2 days, 2 dives, and Why We Do It

The RPM team spent its first seasons (2007-8) in Albania conducting a multi-beam survey of the coastline in the vicinity of Sarande and ancient Butrint, followed up by ROV exploration and sometimes by human dives on targets of interest. Some of those targets were, of course, the anomalies in the multi-beam data. Others were areas where coastal topography, fresh-water sources, prevailing winds and currents, and patterns of land usage suggest that ships may have stopped or crashed in antiquity. In the mid-range depths, diving supplements the ROV images; in the shallows or in areas of rocky terrain, diving is the only way to find what’s down there.
This summer begins a more methodical approach to the diving component of the survey. Cove by cove, shore by shore, the team will make its way along the coastline, documenting all that it finds, ancient through modern. Most of all, this takes many eyes on the seafloor and we are energized this year by students and volunteers who have come to help and to learn. More on that in a later posting. Now, two pictures that illustrate why we are doing what we do.

26 May 2009: The first dive today was in a cove within eyesight of Sarande. It looked like a place where we might find something but there was only sand, sea-grass and rocks. At the surface, huge horseflies and wasps pestered us incessantly, trying to bite even through our wetsuits. Todd, James, and George were awesome swatters but in the end the insects won and we left that cove. The next cove closer to town was a known quantity. The team had previously located and dived on a car-ferry that had capsized a few years earlier. After coming up with negative evidence on all our dives yesterday and this morning, we were psyched to see something on the seafloor. George told us exactly where we would find the cemetery of cars and the broken hull. I jumped in, quickly found the swath of scoured rock that the ferry had scraped on its downslope slide, and followed it to the broken hulk of the ferry’s aft half. Vance and I spent some time poking around, peeking into doorways, sitting on the rails, taking goofy pictures. Then followed the trail of debris upslope again, expecting to come upon the cars. But there was only one, at 60-70’ depth. And if you look at the picture of the one car, you see the explanation.

Did you figure it out? No wheels. A broken hawser, at one time rigged as a sling under the car. The scene of an abandoned attempt at salvage. But all the other cars had been recovered. I am all for recycling. But at the same time this picture of the lone and dismembered automobile reminds us of that there are the means and the need here to recover anything of value within the reach of divers.

27 May 2009: Late Roman shipwreck, 2nd-3rd century AD. THIS IS WHY WE DIVE!

The car picture reminds us that we need to work hard and fast to encourage Albanian initiatives towards establishing the legal framework and practical means to preserve their maritime cultural heritage.

It takes a team, innovation. And laughter helps.

I wonder if my bathing suit will last the month. Of course I brought an old one. I noticed today that the stretchy parts are getting thin and loose. Usually the rate of decay progresses rapidly from this point.
It is my only worry, and I am keenly aware of how lucky I am to be able to say that.

I am buoyed by many things today. The last couple days of diving have been fabulous. Both because of the things I am seeing [check out the RPM site for pictures and updates] and because of the many things I am learning. One of my objectives in coming here this summer is to increase my diving competence. I have close to a thousand dives under my belt, almost all 120-150' (note for non-diving readers: this is deep, for air diving), I have experience doing many different kinds of tasks underwater (measuring, drawing, airlifting, chiseling, recording) and dealing with many potentially dangerous or at least troublesome situations (stone-fish, blown O-rings, free flows, lost fins, dropped weight belt, panicking partner, for example). So in some senses I have a great deal of experience. But at the same time, it is limited: with few exceptions, all of my dives have been to work on two shipwrecks, both conducted by the Institute of Nautical Archaeology, i.e. using essentially the same set protocols, the same equipment, even diving with the same core group of people. Almost every dive has been a square dive: go straight down as quickly as possible, take off fins and work on the seabed, put fins back on and go straight up at the end of the dive, decompress. The dive plans were simple and repetitive -- no need to think about dive tables, decompression time, or finding my way back to the boat. It's a whole new world for me here in Albania: new equipment, new people, new diving objectives that require very different skills. Some things I expected to challenge me: figuring out which buttons to press on the dive computer, how to navigate underwater, for example. Others surprise me. For example, last night -- after my first day of diving -- I got teased at dinner because I was using my arms while swimming underwater. First of all, I had no idea I was using them. Second, it would never occur to me that this is a bad thing. I use my arms when I swim along the top of the water and I used them all the time, of course, when I was working on the seabed without fins. But underwater and with fins the point is to streamline -- like a fish or torpedo. Arms flailing about only create drag and use up energy and air. Propulsion and maneuvering should be all from the legs. OF COURSE. It made sense the moment it was first mentioned at dinner (though it was mentioned many more times than once, OF COURSE -- the band of brothers grows tight by sharing laughs) and luckily it was easy to implement (years of diving not for naught) But who would ever have thought that I needed to be told how to move underwater?! I assure you, it is not the only piece of humble pie I have had to eat this summer, and certainly not the last.
A small price to pay for learning. And the teasing is with kind intent. The plan is for me to direct a project here soon and the more I learn the better. So I am asking and observing.

