Deep Thoughts

By John Mitchell:

The Andrea Doria, a 700-foot long ocean going passenger liner, sank in a collision with a Swedish freighter back in 1956. Once the epitome of the Italian passenger fleet, she lies today on her right side caving in under the tonnage of 255 feet of seawater. Its presence has been the main attraction for a still small prestigious group of technical wreck divers, who vie putting their skills to an ultimate test. For that reason the Italian luxury liner Andrea Doria has been labeled the “Mt. Everest of wreck diving” in recent years.

In many ways the Doria is quite similar to divers, as its Himalayan counterpart is to climbers. It lies 120 lies miles out in the open ocean making for a very remote location. Like Everest, the area is subject to changeable weather, popup storms, and offers no place to hide. Water conditions can be equally challenging. Strong currents have carried divers out to sea, and visibility on the wreck can be only a few feet. Water temperature that deep hover at 40 degrees, which can snatch the life out of an unprotected body in less than 20 minutes. The Doria is cluttered in fishing nets from stern to bow that can ensnare an unsuspecting diver.  Inside her, a maze of hallways, multi decks and twisted cables, greets anyone curious enough to challenge a look. Orientation is a huge effort since it lies on its side. Disorientation has caused divers to become hopelessly lost inside wreck as they swim down the levels of corridors searching for the way out. Some never make it. Tables and toilets bolted in place jut out at one from any direction.  Anything not bolted to the floor lies piled up all round and 45 years of silt has accumulated in her decks. This silt can reduce an already low light environment to pitch black. It’s certainly not an environment for the faint, but it does offer some of the most spectacular excitement one can imagine!

This trip was my second visit to the Andrea Doria. Once again Dave and Heather pieced together a wonderful two-day expedition out to the grave of the sunken liner. Our boat of choice was the John Jack, a 50-foot twin engine diesel out of New Jersey that had only two weeks earlier delivered us to the U-869.

Since it was a 5-hour boat ride out to the Doria, our plans called for a 5AM departure, thus placing us over the wreck site approximately noon.

We began loading the boat the evening before. The crowded dockside drew a hint of curiosity from people sitting in their boats enjoying the approaching weekend, as double steel tanks and single- stage tanks for decompression lined the dock like spectators awaiting loading onto John Jack. Each tank was carefully labeled with terms foreign to the untrained eye “ENRICHED AIR”, “NITROX 80/20 FOR DECOMPRESSION USE ONLY”, “50/50 NITROX DECO MIX: DO NOT USE BELOW 70 FEET”, “ARGON DO NOT BREATHE”, “TRIMIX 18/45”

The weather did not appear promising, and seemed to indicate our trip would be in jeopardy. Two charters for the Doria had already been canceled that week due to bad weather. Wind was increasing and marginal conditions ensued at best. But who really knew for sure how the world would appear 120 miles off shore; it can be so different out there. So we remained hopeful.

With all our equipment loaded we retired below decks to quietly await our departure.

We departed pretty much on time at 5AM the next morning. Some people were up about by 6:30 AM but I remained snug in my bunk feeling to the waves breaking against the hull in rhythmic fashion. By mid morning I collected myself and emerged in faded sunlight to a world surrounded by water. There was occasional light rain falling but the sun gradually punched through the high clouds to deliver us a good day. Silver walls of mist rose in defiance as John Jack’s bow pierced through the sleeping ocean. The morning was incredibly calm, seemingly as if the sea didn’t know we were even there. Suddenly, a sonic boom from a high flying SST rumbled across wave tops disturbing the morning tranquility.

At around 11AM the boat began to slow down. Captain Zero emerged from his wheelhouse to inform us all electronics indicated we were at the spot. We began a series of circling maneuvers trying to locate the exact spot where Andrea Doria was last seen struggling for life on the surface. It was a big ship, but it’s also a big ocean and one literally has to be over the precise location. I gazed out upon the ocean, as it appeared so calm and innocent. Not the slightest hint a 700-foot passenger liner had been devoured in its blanket of waves. After a short search there was excitement emanating from the wheelhouse. I peeked at the depth finder and could see a mountainous image on the screen rising clearly up off the ocean floor. It had to be the Andrea Doria!

Bill Schmoldt one of the John Jack crew geared up to hook the wreck. He disappeared into the sea following a line we had dropped in the hopes it had landed on or near the wreck below us. A successful tie in would be signaled by a lift-bag appearing at the surface. He was gone for an hour and a half and with no lift bag in sight, we concluded he had been unable to clip us to the Doria. We sent a second diver “Tex” in for a try and his efforts paid off. With lift bag at the surface the first dive team immediately began suiting up for the adventure below.  I suited up next and once ready for action, had to be steadied by colleagues as I lumbered in full technical regalia across the rolling deck. I stood by the open door while a spotter stood nearby helping time any wave action. The entire scenario reminded me of a jumpmaster way back in my days of skydiving. When the time was right he’d holler  “go!” and off we went.

