Offshore Wrecks
- Thread starter MakoMatt
- Start date
Taking a step back from wrecks for just a moment, here’s another story about submarines. This time Russian submarines, and the “Man Who Saved the World.”
His name was Vasili Arkhipov.
And on October 27, 1962, he made the most important decision in human history.
Most people have never heard of him. He never sought attention. He lived quietly, served faithfully, and died without knowing the world would one day owe its continued existence to a single word he spoke.
No.
This is the story of the day one man stopped the end of civilization.
---
October 1962.
The Cuban Missile Crisis.
For thirteen days, the United States and the Soviet Union stood closer to nuclear war than at any other moment before or since. Soviet Premier Nikita Khrushchev had placed nuclear missiles in Cuba, less than one hundred miles from Florida. President John F. Kennedy responded with a naval blockade. Warships moved into position. Bombers sat fueled on runways. Missile crews waited underground with keys in their hands.
The world watched leaders negotiate through television screens and headlines. But the most dangerous decisions were not being made in Washington or Moscow.
They were being made underwater.
Deep in the Caribbean Sea, inside a Soviet diesel submarine named B-59.
Four Foxtrot-class submarines had been sent from the Soviet Union toward Cuba in early October. Each carried conventional torpedoes. Each also carried one weapon unlike the others.
A nuclear torpedo.
Its explosive power matched the bomb that destroyed Hiroshima.
The captain of B-59 was Valentin Savitsky. On board as flotilla commander and second-in-command was Vasili Arkhipov.
Arkhipov was not loud. He was not theatrical. He was known as careful, disciplined, and calm. He had already survived something most men do not.
In July 1961, he had been executive officer aboard the submarine K-19 when its nuclear reactor cooling system failed in the middle of the Atlantic. There was no backup system. No way to contact Moscow. If the reactor melted down, it would poison the crew and contaminate the ocean.
Seven engineers and their officer volunteered to enter the reactor compartment. They improvised a cooling system by hand, fully aware that every second exposed them to lethal radiation. They saved the submarine.
They were dead within weeks.
Fifteen more crew members died over the next two years.
Arkhipov survived, but the radiation entered his body. It would stay there, slowly killing him for the next thirty-seven years.
By October 1962, he was alive. And he was about to decide whether the rest of humanity would be.
When Kennedy announced the blockade on October 22, American naval forces moved immediately. By October 25, U.S. destroyers and aircraft had located all four Soviet submarines.
They began a tactic known as hunt to exhaustion.
The goal was simple. Force the submarines to surface.
Depth charges were dropped. Not lethal ones, but signaling explosives. The U.S. Navy had sent notice through diplomatic channels explaining this procedure.
The submarines never received it.
B-59 stayed submerged.
And the submarine became a furnace.
Diesel submarines required surfacing to recharge batteries and circulate air. B-59 could do neither. Inside the steel hull, temperatures climbed past fifty degrees Celsius. In some compartments, they reached sixty.
One hundred forty degrees Fahrenheit.
Men collapsed from heatstroke. Carbon dioxide levels rose. Breathing burned. Sailors fainted at their posts. Drinking water ran low. The air conditioning had failed days earlier.
They had no contact with Moscow. No updates. No idea what was happening above them.
They did not know whether war had already begun.
Then, on October 27, the worst day of the entire Cold War, the Americans found them.
Eleven U.S. destroyers and the aircraft carrier USS *Randolph* surrounded B-59.
Depth charges detonated around the hull.
The submarine shook violently. Metal screamed. The explosions felt close enough to tear the ship apart.
“They exploded right next to the hull,” intelligence officer Vadim Orlov later recalled. “It felt like you were sitting inside a metal barrel while someone beat it with a sledgehammer.”
Inside B-59, panic spread.
Captain Savitsky believed the war had started. That Moscow was already burning. That this was the opening attack.
He shouted over the noise.
“We’re going to blast them now. We will die, but we will sink them all. We will not disgrace our Navy.”
He ordered the nuclear torpedo prepared for launch.
