INSIDE a dank and dimly lit warehouse in Escondido, California, 50 kilometres
north of San Diego, the air is filled with pomp, circumstance and the smell of
chlorine. It is the opening day of the 1996 World Submarine Invitational, a
bizarre biennial event in which 24 teams of well-educated men and women don
scuba gear, squeeze themselves inside flooded submersibles no bigger than, well,
a coffin and then pedal for all they are worth.
鈥淓verybody here is trying to push the frontier, to inspire innovation in
ocean engineering and technology,鈥� says Kevin Hardy, co-director of the sub
races and an engineer at Scripps Institution of Oceanography, which organises
the event. 鈥淲hat people do and learn here about materials or performance may
show up in the next generation of submarine design. These races are really about
undersea invention.鈥�
Human-powered submarine racing began in 1989 off the coast of Palm Beach,
Florida, sponsored by Florida Atlantic University and the H. A. Perry
Foundation, a nonprofit organisation promoting undersea technologies. In the
first event, pairs of subs raced each other round a 300-metre oval course. Most
competitors were students from university engineering departments in the US but
some teams travelled from Britain and Germany to take part. Others were retired
submariners or people who just happened to build subs as a hobby.
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Bottoming out
In the first races only a few subs could actually be made to work. 鈥淏ack then
we were lucky to get a sub to run,鈥� says Terry Johnson, a diving officer at
Florida Atlantic University. 鈥淭here was a lot of bobbing or sitting on the
bottom. Mechanical breakdowns, bad weather and organisational disputes plagued
the 1991 races, and in 1992 an alternative event was organised in California.
After that the Perry Foundation called it quits. The first World Submarine
Invitational was organised by Scripps in 1994.
The subs no longer compete head-to-head. Since 1994 they have run one by one
down a straight-line course with a pair of underwater video cameras at the far
end to monitor their speed. The official goal of the race may be to inspire
innovation but the unofficial one鈥攖he one nearly everyone talks
about鈥攊s to push up the world speed record for human-powered submarines,
which stands at 5.9 knots or just over 10.9 kilometres per hour, set by Florida
Atlantic University at the first World Submarine Invitational in 1994. Breaking
the record would almost guarantee a spot in the next edition of the Guinness
Book of World Records.
The racing takes place in a pool 100 metres long and 5 metres deep that holds
7 million litres of water. It belongs to the company Offshore Model Basin, which
leases the pool to commercial and military customers for testing new ship or
marine designs. Several yachting syndicates used the pool to fine-tune their
entries in the 1995 America鈥檚 Cup. The company鈥檚 customers also include movie
studios: Arnold Schwarzenegger filmed some scenes for True Lies in the
pool, and parts of Free Willy 2 were shot in the pool鈥攖he killer
whales in these sequences were made of rubber.
Day 1: There are no killer whales in the water today, but that doesn鈥檛 stop
Bruce Adbe looking worried. Adbe is leader of the University of Washington team
and watches as a dozen engineering students put the final touches to Sea Dawg V,
the university鈥檚 yellow submarine, which has undergone exactly one day of sea
trials.
Sea Dawg V is typical of the competing subs. It resembles a torpedo 4 metres
long and just wide enough to fit two prone divers. Fitted inside is their scuba
gear, which vents used air from tubes passing through the side of the sub. The
front diver acts as the navigator and peers through a small acrylic window in
the nose cone. He steers the sub with a pair of joysticks wired to movable fins
on its sides and tail. Lying behind and above the navigator is the
propulsor鈥攊ts human motive power鈥攚hose job is to pedal as fast as
possible. The propulsor鈥檚 output is converted by a gearbox into revolutions of
the propeller.
