RDAUTBMag2026

When the submersible was fixed, we took another dive into Hudson Canyon. A thousand feet down, the ocean floor looked like a landscape from a Road Runner cartoon: miles of sand, bizarre rocks and the occasional coral branch- ing out like a saguaro cactus. It was amazing. Three hours raced by like three minutes. When Capt. Rush was preparing to surface, we begged him for another three hours. In June 2022, Denise and I stood on a dock in St. John’s, Newfoundland. Out in the harbor was the ship that would carry us and another submersible called the Titan to the very spot where the Titanic sank. A rubber speedboat pulled up to take us to the ship. The skipper stopped short and said, “Oh man, I forgot the life jackets!” I muttered, “That’s the same thing they said on the Titanic .” This was my wife’s birthday week, and this trip was her present. It shows you a man would rather risk his life on a dangerous mission than go to Macy’s and buy a scarf she hates. Capt. Rush built this submersible specifically for the Titanic dive. It was white and bulbous like a Star Wars Imperial stormtrooper’s helmet. The Titan looked supercool—from the front. But in the back, it had a bunch of plastic foam blocks strapped on the outside to improve buoyancy. They said reader ’ s digest this was super high-tech plastic foam, but it looked like the crap every ’80s stereo came packed in. The Titan had one tiny porthole, the size and shape of a window on a washing machine. That’s where it may have come from. There were also two flotation tanks that looked like bulging eyes, and a landing pad that resembled a gaping mouth. The submersible looked scared to death. So was I. The Titan had many setbacks before getting to this point: There was the pandemic. Then it got struck by light- ning, frying the electronics. On a test dive, a system failure trapped every- one inside for 27 hours. And finally, the toilet broke. This seemed nearly impossible, since the toilet was basi- cally a potty seat—two pieces, no mov- ing parts. Capt. Rush was detailing all these setbacks to us with a PowerPoint pre- sentation when the computer froze and died. Uh-oh. Then he brought out the waivers for us to sign. Here are some highlights: When diving below the ocean surface, this vessel will be subject to extreme pressure, and any failure of the vessel while I am aboard could cause me severe injury, disability, emotional trauma, other harm and/or death. ... I will be exposed to risks associated with high-pressure gases, pure oxygen servicing, high-voltage electrical systems and other dangers that could lead to property damage, injury, disability, emotional harm or death. ... If I am injured during the Expedition, I may not receive immediate medical attention. Welcome aboard! Our ship sailed for two days, 300 miles into the North Atlantic. This was a working-class, blue-collar vessel—its usual job was laying transatlantic cables. And they served the manly man food I loved: meat loaf, burritos, pizza. The cooks were Newfoundlanders, a people so insular they still had the Irish accent of their distant ancestors. The day finally arrived—we were anchored about 2 miles above the wreck of the Titanic . They outfitted Denise and me in matching navy blue flight suits. It was supposed to make me seem like a crewmember, but I just felt like an idiot. It’s like when you put a fire chief’s helmet on a 5-year-old. He may look cute, but he ain’t putting out any fires. We were now ready to board the submersible. We just had to take a COVID-19 test. I passed mine. Denise failed hers. Capt. Rush said, “Sorry, Denise. You can’t take the trip. But Mike, you can still go!” I said, “I don’t wanna go!” It’s as if Neil Armstrong were getting ready to go to the moon when he came down with the flu. So NASA tells his wife, “You can go to the moon instead.” At Denise’s urging, I got on board and began the two-hour descent straight to the bottom of the sea. Adventure may 2026 | readersdigest.com.au 25