Pere Marquette 18 Video Footage Information

The Pere Marquette 18 is a railroad ferry that sank in 1910 with the loss of 28 lives. Today, she lies on the bottom of Lake Michigan approximately 500 feet down. Exactly why she sank has always been a mystery. The accounts of the disaster are heartbreaking and detailed due to the number of survivors and witnesses in the rescue ships. 

These factors all combine to make this one of the most famous shipwrecks in Lake Michigan spurring numerous efforts to locate her. She was finally found in 2020. Since then we’ve had to rely on video footage sent back from drop cameras. Those images and videos were compelling, but I thought the wreck deserved more. 

Last summer, I had the opportunity to work with archeologists and historians to record what would turn out to be the most comprehensive footage available of the shipwreck. You can read a bit more detailed story about finding and filming the ship in this blog. 

Filming a shipwreck comes with risk, too. On this expedition, I nearly lost my ROV! 

Getting a good look at the Pere Marquette 18 was on my bucket list. Depth, distance from shore, and water conditions made this a big challenge. But I knew I wanted to bring back footage that would show the size of the ship and the violence of the wreck. 

I think I managed to do that. From the mangled remains of the deck to the stern of the ship wedged and disappearing into the clay, the destructive forces of a shipwreck were on display. 

This footage was first released to my Facebook subscribers and then to all of my followers on Social Media. But the PM 18 deserves to be remembered, and because of this, I wanted to give the footage a home o on the internet.  

I hope you enjoy this video footage of the Pere Marquette 18, nearly 500 feet below the surface.

David Blish awoke with a start. Fire was always dangerous in the 1800s, but out on Lake Michigan, in the dead of night and on a wooden steamship, it could be a death sentence. Footsteps pounded back and forth outside of his cabin door. Scrambling to get dressed, he stumbled out onto the deck and into a nightmare.

David Blish was a successful merchant. He had a family–a wife and kids– waiting for him to return from this business trip. They lived in the boom town of Southport (Kenosha), Wisconsin. There, he had taken advantage of the thriving economy and built a small empire of warehouses and a store. He was well-known around town with a reputation for being honest and helpful. Often, he could be found in his store selling to locals and settlers looking to make a new life.

The western coast of Lake Michigan was bustling in the mid-1800s. Settlers came in droves from Europe and the Eastern United States. They were looking for land and a new beginning in Wisconsin, Illinois, and places farther west. Goods and merchandise followed them, supplying and sustaining the growing population on America’s frontier.

They travelled on schooners, the traditional sailing vessel of the Great Lakes, and also steamships. This newer form of lake transportation was slowly overtaking the shipbuilding industry on the Great Lakes. Belching black smoke while consuming the seemingly inexhaustible forest lands, steamships had the advantage of speed and cargo capacity over the schooners, which made them popular. Shipping lines set up regular routes that plied the waters between Buffalo, NY and Chicago, IL. Along the way, they made stops in eastern Michigan and the east coast of Wisconsin.

David Blish found himself on the SS Phoenix, late in November 1847. She was a good ship, only a few years old, and of a new variety called a “propellor.” The ship made regular trips between Buffalo and Chicago and was often filled with travellers. Her one steam engine sat roughly in the middle of the ship and instead of turning great paddle wheels on either side, she used the new propeller technology sweeping the industry.

This ship was powered by a single boiler that was kept hot by sailors, known as “firemen,” who stoked the fires with cord after cord of wood. The steam then drove two propellers on the same shaft. She also had a mast with sails that could supply additional power or be a lifeline should the engine fail.

David had gone east to conduct business and was now almost home. This night, there were about 250 people on board which included 40 or so crew members and around 180 immigrants, settlers from the Netherlands. Numbers were hard to judge, as people disembarked while others got on the ship at various stops. It was the habit of the shipping companies to pack as many people on board the ship as was practical. More people meant higher profits and accurate numbers were hard to keep.

Life on board the ship in mid-November consisted of cold winds on deck, a cozy cabin, and opportunities to mix and mingle in the public spaces. While David enjoyed his comfortable cabin, many of the immigrants on the ship had booked passage in steerage. This was much more crowded, had far fewer amenities, and was generally considered quarters for poorer people.

By all accounts, Mr. Blish enjoyed spending time with this bunch, whom he referred to as “Strangers from a strange land.” Some told him of their homeland in the Netherlands. Others spoke about a bright future and the prospects of marrying their fiance who was along on the trip, too. Families, with kids in tow, told him about their relief that their 4,000-mile journey, which took nearly 3 months, was coming to a close. Having supplied other immigrants through his business, he respected them and wished them well as they moved into America’s frontier.

David must have felt the anticipation and excitement of his Dutch companions on the deck below. Late in the evening on November 21, he retired to his cabin for a night of sleep, expecting to reach home in the next day or two. As the Phoenix rocked in the gentle swell on the lake, he thought back on what had been, for the most part, an uneventful trip. Only two things stood out.

Earlier in the trip, the captain had a fall and wrenched his knee. When he could no longer stand, he retired to his cabin and his bed. Mr. Watts, the First Mate had taken over command of the ship, and he had kept them out of the worst of the November weather.

