Life Aboard the Titanic Expedition
When I joined RMS Titanic, Inc. in 2012, I was quickly immersed in the rich legacy of exploration that surrounded the Titanic. The company had already completed eight expeditions to the wreck, and I was captivated by 37 years of stories—tales of discovery, technology, submersibles, and data collection. But the real adventure began when I experienced the expedition firsthand.
I had the privilege of learning from two seasoned co-expedition leaders, David Gallo and Troy Launay. As project lead, I absorbed not only the technical aspects of the mission but also the lessons that only come from experience; some expected, others surprising.
A Ship Built for the Task
We set out aboard the Dino Chouest, a 300-foot anchor-handling vessel chosen for its stability in the rough North Atlantic. Its seven-story tower of living quarters dominated the forward end, while aft, massive anchor spools and a custom-built area housed the ROV (Remotely Operated Vehicle) and its pilots. Tucked away nearby was a converted trailer where data specialists worked in tight, hot, and noisy quarters to process enormous amounts of information.
Across from the mess hall on one of the lower decks was a lounge with two portholes that looked out at the waves. It started out as a quiet spot where off-duty crew passed through at the beginning and end of their 12-hour shifts. But for many of us with flexible schedules, that space became our command center—our office, meeting room, and sometimes even war room. It’s where we set strategy as a team, discussed equipment status, and reviewed the expedition’s progress.
Falling Into Rhythm
Life on the ship soon settled into a pattern. My cabin was just inside from one of the ROV launch pads, and each morning, the first thing I’d do was peek outside to check on the ROV. An empty platform meant the mission was underway. If the ROV was on deck, it meant something had gone wrong. Either technical trouble or bad weather had halted operations. With a schedule as ambitious mission as ours, every inactive moment felt like lost opportunity.
Morning meetings gave insight into commercial vessel operations. Along with safety briefings and updates on mission progress, we had daily reminders from Rory Golden about our onboard presentations. While many of us were already Titanic experts, the diverse mix of specialists and decades of experience created a unique environment for knowledge-sharing. These presentations weren’t just for researchers. Engineers, operations staff, and ROV pilots, and all on board were welcome to attend and learn more uniting the team and reinforcing our shared purpose.
24/7 Work and Midnight Meals
Most of my time was spent in the lounge, reviewing footage and cataloging findings. Just across the hall was the mess, offering amazing meals by the ships two cooks around the clock. I hadn’t considered the logistics of feeding a crew that worked in two shifts, noon to midnight and midnight to noon. As a result, there was a midnight meal served every day. I didn’t make it to many (I love my sleep), but a few late nights ended with chicken tenders and fries at 12:00 a.m. and some of the best conversations of the trip.
Visiting the data and imaging team required navigating raised platforms and structural obstacles, all part of the ship’s configuration for ROV deployment. Out came the steel-toed boots and hardhat that was issued to me when I arrived on board. Inside, the constant hum of machines filled the tight quarters, where data was being collected and processed around the clock. Because of the noise and focus required, our visits were brief—usually to discuss sightings or coordinate search efforts.
The Moment That Changed Everything
Another reason that I spent so much time in the lounge is that this is were we monitored much of the mission from a live stream. ROV 326 carried scanning tools like LiDAR, sonar, and a magnetometer, but operated too high to see much in the pitch darkness of the deep. ROV 327, however, was equipped with an intense lighting array, custom-designed by Marine Imaging Technology and had to operate close to the sea floor to capture the best imagery. Through the ROV pilots’ lens, we saw artifacts, sea life, and glimpses of the wreck, although the true detail wouldn’t emerge until the data was fully processed.
But nothing could have prepared me for the morning of July 29.
After two weeks of scanning the debris field, we finally reached the bow. I had spent years handling Titanic artifacts, small fragments, recovered and preserved, but this was different. This was the ship itself. Live.
As the ROV approached the prow, something looked wrong. I’d seen this view hundreds of times before in archival footage and photos, and my collections management instincts kicked in. In museum work, we create “Condition Reports” for every artifact several times per year, tracking changes and preventing deterioration. My mind immediately did the same with the bow, and there had clearly been a change.
The iconic railing that once framed the prow, giving the bow its distinct, defiant look, was no longer intact. A large section from the port side was missing, collapsed and now lying in the mud at the base of the wreck.
I quickly donned my safety gear to confer with the teams doing the data collection and confirmed with the scanning team for ROV 326 that the damage had occurred before our arrival. For someone who believes deeply in preserving history, it was a stark and emotional moment.
The Clock Is Ticking
This moment reminded me that Titanic, though legendary, is not eternal. Its decline is slow, but certain. We take for granted the familiar shape of the ship, but the wreck is deteriorating, piece by piece. Time and the ocean are relentless.
When I think about the countless stories and pieces of history still scattered across the debris field, I feel a renewed urgency. It’s critical that we preserve what we can, while we still can. This mission, and future recovery missions, are about more than exploration. They are about saving history from vanishing forever beneath the waves.
