52 years later, ship still takes victims
Andrea Doria is alluring, deadly
It was a graceful ship renowned for its safety. But lying on its side 240 feet below the ocean's surface, the wreck of the Andrea Doria has a much deadlier reputation.
After 52 years on the sea floor about 40 miles south of Nantucket, the upper decks of the 697-foot vessel have collapsed onto the ocean floor, creating a labyrinth of debris. At its resting spot near the edge of the continental shelf, the waters are frigid and the currents fierce. Visibility can stretch as far as 75 feet or as little as 10 and can change in an instant. Divers, drawn to the wreck by the aura of one of the world's last luxury liners and the treasures it might hold, call it the Mount Everest of their sport.
"It has this mystique, this machismo about it," said Dan Crowell, a former charter captain who led diving trips to the Andrea Doria from Montauk, N.Y., in the 1990s.
Each year, hundreds make the treacherous dive to the otherwise barren sea floor to spend about a half-hour with the ship's dark remains. But the extreme conditions that make it alluring to thrill-seeking divers also make it lethal. Over the years the wreck has claimed the lives of 15 people, most recently Terry DeWolf, 38, a Houston man who died Wednesday while diving with a group of nine others.
The reasons for DeWolf's death are still unknown. He was an experienced diver, said Detective Sergeant Christopher Anderson of the East Hampton Police Department in New York, which is investigating the accident along with the US Coast Guard.
Some of the best divers in the world have made fatal mistakes at the Andrea Doria. It is more than twice the depth of typical recreational dives, and help is hours away. Divers have been swept away by the swift and unpredictable currents, become entangled in debris hanging off the wreck, and gotten lost in its interior. Some have died when equipment malfunctioned or as a result of breathing from an air tank that contained slightly too much oxygen - deadly at that depth. For others, the exertion was too much.
"People don't realize, water is 800 times denser than air," said Crowell, who had two divers die of apparent heart attacks while on expeditions to the wreck in 1999. "Every move takes 800 times more effort."
Even before it sank, the Andrea Doria commanded attention. An Italian ocean liner named after a 16th-century admiral, the stately ocean liner was bound for New York City when it collided with a Swedish ocean liner on July 25, 1956, killing 46 people. The boat sank the next morning, and almost immediately became a frontier for adventure divers.
In that small and elite world, the Doria, as they call it, is the trip that proves you are a part of the club.
"When you tell someone you're a technical diver, the first question they ask is 'Have you dove the Andrea Doria?' " said J.T. Barker, a charter captain from Hatteras, N.C., who has been on five expeditions to the ship.
People often train for years before venturing to the depths of the wreck. They rely on high-tech suits to stave off hypothermia and special regulators and air tanks to maximize their time in the water. Even then, trips must be carefully plotted to the minute. Divers must ascend slowly and pause periodically to prevent nitrogen narcosis, the bends.
"They are on a clock," said Joe Haberstroh, an editor at Newsday who wrote a book about the diving fatalities at the wreck that was published in 2003. "They decompress for hours, all for 30 or 40 minutes of bottom time."
Divers, usually laden with hundreds of pounds of tools, tanks, and other equipment, descend hand over hand down ropes that link the dive boat to the wreck. The size of a city block, the Andrea Doria is almost always impossible to see in its entirety. Instead, pieces of it come into view and then fade hazily out into the ocean.
"It's just like they say - deep, dark, and dangerous," said Marcie Bilinski, an East Bridgewater diver who is one of the few women to make it to the Doria. "The current can be so strong you're hanging on the line for your life. . . . The waters are shark-infested."
Once on the wreck, many are eager to venture inside the dark maze of collapsing corridors to gather artifacts like old bottles, china tea cups, and brass rings as souvenirs of their dive and backup to their bragging rights. With the wreck in international waters and no salvage rights assigned to the ship, divers are free to take what they want.
People who make the dive consider themselves part of an exclusive set, and groups often give themselves nicknames like "the big boys" or "the crazies."
But sometimes, the attraction overwhelms judgment.
"You get sucked into wanting a piece of china," Barker said. "It costs so much money, it's so far out, that you take risks you wouldn't take on any other wreck just to get a piece of china. It's not worth dying over, but you don't think that way."
Barker knows. On his first trip to the Doria in 1998, he got lost after entering the ship without a line to help him find his way out, a mistake he says he will never repeat. A chance encounter with other divers saved his life, he said.
The following year, he retrieved the body of a fellow diver who died of an apparent heart attack at the wreck. It did not prevent him from diving to the Doria again.
"You always think you're next, but when you go down and touch the wreck, you find it all goes away."
As the wreck has deteriorated and the deaths have mounted, fewer divers have ventured to the Doria in recent years.
Crowell, who saw five divers die there in a two-year span, has not been there since 2001. Neither has Barker. Bilinski, however, said she has a trip planned for next week.
"I am hoping to find some china," she said. "As it's broken up, new sections have opened up. . . . I think it'll be there and be a lure for people for another 50 years."
Tania deLuzuriaga can be reached at deluzuriaga@globe.com. 