David was lulled to sleep by the gentle rocking of the boat and the rhythmic thumping of the engine which could be felt throughout the ship. The engine was a bit louder than normal. The first mate had decided that this night they would leave the safety of Manitowoc Harbor where they had weathered a storm and make the run for Sheboygan, about 25 miles to the south.

Conditions were favorable, despite a stiff breeze and the first mate was driving the ship hard. Mr. Blish had noted, along with other passengers, that a few crew had gone ashore at the last stop and seemed to have enjoyed themselves a little too much in the local taverns. But this was not of his concern. Safe and snug in his cabin, the rhythmic pounding of the engine lulled him to sleep.

It was around 4 AM. when the shouts of “Fire, Fire!” woke him up. David immediately moved to help. Smoke was curling out from under the deck amidship near the boilers and engine. Pumps were being manned and a bucket brigade formed. The familiar scent of burning oak, pleasant in the fireplace, now held menace. Mr. Blish didn’t hesitate to join a bucket brigade and, for a while, it seemed as if the fire might be contained.

For nearly an hour, the fire and the crew battled to see which would live. The shouted commands and responses from the pumpers and bucket brigade were hopeful. Yet, the boat was made of wood, and the fire crept along the ceiling, crackling and flickering its way out of the engine compartment. It found its way into cracks and scorched the bottom of the upper deck. There it gained full life, whooshing into existence as the flames found access to the night air. They burned higher, and brighter, and continued to spread out towards both ends of the ship.

By 4:45 AM, the Phoenix was ablaze. The fire crackled and roared, its heat burning the hair and skin of those who couldn’t get far enough away. It burned so brightly that the Sheboygan, WI beach some five miles distance was lit as if the sun had risen. The few out at that hour couldn’t fail to notice the burning ship and began to rouse the town with a hue and cry to provide assistance. In the harbor, the SS Delaware began to make her way onto the lake to assist.

On board the Phoenix, the reality of the situation dawned on the crew first. This ship would not be saved. The only action they could take was to continue fighting the fire while launching the two lifeboats the ship carried. If the fire could be fought long enough, those boats could make the trip to shore, and hopefully return to save more people.

As the boats were lowered, Mr. Blish remembered the captain, who was unable to move. He went to the captain’s quarters and bundled the man up. He then placed him in one of the lifeboats. Due to his wealth and stature, he was also offered a seat. He declined, stating, “There is work left for me here, and I want to take my chances with the rest.”

The middle of the ship was an inferno, the strong lake winds fanning the flames. The panicked passengers ran for the lifeboats, the mass of people threatening to overturn them. David Blish stood at the gangplank and ensured the lifeboats could pull away from the Phoenix. The two boats could only hold 40 people, and they were full. Those fortunate to find a seat would owe their lives to David. The other 210 men, women and children would have to fend for themselves.

As the boats headed towards shore, David turned back to the bucket brigade that was valiantly trying to control the flames. The only hope was to stay alive until help appeared. Many passengers sensed that their last chance for salvation was slowly rowing away. A pair of young women stood on the rail of the Phoenix and jumped, hoping to land in one of the lifeboats.

One landed in the lifeboat and was caught by scared survivors. The other caught the edge of the boat with her hands and hung on, trying to pull herself up and in. Fearing that she would overturn the boat and drown them all, the crew slowly peeled her hands from the edge, and released her, pleading for help, into the water.

When the SS Delaware finally appeared on the scene, the raging fire proved too big and hot to safely approach to offload trapped passengers. Onboard the Phoenix the smashing and splintering of wood could be heard as men found axes and began to chop anything that could float. The water became littered with doors and planking that had been ripped from the Phoenix to be used as makeshift rafts. Some jumped into the flotsam in an attempt to make it away from the burning ship and closer to the Delaware. The frigid water quickly took the lives of most of those who tried to float to safety.

The crew of the Delaware watched in horror as people on board the burning ship began to make their final choices. Faced with the choking smoke and searing fire, a pair of schoolgirls held hands and jumped into the lake, disappearing together almost immediately. Others, seeking to remain alive as long as possible, climbed the mast and rigging to escape the flames. As the fires moved forward, the sailcloth was set ablaze, trapping and killing those who had fled to the heights.

Back on board the Phoenix, David Blish continued to fight the fires, trying to buy precious time and fervently hoping that help would arrive. He continually encouraged those around him and valiantly kept the bucket brigade going. As he ranged about the ship, trying to coordinate and maintain the firefighting efforts, he came across the various people and families he had previously met and eaten with, their hopes and dreams vivid in his memory.

David knew that their time was running out. Their lives were about to be cut short within sight of land they could not reach, and on a lake that would not extinguish the fires until it had consumed everything above the waterline. He did his best to console these new friends, encouraging and strengthening them to keep fighting against the fate that was soon to come.

Before the sun rose, the fire had cut the ship in two. The bow and stern flanked a blazing middle that no one could pass. The Delaware stood off a little in the distance, helpless to approach the ship. Her crew watched as a family gathered on what little remained of the burning Phoenix. The father threw wood debris into the water to make a raft. Holding their child, the two clasped hands and jumped. They missed their raft and together they splashed into the water and disappeared.