I am also asking and observing and learning on land. I am buoyed today by several interactions with people of Sarande. One of today's adventures was conveying the request for a receipt for the 10 minutes I had spent at the internet cafe. It took another 10 minutes, 3 people, and finally an on-line Albanian-English dictionary. And then another 5 minutes for the kid sitting at the front desk to write proudly a painstakingly hand-lettered note of my expenditure on a scrap of paper. The bill was 80 cents. I have to turn in the receipt to my university. But maybe I'll forego that reimbursement and instead frame the original. A reminder of the fun of solving a problem by team using innovative means of communication. And the sense of accomplishment and comradery (sp?) shared at the successful resolution. Actually, now that I think about it, that's the theme of today's posting. This is also how we search for wrecksites underwater.

The latest from RPM...

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(Almost) back!

I remember my mother telling me to smell the air when I stepped out of the plane in Athens. She must have traveled there in the very early 60s. She described her experience as stepping into air thick with the smells of herbs and citrus, laced with the sea. It’s different now, of course. The air at Athens airport is dense with the smells of the city. I have learned to be patient and wait.
I have been patient a long time today. I left San Antonio before the sun rose yesterday and only now, the following sunset, am I breathing the Mediterranean. I reached Corfu just as the sun began to golden. I quickly splashed off the thirty-plus hours of travel with a quick shower and strolled the town.
I have been to Corfu once before, more than two decades and a lifetime ago. Then I was suffering the throes of the break-up of my first True Love and I surprised myself today by seeing nothing familiar. I must have been lost deep in myself then. Because, really, this place is fabulous. It starts with the airport: a small place (think Casablanca of the movies, Long Beach, Knoxville, Larnaca), big windows, all open, the spaces in-between halls filled by gardens of palms and hibiscus, the lobby uncluttered by gated entries, instead filled with families greeting friends and relatives. I was one of only a handful of foreigners on the plane. I am sure it changes once the summer peak season kicks in. It was nice this way. Kids zipping in and out of the crowd, proudly helping their parents identify and lift suitcases off the carousel. My taxi driver took the direct route to the hotel. The clerk had my reservation. And I got to explore the town in its golden hour, just as its residents were awakening from their siesta, coming out to stroll or sit and gossip or play. Perfect.
The town is picturesque at its edges: a sea-walk frames the promontory and a Venetian fortress exclaims at its tip. Narrow and wider — but never wide or straight or level— streets meander inward and upward from the edges, squiggling through close-set buildings perhaps best described as fading Italiante. “Fading” is a statement of architectural fact but it does not carry into the atmosphere. Life bubbles ferociously in and around and out of these buildings. Especially at dusk, when the town comes out to play.

It is a town mainly of townspeople now, but I can see that once the summer season gets into swing the character of the place must change drastically. Big swathes of streets in the center are dedicated to tourism: lines of boutiques filled with olive-wood accessories, kumquat liquor (apparently a local specialty), wool slippers, and the usual glut of Greek souvenirs probably made in China. I found my way out of the tourist jungle, bought a gyro at a small cubbyhole on a street of local shops (hardware, stationery, plastics, sheets), carried it out to the park and watched the kids chase soccer balls.
Came back to the hotel and brought a beer up to the rooftop terrace. Not open yet for the summer, it was blessedly quiet. In high season they serve drinks and music up here. Now, just the muffled sounds of the town, six storeys below, the quiet conversation of a German couple who have also found the terrace, and the call of a coxswain, urging a double and an eight across the quiet waters in the lee of the fortress.
It’s time for me to turn in. Tomorrow morning I catch the ferry to Sarande. I just learned that my internet connection there (the Hercules) sailed off for Montenegro, so I am not sure about how often I’ll be able to update this page.

