levels for ships weighing several thousand tons in order to accommodate them from one body of water to the other was fascinating to watch.

. . . Passing through the English channel with the White Cliffs of Dover on the starboard side and France several miles on the port made one think, why would anyone want to actually swim this? They have ferry’s running all the time and now you can drive all the way through in the new “Chunnel” that connects England and France. On further reflection, I might suspect those same swimmers asking us a similar question, “Why in the hell would you want to go two and a half miles down in the North Atlantic and spend up to twenty hours freezing your ass off in a tiny capsule while looking for rusting metal? I took my own point very well, and stopped reflecting- “To each his own.”

. . . On Saturday July 22nd we stopped in a part of the ocean at what was called the Atlantic Ridge. It was a section of ocean that had a steep drop with two smaller peaks rising from a valley up to 7,500 ft. from the surface. The idea was to launch the Mir’s and go to the highest peak and take geological and biological samples for study. There was also another more personal reason to go. One of the Keldysh crew members had recently passed away and the MIR pilots wanted to place his remains at a special location.

. . . After a brief, but moving ceremony on the back deck where a few words were spoken, they placed their comrades ashes, wreath and picture in one of the outside baskets of the MIR-2 submersible to be brought down and placed on that special, unique spot they choose just for him- the pinnacle of a 9,000 foot high mountaintop, seven thousand feet below the surface of the ocean.

. . . Shortly, both MIR’s were launched with a half hour separation. They planned to meet at pre-arranged coordinates over a mile underwater. Watching the underwater tapes of that meeting the next day was an inspiring mixture of high technology and basic human sentiment. Both Mir’s hovering, facing each other on the summit of that peak with their outer worldly lights illuminating the scene as the extender arm from MIR-2 reached into its basket and placed the wreath, picture and ashes precisely in the place they had intended.

. . . The subs high intensity halogen lamps turned the otherwise eternal night of that depth into what could have been mistaken for a shallow water tropical reef. Plant life, although sparse, was brightly colored. Strange shaped black rocks looking more as though they had just been poured from a molten Pacific volcano then laying in a remote part of the Atlantic, were strewn around the colorful plants and bottom dwellers who were now accumulating around the light. It was here that they placed their shipmate. A place of solitude, of beauty, and of quiet, oh,- so quiet.

. . . As with the end of most liturgies, there comes a time to depart. MIR 2 backed up, turned and vanished into the blackness, leaving MIR-1 and its three aquanauts to bid a last farewell to their comrade. Shortly after, they too turned and departed. The Keldysh was waiting on the surface, ready to take us to our next destination.

. . . At 3:30 AM on July 27th we arrived at the Titanic site. “The Ocean Intervention” from Norfolk and “The Explorer” from St. Johns, Newfoundland were due to arrive on the 28th with the rest of RMS Titanic’s crew. In the meantime the Russian crew, as planned, went to work setting up an underwater transponder grid network that would be dropped around the Titanic for accurate underwater and surface navigation of the site as well as precise archaeological mapping of artifacts in situ. It was absolutely necessary to define and record all objects where they lay in order to develop an idea of the scatter pattern and from what parts of the ship they came from.

. . . Earlier expeditions had photographed the bow section, the one half mile debris field and the stern section and although the results of the photography was excellent, the precise location of objects that had been released by the breakup of the Titanic on her way down were never actually plotted on the bottom. The “Titanic 2000” expedition set out to do just that.

. . . While reviewing some of the previous underwater video tapes we were able to get a good idea of the task at hand, and it was an enormous undertaking. The debris field alone contained thousands upon thousands of discarded pieces of both the internal and external bow and stern sections of the ship. As the Titanic broke apart, pretty much near the surface, her interior assets were spewing out while she was still heaving in her death throes. Her hot boilers exploding, pushing debris out of every orifice as she slid into the freezing cold waters of the North Atlantic.

