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The weather window, or optimum period of good weather and
calm seas, runs roughly from June to early October. Winter is a time for
analyzing, planning, and retooling. The winter of 1986-1987 in Columbus was
devoted to two things: analyzing the sonar images from the previous summer and
developing the technology that had been my vision for years. This was Nemo, an
undersea robot specially designed for historic shipwreck excavation using
archaeological techniques, known in ocean-engineering circles as a remotely
operate vehicle (ROV). If Nemo, the centerpiece of the expedition, functioned
as envisioned, it would be capable of extended, heavy-duty, and complex work in
the deep ocean's harsh environment and thus establish mankind's first "working
presence "more than a mile and half down.
In 1987, we returned to the
site our over-the-winter analysis had indicated as the most promising. All the
hard work seemed to pay off early in the season, when the robot's cameras
revealed what appeared to be mid-19th-century artifacts, including china,
pitchers, washbowls, and toys, amidst a rotting wood hull-the first ever seen
in the deep ocean. It was humbling to be staring at theses very personal
effects, to know that they were the aftermath of some unutterable tragedy.
We still had to determine whether this was the right site. And if it was, a
complex and lengthy recovery lay ahead. We also faced pressure from another
front. Even before we arrived at the shipwreck site in 1987, competitors
appeared in the area. Although we doubted that they had the technology to make
a recovery in deep water, we were concerned that they might image the site and
try to interfere with our operations.
To protect the site legally,
maritime attorney Rick Robol advised us to retrieve an item to prove that
Columbus-America had been present on-and was legally in control of-the still
unidentified shipwreck. We wanted to avoid disturbing the site and valuable
artifacts, so after long deliberation we decided to bring up a lump of coal.
With some difficulty and some luck, Nemo was able to retrieve several pieces in
its first attempt at deep-ocean recovery.
Within
about four hours of its recovery from the ocean floor, our attorneys presented
the lump of coal in federal district court and won an injunction on the site.
This was the first time such a claim had ever been made to a shipwreck touched
only by a robot. The ruling set precedent in international maritime law since
the injunction was granted on the basis of a new legal concept called
"telepresence," in which the remote or "virtual" presence made possible by
Nemo's unique technology was recognized as proper grounds for the claim.
During the winter of 1987-1988, Columbus-America purchased an old Canadian
icebreaker, the Arctic Discover, which was retrofitted for the final search and
recovery. We were happy to be making the final push with a ship of our own,
designed to our specifications.
The 1988 weather window opened with
another frustrating delay. We had to wait most of the summer for the outboard
thrusters, critical in keeping the research vessel positioned over the
shipwreck site. We finally arrived in Wilmington, North Carolina. It was August
before we were able to steam out of port with a crew of about 25.
Without definitive proof that we had found the Central America the previous
summer, Bob Evans had spent a good part of the winter reanalyzing some of the
other targets the 1986 sonar survey had turned up. This time, we were armed
with new image-processing software and another season's experience in image
reading and had become increasingly intrigued by an anomaly at another site.
The ocean floor is surprisingly littered with both geological and man-made
clutter, and the new anomaly could have been anything-a ditched plane, for
example, or an unusual rock formation. Since it was closer to shore than the
previous summer's site, we decided to stop on the way out and take a closer
look, if only to test Nemo and the equipment on the Arctic Discoverer and to do
comparison studies with the other site.
On Sunday, September 11, we
were all weary as we finally lowered Nemo over the side and into the water to
begin its descent to the bottom. Everyone felt the effects of months of shore
mobilization and days of dive preparation and equipment tuning. Every dive is
preceded by this work. But given that this was the first of the season and some
of us still lacked sea legs from the long journey out, it was even more
difficult than usual.
 A few hours after the
underwater robot reached the bottom, five of us sat in the control room deep
inside the hull of the Arctic discoverer, staring at the images of the
soundless seascape projected through the blue half-light of 12 video monitors.
This can become almost meditative, but eventually it strains everyone's vision
and patience. That morning had been no different, and for long periods the
quiet was punctuated by occasional banter. Suddenly, Milt Butterworth, our
photographer-videographer, broke the silence. "Whoa… whoa… WHOA!!"
The empty screen began to fill with dark shadows. Slowly a definable
image took shape, drifting eerily up from the bottom of the video screens. Then
another voice-I can't remember who's-chimed in with "Oh, my God…" As
Nemo's camera's slid over the site, an unbelievable image scrolled by on the
monitors: a rusting sidewheel lying flat in the eons-old mud. It was the one
exceptionally distinguishing feature of the Central America. I was in awe.
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