The Wreck, part I

Fri 29 August
Sorry I left you hanging just as I was about to reach the punch line: the wreck itself, my purpose in coming to Albania.

It was discovered last summer by the RPM crew. As I mentioned in an earlier posting, their mission is to find the wrecks. That takes enough time, energy, and money. Their intent is then to encourage others to take up the challenge of excavation. And so I came to Albania, to explore the possibility of excavating the wreck discovered in 2007.

I came at the invitation of George Bass, whose name you may recognize as one of the founding fathers of underwater archaeology and the Institute of Nautical Archaeology (http://ina.tamu.edu/ ). Dr. Bass has had a long-standing interest in the Albanian coastline. Already in the early 90s, soon after the country opened to the outside world, one of Bass’ students, Elizabeth Greene (http://www.brocku.ca/classics/greene.php), spent a year in Albania, working with Auron Tare to start up explore the possibilities of underwater archaeology in Albania. But the situation was still too unsettled. Now is a much more promising time.

Dr. Anastasi joined Derek, Liz, and me for 3 ½ mornings of diving on the wrecksite. DSO Joe captained the RHIB and Ardiola came along to translate. We would load up ourselves and our gear in the RHIB and get underway about 7:30 AM. It was lovely, zipping across the morning-calm blue. The atrocious burgeoning holiday construction projects in the vicinity of Saranda soon petered out and we raced by coastline still mostly rugged and empty, thanks to the fact that Butrint has been delared a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Butrint — in legend, founded by Aeneas on his journey from Troy to Rome; archaeologically attested as a sanctuary of the Greek god of healing, then made a Roman colony by Caesar, a port city through the Ottoman period) is an incredible site and I could easily get diverted into a blog entry about it. But I shall restrain myself and instead refer you to the excellent website http://www.butrint.org/index.php and encourage you to visit the site.

We sped past the riverine entrance to Butrint, through the narrow strait separating Corfu and Albania. The morning seas and winds were usually calm, but by the afternoon stiff northwest breezes whipped whitecaps into the waves and it was easy to understand that ancient ships would have had difficulties standing off from this shore.

Our ship had banged up against the rocks and either sank or spilled its load immediately. And here I came upon an unexpected — but it should have been obvious — question: how to identify a shipwreck? Of course, it is easy when you come upon a hull or a coherent heap of cargo. But when is a jumbled spill of amphoras the remains of a shipwreck, and when is it just a pile of stuff dumped overboard in a desperate attempt to prevent a shipwreck? I have to admit that I never carefully considered this question. Let me tell you what I saw on the seabed, and maybe you’ll have some thoughts about this.

(Note: I shall post photos for the description below, asap. For now, just the text. Please check back in a week or so.)

The shoreline is steep and rocky and that same topography continues underwater. Within about 50 of the shore, the seabed has plunged to 25m. Above water, sparse vegetation anchored in shallow soil covers the hillside; below the waterline, however, the steep slope is covered by a deep layer of thick silt. Not much protrudes from that heavy silt until one reaches a ledge of bedrock, at about 23m down. A lead anchor stock (whereas modern anchors are weighted by their chains, ancient anchors used only ropes and therefore required a weighted element -- the bar at the top and perpendicular to the anchor shank in the image here), seated in the hollow of a boulder, was our visual hallmark for wreck’s location. About 25 amphoras lie strewn along the ledge for about 20-25m on either side of the anchor stock-boulder. Many are broken but into relatively large fragments and it looks like most of their pieces lie in close proximity. A further ca. 15 amphoras lie a bit further down the slope or appear in sporadic isolation in the silt layer above the ledge. And there are traces of more amphoras deeper in the silt. The majority of the amphoras are of a single type (“Corinthian B”), a few of a second type (“Corinthian A”), and there are a few intrusive pieces. (The wind/current/topographical conditions that led to one shipwreck would also have caused others; most (all?) near-shore shipwreck assemblages include some intrusive objects.) Is this a shipwreck, or is it simply jettisoned cargo? I think it is probably a wreck because I find it difficult to envision how jettisoning would have been thought effective in such close proximity to the shore. Or even/especially if this was a desperate last-ditch effort, how there would have been time to unload so many amphoras so quickly that they all landed together on the seabed. Under what circumstances would a captain still be dumping large quantities of cargo so close to shore? At this point, isn’t it too late?