The end was now near, the fires leaving very little space for the people to crowd. More and more jumped rather than burn in the fire. David Blish looked into the water and knew it was his last chance. Near him were two terrified young children. He took them in his arms and jumped. He swam for a raft and clung on to it, holding onto hope and the children.

Eventually, the Phoenix burned to the waterline. The roar of the fire was gradually replaced with the hiss of steam when the flames met water. The desperate cries of the trapped had long faded into the early morning quiet. As the dying fires now posed no threat, the Delaware moved in to look for survivors and found three. One, the only one to escape this way, was using a door as a makeshift raft. Two other men dangled from chains from the aft section of the burned hulk. All told there would be only 43 survivors. Of the settlers from the Netherlands, only 25 survived.

And what of David? Up and over the peaks and down into troughs of the gentle swells of Lake Michigan, David had held on to the floating raft. He held on to those two children. And slowly they disappeared into the darkness, to survive only in the pages of history.

She was an early version of steamers called a “propeller.”  In the 1850s, most ships on the Great Lakes were sailing vessels called schooners.  Steamships were becoming more present, but most of them were driven by paddle wheels located on the sides of the ship. A few were pioneering new technology, the propeller, which worked like a large screw, turning in the water and pushing the ship forward. 

The Westmoreland was a long ship for this time period, measuring about 278 feet from bow to stern. It was also built out of wood. These two characteristics made it prone to bending in the middle and so the builders used “hogging arches” to prevent this.  These are giant arches, made of wood, that connect to the hull on each side and give ships of this era a very distinctive look. 

Like many cargo ships of her day, the Westmoreland also carried passengers. The holds on the bottom would be filled with barrels full of commodities like grain, flour, whisky, and nails. Finished products like iron stoves might also be sent from port to port. Above all of this, on the main deck, was a long structure filled with salons for socializing, rooms for the trip, and dining rooms. On top of this, at the very front, would be the wheelhouse, where the Captain and his officers would command the ship. 

The Westmoreland had only been in service since 1853 when it was caught in a violent winter storm off of the Manitou Islands in December 1854. It began to take on water as the captain tried to get her to safety and close to shore. With the boiler and engine situated in the back of the ship, the more water that came in, the heavier the back of the vessel became and the deeper the water got.

When the water finally reached the fires in the boilers and extinguished them, her fate was sealed. She sank in deep water somewhere between S. Manitou Island and the Michigan Coast. Half of the people on board perished, leaving 17 survivors. 

Ross Richarson, a renowned shipwreck hunter had this ship on his list and he eventually found her in 2010. Because of the nature of this wreck, her coordinates are known to only a small group of people. I’ve had the honor of diving on her four times, the last time being the first week of July 2023.

On my last visit, with my dive partner Ray Wilson, we had great weather conditions. That is really important for deeper technical dives because you’ll generally have some ambient light at depth and calm conditions for doing long decompression stops on the line.

We motored out from Frankfort, about 12 miles and methodically got everything set up for diving once we arrived on site and spotted the ship on sonar. The down line we descend and ascend on to the bottom was lowered over the side of the boat while we hovered in position above the wreck, aided by GPS. 

Using the down line is definitely way less impact on the decaying wrecks than if you drag into it with an anchor or grapple to hold the boat’s position. When you anchor or grapple, you really have no control over what you hook into. You could rip off the ship’s wheel, the masts or take down the hogging arches in the case of the Westmoreland, which is 170 years old. So it’s really not a practice that’s acceptable these days. It’s really important for me to treat these sites with respect and care and not cause damage to them, so I’m proud of developing my way to safely dive without touching the wrecks at all.

Once the boat was set up, we turned our attention to our rebreathers and started getting suited up. This takes about 20 minutes to a half hour. You want to do things at a leisurely pace so you’re focused and not stressed, and making sure you’re not forgetting anything in the process. 

Doing it in the same order, as you’ve done it time and time before is important. That way there’s nothing different about this dive in comparison with any other. With tech diving, you cannot be rushed. That’s just the nature of it. At that point, all we had to do was jump in, strap on our bail-out tanks that were hanging on a line in the water, and descend directly down to the wreck.  

The Westmoreland shipwreck lies in 180 feet of water. I’ve talked about what it’s like to descend through water in this article. On this day, we could see the dark shape of the ship beginning to emerge out of the gloom at around 120 feet. 

I’ve been fascinated with this ship for a few reasons. Part of it is because it’s so old, it was built in 1853 and sank in 1854, but also because it’s in such an incredible state of preservation. The sheer size of the vessel just dwarfs you when swimming in and along it and you can almost begin to imagine what it would have been like when it was afloat and in use.

And of course, there is the tale of rumored treasure that makes this a fun dive, too. A few years after she sank, the rumor started that she was carrying barrels of whisky, which would have been salvageable to be sold, and also a large amount of gold coin to pay the troops at Mackinac Island. Whether or not there’s actually any merit to the tale, it does add a layer of mystery to the dive.

One of the highlights of the dive is seeing the auxiliary ship’s wheel, which is traditionally used as an emergency means of steering the ship if the main wheel or steering mechanism is damaged. It’s really quite a surprise to see it still in place despite all the destruction on the rest of the ship. The fact that it still remains in place can only be attributed to sheer luck.