Washington, like many of the teams, has brought along competitive cyclists to
work as propulsors. But having an athlete do the work confers a small advantage
at best. The strongest cyclist produces only about one-quarter of a horsepower
underwater, less than an average lawnmower motor. The human element is
negligible compared with factors such as drag and streamlining, Hardy says. To
travel twice as quickly based only on the propulsion, a team would need an
athlete who was eight times better than anybody else. 鈥淣o team here has anybody
like that so the real advantage has to come from better sub shape, better
materials or better propeller design.鈥�
After much tinkering, Sea Dawg V is hoisted into the water. Team members
watch as the sub lines up on the course and gets the green light from an
underwater beacon. Built of carbon fibre and aluminium, the sub is designed to
exceed 6 knots. That鈥檚 the theory. But only metres from the starting line, Sea
Dawg V veers to the left. Its nose cone, which also serves as a hatch, has
popped open. For Washington, it is the beginning of a very long day.
While Sea Dawg is retrieved for repairs, Bill and Bob Nicoloff put their
creation into the pool. The Nicoloffs are veterans of the sub race, though they
have never won. Bill, 33, is an aerospace engineer. 鈥淓ver since we were kids,鈥�
says his brother Bob, a 31-year-old medical student, 鈥淏ill鈥檚 been building
things. He can build anything.鈥� They built their boat in Bill鈥檚 garage.
SubStandard is simple and vaguely resembles an albino tuna.
Eye-popping speed
On their first attempt, the brothers break Florida Atlantic鈥檚 speed record,
reaching 6.068 knots. At the end of the run, SubStandard arches out of the
water, breaching like a miniature version of Ahab鈥檚 whale. It鈥檚 the only way to
bring it to a stop, as it cannot be pedalled in reverse. A few runs later, after
Bill has modified SubStandard鈥檚 interior for a single occupant, he hits an
eye-popping 6.696 knots.
鈥淎 few years ago,鈥� says one astonished competitor, 鈥渋t was enough just to
reach 1 knot. Then people said the maximum speed was probably 3 or 4 knots. Then
it was that nobody would ever top six. Now Bill鈥檚 got to 6.7 and nobody鈥檚 sure
what the limit is any more.鈥�
Day 2: The Nicoloffs have gone home: Bill to his job, Bob to classes. The
team from Washington is still here, its Sea Dawg V still veering out of control.
鈥淲e keep hitting the wall,鈥� says Ralph Chestine, a 29-year-old who used to be in
the submarine business鈥攁s nuclear sub mechanic. 鈥淚t鈥檚 really ripped things
up.鈥� Chestine and the Washington team have spent most of the previous night
repairing damage to tail fins with insulating tape and hunting down a new
gearbox. (They persuaded a local company to sell them one in the middle of the
night.)
Across the pool, a Canadian team from the University of Quebec鈥檚 Ecole de
Technologie Sup茅rieure in Montreal has dropped its sub into the water.
Omer 2 is sleekly stylish, a dark, translucent blue with a transparent canopy
extending halfway down the craft. It looks fast just floating against buoys
emblazoned with the team logo.
The Canadians are extraordinarily well equipped, with walkie-talkies and the
latest electronic diagnostic tools. 鈥淲e have thought about everything,鈥� says
Francis Choquette, a 24-year-old engineering student from Quebec. The team has
tested a 1:10 scale model in a wind tunnel to ensure that the flow around it is
smooth. 鈥淲e have a laminar flow over 70 per cent of the craft,鈥� says Simon
Joncas, a student of mechanical engineering who helped build the sub.
Omer 2 is neutrally bouyant. The navigator controls its depth by changing the
angle of its fins as it moves along. It also carries a pair of tiny computers in
its tail. One records data about the sub鈥檚 depth, speed and the rotation rate of
the propeller. The other adjusts the propeller鈥檚 pitch. The ideal angle of
attack for each blade depends on the rate of rotation, and by adjusting this
angle while on the move, through a range of as much as 30 degrees, the team
hopes to make the most of the propulsor鈥檚 power.
It鈥檚 the only boat with this capability. 鈥淭he Canadians tried to use
computers two years ago,鈥� reports a sceptical onlooker from Tennessee
Technological University, 鈥渂ut they didn鈥檛 work. Too many glitches.鈥�
Not this time. On its first run, Omer 2 hits 5.74 knots with two men inside.