If it fired, the blast would destroy multiple American ships. The United States would assume nuclear war had begun. Retaliation would be immediate. Soviet cities would be destroyed. American cities would follow.
Billions would die within hours.
Civilization would not survive.
Soviet protocol required three officers to authorize a nuclear launch.
Savitsky said yes.
The political officer, Ivan Maslennikov, said yes.
They turned to the third man.
Vasili Arkhipov.
The submarine was suffocating. Men were collapsing. Explosions hammered the hull. Every signal pointed toward disaster.
Arkhipov said no.
“This is not war,” he said calmly. “These are signals. If war had begun, they would be using real weapons.”
Savitsky exploded in rage. He insisted they were already under attack. That dying without fighting was dishonor.
Arkhipov did not raise his voice.
“We must surface. We must contact Moscow. We do not fire without orders.”
Minutes passed.
In that steel coffin, with heat, poison, fear, and certainty of death pressing in from every side, Arkhipov held his ground.
He was not performing heroics. He was applying discipline.
He had seen what panic did on K-19. He had watched men die because of split-second decisions made under pressure. He knew that survival sometimes depended on refusing to act.
And he had authority.
As flotilla commander, his decision overruled the others.
Finally, Savitsky broke.
The torpedo was disarmed.
B-59 surfaced.
Searchlights blinded the crew. American warships surrounded them. Helicopters hovered overhead. The carrier loomed in the distance.
But no one fired.
The Americans signaled for identification.
The Soviet flag was raised.
After hours of tension, B-59 was allowed to withdraw.
The Americans never knew how close they had come. They did not know a nuclear weapon had been armed beneath them. They believed they had simply forced a conventional submarine to the surface.
The next day, October 28, Kennedy and Khrushchev reached an agreement. The missiles would be removed. The crisis ended.
The world exhaled, unaware of how narrowly it had escaped extinction.
Arkhipov returned to the Soviet Union. Some superiors were furious that his submarine had surfaced. There were no medals. No public praise.
He continued his career quietly. He was promoted to rear admiral in 1975, then vice admiral in 1981. He became head of the Kirov Naval Academy. He retired in the mid-1980s.
He lived with his wife Olga and their daughter Yelena in a small town outside Moscow.
He never told them what he had done.
On August 19, 1998, Vasili Arkhipov died of kidney cancer. The radiation from K-19 had finally caught up with him. He was seventy-two.
A few people attended his funeral. The world did not notice.
Four years later, in 2002, at a conference marking the fortieth anniversary of the Cuban Missile Crisis, retired Commander Vadim Orlov revealed the truth.
B-59 had carried a nuclear torpedo.
Arkhipov had stopped its launch.
Thomas Blanton of the U.S. National Security Archive said it plainly.
“A guy called Vasili Arkhipov saved the world.”
Only then did humanity understand.
In 2017, the Future of Life Institute awarded Arkhipov’s family its inaugural Future of Life Award, honoring actions taken without expectation of reward to safeguard humanity’s future.
Every person alive today exists because Vasili Arkhipov said no.
Every city still standing. Every child born since 1962. Every book, every song, every moment of ordinary human life.
All of it balanced on one refusal.
He did not shout. He did not threaten. He did not seek glory.
He simply thought when others panicked.
In a world that often mistakes aggression for strength, Arkhipov proved that restraint can be the most powerful act of all.
He chose life over fear. Reason over certainty. The future over oblivion.
One man. One word.
No.
Remember his name.
Vasili Arkhipov.
The man who saved the world.
His name was Vasili Arkhipov.
And on October 27, 1962, he made the most important decision in human history.
Most people have never heard of him. He never sought attention. He lived quietly, served faithfully, and died without knowing the world would one day owe its continued existence to a single word he spoke.
No.
This is the story of the day one man stopped the end of civilization.
---
October 1962.
The Cuban Missile Crisis.