Below that, the large five-bladed propeller sits partially buried in the lake bottom with one broken lobe on the starboard side. The rudder itself sits at an unnatural angle and looks to have been forced over, perhaps when the ship hit the bottom or when the limiting chains broke while the prop was spinning. The Westmoreland was equipped with one of the first propellers of this design on the Great Lakes. It’s a shape that is common today but was cutting-edge technology on the Lakes 170 years ago. 

Swimming along the deck between the massive hogging arches, you can’t help but notice that nothing of the cabins on the topside remain. When the ship sank, the air pressure inside blew the cabins and pilot house right off the decks. So, even though everything is collapsed, you swim over a relatively flat deck with no structures.

A careful eye scanning the chaos of debris will show a surprising number of artifacts though, especially on the lake bottom next to the wreck. It’s a very old vessel and while everything on top is so collapsed, it’s still in extremely good shape. But it is breaking down as wooden wrecks do. 

Currently, there’s just a small portion under the deck that you can swim through. It takes you next to the steam engine and boiler before debris blocks all but an exit out a side cargo door, or a narrow swim through the pile of decking. At the front of the ship, where the windlass is, sits the remnants of a barrel of flour and a metal-lined cargo box.

Midship you pass a large amount of grain on deck and a manual bilge pump that still clings to the near vertical deck section on the starboard side. This was likely one of the very pumps that the crew used, desperately trying to keep the rising water from reaching the fires in the boilers. 

The total dive time was one hour even as we had a second dive planned for the day, but we were able to spend nearly 28 minutes on the bottom exploring and seeing details that I had missed on previous dives.

Diving on the Westmoreland shipwreck is an incredible experience, but with its depth, it’s a technical dive. This means even fewer people can visit it. I really do believe it’s important to visit these wrecks responsibly and to document and share them before they are gone. It’s even more important when the shipwreck preserves a technological advance, like the Westmoreland’s propeller. 

Each time I visit, I can photograph the same area of the ship and it will never be exactly the same as what I saw last time. For as long as there is something to see, the Westmoreland will stand as an example of the danger and innovation that went into sailing the inland seas in the 1850s. I plan on coming back to see her again. 

For me, safety is essential and dives actually start from land. Either from my home or out on site, before I get into the water I will have a plan. This will involve thinking through what I want to explore, photograph, and film. There is always room to improvise and react to what I find down below, but having a plan sets boundaries which are then affected by depth and conditions. 

Diving Lake Michigan

Spring is often the best time of year for diving in Lake Michigan. It’s extremely cold but the water clarity is very good because the lake hasn’t had time to get clouded up by algae blooms. Sunlight penetrates further which is also helped by the fact the sun is starting to get higher up in the sky. This all leads to increased clarity and light.

Before diving Lake Michigan shipwrecks, I need to know where they are. In some cases, the coordinates are well known, and a buoy is tied to the wreck site. In other cases, I have a general idea of where a ship might be, but I have to locate it first using sonar. I then confirm its location with the ROV. (Remote Operated Vehicle) This ensures, particularly for deep shipwrecks, that I am right above them. In cases where it’s too deep to anchor or where I need to make sure I stay precisely positioned, I use an iPilot. This is a device mounted in n my bow which uses GPS data with an electric trolling motor to keep me stationed right where I want to be. 

For shallower wrecks, I can often see them from the surface. It’s not hard to get into the water and then get oriented to go exploring. Deeper wrecks, and the darker the water, this gets more challenging. If the water is deep and dark, it gets much more challenging to find your target accurately. One strategy I use is to attach a 15-pound mushroom anchor to a very long line, (greater than the water depth in which I’m exploring) and drop it down gently. Once I can feel the anchor is on the bottom, I pull it up a few feet so it hangs straight down. Now, I can follow the anchor rope all the way to the target or shipwreck with the ROV.  I also have strobe lights on the bottom area of the line to keep track of where I came down in the darkness. This is my lifeline to the surface when diving in person, and helps me avoid getting tangled with the ROV tether.

Prepping for the dive

Depending on the depth, I may use a single scuba tank filled with compressed air for shallow, non-technical dives. This setup is faster and easier to use and get into than my Megolodan Rebreather. With my rebreather, where I’m breathing mostly helium at deep depths, I can safely go much deeper and stay longer. This is a true exploration rig that requires multiple regular scuba tanks filled with a special blend of gas strapped to my sides as my “bail out” in the event my rebreather suffers a malfunction while diving. These tanks are in addition to the rebreather on my back. The entire rig is heavy and bulky and I really feel like an astronaut exploring an unseen world when I’m all strapped in.

Water pressure builds as you go deeper, and every 33 feet is another atmosphere of pressure. Regular compressed air eventually turns narcotic. Once a diver gets deep enough, they find the need to use specialized gas mixtures, which is why I have to have so many certifications to do what I do. The deeper you go, the more specialized diving becomes. 