. . . Video tapes taken by an ROV (Remotely Operated Vehicle) in 1993 and never before seen publicly of the interior parts of the ship show the utter devastation caused by the corrosive action of the sea. All exterior wall paneling was almost completely gone exposing bare metal plates oozing long streams of rust. What most likely had been furniture at one time appeared to be laying in mounds of rotting decay. Nowhere were there any signs of human remains. The theory that there might be skeletal remains of some of the passengers at that depth for that period of time had been visually as well as scientifically debunked.

. . . The argument as to whether or not the Titanic should remain a grave site never to be disturbed or an historical piece of world history that should be recovered, conserved and displayed to chronicle our past, becomes a rather moot point when you consider that at the rate of its present deterioration the Titanic will become a big rust stain on the bottom of the ocean within twenty years. The memory of those lost on that fateful night should not be forgotten, but rather memorialized for future generations by recovering and conserving the artifacts that preserve that memory. That was the ambitious task of RMS Titanic in this, their latest expedition.

. . . Early the next morning the two ships carrying our crew arrived and we began transferring people and luggage throughout most of the morning. In the afternoon we had an ops meeting in the ships conference room where Michael Harris introduced all of the RMS Titanic crew to the Russian crew which was under the command of Dr. Anotoly Sagalavich. He then proceeded to brief us on RMS Titanic’s objectives for this expedition.

. . . Basically, the recovery of already known important artifacts that had been seen or photographed previously needed to be relocated, mapped into our grid system, photographed again, video taped in situ and then retrieved. Emphasis was stressed on observation of material that could be identified but not recovered which needed to be mapped into the grid as well. The more knowledge we had of the placement of artifacts the better the chances of reconstructing the Titanic’s fatal plunge on that cold night in 1912.

. . . The dives would commence the first thing in the morning. To say that everybody was ‘ready’, would be understating the obvious. The dive schedule was posted that afternoon listing the dive teams for the morning. There were two RMS Titanic personnel for each submersible plus our Russian pilot. The next days first dive would be an exceptionally notable one. David Concannon, RMST’s attorney, would be bringing down the Explorers club flag with him in MIR-1. Many of us on the crew this year were members of that fraternity and the essence of this expedition met the criteria of that club’s long tradition.

. . . The next morning saw a flurry of activity on the main deck as Russian crewmen were putting the final ‘technical’ touches on the MIR’s while video cameras and sound booms and media folk scurried around getting interviews and soundbites from any and all of the participants. David, who looked like he just stepped out of the movie “Top Gun” in his Nomex flightsuit with MIR and explorer club patches sewn in to the arms and chest of the black coveralls was a favorite of the cameramen. David explained to all the significance of taking the flag down on this first trip and then climbed up the outside latter of MIR-1, waved to everyone and shouted Mel Fisher’s favorite slogan- “ Today’s The Day” then slid through the hatch and into the sub.

. . . David’s partners in the sub were veteran submersible diver and photographer Ralph White and MIR pilot and chief scientist Dr. Anotoly Sagalavich. While all three aquanauts were getting comfortably positioned in the subs chamber, a Russian crewman was greasing, by hand, the thin rubber o-ring that went around the inside of the hatch cover of the MIR. “That’s the only thing separating you from life as you know it, to 6,800 pounds per sq. inch of water pressure turning you into consommé in a can.” said Valerie Moore who was watching the launch with me from deck 6. Val was always there with the comforting words of the day.

. . . On the other side of the deck the Russian crew was busy hoisting the white and red support vessel Koresh (pronounced Core-ish) over the port side. The Koresh was the tow boat that pulled the Mir out from the Keldysh once they hit the water, this prevented the subs from crashing back into the ship through wave action which was always a constant threat. The Koresh cruised around our stern and took up its position on the starboard side and waited for their cue.

