The Far Side of the World
On a snowy Christmas night that seems long ago to me now, I stamped the snow from my shoes and placed my hand on the brass knocker of the worn, oaken door of my hostel. Rapping briskly, I passed into a low room filled with warmth, lamplight and laughter. It was 2004, and I had been out for my customary evening walk, though my footprints that night led through Geneva, Switzerland, and not the wooded paths of my Alma Mater, Gustavus Adolphus College. I was studying in Rome for the year, and during the Christmas holidays I was determined to see as much of the Old World as I could.
In the international milieu of young travelers at our inn that night, there was one other American, a young woman whom I had met on the train from Avignon the previous night. Each pleased to meet a fellow countryman, we decided to cook a Christmas dinner for all who wished; and to our delight, some twenty new comrades joined in, filling the kitchen with a half dozen languages, a dozen dishes of international Christmas cuisine and a roomful of smiles.
Much later, some of us could not sleep and decided to watch a film. We chose “Master and Commander, the Far Side of the World”, which I had never seen.
This seemingly random and mundane series of events is indelibly burned into my memory, for a single phrase that I heard that night changed my life forever. It came during the speech that Captain J. Aubrey (expertly portrayed by Russell Crowe) gave before the final battle of the film – and what he said is this: “England is under threat of invasion, and though we be on the far side of the world this ship is our home. This ship is England”.
At the moment it struck me for the sense of greatness and patriotism that it inspired, but it hung with me as a heroic phrase, and wouldn’t leave my mind. Later that Spring, when I was about to tour Sicily with the wonderful 2005 professors and staff of ICCS, or the “Centro”, including my mentor and now dear friend Dr. Eric Dugdale and our wonderful host Franco Scariglia, I found myself on the shores of the Straits of Messina, in the quaint town of Reggio Calabria. Touring the museum there, I was astounded by the poise and grandeur of the Riace Bronzes, and my senses of academic and physical adventure peaked and were joined in the idea that such incredible evidence of history could be found beneath the waves.
As I looked on, Aubrey’s words returned to my mind, and I came to a sudden sense of intimacy with the crew of whatever vessel either went down with those bronzes or threw them overboard in an effort to save their ship. I was transported in my mind’s eye to a heaving deck, a ripping gale, a band of men fighting for their lives with the glory of antiquity tossing in the midst, quite possibly the glory of that crew’s homeland.
A ship can be many things: A means to profit, a weapon of war, an escape into obscurity or a tool for science. Captain Jack Sparrow of Hollywood fame stated that what a ship really is is freedom. Though that might well be true for a pirate, in many cases I have come to believe, inspired by Captain Aubrey, that what a ship really is is a home. The value we place on shipwrecks as time capsules, as sites with incredible associative correlations, is indicative of this; they are little worlds of their own, whether they be at anchor in port or alone on the wine-dark sea.
Ships and shipwrecks are representatives of, pieces of, indeed in a way are the countries, empires and rulers they represent, from Bonaparte to Balaclava, from the British Empire to my own passion, the Empire of Rome. And this, in the end, is what captured my interest and my heart, the vision I had of Roman legionaries leaping onto a pier on a misty evening in a foreign land, the Proconsul or Quaestor on board re-checking his orders, the fleet at anchor gently riding the waves; and though far out of site of Ostia or Portus, of Italy, perhaps of any Roman province, Rome was there as surely as the Rostra in the Forum, in the timbers of the ships and the hearts of the men they carried.
Inspired by the stories I felt lost ships could tell, I bent my steps northward at the end of that wonderful year abroad, in pursuit of Nautical Archeology. I spent the summer studying at the underwater archeological field school hosted by CUA on the Bay of Novy Svet, Crimea, Ukraine. Incidentally, the old beat-up table where I wrote my first field report seven years ago is the same I write you from tonight, inspired more than ever to help reveal the adventurous stories sites like the Novy Svet Shipwreck can reveal.
The last few days have been wracked by 30 km/h winds and increasingly high waves, making diving a no-go. They’ve been spent putting the season’s research together, finishing up field photographs and getting material ready for transport. They have also included several trips to the dive-shop where we tie up our diving platform and Zodiacs, which kept coming loose and which we eventually carried (over a ridiculous terrain of shifting rocks and boulders through really powerful, waist-high surf) to a more sheltered location some hundred yards away. The same sea that holds beauty, mystery and adventure for us should never be underestimated; and today the thundering, two meter high breakers that are crashing up and down the coast and flinging spray 20 meters into the air provided another insight into the darkening winter moods of this ancient anchorage, and the possible reasons for the fate of the ship whose story we seek.
So as I write to you for the last time tonight from the far side of the world, I close with thanks to all those who made this expedition possible and a success, and my heartfelt wishes for all our family, friends and colleagues at home to stay safe, and those still in the field Godspeed and safe journeys home.
It is my pleasure to have been and to remain yours sincerely,
John Arthur Albertson
INA Novy Svet Project Director
M.A. Student
Nautical Archeology Program
Department of Anthropology
Texas A&M University
Anchors Aweigh!