For thirteen days, the United States and the Soviet Union stood closer to nuclear war than at any other moment before or since. Soviet Premier Nikita Khrushchev had placed nuclear missiles in Cuba, less than one hundred miles from Florida. President John F. Kennedy responded with a naval blockade. Warships moved into position. Bombers sat fueled on runways. Missile crews waited underground with keys in their hands.
The world watched leaders negotiate through television screens and headlines. But the most dangerous decisions were not being made in Washington or Moscow.
They were being made underwater.
Deep in the Caribbean Sea, inside a Soviet diesel submarine named B-59.
Four Foxtrot-class submarines had been sent from the Soviet Union toward Cuba in early October. Each carried conventional torpedoes. Each also carried one weapon unlike the others.
A nuclear torpedo.
Its explosive power matched the bomb that destroyed Hiroshima.
The captain of B-59 was Valentin Savitsky. On board as flotilla commander and second-in-command was Vasili Arkhipov.
Arkhipov was not loud. He was not theatrical. He was known as careful, disciplined, and calm. He had already survived something most men do not.
In July 1961, he had been executive officer aboard the submarine K-19 when its nuclear reactor cooling system failed in the middle of the Atlantic. There was no backup system. No way to contact Moscow. If the reactor melted down, it would poison the crew and contaminate the ocean.
Seven engineers and their officer volunteered to enter the reactor compartment. They improvised a cooling system by hand, fully aware that every second exposed them to lethal radiation. They saved the submarine.
They were dead within weeks.
Fifteen more crew members died over the next two years.
Arkhipov survived, but the radiation entered his body. It would stay there, slowly killing him for the next thirty-seven years.
By October 1962, he was alive. And he was about to decide whether the rest of humanity would be.
When Kennedy announced the blockade on October 22, American naval forces moved immediately. By October 25, U.S. destroyers and aircraft had located all four Soviet submarines.
They began a tactic known as hunt to exhaustion.
The goal was simple. Force the submarines to surface.
Depth charges were dropped. Not lethal ones, but signaling explosives. The U.S. Navy had sent notice through diplomatic channels explaining this procedure.
The submarines never received it.
B-59 stayed submerged.
And the submarine became a furnace.
Diesel submarines required surfacing to recharge batteries and circulate air. B-59 could do neither. Inside the steel hull, temperatures climbed past fifty degrees Celsius. In some compartments, they reached sixty.
One hundred forty degrees Fahrenheit.
Men collapsed from heatstroke. Carbon dioxide levels rose. Breathing burned. Sailors fainted at their posts. Drinking water ran low. The air conditioning had failed days earlier.
They had no contact with Moscow. No updates. No idea what was happening above them.
They did not know whether war had already begun.
Then, on October 27, the worst day of the entire Cold War, the Americans found them.
Eleven U.S. destroyers and the aircraft carrier USS *Randolph* surrounded B-59.
Depth charges detonated around the hull.
The submarine shook violently. Metal screamed. The explosions felt close enough to tear the ship apart.
“They exploded right next to the hull,” intelligence officer Vadim Orlov later recalled. “It felt like you were sitting inside a metal barrel while someone beat it with a sledgehammer.”
Inside B-59, panic spread.
Captain Savitsky believed the war had started. That Moscow was already burning. That this was the opening attack.
He shouted over the noise.
“We’re going to blast them now. We will die, but we will sink them all. We will not disgrace our Navy.”
He ordered the nuclear torpedo prepared for launch.
If it fired, the blast would destroy multiple American ships. The United States would assume nuclear war had begun. Retaliation would be immediate. Soviet cities would be destroyed. American cities would follow.
Billions would die within hours.
Civilization would not survive.
Soviet protocol required three officers to authorize a nuclear launch.
Savitsky said yes.
The political officer, Ivan Maslennikov, said yes.
They turned to the third man.
Vasili Arkhipov.
The submarine was suffocating. Men were collapsing. Explosions hammered the hull. Every signal pointed toward disaster.
Arkhipov said no.
“This is not war,” he said calmly. “These are signals. If war had begun, they would be using real weapons.”