. . . Just minutes before MIR-1 was launched the rubber Zodiac was also hoisted into the water carrying three divers. These men would run the Zodiac up onto the MIR when it hit the water. A diver would jump out and physically unclasped the locking mechanism from the ships crane that carried the MIR from the ship to the water. We were now ready to launch our first dive to the Titanic.

. . . A Russian technician on top of MIR-1 stuck his head in the hatch and inquired as to the readiness of the crew. He got a thumbs up from inside, and bid them farewell. He closed the hatch and secured the water tight seal by turning the locking wheel on top of the hatch. He then signaled the crane operator to bring the boom into position. The huge crane turned slowly, and noisily until it was right above the technician’s head. He pulled up the receiving end of a thick stainless rod from the MIR and pulled down the locking mechanism from the end of the crane which slid over the rod and locked it into place. Having a firm lock on the MIR by the crane, the Russian specialist signaled other technicians on the deck to release all the holding cables which tightly secured the MIR to the ship. The turnbuckles on the cables were slacked and the clamps to the MIR were removed. The MIR was now ready to be lifted off the deck and put in the water.

. . . Most all of the upper decks on the starboard side of the Keldysh were lined with people watching the first launch of the expedition. Still cameras clicked away and video cameras rolled as the crane slowly lifted the MIR-1 from the deck of the Keldysh. The MIR, it’s pontoons free of it’s carriage, started swinging slightly with the wave action of the boat. Soon the MIR was over the rail and being lowered into the water. The Koresh, with its two man crew, rushed in toward the ship and a Keldysh crewman threw a heavy line to the men on the Koresh. This line was attached to the nose of the MIR and was used to tow the sub away from the boat as soon as it was set free by the crane.

. . . The Keldysh crane splashed the MIR in the water. Over two-thirds of her immediately submerged as waves went completely over her top. At that precise moment the Zodiac rushed in, it’s rubber bow sliding on top of the MIR as a Russian diver, Alex, jumped out onto the sub. Just as quickly as the Zodiac rushed in- it reversed and pulled back. Alex reached for the coupling that held the MIR to the Keldysh and in one swift motion he unclamped the lock and set it free just as a five foot wave rolled over him and the MIR. Alex had a firm grip on the sub and he held on tight.

. . . With the cranes hold on the sub released, the Koresh now took up the slack on the tow line and began pulling the MIR and Alex out and away from the Keldysh. Alex was now standing on the sub balancing himself as wave after wave rolled over the top of the MIR and around his legs. About 50 yards out, the Koresh stopped. Alex slid down, head first over the front of the sub and his upper body disappeared underwater. He unhooked the towline from the nose of the MIR, stood back up and with a quick signal the Zodiac rushed in again, this time in a flying leap and while twisting in air, Alex plunged into the rubber raft on his back. MIR-1 was now free to descend.

. . . Pilot Anotoly began to reduce the MIR’s positive buoyancy causing the sub to sink. He then engaged the subs thrusters and steered it in a circular course to spiral to the bottom of the sea where his transponders would tell him his exact position in relation to the Titanic. MIR-2 was launched about half an hour later. They would be going to the stern of the Titanic and there were no plans for the two MIRs to meet down there on this dive. They each had their objectives, and unless of an emergency, MIR-1 and MIR-2 would not see each other until they surfaced- 13 hours later.

. . . There’s not a lot to do while the subs are down. I caught up on a lot of reading for one thing. I also met and became acquainted with many of the fascinating people from all over the world that comprised the expedition. There were experts on the Titanic from England and Ireland as well as the U.S. We had Titanic historians, mechanical historians, curators, archaeologists and conservators. We had reporters from USA today, German press, England press, Tampa press and even a popular children’s cable show. There was no shortage of people to talk to. And they all had the same reason for being here. An unfathomable thirst for knowledge of our past and the need to preserve it for the future. The very reason this expedition, Titanic 2000, was formed.

