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Ever since my youth, I have been fascinated by the black,
frigid, sea depths below 600 feet known as the "deep" ocean." This lightless
void covers two thirds of the planet, yet we have seen only one ten-thousandth
of it. In volume, it constitutes an enormous amount of the planet's biological
habitat, yet we have virtually no knowledge of the vast variety of sea depths
more than half a mile. Although just under the surface where ships pass every
day, the deep ocean has remained as far from humankind as the reaches of outer
space.
While in college studying engineering, I realized that
shipwrecks, with their mystery, their historical value, and in many cases their
treasure, might lure entrepreneurs and explorers off the shore and serve as the
stepping stones in to the deep ocean. In 1977, I began extensive research into
historic deep-ocean shipwrecks-none of which had ever been photographed or
imaged on sonar-and studied various methods and technologies used to find ships
sunk in shallow water. Having developed a list of vessels lost in deep water
that met a basic set of criteria and might be recoverable with the right plan
and the right technology, I set out to find the United States Mail Steamship
Central America.
The Central America had long suggested itself as an
intriguing target. The sinking was well documented by survivors' reports that
could be analyzed for clues to the ship's location. The sidewheeler was far
enough off the coast to be in deep water, which meant that technology, not luck,
would play the most important role in finding and recovering it. The Central
America was deep enough to remain undisturbed by storms, tides, and other
natural phenomena that can disperse a shipwreck over many miles of ocean floor.
And there was enough documented treasure on board to induce partners to sponsor
an expedition.
As my research into the hundreds of newspaper accounts
of the Central America demise intensified, the quantity of information became
almost overwhelming. Detailed interviews with survivors and with passengers and
crew members from nearby ships often covered entire front pages of contemporary
newspapers. These provided a vast array of perspectives on exactly what
happened during the three-day hurricane that had doomed the Central America
nearly a century and a half earlier.
In 1983, as my interest in
exploring the deep ocean was intensifying I enlisted the help of Bob Evans, a
longtime associate, who was a consulting geologist for the state of Ohio. Bob
is also a trivia and history buff and has a steel-trap mind that seems to
retain every fact he has ever learned. We are both drawn to unusual projects
and to what I call "thought experiments." And, perhaps most important, Bob is
wonderful company, effusive and enthusiastic where I am more reserved and
analytical. Together we spent many evenings in animated discussions about
inventions, innovation, and exploration.
Bob and I compiled extensive
passenger and crew information into what we termed a "data correlation matrix."
On a 12-by-12-foot sheet of paper we entered every comment, every observation,
every fact that might offer some insight as to where the ship might have been
when it disappeared beneath the waves.
We took the matrix to Dr.
Lawrence D. Stone, one of the world's leading experts on search theory, a
method using probability and statistical analysis to find objects, particularly
in the ocean. He had helped locate the US nuclear submarine Scorpion lost in
the Atlantic in 1968 and was impressed with the information we had gathered
about the Central America.
 Although no one had
previously applied search theory to a historical database like our matrix,
Larry proceeded to create thousands of computerized models of possible sinking
scenarios based on variables such as the Central America's last known
coordinates, the hurricane's probibly wind speed and direction, and likely
ocean currents at the time of the disaster. Ultimately, he came up with a 1400
square mile search area (larger than the state of Rhode Island).
As
the project developed, I knew we would need assistance in communications from
someone who understood and could work with the media. Again, the right person
was at hand. I called Barry Schatz, a boyhood friend from Defiance, Ohio, who
was working as an editor in Gainesville, Florida. While Bob continued
historical research and Barry helped write up the findings and preliminary
business plan, I set out to find sponsors.
The biggest boost came from
Wayne Ashby, the managing partner of the Columbus office of a major national
accounting firm and one of the most respected financial minds in the community.
He helped organize a small core group of partners, enlisted legal advice, and
helped me structure a partnership known as the Columbus-America Discovery
Group. During the next three years, the enterprise would grow to 161 partners
investing more than $10 million in different phases and a team of some 40
scientists, engineers, and technicians.
We charted an old Louisiana
mud boat for a grueling 40-day sonar search through the target areas. During
this stage we used a newly available technology known as the Sea MARC
side-scanning sonar, which we had modified to sweep the grid in three-mile
swaths. |