Savitsky exploded in rage. He insisted they were already under attack. That dying without fighting was dishonor.
Arkhipov did not raise his voice.
“We must surface. We must contact Moscow. We do not fire without orders.”
Minutes passed.
In that steel coffin, with heat, poison, fear, and certainty of death pressing in from every side, Arkhipov held his ground.
He was not performing heroics. He was applying discipline.
He had seen what panic did on K-19. He had watched men die because of split-second decisions made under pressure. He knew that survival sometimes depended on refusing to act.
And he had authority.
As flotilla commander, his decision overruled the others.
Finally, Savitsky broke.
The torpedo was disarmed.
B-59 surfaced.
Searchlights blinded the crew. American warships surrounded them. Helicopters hovered overhead. The carrier loomed in the distance.
But no one fired.
The Americans signaled for identification.
The Soviet flag was raised.
After hours of tension, B-59 was allowed to withdraw.
The Americans never knew how close they had come. They did not know a nuclear weapon had been armed beneath them. They believed they had simply forced a conventional submarine to the surface.
The next day, October 28, Kennedy and Khrushchev reached an agreement. The missiles would be removed. The crisis ended.
The world exhaled, unaware of how narrowly it had escaped extinction.
Arkhipov returned to the Soviet Union. Some superiors were furious that his submarine had surfaced. There were no medals. No public praise.
He continued his career quietly. He was promoted to rear admiral in 1975, then vice admiral in 1981. He became head of the Kirov Naval Academy. He retired in the mid-1980s.
He lived with his wife Olga and their daughter Yelena in a small town outside Moscow.
He never told them what he had done.
On August 19, 1998, Vasili Arkhipov died of kidney cancer. The radiation from K-19 had finally caught up with him. He was seventy-two.
A few people attended his funeral. The world did not notice.
Four years later, in 2002, at a conference marking the fortieth anniversary of the Cuban Missile Crisis, retired Commander Vadim Orlov revealed the truth.
B-59 had carried a nuclear torpedo.
Arkhipov had stopped its launch.
Thomas Blanton of the U.S. National Security Archive said it plainly.
“A guy called Vasili Arkhipov saved the world.”
Only then did humanity understand.
In 2017, the Future of Life Institute awarded Arkhipov’s family its inaugural Future of Life Award, honoring actions taken without expectation of reward to safeguard humanity’s future.
Every person alive today exists because Vasili Arkhipov said no.
Every city still standing. Every child born since 1962. Every book, every song, every moment of ordinary human life.
All of it balanced on one refusal.
He did not shout. He did not threaten. He did not seek glory.
He simply thought when others panicked.
In a world that often mistakes aggression for strength, Arkhipov proved that restraint can be the most powerful act of all.
He chose life over fear. Reason over certainty. The future over oblivion.
One man. One word.
No.
Remember his name.
Vasili Arkhipov.
The man who saved the world.
Another popular wreck………. H.M.S. OREGON
She was a 518’ long steamer built in Glasgow, Scotland in 1881. She was big, she was fast, and, was beautiful in all respects. She could accommodate 340 first class passengers, 92 second class, and just over 1,100 in steerage. On her maiden Trans-Atlantic voyage she broke the record by crossing in just over 7 days, averaging close to 18kts.
On the very early morning hours of March 14, 1886 while still dark, the Oregon was struck on her port side by an unknown 3 masted schooner. The schooner was presumed to be the Charles R Morse as she was reported missing that day. The Charles R Morse went down quickly taking with her the 9 souls that made up her crew. In the days that followed it was reported her masts were seen sticking up from the ocean about 20 miles from the collision area. Her wreckage, nor crew has ever been found.
The Oregon managed to stay afloat for approximately another 8 hours, and all her passengers, and crew were rescued by the schooner Fannie A. Gorham, the steamship Fulda, and the pilot boat Phantom. As is the tradition, the Oregon’s captain, Captain Cuttier, was the last to leave the doomed ship.