. . . Shortly after dark the word spread quickly around the ship that Mir-1 one was on the surface. Deck six and seven of the Keldysh was the most popular place to view the recovery. The pilot light and wheelhouse light from the support vessel Koresh, which had already been launched to accompany the MIR back, could be seen a few hundred yards off our starboard bow. The Keldysh was now steaming toward her. In a few moments the inky blackness of the ocean near the Koresh began to lighten. At first you would recognize the semblance of dark blue but as the sub came nearer and nearer the surface the blue would give way to an eerie green glow. All of the Mir’s lights were on and the appearance of it surfacing in the surrounding black void gave it an outer worldly look. Someone onboard described themselves as having a ‘Capt. Nemo’ experience.

. . . The Keldysh was now a few hundred feet from the MIR. The Zodiac was launched and the Russian divers immediately attached the tow line from the Koresh to the bow of the sub leaving Alex to ride back on top. With the MIR now undertow, the Zodiac with the two remaining divers, rushed back to the Keldysh and waited with another tow line that was attached to the crane. As soon as the Koresh pulled the MIR within 25 ft. of the ship, the Zodiac rushed in and up on the sub handing the other line to Alex. He attached the line and road it out until the Koresh tow line and the crane guide line pulled the MIR directly under the boom. The cranes coupling, connected to the guide line was lowered and Alex grabbed the steel clamp and in one quick movement pushed the locking device onto the MIR. He signaled the Zodiac which now rushed back up onto the sub for Alex to jump, headlong back in.

. . . The crane now slowly lifted the white and orange submersible out of the water and onto the deck where a 6 man archaeology team, all dressed in yellow coveralls, were unpatiently awaiting to see the first recovery of the year. The press and video cameras also vied for a favorable position in front of the sub where its retractable baskets holding the artifacts were hidden by the two mechanical arms that picked up the Titanic’s relics. It looked like a giant crab feeding itself with its huge claws.

. . . The hatch to the MIR soon opened and David Concannon stuck his head out and gave a thumbs up to the cheering crowd watching from all the upper decks. Right after David climbed down the MIR’s ladder, Ralph White and Anotoly Sagalavich followed. With cameras everywhere they turned, they found it hard to fully answer one question before new ones would be thrown at them. One of the Russian technicians yelled above the noise for everyone to stand back as the two mechanical arms were extended down to the deck. With these out of the way, the baskets could be slid out from under the nose of the MIR for the artifact removal.

. . . The “Yellow Team” or the “Banana Boys” as they were sometimes called, rushed in to surround the artifacts. This was the archaeological team headed by Jim Sinclair. Every piece was carefully examined for the safest method of removal from the baskets to the carrying trays. They were then carried to the conservation laboratory where they would be examined, photographed, catalogued and documented in two computers set up in that lab run by Titanic’s curator, Michelle Thurman.

. . . Beside having an experienced archaeologist/conservator and a curator of collections, RMS Titanic had three of the worlds leading historians on Titanic material. One was Bill Souter, an extremely knowledgeable marine mechanic historian who was able to determine almost every piece of the ships mechanical structure. Another was Ken Marschall who I had the pleasure of diving the Titanic with. Besides being an historian of Titanic memorabilia, Ken was also an artist of extraordinary talent whose work has been reproduced in many magazines, posters and books. Ken has been able to reconstruct many stunning renditions of the Titanic’s remains as a whole on the bottom based on many individual photographs. Denis Cochrane, another extremely learned Titanic buff who’s acquired an extensive knowledge of the mores and nuances of that era that particularly relate to the Titanic, would later in the expedition have his ‘good chap’ and close friend, the Capt. of the Queen Elizabeth II deviate from his normal course on his way from England to New York and stop by and pay us a visit. For a spot of tea everyone presumed.

