Charted depths may not be that deep

In the Scuttlebutt series of grounding stories, there was mention of how the 963-foot Queen Elizabeth 2 went aground in 1992 which prompted the naming of Queen’s Bottom Rock near Martha’s Vineyard, MA. Wes Bray was a passenger during the accident and tells the story:

It was easy to tell which of the passengers lingering over their desserts in the large dining room of the QE2 were boaters and which were not. When the long, jarring shudder ran through the room at 9:58 pm on August 7, 1992, the non-boaters said things like “what’s that funny sound?” and “Gee, the waves must be rough”.

The boaters on the other hand, all looked at each other around the room and said, “Uh oh. What did we just hit?!”

The story of the QE2’s meeting with a rocky shoal two miles southwest of Cuttyhunk is well known. Per the NTSB Report, the ship was behind schedule due to late shore excursions on Martha’s Vineyard, and due in New York later that night. Communication and navigation errors on the bridge between the Captain, the helmsman, and the pilot led the ship almost a mile off her course.

The Captain later denied they had any concern about this course variance, as the charts showed 39 feet of depth (the QE2 drew 32 feet), stating he had no reservations about taking his ship into waters that were only 6 or 7 feet under his keel¹.

However, the charts were based on soundings last taken in 1939, and apparently missed a section of jagged rocks at a depth of 32 feet. Cunard subsequently lost their suit against the federal government claiming the poor quality of the charts was to blame for the accident².

My wife Sharon and I were traveling aboard the QE2 with our two-year old son, Will. It was a short five-day cruise up to Nova Scotia and back, one of the Queen’s “interim trips” between her transatlantic crossings, and this was the last night of the cruise. It turned out to be a longer cruise than anyone expected.

Immediately after the collision, several of us ran to the windows to see if what we’d hit was visible. Nothing was to be seen but a calm sea lit by moonlight. Then we heard the engines shut down, so that the ship appeared to be just coasting along.

Some reports had the ship backing off the reef but that was not our perception (and the collision would have been much more damaging if she’d actually come to a sudden halt, since we were traveling at 24 knots). Instead we seemed to have “run over” something in the water.

Back at our table, our waiter drolly confirmed what the boaters in the room knew. “Oh, we definitely hit something big! Have you ever been evacuated before? Might as well start partying now!”

Almost an hour passed before there was any communication from the ship’s officers — the ship seemed to be adrift. Having not heard any alarms, most passengers that we spoke with were unsettled but calm. Unbeknownst to the passengers, the crew was furiously closing watertight doors below deck to control the water gushing in from a 75-foot long gash in the hull.

The first communication across the ship’s intercom system was that everything was fine, not to worry, that the ship had merely experienced “a little cavitation.” This message was ambiguous at best, if not clearly false, a pattern that was repeated over the next 18 hours. Sharon and I looked at each other at that moment and realized the situation was more serious than we had thought.

We returned to our cabin to repack our belongings and relieve the baby sitter. On the last night of a cruise, passengers are instructed to place their luggage outside their cabin where it is collected and delivered back to you on shore. We took the precaution of repacking one piece with sufficient clothes and necessities for several days and keeping it in the cabin. By 1:00 am, our luggage in the hallway was gone. The next time we saw our luggage was several weeks later.

The last communication from the ship’s Captain came at 1:30 am and was to the effect that the crew was still assessing what had happened, that the ship was in no danger, and that we should enjoy our last night at sea. We took the precaution of putting clothes and life vests within easy and fast reach — just in case. In hindsight, the ship was never in danger of sinking, and even if she had, she would not have gone down very far given the water depths.

We both awoke early to a still and silent ship. It was about 7:00 am and as I looked outside our cabin window, the sight was amazing. We were surrounded by dozens of boats of all sizes, ranging from 20-foot pleasure boats to a large Coast Guard Cutter. Helicopters zoomed overhead taking pictures.

An environmental boom had been deployed around the ship (the damage turned out to be long gashes in an empty fuel tank and two fresh water tanks). As we watched, more boats arrived to see the spectacle. We were suddenly the center of the world’s attention!

The morning passed slowly with no communication from the Captain. Crewmembers didn’t know anymore than we did. For a while the festivity of the scene kept us amused but the ship had been due to dock at 7:00 am and disembark shortly thereafter.

Instead, we were sitting silently in the middle of Vineyard Sound twiddling our fingers. Some passengers took advantage of the circumstances to extend their vacation and partied; others calmly read; some complained loudly. We just tried to keep our 2-year old amused and relatively quiet.

Finally, around noon, the Captain came on the intercom to announce that the ship would be evacuated in an orderly manner. For whatever reason, the decision had been made that this evacuation would not use the ship’s own lifeboats.

Instead, the British shipping company Cunard had hired several local ferries for this purpose but these had a limited capacity, so the evacuation would be conducted in stages. Evacuation would be to Newport, Rhode Island, 18 miles away.

Sometimes its better to be lucky than good, and we were lucky that day.

We had sailed on the QE2 before and knew her to be a very class-conscious ship with pretty rigid hierarchies between passenger grades. Unlike other ships that we’ve sailed on, the QE2 clearly defines a passenger’s status by how high up their cabin is located on the ship. The largest and most expensive cabins are located on the highest decks. Little extra benefits accrue to these decks: wider hallways, more convenient access to the spa and pools, better cabin service, etc.

Having observed this on a previous sailing, we had determined to get a cabin as high on the ship as possible for this cruise. Ships being the irregular shape they are, even the highest deck has a few odd spaces that are filled with smaller and less expensive cabins. So we found ourselves in a tiny cabin that we could afford, but on Deck 9.

This location proved to be really fortuitous, since the ship announced that passengers would be evacuated by deck beginning with Decks 9 and 10. We were in the first wave of evacuees! By about 3:00 pm, we were on our little ferry and heading into Newport.

The good fortune of this we did fully understand until later. Because of the limited number of ferries and the long turn around time to go into Newport, off load and return to the ship, our decks were the only ones evacuated on the first day. It would be two more days before all of the rest of the passengers and crew had been taken off the ship.

Once in Newport, we walked through a phalanx of TV cameras and reporters and boarded buses to Providence, RI where we caught a special train to New York.

I sat next to an elderly gentleman, who was softly crying. I asked him why he was so upset? “You must understand,” he said to me. “She is my home.” I said I didn’t understand what he meant. “I live on the QE2 in one of the suites. I only leave her for a few weeks each year when she gets her annual refurbishment. I usually visit relatives during that time. But I don’t own a house. I have nowhere to go now and don’t know how long it will be before I’ll be able to go back aboard.”

Now, that was a different perspective!

To Cunard’s credit, when we arrived in Providence, there was an Amtrak train waiting for us with special cars attached exclusively for QE2 evacuees. Free beverages and snacks were served for the trip back down to New York.

We were able to persuade the Cunard reps on board to let us disembark at Stamford, and friends picked us up and drove us home. We were home by midnight, exhausted but glad to be off the ship. Cunard later sent us a discount certificate for our next cruise, and ultimately we did sail her again a couple of years later.

The lesson we took away from this experience is one every seasoned boater should know: charted depths are directional guides, not precise maps of the sea floor.

Even the most professional of Captains, with a local pilot by his side, can become over reliant on the supposed accuracy of the charts. In this case, there was clearly marked deep water less than a mile away — a slightly longer route that would have avoided $20 million in damage to one of the world’s great ocean liners.

Oh, and ALWAYS book the highest possible cabin that you can!

1-New York Times, August 14, 1992
2-New York State District Court, November 1997