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Diving the Andrea Doria. What does it mean? For me it was training since 1988. Everything I learned, every mistake I made, and every dive I completed was to be the training ground for this trip. Four years of training to dive a wreck for four days.
It was late 1988 when Captain Steve Bielenda spoke about diving the Doria at my club's monthly meeting. I was in awe of these people who trekked across the ocean to dive 200 feet below the surface to find a tea cup, a dish, a window - the ship’s bell. Now that’s adventure, maybe lunacy, but it’s a fine line. At that meeting, diving the Doria became my goal.
Built in 1950 by the Ansaldo Shipyards at Sestrri, near Genoa, Italy, the Andrea Doria was to be the finest ocean liner ever built. At 700 feel long, over 90 feet wide and a rise of 45.4 feet, this massive yet sleek vessel appeared to move even while at dock. Owned by Italia Societa per Azioni di Navigatione - Italia Line - she featured accommodation for 218 first class, 320 cabin (2nd) class and 703 tourist class passengers.
A postwar floating museum, the Doria carried the finest Italian artwork of the time. There was a sixteen-hundred square foot mural by Salvatoee Fiume, paintinga by Zuffi, Bragalini, Predozani, Luzzati, and Frai. The halls and public walkways were embraced by frescoes, fabrics, tapestries, crystals, wood carvings, and a full-sized bronze statue of the naval officer for which the ship was named. The elegance, opulence and in some ways, the decadence that stemmed from ancient Rome seemed to have been captured within the hull of this ship.
Some of my diving buddies and instructors discouraged my quest; "It’s too dangerous," they said, "people die diving the Doria." The best comment was, "You could never do it." Fortunately there were supporters of my goal, and over the years I had gravitated towards their tutelage. Ther comments were more positive yet realistic; "you will not appeciate what it takes to dive the Doria until you do it." There was solid advice too, explaining that I would need time, training and maturity in diving that is only found with experience.
After almost 100 transatlantic voyages the Andrea Doria met her fate on the evening of 25 July 1956. She collided with the Swedish-American liner Stolkholm. After fifty-two people died and eleven hours passed, she slipped beneath the waves.
My plan was to dive her in 1991 but a bends hit the previous year set my training schedule back; that extra year made the difference. It was a training crossover point for me, entering the world of deep diving. Honing my skills and education, learning about thermal problems, gas management, and serious decompression schedules, The time also allowed for another hundred or so in-water experiences at deeper and deeper levels. Yet even with training this dive would involve critical planning in advance, cooperation among the dive teams and quality surface support.
The days before departure were culminated in checking gear; getting air, tri-mix, and nitrox tanks filled and analyzed; gathering the proper spares and packing it all efficiently. In between I reviewed my pre-die planning process, re-reading Doria books and articles, viewing video tapes and documentaries. I re-ran my safety drills, visualizing what gear goes where, what to do if equipment fails so nothing would be left to chance.
As the parade of divers passed over the gunnels of the Wahoo I was reminded that preparation 95% of the game. Each diver stowing gear checked and re-checked to insure that everything was in top order. By 6:30 PM we have over 100 sets of doubles, 40 stage bottles, and six large oxygen cylinders on board. There was more dive gear and cameras than I imagined could fit, all neatly stowed.
The dock had filled as friends and loved ones came by to see us off. This has become a ritual over the years, wishing the explorers good fortune and safety. We left the dock and land at seven, there was a quite moment amid the rumbling engines.
By morning coffee was brewing, the sun was shining and the goddess of diving smiled down upon us - we had flat seas and beautiful conditions. our group was a cooperative one, all working together so that each would have a safe productive day. Safety would not be compromised on this trip.
Mates Gary and Gary performed their annual ritual of tieing the anchor into the Doria. Their target was the promenade deck near the second class dish hole. Within a few minutes of their descent the Styrofoam cups were spotted off the bow indicating that we were tied in. The oxygen lines were tossed over the side for Gary and Gary would be up soon.
Mark and I were diving together today - two virgins - our plan was to cruise the promenade deck and orient ourselves with the wreck. In the brief moments before we jumped in, I thought about diving with a new partner, our different deco schedules, and my long-awaited goal below. The Doria’s hull appeared out of the darkness, covered with beautiful large, white, puffy sea anemone neatly arranged like a flower bed. Between us and the safety of the boat was almost 200 feet of water and ninety minutes of decompression time. The chill of the 38-degree water kept us alert.