. . . On Aug. 5th, the fifth dive of the expedition I was to take my trip to the Titanic. The sub I was going on was MIR-1 accompanied by an experienced submersible pilot by the name of Viktor, and my partner was artist and Titanic historian Ken Marschall. Even though I had been looking forward to this adventure for many weeks now, I really didn’t know how to prepare for it. I read all the literature and Valerie’s rendition of the worst possible scenario, but I still wasn’t sure of my reactions to being cooped up for over twelve hours in very cramped quarters two and a half miles below the ocean. I’ve never been claustrophobic, but really, what could prepare someone for such a thing? I fly small planes, I’ve done salvage jobs inside the hulls of sunken ships and I managed to survive commuting on the NY subway system when I lived in New York. So for me, I felt I was qualified. I was ready to go.

. . . I had prepared for the dive that morning by wearing insulated (waffle) long johns, a pair of sweat pants, a long sleeve warm cotton pullover shirt with my “Today’s The Day” T-shirt over that. I slipped into my blue custom made NOMEX flight suit with my name embroidered over the pocket on the front and zippered it up. There was a big Russian circular MIR submersible patch on the left side of my chest and an equal size circular MIR patch (in English) on the right side. On my left shoulder was the Explorers club insignia patch and on one lapel I fastened my Explorers club pin and on the other a MIR submersible gold pin given to me by Dr. Anotoly Sagalavich. I looked in the mirror, it was a far cry from my usual uniform in Key West of shorts and T-shirts.

. . . Before I left my cabin, I reached over and picked up a small fishbowl from my desk. The fishbowl was filled with clear, hard resin epoxy. There was a copper commemorative Mel Fisher coin neatly standing up with his picture proclaiming, “Today’s The Day!” On the bottom of the bowl was some of Mel Fisher’s ashes given to me by his daughter Taffi to take out to the Titanic site to be put in some “special place.” I already had an idea where that special place would be.

. . . As with the four double launches before mine most of the crew was out to see the MIR’s start their long journey for the day. After some obligatory interviews I climbed the ladder to the open hatch on top of the MIR where I sat down on the sub with my feet dangling in through the MIR’s only opening. I was now facing the Russian technician who, besides attaching the crane to the sub, also collected my shoes and put them into a big yellow box to be given back to me on my return. Someone on deck six with a video camera yelled to me for a last comment before they closed the hatch. (After seeing four other double launches I expected that). I said, “OK, how ‘bout this,” and unzipped my flightsuit, pulled it open and the words- “Today’s The Day!” said all I really needed to say. I climbed down the four rungs to the interior of the MIR, took my place on the starboard side and looked around at what would be my new digs for the next twelve hours.

. . . Right after I entered, Ken climbed down (after going through the same fanfare) We looked at each other and I could tell he was thinking the same thing- “But it looks so much bigger from the outside.” Viktor climbed down and took his place between us. He was the only one among us with a seat. Ken and I had foam vinyl mats to lay on with the smaller of the three portholes to look out of. After some small talk with Viktor (He didn’t speak much English but it was better than our Russian), the hatch was closed and Viktor reached up to confirm the lock. Which, I thought, was a good thing.

. . . Our Russian technician outside was busy setting the crane lock in place and soon we were lifted off the deck and into the water. The Koresh towed us out from the Keldysh and we all knew what the Zodiac divers were doing overhead in preparation for our decent. By this time the temperature in the capsule felt like a hundred degrees. Viktor pulled his flightsuit off to his waist and we did the same. We had plenty of time to re-dress when the time came.

. . . After the Koresh had called and told us we were free of our tow lines, Viktor went to work piloting the sub. The decent was unusually level and smooth and the view from the porthole gave the impression that all those small plankton like particles in the sea were rushing to the surface for some special event known only to them. Of course the fact was that they weren’t rising at all, we were descending, spiraling in an arch to the bottom of the sea.