Today she lies on the bottom, about 18 miles south of F.I. Inlet in approximately 125’ of H2O, and is said to be one of the best diving wrecks in the NY Bight.
She was a 518’ long steamer built in Glasgow, Scotland in 1881. She was big, she was fast, and, was beautiful in all respects. She could accommodate 340 first class passengers, 92 second class, and just over 1,100 in steerage. On her maiden Trans-Atlantic voyage she broke the record by crossing in just over 7 days, averaging close to 18kts.
On the very early morning hours of March 14, 1886 while still dark, the Oregon was struck on her port side by an unknown 3 masted schooner. The schooner was presumed to be the Charles R Morse as she was reported missing that day. The Charles R Morse went down quickly taking with her the 9 souls that made up her crew. In the days that followed it was reported her masts were seen sticking up from the ocean about 20 miles from the collision area. Her wreckage, nor crew has ever been found.
The Oregon managed to stay afloat for approximately another 8 hours, and all her passengers, and crew were rescued by the schooner Fannie A. Gorham, the steamship Fulda, and the pilot boat Phantom. As is the tradition, the Oregon’s captain, Captain Cuttier, was the last to leave the doomed ship.
Today she lies on the bottom, about 18 miles south of F.I. Inlet in approximately 125’ of H2O, and is said to be one of the best diving wrecks in the NY Bight.
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longcast
Well-Known Angler
"Today she lies on the bottom, about 5 miles south of F.I. Inlet"
SS Oregon (New York Wreck):
- Location: About 15-18 miles south of Moriches Inlet, New York, off Fire Island.
- Depth: Roughly 125 feet.
- Details: A British liner that sank in 1886, its bow and engine sections are still largely intact and popular with divers, according to The Fisherman magazine and Scuba Diving magazine.
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Typo, she lies about 18 miles off. I have shark fished her often with good results.
Here’s one in Long Island Sound. I used to fished this wreck about 40 years ago, but didn’t know at the time there was a wreck.
Wreck of the MAINE
She was an excursion steamer built in Delaware in 1892. A good size steamer she was 302’ long, with a 44’ beam. On a cold winters day in February 1920 she was caught in an ice flow just north of Execution Rock. The ice had caused damage to the hull and she ended up in the rocks, at Execution Rock. 73 people on board were all rescued by the Coast Guard. Parts of the ship was later salvaged, and the remaining wreck set afire, and what remained of that later demolished, and scattered in the area beneath the water.
Back in the day I had a 25’ Jafco Seamaster which I moored at Steppingstone Park in Kings Point, L.I. We fished this area often. I have friends who would dive the rocks at night for lobsters and did very well.
The Rocks also has a very grisly history. Executions during the revolutionary war were performed by tying prisoners up to the rocks at low tide who would be drowned by the incoming. More information about that…….
www.cowneck.org
Wreck of the MAINE
She was an excursion steamer built in Delaware in 1892. A good size steamer she was 302’ long, with a 44’ beam. On a cold winters day in February 1920 she was caught in an ice flow just north of Execution Rock. The ice had caused damage to the hull and she ended up in the rocks, at Execution Rock. 73 people on board were all rescued by the Coast Guard. Parts of the ship was later salvaged, and the remaining wreck set afire, and what remained of that later demolished, and scattered in the area beneath the water.
Back in the day I had a 25’ Jafco Seamaster which I moored at Steppingstone Park in Kings Point, L.I. We fished this area often. I have friends who would dive the rocks at night for lobsters and did very well.
The Rocks also has a very grisly history. Executions during the revolutionary war were performed by tying prisoners up to the rocks at low tide who would be drowned by the incoming. More information about that…….
Execution Rocks Lighthouse
www.cowneck.org
Matts
Angler
Thanks Matt. Keep em coming.
A few thoughts.
first, the video shows that you can be anchored right on a wreck even if your sinker feels "soft" bottom, because so much growth has covered the metal and wood. Also, why it is important to have a long leader below your braid, since parts of the wreck can extend so far off the bottom.
Second, I never thought much of the execution legend.