Ambient light filtered down through the water like it does on a fall afternoon coming home late from school; dark and eerie. Each corner felt full of adventure and danger. [The effects of nitrogen narcosis contributed to this euphoric seduction.] We swam over the empty boat davits and stopped at the silent shuffle board courts. Then for perspective I leaped out in to the open ocean and swam about fifty feet away from the deck. Floating in the water column I could see all the decks, some crumbling, others untouched by the elements. There were huge fishing nets snagged and tangled, draping over the decks disappearing into the blackness. For a moment I wanted to follow the nets to the bottom, then realized it was time to head back to my partner. As we climbed up the anchor line I looked back knowing the sea and weather above could change and this would be our only dive. This would have been enough. I had been to the Andrea Doria.
On board treasures other divers had raised unfolded; china, crystal, and silverware. Those that were here last year described how the dish room’s opening had gotten larger and more items were easily retrievable. Maybe tomorrow we would share in the finds too.
On day two Rob [only years later do I realize that this is Robert Louis Stevenson III] joined up with me and Mark, agreeing to show us where the dish room was. our plan was for Mark to hold the light at the entrance while I dug for china and bagged it.
At 200 feet your air goes fast. My lighted console kept me informed ob my life line, within ten minutes my fingers were numb from the extreme cold. Up the hull we crawled with the heavy bag. Rob was waiting at the anchor line right on time to help send our haul up on the lift bags.
What we accomplished as a team in twenty minutes was more than I could have imagined. Doria dishes! It was nearly two hours later when we counted thirty-five dinner plates - a fine haul for newcomers.
It would be another six hours before we could go in again but our time on deck was not idle. Captain Billy was giving a course in field stripping regulators, Gary and Gary were attempting to fix the compressor, around the boat maps and plans of the "Grand Dame" were being studied.
By now we were all in tune to each other’s goals. John and Billy were working forward, Gary and Gary were recovering frescoes and first class china, Captain Janet was collecting shuffleboard numbers, Lisa was touring around, Brian was after images for National Geographic, Roy and Steve were collecting stem ware. The rest of us were after china. Hank and Captain Steve kept a watchful eye over all if us on the surface.
On dive three Mark and I planned to find the dish room again but no luck this time, we were without our guide. We strolled down the promenade deck instead where many of its large windows are still intact. I peered through a port hole at what must have been a stateroom - its elegance destroyed by time.
The teak decking where people walked lay unbroken in many areas; cold water has preserved it well. Some of that water leaked into my dry-suit, a bone-chilling and humbling experience.
The evening’s fog was still with us Sunday morning, all that lay between us and the large ships that pass this way was the radar alarm. By now we had all begun to look as if we had been at sea a few days. Uncombed hair, unshaven faces and the signs of severe fatigue were beginning to set in. Today would be our last day diving.
Rob and I teamed up again to go after some more dishes. The silt billowed up as I fanned the area searching for another grasp at time. The cabinet was almost empty, the search was more difficult this time, groping in the darkness the glow of Rob’s light was comforting. After about ten dishes it was time to leave. As I scrambled out of the hole full of blackness the daylight from above was a welcome sight. We looked at each other as we went up the line knowing that this was the last we would see of the Andrea Doria on this trip - maybe forever.
The Andrea Doria, a ship unlike any other, should never have been here. She was fitted with the finest navigational equipment, yet it was the misinterpretation of two small blips on a radar screen that sent the Doria to her grave. She continues to bring pleasure to her new passengers in some paradoxical way, while we glide along her decks and though her halls beneath the ocean.
We sailed away from the patch of ocean we called home for a few days, thankful for our accomplishment and the new friends we made. The night moved quickly as we sailed west. When the sun peeked thought the blackness of the sky we rounded the channel buoy for the last leg of our trip. Pulling into the dock at 5 am, we were home and safe. #
This article first appeared in Sub Aqua Journal in August 1992. Since that time the author has made many more trips to the Andrea Doria, some exceptional, some harrowing, but non as memorable as the first time.