Underwater Drone Reached the SS Edmund Fitzgerald, It Captured Something No One Expected

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On a stormy November night in 1975, the mighty SS Edmund Fitzgerald, a steel behemoth measuring 729 feet in length and weighing over 13,000 tons, met its tragic fate on the frigid waters of Lake Superior. Known as the pride of the American side, the Fitzgerald was celebrated for its speed and reliability, earning the nickname “Queen of the Lakes.” For 17 years, it had transported iron ore pellets from the mines of Minnesota to the steel mills of Detroit, becoming an integral part of the Great Lakes maritime landscape.

As the Fitzgerald set sail from Superior, Wisconsin, on November 9, 1975, it was loaded with over 26,000 tons of iron ore and headed into a brewing storm. The weather forecast had warned of severe conditions, but Captain Ernest Msurley, a seasoned mariner with over 40 years of experience, felt confident. He had navigated countless storms before and trusted his ship and crew implicitly. In a show of camaraderie, he consulted with the captain of another freighter, the Arthur M. Anderson, and they decided to travel together across the vast expanse of the lake, keeping each other in sight.

However, what began as just another routine journey soon turned into a descent into a maritime nightmare. The storm that struck Lake Superior on November 10 was more ferocious than anyone had anticipated. Winds howled at over 80 mph, and waves swelled to monstrous heights of 35 feet, reducing visibility to nearly zero. The Fitzgerald and the Anderson fought valiantly against the lake’s fury, but the conditions were relentless.

Throughout the afternoon, Captain Msurley maintained radio contact with the Anderson. His voice remained calm, reassuring, even as the storm escalated. At around 3:30 PM, he relayed troubling news: “We have a bad list,” he reported, indicating the ship was tilting. He mentioned that they had lost a couple of vent covers and that a railing had been damaged. Despite these setbacks, Msurley assured his fellow captain that the ship’s pumps were managing the incoming water. His last message, delivered just minutes before the Fitzgerald vanished from radar, was a testament to his experience: “We are holding our own.”

Then, without warning, the blip representing the SS Edmund Fitzgerald disappeared from the Anderson’s radar screen. There was no Mayday call. No distress signals. Just silence. The ship, along with its crew of 29 men, had vanished into the depths of Lake Superior, swallowed whole by the storm.

The immediate search yielded little. Lifeboats and rafts were found, empty and damaged, floating in the churning waters. It was as if the lake had claimed the Titan without a trace. A few days later, the wreck was located, resting in 530 feet of water, split into two large pieces. The bow section lay upright in the mud, while the stern was upside down, 170 feet away. How could such a massive ship break apart without a single cry for help?

The official Coast Guard investigation concluded that flooding through ineffective hatch closures was the most probable cause of the disaster. They theorized that the enormous waves had washed over the deck, collapsing the hatch covers and allowing thousands of gallons of water to pour into the cargo holds. This, they claimed, pulled the bow down until the stress caused the ship to snap in two. However, this conclusion implicitly blamed the crew for not securing the hatches properly, a notion that the families of the sailors and the maritime community vehemently rejected.

For decades, the sinking of the Fitzgerald remained a chilling ghost story, a mystery shrouded in speculation. Various theories emerged: perhaps the ship struck an uncharted shoal or was overwhelmed by a rogue wave. The debate raged on for nearly 50 years, until a new expedition sought to uncover the truth.

In a groundbreaking investigation, a team equipped with a remotely operated vehicle (ROV) descended into the depths of Lake Superior. This advanced underwater drone, outfitted with 4K cameras and AI scanners, was designed to capture the wreck in unprecedented detail. As the ROV navigated through the frigid black water, it revealed the haunting remains of the Fitzgerald. The ship’s name was still faintly visible on the steel, but the damage was severe—metal twisted and broken, as if a colossal force had bent it beyond recognition.

The primary focus of the investigation was the cargo hatches, which had been the center of the 50-year debate. The drone meticulously examined each hatch, revealing a shocking pattern: numerous clamps that should have secured the hatches were missing or damaged. This discovery was a game-changer, providing undeniable evidence that the ship’s primary defense against the storm had been compromised.

But the most terrifying revelation came when the drone focused on a circular opening on the deck—the base of an air vent. The pipe was completely sheared off, leaving a gaping hole leading directly into the ship’s hold. This wasn’t just a small leak; it was a death wound. Engineers ran simulations that indicated, during a storm with 35-foot waves, a hole of this size, combined with the compromised hatch covers, could allow water to flood into the cargo hold at an astonishing rate—potentially thousands of gallons per minute.

The findings painted a chilling picture of the ship’s final moments. Captain Msurley’s calm demeanor during his last radio calls was now understood in a new light. He had mentioned losing vent covers, but he could not have known the severity of the flooding occurring deep within the ship. The iron ore pellets in the hold likely absorbed much of the initial water ingress, masking the growing danger. As the bow sank lower, it acted like a scoop, forcing the ship to nose-dive into the oncoming waves, leading to its catastrophic failure.

The drone footage provided a minute-by-minute timeline of disaster, absolving the crew of blame and pointing to a more terrifying truth: the SS Edmund Fitzgerald was fatally flawed. Years of stress had weakened its steel structure, making it vulnerable to the forces of nature it had once withstood.

Despite the compelling evidence, speculation persisted. Some marine theorists whispered of a phenomenon known as a rogue wave—a series of three massive waves that could have overwhelmed the Fitzgerald in seconds. Others proposed more esoteric theories, suggesting that the storm’s specific frequency might have caused the ship to vibrate into structural failure.

The legend of the Fitzgerald endures, fueled by unsettling questions and a haunting tragedy. While the secrets of the ship have been revealed, the loss of 29 lives remains a somber reminder of the perils of the Great Lakes. The story of the SS Edmund Fitzgerald is not just a tale of maritime disaster; it is a testament to the fragility of human endeavor against the unforgiving forces of nature.

As we remember the pride of the American side, let us honor the crew who perished that fateful night. Their legacy lives on, not just in the depths of Lake Superior, but in the hearts of those who continue to seek the truth behind the tragedy of the SS Edmund Fitzgerald.