On Friday last week, June 16th, I boarded a submersible at Bridgetown, Barbados. I was in the country as part of a large global press trip, organised by the Barbados Tourism Marketing Inc. Some members of our group had opted to miss out on the “Atlantis Submarine excursion”, citing fear of claustrophobia.
Despite the name the Atlantis company gives itself, the vessels they use throughout the Caribbean for these diving trips are not submarines. They are submersibles; which require a secondary vessel to launch from, as did the missing Titan. Submarines operate independently of any other crafts, and military subs can remain at sea for months at a time.
Our evening dive – we boarded at about 5.45pm, with sunset due at about 6.15pm – was to last some 40 minutes. We were guests of the tourist board, but the website price per person was $110. There was a mention on the bus to the dock that our dive was to possibly be the last for some time, as the vessel was to be imminently removed from the water for its annual safety re-certification. We muttered darkly about being the last passengers before a safety check. I felt a tiny prickle of unease.
As for me, I will never go underwater in a submersible again
The larger boat we boarded first had the Atlantis attached alongside it: a white metal tube with two rows of portholes either side, and a large circular window where the pilot was to sit. We were a group of about 26. The larger boat steamed out to sea for 20 minutes, and then stopped. We transferred from that boat to the top of the submersible, along a small gangplank. Entry to the submersible was via a steep ladder, which we were instructed to climb backwards.
Downstairs, there were two rows of bench seating back to back; two seats each sharing a largish porthole. From where I sat, I could see the blue underside of the ocean’s surface rippling above us. I have never scuba dived, so this was a weird sensation.
The door through which we had entered was closed in some manner – being downstairs, I could not see how it was sealed, or fastened. There was some excited chatter. The pilot started to make the first of a series of remarkably bad marine-themed jokes, which got worse over time.
Then we started the descent. I admit to feeling a sharp stab of temporary panic as I fully comprehended that I was sealed underwater, going down further, and that I had zero control over the situation. This trip on the submersible was something I had been greatly looking forward to, and curious about. I found myself suddenly not enjoying the experience, and fretted I would have a panic attack.
The sensation of panic receded. I told myself this vessel had made many trips, as had the other nine submersibles they operate in the Caribbean. The company website says that they have carried nine million passengers to date.
We saw turtles, all kinds of amazing fish, a stingray. The person next to me saw a puffer fish, but I missed it. We saw hauntingly beautiful coral gardens. The water was a cloudy blue-grey, and you had to peer quite hard.
There was a depth sounder on board, and we watched as the red figures clocked up to 147ft. The pilot with the terrible jokes said the limit it could go to was 150ft. At one point, he switched off the lights. The intensity of the darkness, even at 147ft, was shocking in its totality. Everyone fell silent in that blackest of black darkness. I felt a stab of unease return. And then we began our swift ascent.
The differences between the Atlantis submersible I took, and the Titan are huge. Mine – because of the low depth it goes to, just 150ft – had many portholes along each side, and could seat more than 20 people. The Titan, which can descend to 13,000ft, has no seats, and only one porthole, at the front. Passengers sit on the floor, in an area described as “the size of a mini van”. In the Titan, passengers were shut in from the outside, and doors tightly screwed closed with 17 exterior bolts. Our entrance was a hatch, that could be opened from inside.
When I heard the news about the missing Titan submersible I felt such visceral terror and pity for those on board. The small-scale sensations of unease I had experienced diving in a far larger vessel to a mere 147ft underwater is incomparable with what those five people will have experienced. Their situation now, lost somewhere, out of communication, and bolted into their tiny craft, is a scenario of utter nightmarish horror, of incomprehensible trauma.
As of now, banging sounds are reportedly being heard every 30 minutes from somewhere in that vast ocean. We can only hope it is coming from the Titan, whose oxygen supplies are due to expire within a day. We can only hope those five people will be saved.
As for me, I will never go underwater in a submersible again.
