Where to begin?
I know three of the five people onboard the submersible Titan, which at the time of this writing was missing in the North Atlantic. I had spent eight days with two of them in May and four days with the other earlier this month.
The one I saw most recently was Hamish Harding, frequently described in the media as a "British billionaire and explorer." The other two, OceanGate CEO, Titan designer and pilot Stockton Rush and underwater explorer Paul-Henri Nargeolet, were leaders on an OceanGate mission to the Titanic that I had joined last month. We bobbed over the wreck on the submersible's mother ship, the Polar Prince, waiting for conditions to be right for me to join them on a dive down to the site.
The weather never cleared, and I never dived, nor did the weather clear for guests on the next two missions. As a result, the lost submersible was on its first dive of the 2023 season, a "first" that I once thought I could lay claim to.
I have known Harding the longest; we met two years ago when we were seated, by chance, at the same table at the Explorers Club global exploration conference known as GLEX. He told me then about going down to Challenger Deep, the lowest point in any ocean, in a submersible piloted by multiple Guinness Book of World Records honoree Victor Vescovo. The next year Harding went up in the Blue Origin New Shepard rocket into space.
Since we met, he and I have reconnected at Explorers Club functions, most recently last week at this year's GLEX. When he told me last April that he was going to see the Titanic site in June, I told him I would be going in May. I added it was a shame we wouldn't be on the same mission, but the June dates wouldn't get me back in time for a speaking commitment; the May dates meant only that I would have to postpone my birthday party.
So last month, instead of preparing for a party, I rose at 4 a.m. on my birthday and headed off to St. John's, Newfoundland, to board the Polar Prince.
I had learned that the difference between a submarine and a submersible is that a submarine can operate autonomously, but a submersible requires a surface support vessel. The Titan is attached to a launch and recovery platform that, once on the ocean surface, descends about 30 feet. The bolts holding the Titan to the platform release, and the submersible moves forward off the platform and then free falls for two-and-a-half miles for two-and-a-half hours to the ocean floor. The crew on the surface ship tracks the submersible's progress and location, and once it lands on the ocean floor uses text messages to guide it to the wreck site.
When it's time to return to the mother ship, ballast is dropped and the Titan rises at about the same rate it descends, reattaches to its platform and rises to the surface. Twenty-eight nonstaff passengers visited the wreck in this fashion last year.
For the past two years, the platform and the Titan were carried by the support ship Horizon Arctic, where they sat on the deck and were lowered into the water with a crane. This year, however, Rush told me that the cost of leasing the Horizon Arctic skyrocketed to $200,000 a week. The economics of chartering the Polar Prince, built in 1959, made more sense, even though it required that the platform and submersible be towed behind the ship, hitched to the Polar Prince's stern by a long rope. Although Rush told me the platform was designed to be towed, this would prove problematic in a few days.
The Titan on its launch and recovery platform alongside the Polar Prince off Newfoundland last month. Photo Credit: Arnie Weissmann
Becoming a 'mission specialist'
The OceanGate dive season, from mid-May to mid-July, is broken down into eight-day missions. Nonstaff who have either paid $250,000 or were invited, as I was, to go down in the Titan are called mission specialists. The title is not simple puffery; you are part of the working crew, attending meetings and contributing to preparation activities for the dives.
Each mission specialist contributes to their level of expertise. For me, that involved being a gofer and completing tasks that could be explained in less than a minute. On the other hand, a different mission specialist on the ship had been in the Australian Navy, working on a submarine for 10 years, and was able to work on more complex tasks.
There was one invited passenger who had more experience diving to wrecks than all others aboard put together: 77-year-old Paul-Henri Nargeolet, or "P.H." as he preferred to be called. I had a drink with him the first night in St. John's before we departed, and he told me about his undersea accomplishments, including having been down to see the Titanic wreck 37 times. If all went well, he and I would go down for his 38th visit.
We were to have left St. John's for the 36-hour trip out to the Titanic site in the wee hours of May 20, but the platform was not ready. Shortly after dawn, Rush put on scuba gear and dove to work on the hatches beneath the platform.
Days started early: Breakfast was at 6 a.m., and an all-hands meeting started promptly at 7 a.m. These meetings tended to be strictly business. Rush would put a checklist of things that had to be done on a monitor, prioritized by importance, and give out crew assignments. Although it was serious, the light-hearted side of crew culture also came through.
There would be, for instance, a line reading, "Check Stewie Battery."
"What's a Stewie Battery?" I asked one of the crew. "Stewie's the name of one of the inflatable dinghies," was the reply. (The other was named Max.)
In fact, Stewie figured prominently in the day's to-do list. It had been punctured when it rubbed up against something sharp on the platform and needed to be patched. (Also on the day's list of tasks was padding the sharp edges on the platform.)
The numbers "4-19" appeared repeatedly, as in "Install 4-19 Line." I asked Rush what a 4-19 line was. "You remember the movie 'Monsters Inc.'? When the monster comes back and has a white sock on his shoulder? That was a '23-19' -- 'w' is the 23rd letter of the alphabet and 's' is the 19th.
"'4-19' means 'disabled sub.'"
In retrospect, not so lighthearted.
