Sealab
Although there was no connection between SOFAR and the SEALAB project, it does lend credence to the argument that Argus Island was more than just a highly top-secret military landing point for the cables from the SOSUS arrays. This project, held in the Summer of 1964, involved a team of aquanauts living in a capsule underwater for an extended period of time. They conducted experiments on the ocean floor (of the Argus seamount), in order to study the effects of prolonged exposure on the human body (and mind) caused by the higher pressure of underwater living. Argus Island was used as the 'topside' support base to monitor the conditions in the capsule, and the health of the aquanauts. This experiment was obviously successful, because it lead on to further projects, called Sealab Ii and Sealab III, held off the coast of California, to continue and expand the scope of the research.
Here's an aquanaut climbing out of the back porch of Sealab. Through this porch the aquanauts watched the sharks and the groupers, and the Moray eel that hid in the shade of the Sealab as soon as the sun came out.
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Gathering biological samples outside Sealab aquanaut Thompson and a surface support diver. Thompson is breathing from a 'hookah' hose, which supplied him with the same helium oxygen mixture as that inside Sealab.
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Tattooed aquanaut Manning reads a book, and aquanaut Dr. Thompson compiles some physiological data. Aquanaut Barth took this picture 192 feet deep in he ocean.
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Aquanaut Dr. Thompson stands by the Sealab draining board and chats with aquanaut Manning. The men were on view to the outside world all day long. On the surface a television screen monitored them continually.
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For once the aquanauts are not eating Mexican food, their favourite underwater diet. Fresh butter, milk and bread were sent down to them every day by a 'dumb waiter'. When they got to the surface, the first thing the aquanauts asked for was rare steaks.
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All above photos and captions taken from a Bermuda Sun article of Aug. 3rd 1964 as reported by Harry Rose. Photographer not known.
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Below is a partial transcript of a Bermuda Sun article from Aug. 3rd.1964, which accompanied the above photos. The first section of the article is missing, being on a different page from the photos, which was the main reason that the clipping was preserved.
... According to the U.S. Navy handout, given to me on Mac III, the aquanauts all looked very fit and exchanged some formal pleasantries as they came out of the capsule.
But truth is relative, and I wasn't on the tower to see,
I was on Mac III, eating bacon and eggs landed by basket from Argus Tower.
"They eat pretty well up there," remarked the Mac III skipper, handing me his cardboard plate of breakfast. It wasn't that he was feeling seasick. Oh, no, it was just nerves. He always got like this when he had to transfer men to Argus.
They had never lost any equipment. But a couple of men had dropped into the drink during the 'hurricane rescue' operation last year. The men had been quickly fished out. Nothing to worry about.
"What time do you want Sea-lab picked out of the water?" came an American naval officer's voice across the radio. Sealab was already under way to the Naval Station, being towed out round St. David's Head.
"The chopper's coming in to pick them up at 9.a.m." Another radio message.
The four Sealab men were being taken to Kindley hospital by helicopter for a medical check-up, the skipper of Mac III explained. "They have all the space doctors over there."
CHOPPER
The 'chopper' arrived only just in time. At 9. a.m. the red wasp landed on top of Argus Tower; at 9.6 a.m. it left with the aquanauts aboard.
At 9.10 a.m. a squall blew up.
"Harbour Radio here. A gale warning..."
"Can you send our basket up.?"
The messages stuttered from two radios, and in the background the commercial station played calypsos.
Mac III swung full circle on her anchor. The waves were getting higher, and a massive swell sent the coffee mugs crashing across the wheel house floor.
9.30 a.m. Still no sign of the Press men on the Tower. They must be having a party up there.
9.45 a.m. Twenty three men ready for the transfer back to Mac
CLIMAX
Their legs trembled. You could see them trembling as the life-jacketed figures clung like grim death on to the swinging rope ladder. The crew of Mac III stood on the bows. They made a grab, but the ladder swung away. Another tug on the crane, and the ladder came closer. A Press man jumped, beads of perspiration standing out on his forehead.
He landed safely. They all landed safely, and so did their equipment.
It had taken the aquanauts half an hour to emerge from their capsule, take a shower, have a cup of coffee, give N.B.C. an interview, and hop on the 'chopper for Kindley.
It took almost an hour to get the Press men off the Tower. It took fifteen minutes to gently land their precious equipment on Mac III.
As the man from the National Geographic Magazine had remarked five hours before: "It's nothing but show biz from now on, boys."
... According to the U.S. Navy handout, given to me on Mac III, the aquanauts all looked very fit and exchanged some formal pleasantries as they came out of the capsule.
But truth is relative, and I wasn't on the tower to see,
I was on Mac III, eating bacon and eggs landed by basket from Argus Tower.
"They eat pretty well up there," remarked the Mac III skipper, handing me his cardboard plate of breakfast. It wasn't that he was feeling seasick. Oh, no, it was just nerves. He always got like this when he had to transfer men to Argus.
They had never lost any equipment. But a couple of men had dropped into the drink during the 'hurricane rescue' operation last year. The men had been quickly fished out. Nothing to worry about.
"What time do you want Sea-lab picked out of the water?" came an American naval officer's voice across the radio. Sealab was already under way to the Naval Station, being towed out round St. David's Head.
"The chopper's coming in to pick them up at 9.a.m." Another radio message.
The four Sealab men were being taken to Kindley hospital by helicopter for a medical check-up, the skipper of Mac III explained. "They have all the space doctors over there."
CHOPPER
The 'chopper' arrived only just in time. At 9. a.m. the red wasp landed on top of Argus Tower; at 9.6 a.m. it left with the aquanauts aboard.
At 9.10 a.m. a squall blew up.
"Harbour Radio here. A gale warning..."
"Can you send our basket up.?"
The messages stuttered from two radios, and in the background the commercial station played calypsos.
Mac III swung full circle on her anchor. The waves were getting higher, and a massive swell sent the coffee mugs crashing across the wheel house floor.
9.30 a.m. Still no sign of the Press men on the Tower. They must be having a party up there.
9.45 a.m. Twenty three men ready for the transfer back to Mac
CLIMAX
Their legs trembled. You could see them trembling as the life-jacketed figures clung like grim death on to the swinging rope ladder. The crew of Mac III stood on the bows. They made a grab, but the ladder swung away. Another tug on the crane, and the ladder came closer. A Press man jumped, beads of perspiration standing out on his forehead.
He landed safely. They all landed safely, and so did their equipment.
It had taken the aquanauts half an hour to emerge from their capsule, take a shower, have a cup of coffee, give N.B.C. an interview, and hop on the 'chopper for Kindley.
It took almost an hour to get the Press men off the Tower. It took fifteen minutes to gently land their precious equipment on Mac III.
As the man from the National Geographic Magazine had remarked five hours before: "It's nothing but show biz from now on, boys."
....oooo0000OOOO0000oooo....
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