The anchor stock in their midst may have been cast in a desperate last stand, though it could also have been a spare, stowed on board; it can be argued either way.

Accepting the hypothesis that these are the remains of a wreck, should we excavate it? I shall leave you to think about that question until tomorrow…

The Corinth-Albanian connection

Sat 23 August

Looking at a map of Greece, the obvious place to look for an important city is at the narrow isthmus that joins the Peloponnesian peninsula with the mainland. And in fact this is the location of one of the great ancient centers of Greek civilization, Corinth. Early in its history a wall of giant boulders was built across the isthmus, and it was an obvious line of defense for the Greeks who dared to stand up to Persian might. How often the armies and ambassadors of Sparta and Athens traversed this crossing!
More often it was a conduit for goods and ideas, not only between northern and southern Greece but also between the eastern and western Mediterranean. Journeys by sea were far more efficient than overland travel and the isthmus that straddled the Aegean sea and Corinthian gulf was the obvious shortcut between east and west, especially as rounding Cape Malea (the southern tip of the Peloponnese) was notoriously dangerous. Corinthian pottery is one of the hallmarks of the renaissance of Greek prosperity in the 8th and 7th centuries BCE; the lions and griffins and other fantastic animals that are its characteristic decoration were inspired by eastern iconography. Corinth then exported its interpretation of oriental ideas further west to Italy and Sicily and north to the Black Sea, where it founded colonies and sent its pottery. Corinthian influences can be traced in the elaborate terracottas of the early Etruscan civilization and in legend a Corinthian man fathered one of the kings of early Rome. Ancient texts tell of attempts to cut a canal across the isthmus. None succeeded but the Corinthians did build a long-used track for dragging ships or their cargo overland.

The name itself tells us that the Corinthians successfully managed their interests in the gulf that gave access to the west. They actively protected their conduit of prosperity. The great war between Sparta and Athens, Thucydides tells us, was sparked by competitiveness for control of the colonies at the western fringes of the gulf. In spite of the Atheno-centric bias of the surviving ancient texts, it is clear that modern-day Corfu and the Albanian coast across it were vital elements of Corinthian economy and politics.
Corinthian fortunes waxed and waned over the centuries. In antiquity, we see it highlighted again in the convoluted machinations of 4th-century Greek politics, and then again, much later, in Paul’s epistles. Archaeology complements the written records. Excavations in Corinth itself but even more so in its colonies and the people and places with which it traded tell us unintended, unedited stories of Corinth’s history and interactions with a wider world.

All this is by way of introducing our shipwreck, for its primary cargo was Corinthian amphoras. An amphora is a fired ceramic (terracotta) container with two handles and a fairly narrow mouth and usually with a base that is not flat, i.e. this is a container that is not designed to stand flat, its primary purpose must have been transport. It was probably designed for transporting oil or wine, but it could carry anything that poured or was viscous. At Uluburun (Turkey) where we excavated a ship that sank in the 13th century BCE, we found one amphora filled with glass beads and many that contained terebinth resin. Just like modern liquor bottles, amphora shapes are readily distinctive, although they are often characteristic of a place and time rather than a commodity. Archaeologists who work with amphoras can readily identify where and when an amphora was made based on the shape of its rim, handles, body, and toe. One hypothesis for the unwieldy (from a land-based point of view) shape of an amphora’s base is that it was designed for stacking in curved hulls and it is certainly true that we find many, many amphoras on the seabed and in port cities. In looking for ancient shipwrecks in the Mediterranean, it is most often amphoras that we indicate we have found one. And it is these humble remainders that we rely on as signposts for the date and ports of call of the shipwreck.

The amphora assemblage found by RPM during their 2007 survey consists primarily of “Corinthian B/Corcyraean” amphoras. The details of their shape indicate that they date to the early 3rd century (ca. 285-260 BCE). As you might be able to guess from the designation for this amphora type, these were made in more than one location — Corinth and Corcyra (Corfu), but also perhaps other locations. A second type of amphora found on the site is more closely associated with Corinth. Directly or indirectly, this ship has some connection with Corinth.