And they weigh a lot, at least the one we photographed on the 25th does!
On another research and recon dive, this time off the coast of Cape Meganom some 20 kilometers to the east of our base, we photographed and scouted the massive anchor I show above. CUA had tagged it the previous year, but we wanted to go back and get clearer shots and its dimensions.
As we descended through the comfortable water I observed the craggy seabed below. Seeing the chaotic terrain created by massed boulders and the strange, pitted bedrock, I imagined how easy it must have been for this massive anchor to become as tightly wedged as it is.
My body and the 50cm scale I am holding show the anchor shaft to be massive, more than 2 meters in length!
After our work was finished, we had plenty of air left to hunt for mussels and bring a tasty treat back for the ship’s captain and our friends!
Medieval Metal
The 23rd brought a day of data-crunching by the shore for me, while beneath the bay our teams worked steadily on, carefully expanding our trenches. One of our veteran divers, Officer Nikolai, struck upon an interesting cache of medieval buckles amidst a mass of shattered pottery and splintered wood, marking and retrieving a number of them. Their small size, however, made a certain sweep impossible.
I have become rather handy with our Excalibur, and the 24th saw Nikolai and I returning to the seafloor properly equipped!
Our efforts had great results, and we returned to the surface in high spirits!
Stories in Stone
With the last week of research at hand, things are busier than ever. Nevertheless, I find calm and focus daily as I leave the world I was born into, and descend into the depths that the vision and nerve of past pioneers let me now explore.
Like most divers, I think, I am enchanted by the indescribable beauty of water and light, by the ubiquitous shadows that shift below the reflective illusion of the surface.
I remember, from somewhere long ago, someone mentioning the phrase “silent as a stone” (now that I think on it again I believe it was Charles Dickens’ ‘A Christmas Carol’). On the surface the stones are indeed quiet; the granite of the mountains, the gravel of un-walked-on beaches bear a silent gravity. But in the world beneath the waves it is not so, the stones speak; the energy of the water loosens their dry tongues. The pebbles chatter quietly together, the larger boulders shift and murmur. The click and nibble of Parrotfish add to the continuous, nearly subsonic thrum of water on stone.
I wonder, if I could only understand their murmurs, what stories the stones of the Bay of Novy Svet could tell us. I wonder what the great boulders would say of the ship they saw sink down more than seven hundred years ago. I wonder what the pebbles think of the ceramic cargo they roll over and around. But tonight, I especially wonder what this massive stone anchor that I laid eyes on for the first time yesterday would say…
The Mill
The Mill is the nickname I have for the shipwreck site here at Novy Svet. The entire seafloor is composed of small to medium rocks; sometimes there is a 20-40 cm covering of sand, but the thick stony layer always lurks beneath. Combined with the rough tidal action caused by the sites proximity to the shore and mouth of the bay and the currents that sweep over the site, the seafloor becomes a mill for artifacts and vessel remains. Most of our reconnaissance and excavation zones are full of fragmented wood as well as pottery sherds, gnashed to shreds by the sea’s stony teeth.
Luckily, many larger fragments and artifacts have escaped destruction through fortunate placement next to larger, protective boulders and features. The trench I opened on the 21st was just such a zone, and some very interesting stratigraphy was uncovered. In the photo below, you can see wood, pottery, organic material and what I believe is ash lying together in situ.
What appears to be a nicely preserved, though rather nondescript bowl in the left half of the above photo proved to be a beautiful piece of 13th century workmanship! (Update -October 15th, 2011: archaeologists at the University of Kiev have just matched this bowl with its missing base, recovered during the 2007 excavation season).
While the 5 minutes we spend at our safety stop don’t warrant books or other amusements, they do provide the leisure to snap a few photographs. The following photos show my daily safety stop view of where I have come from and where I am going!
Reconnaissance and Results Part II
The 20th brought another set of carefully planned recon dives, ones that would have exciting results! As my recon team descended, I noticed that the water was quite pleasant. I had been free-diving in the bay earlier that afternoon to re-check some positions, and it had been a bit chilly.
Convening on the seafloor, we checked in with each other before heading to our search sectors.
It was the most pleasant dive I’ve had all season: pleasant, by the numbers and perfect. And to top it off, we found two new wooden targets! I include some preliminary photos below. Notice the base of the 13th century Novy Svet Glazeware bowl above the timber in the final photo!
Lending a fin
One of Dr. Zelenko’s colleagues, a professor of Marine Biology at the University of Kiev, had some time ago requested help in retrieving samples from the sea floor and marine rock formations off the coast of a beautiful nature reserve called Karadah, about 50 km from our base in Novy Svet. On the 19th of August, we packed a couple sets of gear and headed out with the early sun. When we met our team at the waiting launch, we were greeted by two dolphins leaping and nosing about just off the pier!
We headed out to sea, and soon were passing an incredible landscape!
When we reached our first research site, two of our veteran divers suited up and got to work.
We started taking samples right away!
Then it was on to the next sampling sites, some of which were tidal zones.