I entered the water perfectly. Eyeing a line running off the stern of our boat, I followed it down until it connected to the granny line. This granny line fell about 20 feet under the John Jack and made for a pleasant underwater traverse to the to the buoy line marking the Andrea Doria. Far beneath, I spied two separate silvery bubble trails side by side and watched them mesh together as one. I felt several bubbles pop against my mask as I paused at the line to make one final check of equipment. With everything to my satisfaction, I methodically started pulling on the line to begin my fourth visit to the famed Andrea Doria. At about 100 feet a massive dark area began to appear in my path. As I slid down the line I watched it grow as if preparing to feed. At 150 feet and still no sight of the stricken liner, I knew it was close by. If I could remove the surrounding ocean it would be larger than life there right in front of me. But in the haze of the North Atlantic it was well hidden from view. Ever deeper I surged forward, when suddenly, something began taking shape out of the aquatic mist.  A few more pulls on the line and the ghost image took solid form. I noticed portholes the tell tale sign of a shipwreck.  I snagged one of the portholes glided over down onto the now horizontal hull of the Andrea Doria. Glancing at my depth gauge it read a solid 194 feet. A silent moment of jubilee occurred. I had returned to the Doria, but I realized the journey was only half over. Getting back to the surface safely was the more important half of the trip.

Despite it’s immense size I couldn’t see much on the ship. But I estimated the visibility to be between 30-35 feet which was surprisingly good.  I tried to orient myself, but had no idea on what part of the ship I was at. I couldn’t recognize any familiar surroundings from my last visit there. I had lost sight of anyone else but reasoned they must be nearby. I worked my way over to the side to what appeared the be the Promenade Deck. Peering over the side, the deck appeared as an underwater cliff spanning off into the void below. I noticed a curvature directly beneath me that sloped out at a slight angle. I figured it must be another deck.

There were fishing lines draped across the hull and down onto the deck. A true wreck diver’s nightmare, they are equally efficient in capturing a diver, as they are fish.  Sea amenities covering the Doria also made it very slippery. It was easy to slide off the wreck and be carried off in the strong underwater current.

I decided to work my way down the Promenade Deck. Cautiously drifting out over the side, I began sinking deeper. At 230 feet I decided to halt my decent in accordance to my dive plan, and spied what appeared to be a lifeboat davit melting into the surrounding green mist beneath me. It was an euphoric sight, but one I preferred to admire from a distance. Beyond that I surmised the Doria churned its way down towards the bottom and buried itself into the ocean sand.

I ascended back up to the hull and began following a line of portholes. These portholes from the first class cabins glared up at me as I passed over them. With each porthole I passed, I tried to imagine whom the last person was to close and leave it in that shut position. It was like a game of aquatic leapfrog. I followed the portholes as far as I could see, and upon getting that point, they would dole out another 30 feet. I continued sliding along the hull, pulled by the force of curiosity.

Feeling I had ventured far enough off away; I began backtracking my way towards the downline to conclude my visit to the Doria.

I spotted the strobe marking my safe passage back to the John Jack. As I ascended the line I glanced down watching the portholes fade to a blur. Like the closing scene from some classic movie the portholes and ultimately the Andrea Doria slowly dissolved from sight.

I made another dive to the Doria the next day. I pretty much repeated the agenda I had done the day before. I figured why risk getting lost when I was now somewhat familiar with the terrain around our mooring.

That next dive featured the same visibility although the seas had picked up. Conditions were a bit more challenging to an already challenging environment. But it was well worth the effort!

As we up anchored and left at noon I bid another summer’s farewell to the Andrew Doria. Once again I enjoyed a terrific dive trip !!!

Epilogue:

Just prior to completing this dive report I was saddened to receive news that one of John Jack’s crew Capt. Bill Schmoldt tragically perished while diving the Andrea Doria on August 4. Although I did not know Bill until my trip to the U-869, I feel an urge to pen a few thoughts in his memory.  I found Bill to be a gentleman in every sense of the word, and enjoyed very pleasant conversations with him on evenings after our dives. In addition to diving, Bill and I shared two common passions. He had been an avid runner and held an intense interest in astronomy. I recall sitting with him one evening on the bow of John Jack. We had a lengthy conversation about marathons, the stars, cosmology and diving while we watched the sun disappearing into the sea. His interest for these activities made me appreciate the rarity in finding someone with the wealth of knowledge Bill possessed in these areas. When I think back of the highlights in my trips I shall always remember those enjoyable talks with Bill.

My sincerest condolences go out to Bill’s family, and the crew of the John Jack. The diving community has lost a good friend in Bill Schmoldt…and we at Northern Atlantic Dive Expeditions share in that grief.