. . . It didn’t take long for the colors to change. Light greens changing to darker blues and then to the blackest of black, but all the while you could view a myriad of sea life passing your porthole, from the largest of the protozoan like creatures to colorful jellyfish with streaming tentacles to small crustaceans with exceptionally long antennae. When the depth finally absorbed all of our light, Viktor turned on the MIR’s outside halogens and the composition of sea life continued to play out in front of our portholes, seemingly undisturbed by our invading presence.

. . . Viktor knew, as all of the MIR pilots did, that the view had a calming effect on its passengers. That, and a Beatle CD (I don’t think “Yellow Submarine” was an accident of choice), made the decent not only tolerable, but rather pleasant. Being a product of the sixties, the blinking interior lights of the instrument panels with the different colored monitors and the gentle swaying fluorescent light casting shadows over and around the sub’s walls, made for a rather interesting time-lapse prospective of where I had come from. I know I had met some of those creatures outside of this porthole at one time in my life.

. . . About two hours and forty minutes after we had left the surface Viktor announced, “Ten more minutes.” Ken and I looked at each other but neither of us dared asked the obvious question that every parent in the world has heard a million times from their kids- “Are we there yet?” We just glued ourselves to our respective portholes and waited- waited for what, we weren’t sure, but whatever it was, we were certainly not going to miss any of it. All of our macrobiotic friends outside the porthole were slowing down. They weren’t rushing to the surface as quickly as before. The sub’s thrusters were reversing, slowing us down. A quick look at the digital depth meter behind me read 4,200 meters. What was that exactly in feet? Before I had time to compute it in my head a panoramic scene of a light gray rippled desert appeared through my window. We were setting down on the bottom.

. . . I wondered how the astronauts must have felt when they first touched down on the moon looking out of their capsule at that ‘hostile’ foreign environment that science and technology had now allowed them to visit. What were they thinking? Thoughts of accomplishment, duty to mission, awed by natures stark beauty? Probably all of those human feelings flooding in at once. Did they have a momentary lapse of the present? Maybe not- but I did, and that moment remains with me still.

. . . Getting back to the present, we were now sitting on the seabed two and a half miles under the ocean and Viktor very calmly sat up and checked his bearings on a portable computer screen. Ken and I, who were still peering out of our portholes looked up to inquire as to where the Titanic was. Viktor just casually pointed straight ahead and reached for the controls. We lifted up slightly and started moving forward, the gray silty bottom with an occasional thin white starfish passing below us at about three knots.

. . . Several minutes went by as we flew over the desolate moonscape. Ken and I were watching and commenting on every rock and sea creature that came into view while Viktor watched his computer screen and plotted his coordinates. Suddenly, the bottom rose up into a high mud bank right in front of us. On my right side I could see a large rusted metal structure jutting out of the sand. Ken could only see the mud bank from his side and we both looked up to Viktor to make sure he was aware of what was in front of us. Viktor, now cognizant of the apprehension in our faces, quickly put down his computer screen and peered out his pothole as our sub nosed into the mud bank and softly came to a complete stop. The surrounding silt and mud from our impact engulfed us completely and we lost all vision through our portholes. We had just located the Titanic, and the same mud that had buried her bow for 88 years was now holding us in place as well.

. . . I’m not sure, but I think that because the impact into the mud was so minimal that Ken or I didn’t ‘freak’ at that point or maybe just because Viktor remained so calm, but when Ken asked me, “Are we stuck in the mud?” I had to just shrug my shoulders. The truth was, that I couldn’t remember feeling more stuck in the mud in my whole diving career, and I have seriously had my moments. Viktor now had our rear propeller in reverse and both our side thrusters were trying to pull us up and back. The only thing that seemed to be happening was that we were creating a cloud of mud around us that turned the outside into dark again- even with our lights on. Viktor turned off the thrusters and quietly said, “We wait.” Sure, why not? We did just get here, right? What’s the rush?