By far the most picturesque of our diving destinations was a place known as the “Golden Gate”, a stunning formation that rises out of the sea in a great arch. Seeing it from the deck brought back memories from what seems like a lifetime ago now, when I saw this site on a hiking trip my first season here in 2005. Then, I was looking down on it from the cliffs (pictured below) and I distinctly remember dearly wishing that I could get a closer look. This year, I got my wish.
Returning to base in time for lunch, we applied ourselves to mapping and artifact duties, while planning the next day’s dives!
Reconnaissance and Results Part I
The 17th and 18th brought more reconnaissance work. Wanting to record the positions and dimensions of some interesting artifacts slightly to the east of our quadrant, on the 17th Dr. Zelenko and I suited up, grabbed a pair of 18 liter tanks and got to work.
The juxtaposition of this ancient millstone and modern anchor suggest the motley layout of the site as a whole.
On the 18th we returned close to our quadrant, to take some compass bearings and scout a patch of seafloor between it and the nearest shoreline that remained un-probed.
Our agreed upon method for this kind of work is directly related to the terrain, which for these sectors is mostly plains of sand with scattered rocks and debris. It involves the recon team (the four divers who can use our hookah system at the same time) descending at the chosen coordinates, choosing a large, easily recorded rock roughly in the center of the zone and running cone-shaped trenches out from it.
Our compressor dives are regulated by either temperature or time; buddy pairs surface after two hours on the bottom maximum, or whenever a one gets cold. The 18th of August saw the latter! There is always a thermocline at a depth of about 11 meters, where the temperature drops from about 18* Celsius to 17, 16 or 15 or less depending on the day and the whims of the deep. I don’t know what the temperature was exactly that day, but coming from Wisconsin I know a thing or two about cold water, and I can accurately report that it was cold! After an hour and having recorded some interesting finds, we called the dive and headed sunwards!
With a little help from our friends
The 16th saw more rain rolling in over the mountains, but luckily no storms. We were able spend a drizzly, somewhat chilly afternoon on the water, and I was thankful for the 11 mm of neoprene on my body both at depth and on the dive barge! At one point, the sea got a bit unruly, and we tied up to a contact’s boat (pictured below) for an hour or so to ride it out. We brought large thermoses full of aromatic, steaming hot tea, as we do every day, and when not underwater we passed the grey afternoon in congenial fashion!
Planning, precision and teamwork are the hallmarks of our daily diving schedule. We are all so familiar with each other now, we do things pretty much by routine, only communicating in small exclamations, gestures and smiles. Sure, a person can get prepped by themselves, but it is infinitely more expedient and comfortable to help each other. The comradeship shared in the field is unique and special. As I looked around me through the falling rain to the grey sea whose surface I would soon dive beneath, to the comrades with whom I daily share the trust of each other’s safety and the thrill of challenge and discovery, I smiled to myself. Then Officer Nikolai sealed my hood and chest webbing, and I took one last look at the rain-streaked mountains and back-rolled into the waves.
Steady Progress and Ships in the Night
August 12th – 15th
In a quick recap, the last few days have seen steady, methodical progress on the site. The twelfth was again spent in camp due to high waves. Drawing, cataloguing and storing ceramic finds from the last few weeks was the order of the day, as well as continuing minor maintenance and repairs. The break was, incidentally, a blessing for me as I woke up at daybreak (circa 4:50 A.M.) violently ill. I made my way as quietly as I could to the edge of camp, and en route saw this glorious sunrise – a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down, as one of my heroes would say:D
I felt much better when the evening rolled around, and dug into a special surprise dinner with gusto!
The thirteenth, in addition to its interesting find, saw the completion of my gridding efforts. Not knowing the full extent of the timber, we covered it again to continue work the next day.
Though simple due to the requirements of the site and others working there, my system of cordoning the 10 x 12m quadrant and running a single line lengthwise at the 4 m mark proved more than sufficient for accurate mapping. On the fourteenth, we did just that as my dive buddy Kostya and I fully excavated the timber. While it proved to be not much larger than what we had originally seen, seeing it lying pristinely on the seabed was a great moment!
Today, the fifteenth of August, we completed a series of recon dives north-east of our site. Our objective was to determine, if we could, a terminus for the artifact spread, and in this we were successful. We locked in the GPS coordinates and headed back to base to compile our data so far!
Thinking back on today’s efforts I am reminded, as I sit here in my field office, just how fragile our field is; sites like the Novy Svet Wreck especially.
We are in a way conducting rescue archeology here, for to the the threats of time and tide are added those of looters, pollution and unintentional human disturbance, like fishing. That fragility is matched by the hard work, courage and ingenuity of our membership, people willing to go the extra mile every day and every night simply because they believe that the job needs to be done and done right. These high standards set by Dr. George Bass and all the dedicated people at INA, NAP and CMAC are matched by our global colleagues like CUA’s Dr. Sergey Zelenko here in Ukraine, and I find myself thinking daily how honored I feel to study under and work with such academic heroes.
Without their dedication, priceless history like that lying below the Bay of Novy Svet and modern understanding would pass each other by like ships in the night…