Using my rebreather on deep dives, the descent procedure is almost like a dance. As I’m going down, I’m equalizing my ears and making sure there’s enough volume to breathe in my counterlungs. This is an important part of my rebreather, on either side of my shoulders and chest that stores an amount of gas that I will typically breathe in or out in a few breaths. It compensates for the pressure. At the same time, the deeper I go the more my dry suit is squeezing me. So now I’m adding air to the dry suit to counteract the effects of the rapidly increasing water pressure.

Then it’s back to equalizing my ears because by then I’m another 20 or 30 feet deeper. This also means I need even more air in my counterlungs because the pressure of this depth has compressed them further. So, the descent is as quick as you can safely manage all of that. 

Exploring shipwrecks of the Great Lakes

Once you get close to the bottom, you can’t be going fast and then stop on a dime. As I approach the wreck, I start adding more gas into the suit, counterlungs, and buoyancy control device (BCD). This increases buoyancy and slows the ascent. So when you touch down, you’re not actually touching down and creating a cloud of silt. The goal is to have the transition from diving to exploring be as seamless and smooth as possible and not ruin your visibility for taking photos.

On the descent down, I’m looking for that first glimpse of the wreck. Depending on the day and the clarity of the water and the light, sometimes you can see it from a hundred feet above. Usually, it’s just this dark shape. As you get closer, slowly, you can see more. It’s almost like wearing hazy glasses that slowly sharpen. Eventually, you start to see the details of the wood, the cargo hatches, the masts, and things like that. It’s all in a sort of dusky gloom; enough light to see by, but just barely. 

It never gets old. When people normally see a ship, they are usually looking up at it. Say there’s one sailing through a channel, it’s so close you have to look up at it. Or maybe, it’s farther out and you see it from the side. Well with diving, you’re flying. You can go over it, around it, and sometimes even inside of it. It’s just a different world and a completely different experience. 

The sheer size of these vessels, as you descend down on them, always surprises me. You’re just so small in comparison to these cargo ships or sailing vessels. Even after seeing so many, it’s really a surprise when you get down there and start exploring them. One of my favorite things is being face-to-face with the bow of a shipwreck. From that perspective, you get an impression of how immense the ship actually is.  

Time below is always limited by depth. The deeper you are, the less bottom time you have. For deep dives, you also have to factor in decompression stops on the way back up. When a diver breathes these compressed gases, it forces nitrogen into their tissues. If you try to release that gas too fast, by ascending too quickly, the nitrogen comes out of a diver’s blood and forms bubbles. This condition is known as “getting the bends.” It’s extremely painful, can cripple a person permanently, and can even lead to death. 

I love exploring these old shipwrecks and bringing their stories back for the world to see. It can be dangerous, but like a lot of things people do, you just have to plan and be smart. I’d encourage anyone who wants to give it a try to look up the closest dive shop and find out if anyone is offering lessons.  

If you have any questions about where or how to dive in Lake Michigan please look me up on my Facebook page Blueyes Below and send me a message. I hope you enjoyed this look behind the scenes at what it’s like to get down to a shipwreck in the Great Lakes.

Most of this area’s industry was tied to trees. D.H. Day, one of the area’s most successful Lumber Barrons, was shipping out tons of lumber to ever-growing midwest cities and towns. Locally, northern Michigan was growing, too. Roads, however, were hard to come by, and railroads mostly served the lumber companies. This meant loading a cargo of shingles and salt onto the W.C. Kimball, a small 40-ton schooner, was the best way to make the short trip to Northport, Michigan. 

They intended to sail up the Manitou Passage, around the western arm of the Leelanau Penisula and dock at Northport. It wasn’t a very long trip, and a lot of it would be fairly close to land. Time is money, as they say, and the ship, with a crew of three and one passenger, set out on May 7, into stormy waters. They were never seen again. 

The Great Lakes are home to an estimated 6,000 shipwrecks today. In the 1800s, the loss of one small schooner barely made the newspapers of the time. It was noted, mostly, because the passenger onboard happened to be a reporter for the Chicago Tribune, along with the fact that the papers kept an eye on the coming and going of shipping traffic. The Kimball, with its small crew and small cargo, was largely forgotten over time.

Until 2018 when Ross Richardson, a renowned Great Lakes Shipwreck explorer happened to come across the ship on a trip through the Manitou Passage. A small image on the sonar caught his eye, and he eventually filmed and identified the ship, which rests on the lake bottom, 300 feet down. The incredible thing was that the ship looked to be completely intact.  

Ross is protective of these wrecks and while the ship was identified, he didn’t reveal the location. But I couldn’t resist the opportunity to visit what is probably the most intact schooner in the Great Lakes. The problem was, I didn’t know where it was, and it was deep. 

The first step was relocating the ship myself. I was able to piece together some clues in the descriptions Ross gave and that helped narrow down the search area. In early March of 2022, I was out with my mentor Mark. We were freezing and after pass after pass of not seeing anything you can get down in the dumps.

Then all of a sudden, there it was and we were totally elated! Once we sent the ROV down and actually saw the masts standing tall and the lifeboat there was just a feeling of accomplishment. It was great that I did it with my best friend and mentor there. I also knew that I had to get down to see her with my own eyes. 