The OceanGate crew secures the Titan during a mission in May. OceanGate CEO Stockton Rush is in the black diving suit. Photo Credit: Arnie Weissmann
The 4-19 tasks arose from a problem last year when something went wrong putting the sub back onto the Arctic Horizon, and the Titan bobbed overnight on the sea. Harding had told me about it during our April conversation. "I heard it was pretty rough on the people inside," he had said. It was, to be honest, the first time I considered that the things that could go wrong were more varied than what was obvious.
However, at a mission meeting once the Polar Prince was above the wreck, I heard the news I had been hoping to hear. "Looks like we can dive Tuesday," Rush said. "Arnie, Craig and Stephen are mission specialists, P.H. is the advisor, and I will pilot. Dive will be at 6 a.m."
"Craig" is travel advisor Craig Curran of DePrez Travel Bureau in Rochester, N.Y., who had seen the Titan at a promotional event and had previously sent a client on a successful mission. Stephen is the Australian Navy sub officer.
The Titan holds five people who sit on a platform, their legs crossed or out straight. At one end is a viewing port, 12.3 inches in diameter; Rush said it was the largest window of any submersible that can reach that depth. Just in front of it is a toilet of sorts; a curtain can be pulled for privacy (of sorts). "Best view from any toilet on Earth," Rush added.
Nonetheless, the Polar Prince's galley, which had been turning out food far exceeding my expectations for a research vessel, had been informed to feed mission specialists in ways that would keep restroom usage to a minimum.
The Titan is not heated, and it gets cold on the ocean floor, we were told. We were given a flight suit and thick socks to wear (we would be leaving our shoes on the ship) and told to layer up beneath the suit.
But Tuesday arrived, and the positive weather forecast had deteriorated to the point that the dive was canceled. "Thursday afternoon looks good," Rush said.
I wasn't completely disappointed; every morning, the list of things that still needed work was as long as the previous day. Some were what Rush called "squawks" -- minor maintenance issues -- but others had a high priority.
Despite the long task list, I was impressed with the transparency of the operation: Mission specialists like me were not only encouraged to go to these meetings but required to attend.
Rush had received both an aerospace engineering degree and an MBA and had once been a test-flight engineer with McDonnell Douglas. He urged anyone who was interested to read "The Checklist Manifesto: How to Get Things Right" by Atul Gawande (Metropolitan Books, 2009), which he left on a table in the ship's lounge.
Onboard the Polar Prince during the same mission, Paul-Henri "P.H." Nargeolet narrates a video of one of his previous dives to the Titanic. Photo Credit: Arnie Weissmann
The cast, crew and ship
While waiting for a dive window to open, a daily rhythm emerged.
Everyone tended to arrive promptly at assigned meal times, sharing tables and socializing in one of two small dining rooms. "Everyone" included the crew of the chartered Polar Prince, who were not OceanGate employees but came along with the ship. You could sit with the captain or chief engineer, both of whom I got to know.
The chef, Rick, shared cooking techniques with me.
There was no alcohol on the ship, but there was always a spread of baked goods out on a table (the galley crew had even prepared birthday cupcakes for my arrival), and candy bars and soft drinks were available 24/7. I'm a sucker for sweets, and on the second night, a gummy candy neatly lifted a cap off one of my teeth. The ship's doctor made a valiant effort to put it back with temporary cement, but it wouldn't hold; fortunately, aside from some minor temperature sensitivity, it didn't hurt.
The OceanGate cast was an interesting mix of both young and very experienced hands, some on staff and some who, intrigued with the operation, found a way to join and pitch in. Among the young staff were an intern, a photographer, a videographer, a PR specialist, a computer programmer and a researcher studying environmental DNA around the wreck, interested in finding out how such a large presence of steel on the ocean floor might impact what plants and animals lived at the wreck site. A water sampling canister called a Niskin bottle was attached to the outside of the Titan.
Rush's wife, Wendy Rush, was also onboard, as communications director.
In the evenings after dinner, people gathered in the lounge and worked on jigsaw puzzles, played on the ship's guitar (Curran gave daily lessons to the photographer) or watched films related to marine expeditions, from James Cameron's documentary "Aliens of the Deep" to Wes Anderson's "The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou."
During afternoon and early evening meetings in a large room called "the hangar," Nargeolet showed videos of his dives at various sites. Lessons were given there on knot tying and how to safely get on and off an inflatable dinghy in an active sea. A cornhole tournament was held.
My impression of Rush's leadership style was that he is calm, patient, inclusive and caring. One night, he invited me to sit with him on the back deck and smoke Cuban cigars he had picked up in St. John's.
I told him I don't normally smoke cigars but would be happy to. We were joined by the ship's captain and chief engineer.
Another side of Rush emerged that evening as we puffed and watched the mission flag fluttering off the stern, the trailing Titan platform now obscured by fog. He talked about his history as a young pilot (he flew commercial jets in the Middle East at age 19 as a summer job); how his hopes to be an astronaut were scotched when his vision deteriorated to 20/25; and his pivot from sky to sea and a fascination with submersibles. He was somewhat cocky, but I felt his accomplishments gave him the right to be.
Only one thing concerned me: He said he had gotten the carbon fiber used to make the Titan at a big discount from Boeing because it was past its shelf life for use in airplanes.
I asked him if that weren't a problem for the sub; he replied that those dates were set far before they had to be and that Boeing and even NASA had participated in the design and testing of the Titan.
It is a conversation I have thought about a great deal about over the past week.