. . . Viktor casually went back to work on his plotting and logging. Ken and I discussed the pros & cons of Einstein’s theory of relativity and random quantum physics. (Not really, but some things are better left unsaid). After what seemed like forever, the sediment began to clear and we could see the mound of mud in front of us and the huge steel plate on my side rising up and above the sub. There was no doubt in my mind that we had arrived at our destination. The question was, ‘were we to remain here?’

. . . Viktor again reached for the joysticks, and this time, with a little vibration, the sub began to back away from our ‘temporary’ parking spot. We now started to rise up and away from the mud. Our lights, stretching out in the void, displayed a wall of metal- rusting metal with long tentacles of thick metallic oxidation dripping down to the mud we just came from. Slowly we rose up, passing ghostly portholes that had once been windows to the seas surface enjoyed by wealthy passengers almost a century ago. I was fixated at my porthole. My professional instincts were screaming at me to film this, but my human curiosity had me glued to the four inch thick glass plate that separated me from reaching out and touching the Titanic.

. . . I have seen the movies and I have read the books. I’ve looked at most all of the fabulous photography that has been done on this magnificent ship. But nothing can prepare one for the awesome experience of rising up, literally just a few feet away, from the once proud bow of this noble maritime legend. We ascended over her starboard bow, and than Viktor turned the joysticks to the left and we crossed over her railing and hovered over her bow deck. The majestic beauty of this once “Queen of the Seas” was not lost on us, but like the painting titled “Vanity” where a beautiful woman sits at her mirror grooming her hair, is- on first impression, the gruesome image of a deathly skull- the Titanic was both.

. . . We passed over large open hatches whose blackness seemed to beckon us in. The temptation to enter was great but the consequences to do so were greater. We continued our journey over the Titanic just a few feet from her decks, witnessing her decay. On her upper bow was the seventeen ton anchor that would eventually cave in her now rusting deck, smashing through that grand bow that was the pulpit for Jack Dawson to pronounce he was- “The King of the World.”

. . . Even Jim Cameron’s movie, which was filmed from this very submarine, could not do justice to observing this scene first hand. The MIR brilliantly lit the way for us as we continued toward the main bridge where Capt. Smith spent his last agonizing hours trying to contemplate the fate of his unsinkable vessel. We slowly ascended, viewing all that once hardened steel that now appeared defeated in her decomposing death throes.

. . . As we arrived on the bridge, the one thing that stood out was the ships telemotor, also badly rusted but standing tall and proud almost as though it had not wanted to give up and was still awaiting the orders that would put the ship in full reverse. The orders that would never come. It is in front of this telemotor on the bridge that we placed Mel. A place overlooking all other activity, A place to observe all the other future explorers who come to this place to pay tribute to so many who were lost that night. I remembered the bronze plaque we placed on the Atocha site to commemorate those who were lost on the great Spanish “Almirante” of another fleet. It read in part:

. . . We slowly backed away from the bridge, watching that place of history and courageous men recede into the darkness and continued on our journey of the Titanic in search of their memory. That, after all, was the purpose of our mission, and we would succeed.

. . . The “Titanic 2000” expedition proved to be the most successful expedition to date. Our plan, weather permitting, was to make 28 MIR dives and recover as much historical material as possible using the best technology to create an electronic archaeological grid to map in all discoveries. These 28 dives were accomplished in spite of Hurricane Alberto tramping through with 135 knot gusts and causing us to shut down operations for a few days.

. . . Over 400 primary artifacts were recovered. The total, counting the ancillary items came to over 900. Other then normal bumps and bruises, there were no serious mishaps aboard ship. Quite an accomplishment when you consider the odds and what we were attempting to do.

. . . Our hats go off to Dr. Anotoly Sagalavich and his highly skilled crew on the Keldysh, and of course to all the men and women who participated. Their archaeological and historical knowledge along with their scientific conservation methods and curating skills is what will produce a fascinating exhibit of a part of our past that would otherwise have certainly been lost forever. It is a tribute to the commercial salvage industry, and a job well done by all.