Diving safely to those depths was going to take a team and training.  Deep dives are nothing to take lightly. They require planning and focus. In my case, I needed some additional certifications, too. I ended up in Florida working with Marty Watson who trained me to dive safely in deep water. He wanted to make sure I knew what the hell I was doing and made sure I understood what happens to your body as you dive into these depths. 

I also received help from Matt at the Great Lakes Diving Center in Sheboygan, WI. I had known Matt for a while and we had worked together on other projects. He knew how important this was to me, and believed I could bring back some incredible footage. I am grateful he decided to become a sponsor and his backing really helped. This dive turned out to be an expensive endeavor with all the additional training that had to happen. 

Rounding out the team was Ray Wilson, who is an experienced technical diver and, as it turns out, already qualified to go to this depth. I invited him to be my diving partner on this expedition and he agreed. We spent early spring making practice dives, going deeper each time, to get acclimated to what we would experience when we finally got on the Kimball.  Instead of just talking about doing this stuff, it all came together and we actually did it. 

We finally dove the W.C. Kimball shipwreck on May 17, 2022. It was a nice day, warm, with calm waves. A good day to go deep. On the boat, we had my girlfriend Trinh Who would monitor the dive and keep watch over everything while we were gone.  Ray and I both felt a bit of anticipation for what we hoped to see, but we had to stay focused. 

With tech diving, when I leave the surface and I go down below, it’s like a switch flips. It’s all business, you’re making sure your equipment’s right and all the settings are right. Then you throw a camera in there and you’re trying to get the camera settings right, also. It’s not chaotic, but it’s a dance and you have to do it very well. 

Seeing the Kimball shipwreck in person was like, ‘Oh yeah, there it is.’ You’re not celebrating in the moment because so much is happening and it’s a serious dive. It was slightly darker down there than the pictures show, but we had plenty of ambient light. It is just as impressive in person as what the pictures show, maybe even more. You see the textures, you see the anchors and up close detail of all these things from the 1800s. 

It is very, very impressive. But again, so much is going on, you can’t really relish the moment like you would want.  Once you get back to the surface or almost to the surface and you know you’re safe. That’s when the celebration happens.

The W.C. Kimball shipwreck is really impressive. It is sitting there on the bottom with its masts upright and looks like it should be sailing away despite sinking in 1891.  No one knows exactly why it sank.

The leading theory is that it became overwhelmed by the weight of ice accumulation that formed during a storm. Ice buildup was really dangerous back then. The Kimball may have become covered in too much ice. If the waves are high, and the ship is riding too low in the water, it can get swamped. Ice can also make ships unstable so that they can’t right themselves fast enough in big waves. Whatever the reason, once it went under, it gently sank to the bottom of the lake. As the ice melted, it kept the W.C. Kimball in an incredible state of preservation. 

What’s sobering is seeing the lifeboat just off the stern of the ship, near where it would have been stowed. It’s real history and real lives were lost. People walked these decks. The ship is standing so proud, and still, it’s so sad. 

Ray and I didn’t get to spend too much time on the bottom due to the depth, but we managed to get some amazing photos. They give you a really good sense of what it is like to visit her.

The W.C. Kimball is a great example of why I dive these shipwrecks. I do enjoy the challenge, and this one was one of the most challenging, but equally, I love sharing the history and giving people a look at what’s down there. 

— Update July, 2023 —-

Some of these special shipwrecks keep drawing me back. Ray and I returned the W.C. Kimball a few days ago. We successfully filmed new footage and took photographs that further document this old ship. A lot of that is shared on social media. However, we also took the first photos ever taken inside the cabin of the ship. It’s in a remarkable state of preservation.

It’s an amazing feeling to be the first person in 130 years to see the inside of the cabin. If you’d like to see what it looks like, please join my crew on Patreon. You’ll be helping me fund my Great Lakes expeditions and in return will be able to enjoy special content and exclusives created just for members.

The P.M.18 was a railroad ferry which sank on September 9, 1910. It had departed from Ludington, MI and was heading west. She carried 29 railcars, some cargo, and a few passengers. In the night, it was discovered that the ship was taking on water. The captain tried to make a run for Sheboygan, WI, but the leaking ship filled too fast.

She finally radioed for help, which did arrive. However, before a rescue could get started, the ship went down by the stern, raising up the bow. As it slid beneath the waves, there was a mighty explosion. This was due to air pressure in the hull or water finding her steam engines. Survivors said they saw large pieces of the ship and a number of people being thrown into the air. Undoubtedly, this contributed to the amount people who did not survive.

A lot of mystery surrounded this sinking. None of the higher-ranking officers survived, leaving no accounts from the command crew. Stories of crew members and passengers who survived give us some idea of what happened. Yet, today, it’s impossible to understand the exact cause.

I knew what I was looking for. This shipwreck had been discovered in July 2020 by Jerry Eliason and Ken Merryman from Minnesota. The Pere Marquette 18 rests about 21 miles off of the Wisconsin shore in Lake Michigan, nearly 500 feet deep. Using sonar they discovered it was sticking out of the mud at about a 30-degree angle. They were also the first to get images of the ship, using a drop camera.

Often, it’s left up to individual divers to rediscover a newly found shipwreck. This time Ken and Jerry had given me the coordinates. He said they had done everything that they could with their drop camera system in 2020 but he was familiar with my work and thought I could do it justice.