OK, this time at least I got started talking about the wreck and what we are doing there. Now that I have started, I promise to keep on track. More wreck talk asap…

Supermen

Friday afternoon 22 August
Our wreck will again lie undisturbed (we hope). Four days of diving has provided us with the information we need to plan for a full-scale operation; this morning we took our last dive of the season.
[An aside: Joe just walked by and saw my writing. Asked me to be sure to mention that he’s a super-hero. There you have it, Joe. Now everyone reading this blog knows.
Speaking of super-heroes, there is a team of them on board the Hercules. I just had another amazing meal prepared by Elliot, the chef.
At first I wrote “cook” but that would have been plain wrong. For chef he is, in fact as in title. Every meal I have had on board here rates many stars. He manages to produce miracles in a kitchen just barely big enough for him to turn around, but large enough for objects to launch in dangerous trajectories when the ship lurches in heavy seas. We came in to dock early today because of a malfunction in the thrusters (which keep the ship stabilized on a GPS point); while the rest of us take a siesta in celebration of the luncheon-feast, Jeff the engineer is fixing the problem. My favorite story about Jeff (so far) is that he got this job as the result of a chance meeting with “a guy in a taxi, coming home from a bar”.
I don’t see Jerry, the boatswain’s mate just now, but that is unusual — he is inevitably around, doing what needs to be done to make the ship run. He is not too proud for any job, even the grossest. I exaggerated the siesta; I see Derek (WID) and Todd (RPM) on the sun-beaten stern deck, filling diving tanks. When I asked, Todd said that he is the “deck monkey and diver”. Whatever that means. He’s always around, doing dirty, heavy, hot, hard work. Howard, DSO (dive safety officer) also gets the title of one of the nicest guys you’ll ever meet. He has perhaps borne the brunt of the WID team’s presence, for it falls upon him to organize our shared use of the RHIB and diving equipment. Somewhere, deep in his soul, he surely must wish we would go away. But no such word or even the hint of such a thought has surfaced. Maybe he’s such a nice guy that his soul actually has not entertained such a thought? Hard to believe, but it just might be true. Edwin, the first mate, also currently captains the ship. I know him least because he is necessarily occupied on the bridge. Like Elliot, Edwin hails from Malta; other members of the crew are from Key West, Australia, the Philippines, and finally there is Kim the gypsy, who roams between domiciles in the UK and France. Which is fitting, for his job is to fly the ROV — to control its path as it roams over the seabed searching for the targets identified by the multibeam scanner. As you might remember, I spent my first day on the Hercules glued to the video screen, watching the ROV at work. One can get mesmerized and Kim’s precision is vital to RPM’s mission. Like everyone on the crew, he has gone out of his way to welcome us. Just now, he is burning a copy of the morning’s ROV run, so that I can share it with the Ancient Seafaring class I’ll teach in the spring. Dr. J (Jeff Royal) is the archaeological director of the survey. I wrote about him in an earlier posting; in the several days since then, I have discovered only more positives that I would add to my description. But I won’t cause him to blush here. Finally, there is the man who makes it all happen: George Robb. I met him for the first time here in Albania, though I know his name because of his associations with INA and his several years of survey work in the Mediterranean. I have been most pleasantly surprised. Ten days is hardly time to claim to know a person. But it is true that all-day field days, with all their stresses, make for a thorough introduction. I came to Albania leery on many fronts; I leave with no reservations whatsoever in continuing and building upon the relationship George and I have established. We share a vision and I am grateful to him for communicating his knowledge and experience. I am where I am now in my career in great part because of the generosity of colleagues. It is my luck this summer once again to be among such people.
Let me add one more kudo for the entire crew: they are in the last week of a 4-month season. Anyone who has worked intensely in the field, especially for that long, recognizes how trying it must have been, in these last days, to accommodate a new bunch of people. Thank you to the entire RPM crew for your essential help in launching WID’s Albanian adventure.

Finally, one more person very important to the success of this past week: Ardiola, our interpreter. A pre-med student turned archaeology major. Dependable, clever, full of pizzazz. If this is the kind of students we attract, then underwater archaeology has a bright future here.

OK, I realize that my “aside” has turned long enough to be its own posting. More on the wreck later, I promise!