Think of the effort to get out to Execution Rocks in Revolutionary times, and how dangerous it must have been.
If you wanted to drown someone, no need to expend all that effort, just drag them to water's edge at low tide and wait. We have the same tides at shore as at the rocks.
A few thoughts.
first, the video shows that you can be anchored right on a wreck even if your sinker feels "soft" bottom, because so much growth has covered the metal and wood. Also, why it is important to have a long leader below your braid, since parts of the wreck can extend so far off the bottom.
Second, I never thought much of the execution legend.
Think of the effort to get out to Execution Rocks in Revolutionary times, and how dangerous it must have been.
If you wanted to drown someone, no need to expend all that effort, just drag them to water's edge at low tide and wait. We have the same tides at shore as at the rocks.
Matt’s, I don’t think you want to drop your good boat anchor into a wreck. A wreck anchor yes, but not your expensive ground gear.
Monofilament leaders are used because of their superior abrasion resistance over braided line. Additionally, often when fishing a wreck your line will get nicked, scraped, etc., so the mono leader becomes sacrificial to the braid. This saves your spooled braid line, and you only need to change the mono leader as conditions dictate. Now, how long should the mono leader be would depend on factors such as dept of water and the relief, or how far the wreck comes up off the bottom.
I can only speculate why they executed people in that manner. It seems it was more of a torture rather than just an execution. That may have been illegal or frowned upon, so Execution Rocks would be a good place to do that to people away from anyone seeing. Just a guess.
Germany’s U-853 was commissioned in June of 1943. She was 252’ long, and nicknamed by her crew….. “Der Seiltaenzer” which translates in English to...… “The Rope Dancer”
On May 1,1945 radio transmissions out of Germany were announcing that Hitler was dead. This was followed on May 4, 1945 with orders from headquarters in Germany that all U-boats were to cease hostilities, as the war was ending.
It is not known if the captain of U-853 ever received those orders, or perhaps simply disregarded them. The very next day, May 5th., just northeast of Block Island she proceeded to torpedo the vessel BLACK POINT, taking 12 souls, followed minutes later sinking the Yugoslavian freighter SS KAMEN.
The U.S. Navy had a task force in the area and immediately began the hunt for the submarine. It was a game of cat and mouse for about 14 hours with the U.S. in hot pursuit. U-853 launched debris from the sub that floated to the surface in an attempt to try and fool us that the sub had been struck. That trick did not work, but in the end, we did sink her and today she lies upright, intact, in approximately 130’ off Block Island.
On May 1,1945 radio transmissions out of Germany were announcing that Hitler was dead. This was followed on May 4, 1945 with orders from headquarters in Germany that all U-boats were to cease hostilities, as the war was ending.
It is not known if the captain of U-853 ever received those orders, or perhaps simply disregarded them. The very next day, May 5th., just northeast of Block Island she proceeded to torpedo the vessel BLACK POINT, taking 12 souls, followed minutes later sinking the Yugoslavian freighter SS KAMEN.
The U.S. Navy had a task force in the area and immediately began the hunt for the submarine. It was a game of cat and mouse for about 14 hours with the U.S. in hot pursuit. U-853 launched debris from the sub that floated to the surface in an attempt to try and fool us that the sub had been struck. That trick did not work, but in the end, we did sink her and today she lies upright, intact, in approximately 130’ off Block Island.
captmike28
Well-Known Angler
A longtime friend of mine is a serious wreck diver and has visited the U-853 several times. He likes to collect artifacts but told me of one rather unsettling experience when he reached into a crevice on the hull and came out with the remnants of a skull!!
Very creepy.
Here’s another creepy tidbit…….
Shortly after U-853 was sunk the Navy sent divers down. They wanted to recover records that would have been in the captains safe. None of the divers could fit through the small hatchways, so they sent one really little guy down to try and get in. He got through the hatch but couldn’t get any further into the hull due to all the floating dead bodies blocking the companionway!!!
Very creepy
These are a couple of photos from inside U-853
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