Filming the Pere Marquette 18

I had come out here to film it, as documenting and sharing shipwrecks with the world is why I’ve created Blueyes Below. This is often a team effort, and on this day, three people were on this expedition with me. The first was Bob Jaeck, an experienced diver and shipwreck explorer. He was helping to document our trip and manage the ROV tether. This allows me to safely control it at depth without having my focus divided by tasks.

Brendon Baillod was also with us. He is one of the leading Great Lakes maritime historians. He had helped with the research that contributed to the initial discovery and was also really interested in getting another look at the wreck.

Since this was a significant ship in an underwater preserve, I had gotten permits from the State of Wisconsin. This led to Caitlin Zant being the fourth member of the crew that day. She is a marine archeologist, who at the time worked for the State of Wisconsin. She was interested in seeing the ship firsthand to get an idea of its condition. She also wanted to determine how much the wreck may have changed since its discovery.

Like last year, I was using my i-Pilot which is often used by fishermen. What it does is keeps the boat stationary with the use of GPS in the head of the trolling motor. I also have an additional GPS unit on the boat about 10 feet away. It knows the position of the boat at all times and based on the two GPS units, keeps the boat incredibly still and locked over my target.

Knowing that the ROV would drift again, I needed something for it to follow to the bottom, just in case there were currents under the water. I had 500 feet of bright yellow line with 30 pounds of anchors that I dropped over the side of the boat and all the way down to the wreck.  Once I was on the bottom, I pulled the line up about five feet so it would hang straight and true. This gave me a visual reference for the ROV to follow down, for the seven to nine minutes, it takes for the descent.

I had two strobe lights on the line. One was positioned just above my anchors and the other one was 20 feet up from that. The first thing I saw was my strobe lights in the darkness. Then, as I got down towards the bottom my lights actually illuminated the bottom of the lake. I didn’t see the Pere Marquette 18 at that point. So, when I got to the bottom I stopped descending.  I looked slowly to the right, looking for potential entanglements because I didn’t know at that point where I was. No shipwreck there. Then I slowly looked to the left. Five feet from me is the starboard side of the pier Marquette 18, speared into the lake bottom.

I had come down right where it starts entering the mud. It’s buried quite deep in the bottom of the lake and rises up at a severe 30-degree angle. Brendon Baillod thought that when it hit, the ship went so far into the mud it hit bedrock. The waves and undulation of the surrounding lake bed are just utter chaos. It looks like a shockwave went out and Brendon thinks that’s from the back of the vessel hitting bedrock because it came down so hard.

As I began to explore the wreck, I had to be careful. I had been warned several times by Brendon that there were a lot of entanglements on the wreck. A lot of the lifeboat davits are still on the ship and they look a bit like candy canes but are definitely dangerous for ROV tethers. There was also a lot of twisted metal and collapsed structures. 

I had to be careful and slow with the movements to avoid getting the tether of the ROV tangled. Since there’s no public video of this, I was essentially going in blind. As I worked my way around the wreck, I was essentially imagining it in my mind. I noted where the hazards were and what the layout was.

At the same time, Caitlin was watching the video monitors and doing a site sketch. She was also telling us what things were because she’s very familiar with the layout of these types of vessels. It’s such a jumbled mess down there. It’s hard for someone like me who isn’t familiar with shipbuilding to understand what I’m looking at.

Caitlyn was able to identify objects and structures as we worked our way around the wreck. She sketched it, which gave us a good overview. It’s so dark down there that it’s hard to see more than 10 or 15 feet at a time. 

We ended up taking the ROV over most of the wreck, from the bow down to where the ship disappeared into the mud. We were able to get a lot of clear video footage and a number of very clear stills to document the condition of this wreck. We were able to spot some of the ship’s machinery and identify the pilot house, which was no longer at the front of the superstructure. In the end, we gave a copy of the footage to Caitlyn for the archeologists to use in their write-up. 

In total, it was only about a 4-hour expedition on the water. Having the coordinates certainly helps. Also, my experience from the previous year meant we had a good plan once we arrived on-site. Finding the wreck, hovering, and getting the ROV down and up was a very smoother operation which let us focus on the footage. 

We finished this with a great feeling of accomplishment, and once safely back on shore, we all went out to eat and reviewed the footage, this time on a computer where it was easier to see. It was good to work with a team, and each person played a unique role. At 500 feet down, I had finally seen the Pere Marquette 18. 

Estimates of the number of shipwrecks in the Great Lakes range from 6,000 to 10,000. Lake Michigan could be home to well over 1000 of them. The first European ship to sail the lake, The Le Griffion, also became the first shipwreck in 1679. It would not be the last. 

Part of an inland sea

By the definition of “sea,” the great lakes are still only lakes. But they are huge. They hold nearly ⅕ of all the world’s unfrozen fresh water. They are deep, too, with depths beyond 1200 feet, depending on the lake. All told, they have a shoreline that spans over 10,000 miles. The size is mind-boggling. Of the five lakes, Lake Michigan is second in almost every measure of size. 

