All her faded glory

Never before in my life have I worn mascara and a hard hat for the same event. 

On the bow of SSUS in Mobile. Photo by Dave Clark. 

Friends, I am in Mobile, AL, where the iconic passenger liner, SS United States, is being readied to become the world's largest artificial reef. I am the leader of a scientific team that will establish the baseline physical, chemical, and biological condition of the ship as soon as it reaches the seafloor, then return every year to monitor how it changes. By tracking changes to the habitat (i.e., the ship) and the biological community over time, we can answer fundamental biological questions and understand how anthropogenic habitats impact the ocean. I am beyond excited for the research we will do. 

A few months ago, a film producer got in contact with my team at WHOI. He was looking to make an IMAX film about shipwrecks and wanted to feature SS United States. We had a few Zoom conversations to iron out details and connect the producer with our partners in Florida who are sinking the ship. The producer wanted to tour the ship before it was submerged, film all the work that's taking place to prepare her, and interview me about my research plans. He didn't have to ask me twice - I hopped on a plane and met the film crew in Mobile. 

We arrived at the shipyard early in the morning and were escorted through the gate by Alex Fogg, the Natural Resources Chief for Okaloosa County and project manager for the ship. Alex is a marine biologist, so he and I connect on a lot of levels - we both want artificial habitats to support biodiversity in the ocean. He's an excellent collaborator. We donned our hard hats and safety vests, then followed Alex up the gangplank and into the ship. 

César uses an acetylene torch to cut metal
in the forward engine room.

Our first stop was the engine room, where a team was busy at work. We walked along a catwalk through a dark, cavernous room with gnarled metal laying on the floor beneath. Sunlight shone down 6 stories through what used to be an elevator shaft. A haze of smoke hung in the air, the remnants of fiery torches and their burned metal victims. I felt like I was in a superhero movie, sneaking into a villain's lair and watching his minions build a machine that could conquer the world. 

I followed Alex down a set of stairs from the catwalk, through an open door, and into a smaller, darker room. The floor was littered with buckets, wires, and hunks of metal waiting to be hauled out of the ship. A chain thicker than my arm hung from the ceiling - it would be used to lift the larger pieces up and out of the elevator shaft. Along one side of the room, a massive metal tube penetrated through both walls - the drive shaft that used to power SS United States across the Atlantic Ocean. We rounded a corner and found César, an employee of Colleen Marine, the company that is disassembling the ship. He was about to cut a piece off of an insulated tank, and the producer wanted to film sparks. We put on our ear protection, stood back, and César let it rip! A shower of sparks erupted from the tank! César switched his angle a few times, slicing through the metal slowly and carefully. When he had burned all the way through, he waved over a co-worker, who tapped out the metal piece with a sledgehammer. They tossed the piece away, then identified the next piece to cut. Deconstructing a ship is delicate and brutal, systematic and grueling. I was in awe of their expertise and precision. 

Alex Fogg and I chatting about the animals we expect to colonize
 SS United States on the promenade deck. Photo by Dave Clark. 

We thanked César and climbed back up the stairs to the catwalk. Alex wanted to show us the parts of the ship that were already cleared and ready for sinking - the upper decks of SS United States. Where closet-sized staterooms once lined the narrow halls, only outlines on the floor remained. The theater in the middle of the ship was only identifiable by its build-in stage; all the seats, curtains, and lighting had been removed. The promenade deck, once a passenger favorite lined with tall windows, was glass-free and open to the elements. Alex and I paused there for a chat. 

SS United States is made of metal - primarily iron, but there is some aluminum on the upper decks. Enchromated (containing chromium) yellow paint covers many of the walls. By sinking the ship, Alex's team is conducting a large-scale experiment. SS United States will show us how metal substrates control biological colonization. The promenade will be particularly interesting. It has the yellow chromium paint on the walls; it's right next to the rusted steel hull; and where the windows used to hang are a series of vertical rods. Animals love living on columns. Maybe the flow around the columns gives them more access to food - but whatever the reason, I expect those window frames to quickly become covered in life. Inside the promenade, the ceiling is probably going to be another hotspot. There's a non-native species in the Gulf called sun coral (Tubastrea coccinea), which absolutely loves living on the undersides of overhangs, especially when those overhangs are exposed to light. I have seen Tubastrea on other shipwrecks before, and I can tell you from experience that it is going to love the promenade ceiling. I predict that in a few years, that ceiling will be covered in bright orange sun corals hanging upside-down. 

Our visit to the ship was incredibly informative. I'll continue the story in my next post.