NOWRAMP
2002
The
Surface Betrays
Written by Carlos
Eyles
Underwater Photography by Jim
Watt
September 21, 2002
I
am up at 7am Honolulu time, 6am Midway time. The full moon
is low in the west illuminating what little is left of the
night. The sun battles the darkness in its universal struggle,
setting small fires to the dawn's sky. Sitting as we are
at the dock there is not much to report in the way of wind
or swell, none. There was a small party given in the expedition's
behalf last night at the home of Tim Bodeen, the Head of
U.S. Fish and Wildlife Refuge here on Midway. I was tired
and went to bed rather than attend and had the first full
nights sleep since we left Honolulu.
We
dove on a wreck yesterday, the Macaw, a submarine
rescue vessel launched in 1942. Her story* was not unlike
most shipwrecks, she went to rescue a submarine on February
13, 1944, the USS Flyer who ran aground on a reef
next to the channel. She got into position to pull the sub
off and she herself goes on the reef. Later they eventually
get the Flyer off the reef but they can't get the Macaw.
A storm blows in and builds seas of thirty feet. The men
stayed on board for fear of losing them in the transfer
and night had fallen. The vessel began to list to starboard,
and looked like it was going to capsize. All hands were
forced to take to the masts or jump into the sea. They did
both, and abandoned ship, some were found clear across the
channel. They managed to pluck all but the Captain and four
enlisted men who perished. Many months later the Navy set
charges and demolished the Macaw.
To see a ship at rest beneath the sea is to see many things.
An archeologist sees it as history, a photographer sees
it as an opportunity to capture a spectacular image, a family
of the crew, or the ship builder might see it as a tomb,
but in the end it is debris that the ocean has swallowed
up. I found an interesting juxtaposition between the underwater
terrain and that of Midway Island, the two were in many
ways a storehouse for military debris and junk. In both
instances they existed everywhere, on land the debris was
sequestered into specific areas, in the ocean it was strewn
far and wide across the ocean floor. From one point of view
man's debris does provide a plethora of homes for marine
life that is forever looking to upgrade its residential
standing and thus does make the most of the wreckage in
that regard. However at the crux of the debris issue rests
a dilemma that faces all oceans and seas everywhere, which
is basically everything is hidden. All mistakes covered
up, all failures disposed of, all schemes buried. I suppose
that's why a hit man will throw his weapon in the sea, or
the victim for that matter. He knows the odds of finding
either are better than breaking the wheel in Vegas. But
of course it goes far deeper than what the fathoms can hide.
Great damage is done; invertebrates are stunned to death
by pesticides, fish are taken in nets as large as a city
block leaving grand gaps where schools once resided, empty
caves remain where once lobster by the score lived for decades,
dolphins disappear into the nets of tuna fishermen, whales
are snatched from the deep for reasons I still cannot fathom.
The
grand irony, the death knell for the ocean is that no matter
what is tossed in, buried or sunk, the surface always appears
untouched, serene, and healthy as ever. In the last five
years a multi-agency partnership has removed well over a
hundred tons of debris in the NWHI alone. This is thought
to represent only a small percentage of all the debris still
clinging to the Northwestern Hawaiian Islands shorelines
and reefs. The ocean has become the garbage dump for every
civilization on the planet. Yet children still go the beach
and play, sailboats still race along on a broad reach, and
surfers still catch their waves, fisherman still fish and
divers still dive. In the doing few comment on the water
as anything other than a beautiful place with plenty of
life. The surface is always as it has been, and thus all
is well. The problem is obvious and disastrous for the oceans
and seas; we can't see the damage, and so don't feel outraged,
or sad, or even disturbed; all is well. If we could see
the devastation, as those in the mountains are able to see
a clear cut of its timber, or the death of a river, or the
diminishing herds of elk, if we could at least see what
is going on beneath the surface then perhaps steps would
be taken, politicians alerted, responsibility assessed,
and appropriate action taken. But it is not. We have to
rely on the scientists to tell us what is going on in the
ocean, but their warnings often go unheeded, or are bogged
down by political bureaucracy. It seems that only the passions
conjured out of the direct experience has the teeth to carry
the force of the message. In the end the oceans in their
desperate peril have only the data of the scientists. Thus
far the cold facts are often not enough to sway the world
and dispel the notion that all is well. In order for the
seas to survive our misdeeds we need to probe the fathoms
of ourselves and provide trust and support for those who
have committed their lives to the preservation of the ocean,
it is a very small tribe doing all that they can to reveal
our catastrophes and begin the healing. The surface of the
ocean is its worst enemy; it needs all the friends it can
get.
*Macaw
history from Dr. Hans Van Tilburg, Maritime Archaeology
and History dive team leader
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