A feature of the Lakes is that they are large enough to allow storms to build massive waves. Lake Michigan is capable of creating 25-foot waves when the conditions are right. While this seems high, ships in the 18th century were built to withstand them. In fact, they often faced larger ones in the open ocean. 

What makes Great Lakes waves deadly is that they are large, but they are also “narrow.” In Lake Michigan, waves tend to be steeper and closer together than what is found in the ocean. This means that there is a lot less time and space for ships to ride the waves. This can create two serious problems. 

When ships take the waves head-on, it’s possible to have both the stern and the bow suspended on peaks. This leaves the center of the ship hanging, unsupported, over the trough. Ships are not built to withstand this sort of stress, and the keel can crack, breaking the ship in two. The other dangerous situation arises when ships can’t take the waves head-on. If they lose the ability to control the direction of the ship, they may end up sideways. As the waves begin to crash over the deck, the wind will begin to push it over.  Each wave can tip the ship farther, and with not enough time to right itself, the outcome is usually deadly. 

Early technology contributes to shipwrecks in Lake Michigan.

The earliest ships to cross the lake were wooden sailing vessels. By the 1800’s the “schooner” was the most popular type of ship. They were anywhere from 40 feet to over 200 feet long, had flat bottoms, and had two to four masts. They were ideal for entry into the shallow ports along the coastlines of the Great Lakes. The majority of shipwrecks in Lake Michigan are schooners.

There isn’t any design flaw that made these ships particularly dangerous. They were state-of-the-art designs for that time. But the wood construction made them more susceptible to damage and fire. Wood is strong, and it is buoyant but isn’t as rigid as steel. A ship, caught in a storm could lose sails, rigging and even its masts. Fires could start if a cooking stove was knocked over. At that point, it would be at the mercy of the winds and the waves with an outcome that usually wasn’t good. 

Eventually, steamships began to replace the schooners. Initially, they were of wood construction, too. But, they had an advantage. Steamers could take any direction they wished because they were steam-driven. Their movement was not determined by the wind. The ship’s boiler, which produced steam, was usually coal-fired although early steamers burnt tons of wood for fuel. As long as the fire was burning to create steam, the ship would have power.

But, the threat of fire became much more prevalent. Embers from the smokestack could land in the cargo. If this wasn’t discovered in time, the ship could catch fire and burn to the water line. Boilers, too, were new technology. They were known to explode on occasion, ripping the ship apart.  

As boilers became safer and more reliable, shipbuilders also turned to iron and steel. It was strong, rigid, and could better withstand the elements. These early metals were not entirely understood by shipbuilders of the time. Some ships cracked and split along seams when caught in rough seas. Also, propeller shafts passed through the hull. When one broke and fell to the bottom, the lake water would come pouring into the ship. 

Too much traffic

There were hundreds of ships plying the waters of the Great Lakes during the 1800s. Radar, which is common on even small pleasure craft today, wasn’t even being thought about yet. Radio, too, was brand new. Most information travelled by mail or along telegraph lines. With so many ships going to and fro, there were bound to be accidents. 

There wasn’t much ability to predict the weather. Sailors would learn to read the skies and feel the winds, but that was often a very inaccurate guess of what was to come. If rough weather was coming in, or already upon a ship, they would often try to head for shelter. On northern Lake Michigan, the east side of the Manitou Islands was a popular place to ride out storms. But, it could be dangerous to get there if the ship was already caught in bad weather. 

The waters on the open lakes were the most dangerous. Shipping lanes developed that followed the coastlines, about 10 miles offshore. Today, those lanes are split into upbound and downbound. Depending on which way the ship is headed, they are expected to be on a particular side of the shipping lane. Unfortunately, this law wasn’t put into place until the early 1900s. 

Ships would hug the shoreline and when visibility got bad, they could collide. Sailing through the pitch darkness of a stormy night increased the likelihood of a collision considerably. These incidents weren’t always head-on. At times, faster-moving ships would run over slower-moving ones in bad conditions, too. 

Captains also had a choice. They could profit and time first, and sail directly to their chosen ports. Chicago and Milwaukee were common destinations. However, if a storm or a mechanical issue were to strike mid-lake, away from the shipping lanes, saving the ship and rescuing the crew was not likely. 

It is a lot safer today

Shipwrecks are incredibly rare today. One of the last to happen in Lake Michigan was the Fransisco Morazan. She ran aground off S. Manitou Island in 1960. Once stranded, the waves have battered and broke her. Today, a lot of her superstructure is still above the water. In fact, from Sleeping Bear overlook, a person with keen eyes (and binoculars) can still see the shipwreck. 

Time and technology have moved on, and shipping has become a lot safer on Lake Michigan. Ships today are purpose-built to handle the rigors of bad weather and high seas on the Great Lakes. Radar, weather forecasting, GPS, and radio all had a profound impact on safety as well. 

There are also far fewer cargo ships and with the exception of Lake Express and S.S. Badger, no regular passenger service across the waters. This cuts down the likelihood of collisions immensely.  

Yet, the lakes are not to be underestimated and they are not tamed. Shipping companies take the threat of disaster seriously. They work hard to protect their employees and their investments. There are still plenty of shipwrecks in Lake Michigan to find, no one is looking to add any more.