An unexpected 2,000 foot dive
- Dick Clarke, CHT-Admin
- 1 day ago
- 5 min read
I was aboard HMS Rhyl (Image 1), an anti-submarine frigate, during the final two years of my service in the Royal Navy. We were operating as the Bahama Islands patrol ship for a good amount of that time (as agreeable as that sounds) and on one occasion came across an extensive line of floats supporting lobster traps, illegally placed by Cubans living in Florida (so we were told). We duly recovered several thousand lobsters and proceeded to Freeport, Grand Bahama Island, to deliver them to the local hospital, while dining on a robust sampling during transit to ensure they were indeed fit for human consumption. A large van was awaiting our arrival and duly whisked away the remaining lobsters. Upon leaving the navy nine months later, I returned to Freeport to take up employment at the International Underwater Explorers Society and learned soon thereafter that all those lobsters never made it to the hospital. Clearly, the ship’s crew weren’t the only ones to take advantage of this windfall.
Upon leaving Freeport HMS Rhyl crossed the Gulf Stream to the Port of Palm Beach, Florida, where we were to spend the weekend. Soon after docking an alert was received from local authorities and ‘Operation Awkward’ was sounded over the Tannoy, indicating that we had been attacked by underwater saboteurs, apparently irate Cubans upset at our ‘stealing’ their lobster haul. We immediately conducted an underwater search. No mines found so a false alarm. I subsequently made my way up to the flag deck for a look around the port and was astonished to see sitting on the dock immediately beyond our bow, a gleaming yellow and white behemoth of a submersible. (Image 2)
I had been keenly following all things happening underwater during the 1960s (seabed living experiments, manned and unmanned vehicles, etc.) yet had no idea what this majestic vessel was.
While continuing to admire it, I noticed a tall slender gentleman walk along the dock, cross our gangway and speak briefly to the quartermaster. The quartermaster shook his head several times and the visitor returned across the gangway. It was then that I recognized him. It was none other than Jacques Piccard, famed Swiss oceanographer and engineer who eight years earlier, along with Don Walsh, had dived in the bathyscape Trieste to the deepest known ocean depth (Mariners Trench; 36,000 feet/11,00 meters). (Image 3)
II ran down to the gangway and asked the quartermaster what that person was enquiring about. “He wanted to see the dive locker, but I told him the ship wasn’t open to visitors”. I think I shouted ‘well it is now’ as I ran across the gangway and soon caught up with the renowned explorer. I brought him aboard to see our less than impressive dive locker and in return he invited me to visit his considerably more impressive submersible, the 130-ton Ben Franklin (AKA Grumman/Piccard PX-15). I climbed down into its spacious interior, where I was introduced to chief pilot Don Kazimir, who kindly gave me a tour of its inner workings. As an impressionable 24-year-old I was on sensory overload. And it got even better. Jacques said that in the coming days they were to undertake ballasting trials in the harbor and invited me along for the ride. More overload.
Sadly, we were due to depart Palm Beach immediately before the trials were to get underway…although such was my excitement about diving in Ben Franklin that I contemplated, if only for a moment, going AWOL and facing considerable consequences. Rational thinking prevailed and I graciously declined the opportunity. Her shallow water trails proceeded without me (Image 4), but little did I know I was soon to experience Ben Franklin in all her glory.
Ben Franklin went on to undertake its design purpose, an extraordinarily unique multidisciplinary four-week 1,500 mile Gulf Stream ‘drift’ mission in July 1969 https://seawifs.gsfc.nasa.gov/FRANKLIN/HTML/FSTSS/FSTSS_intro.html just two months before I became a civilian and boarded a BOAC flight from London to Grand Bahama Island.
Two years later, Ben Franklin was towed over to Grand Bahama Island (Image 5) for some
promotional photography. My boss Dave Woodard and I were tasked with taking underwater stills and were joined by a movie crew who had come over from the US. Sadly, I don’t have any of our stills to share, one of which was a black and white image Dave took of me holding onto the sub’s sail as it cruised along the upper edge of the continental slope. Once filming was complete, we were invited to take a dive in the submersible, and there was no hesitation this time. Several of us accompanied the two pilots as Ben Franklin gradually descended the ledge, eventually settling on a slight sandy incline at 2,000 feet/600 meters. This was its maximum operating depth, with a crush depth of 4,000 feet/1,200 meters. I appreciated at this point how wise I had been to forgo those shallow ballasting trials…I might have still been in the naval prison at this point! The exterior lights were then turned off and we were instructed to lie by one of the viewports, of which there were 29 from which to choose. It became noticeably colder over the 20 minutes or so we waited until exterior lighting was restored. The subsequent view was spectacular…hordes of fish, many of which were red snapper and not thought to exist this deep, surrounded us as did several large cow sharks, considered the most primitive of the shark species. (Image 6)
Within moments, this mesmerizing display had disappeared, presumably startled by the lights, and the heat they emitted in the case of the almost blind cow sharks.
This turned out to be Ben Franklin’s final dive. That night I was on BASRA (Bahamas Air Sea Rescue Association) duty and received a call that a vessel was aground on the shallow reef off Lucaya’s southern shore. I headed out to fender assistance and came across a shocking sight. It was not one stranded vessel but two, Ben Franklin and her escort tender. The wind had altered direction and speed several hours earlier causing the tender to drag its anchor and eventually break off one of its flukes, all of which apparently missed by the night watchman. The vessel swung around onto the reef dragging Ben Franklin with it, ripping away the submersible’s externally mounted pressure-compensated battery compartments in the process. As no other mission activity was contemplated and necessary repairs considerable and expensive, the decision was made to retire Ben Franklin. It ended up as a museum piece in Vancouver, Canada, where remains on display. (Image 7)
While preparing this account, and to my great delight, I was able to track down the submersible’s chief pilot Don Kazimir, who lives in retirement in Florida. He was happy to talk about Ben Franklin and generous with his time. Don provided many unique Gulf Stream mission insights, including being more than slightly concerned about hitting shipwrecks while drifting just above the seabed at 1,800 feet/550 meters, saying he kept the thrusters at the ready in their full rise astern position during these periods. He added that they would usually ascend to 600 feet/180 meters at night, where it was a bit warmer and a lot safer, and occasionally open the medicine cabinet for a sip of whisky, entirely for therapeutic purposes of course. As I had an upcoming trip to Florida, I asked Don if we might get together. He readily agreed and I spent valuable time with him as he shared memorabilia and told me more about that unique ocean drift dive 56 years ago.