|
|
|
||
 |
 |
 |
||
|
||||
Deep, Deeper, Deepest!
July 16, 2000
 |
|
|
|
 |
Today we start early to prepare both subs to dive at a place along the east side of Anacapa that is about 1,400 feet [427 meters] deep, then slopes off to deeper water. Our goal today is for Kip Evans in sub 7 and I in sub 6 to descend to the bottom, make sure everything looks good, then go on to the sub’s maximum range, running a videotransect along the way. The idea of making SSE’s first descent to 2,000 feet [609 meters] in the year 2000 has some appeal, but we have been planning such dives from the outset. This happens to be the first time and place when all elements needed to make it work have come together.
There are significant differences in the kinds of creatures who live in 1,000 feet [304 meters] as compared to 500 or 50 feet [152 or 15 meters]. What might we find at 2,000 feet [609 meters]? The Monterey Bay Aquarium Research Institute has used ROVs to observe in many areas in deep water further north and a few manned subs have been operated around the Channel Islands in past years, but even so, most of the world below scuba diving range has not been seen even once, including the area we were about to explore near Anacapa Island.
 |
|
|
|
|
Sub 6 is the first over the side and all systems appear to be in good working order. While the Commanding Officer, Michelle Bullock, maneuvers the ship into position to drop the second sub, I hold station, admiring the shimmering “jellies” that flow by: 20 foot [6 meter] long chains of translucent salps, even longer sinuous strands of siphonophores, pulsing comb jellies, minute hydromedusae. Phil Otalora then calls on the VHF radio, “Sub 7 is in the water; sub 6, engage your thrusters and move toward Kip.”
Our plan is to descend facing each other so we can arrive on the bottom at the same time and not spend a lot of time looking for each other in the dark. We both begin flooding ballast tanks and start going down, 20 feet, 50, 100 [6, 15 and 30 meters], then Kip calls, “I cannot hear those on the surface and they apparently cannot hear me on the through water comms.” I relay the message and confirm that sub 7 has a problem with communication. Then I hear Kip’s voice again, “I’ve lost all power. Repeat, the sub has no power.”
There is a back-up battery for basic life support and communications, so Kip is not in danger, but he will not be able to continue the dive without the sub’s main power system to drive thrusters and lights. The McArthur turns and gets into position to pick him up while I wait, hoping the problem can be quickly solved. It takes nearly an hour to recover the sub and try to diagnose what has gone wrong, and meanwhile, I wait 100 feet [30 meters] down, fully entertained by the passing crowds of open sea life. Finally, I learn that sub 7’s problem will not be solved by a quick fix, and I am advised to continue alone.
At 1,400 feet [427 meters], I touch bottom and look around. Here, there is no sign of sunlight, but the lights on sub 6 illuminate a small arena where dozens, then hundreds of small creatures appear to be drawn. As I continue down the slope, I begin to see several kinds of fish that have not been sighted during other dives, then right ahead is a clump of soft, rounded tentacles that some call a “dandelion.” “The blob” would be a fitting name, but would not do justice to the intrinsic beauty of the pale golden mass. I pass by several creatures that look like robust, chunky jellyfish standing on their tentacles. For a while, I turn out the sub’s lights to enjoy the living bioluminescence in the water column. Beads of water form on the sub’s metal interior and the temperature outside grows cooler.
 |
|
|
|
|
I remind myself, sitting in the cold, dark water, that most of the creatures in the Channel Islands National Marine Sanctuary, and in fact, in the living world, occupy space such as I have entered: near freezing, midnight-black, immersed in salt water. A small fraction, including humankind, lives in an atmosphere of air. For a while, I muse about how little we know about the deep, dark realm that dominates the Earth, while doing my best to learn more about this small piece of it. Too soon, I must leave and begin my ascent to sunlight and air. I turn out the sub’s lights to better observe and enjoy the flash, sparkle and glow of bioluminescent creatures as I move as one of them as I ascend. Amazingly, one thousand feet [304 meters] from the surface, I perceive through the darkness a wash of gray high above—the first hint of sunlight. A few hundred feet more and the gray becomes deep blue green, then lightens gradually until I can begin to read the sub’s instruments without using one of the three small flashlights I have packed for the journey (one primary, one backup, and one backup for the backup).
— Sylvia A. Earle
Project Director
Sustainable Seas Expeditions
[Note: nationalgeographic.com does not research or copyedit dispatches.]