鈥淎t first, our sensors were not calibrated properly so the computer was unable
to optimise the performance,鈥� says Joncas. The team hurries back with the sub
for another try since the rules permit as many attempts as can be fitted into a
specified time.
Outside, in the warehouse parking lot, other teams are preparing their subs:
polishing composite skins, grinding down prop blades to make them thinner and
faster, and installing propulsion mechanisms. Most use a bicycle-like system
with revolving pedals connected by chain to a gearbox.
Then there is the non-propeller class.
Day 4: Before these races, Calvin Wilkerson had never built a sub. Some may
argue he still hasn鈥檛. Wilkerson, a 50-year-old jack-of-all-trades who lives in
the tiny island town of Ocracoke off the coast of North Carolina, has driven 41
uninterrupted hours with his crew to compete in a contraption he calls the
Condom Nautilus.
鈥淚 saw a television story on the races in 1989 and it seemed like a fun thing
to do. So I built this,鈥� says Wilkerson. 鈥淭his鈥� resembles a big, blue sea slug.
Built with flexible plastic ribs covered by thick neoprene rubber鈥攖he kind
used in wet suits鈥攖he Condom Nautilus is propelled by a rotating
pedal-powered drum. As the drum rotates, it pulls water into 42 small chambers
encircling the exterior of the craft. These chambers are lined with latex that
squeezes the water towards the rear of the craft. Wilkerson says the idea comes
from the living nautilus, which moves by squirting water from its backside.
The vessel steers itself by flexing its body. 鈥淛ust like a fish,鈥� explains
Wilkerson to a perplexed and sceptical crowd of onlookers. 鈥淚 think when people
actually see us in the water, they鈥檒l realise this is a workable project.鈥� Chief
among those eager to see if the Condom Nautilus really does work is Wilkerson
himself. His creation has never been in the water. 鈥淭he water back home was too
cold,鈥� he explains.
鈥淚鈥檓 totally confident Calvin knows what he鈥檚 doing,鈥� says Cathy Scarborough,
a 25-year-old gift shop saleswoman, friend and designated propulsor for the
Condom Nautilus. Her faith remains undimmed, despite Wilkerson鈥檚 decision to
direct operations from dry land. Scarborough will be joined by another of
Wilkerson鈥檚 friends aboard the sub.
Robert Iannello, on the other hand, intends to race his own vehicle. The
Sub-Lime, like the Condom Nautilus, has no propeller. Iannello lies inside an
enclosed, canoe-shaped vessel made of clear acrylic and oak. The propulsion
system consists of a pair of long, thin oars jutting from the sides, which
Iannello moves by pushing pedals with his feet. The whole effect is reminiscent
of a giant plastic water bug.
While Iannello, who is a dentist in his day job, prepares Sub-Lime for its
first run, Wilkerson scurries about town looking for extra latex for the Condom
Nautilus (鈥淚 didn鈥檛 bring enough from home,鈥� he says), and other teams struggle
to fix technical problems ranging from stuck gears to broken propeller blades.
鈥淲e have more problems before 7 am than most people have all day,鈥� reads the
slogan on the back of one team鈥檚 T-shirt. Meanwhile, the University of Quebec鈥檚
Omer 2 is running the course over and over again.
Day 6: Seemingly stuck at just over 6 knots, the indefatigable Quebeckers
finally peak at 6.546 knots on their 41st run. According to the International
Human Powered Vehicle Association (IHPVA), which monitors the race, it is a new
record for a two-man propeller-driven sub. With the automatic pitch control
perfected, the team believes it could be used to make other underwater vehicles
more efficient. The Canadian team has proved to be a paragon of efficiency. No
other sub in the race has completed even half as many runs. Some, like the
ill-fated Washington team, left without finishing any.
Wilkerson suffers a similar fate. On his single attempt, the nose of the
Condom Nautilus fell off. 鈥淲ell, at least it was going forward at the time,鈥� he
says. 鈥淚 guess I can say it works and go home.鈥�
Sub-lime, meanwhile, has managed a few good runs. Iannello sets the IHPVA
record for one-man non-propeller craft, with a steady of 0.96 knots. He is
elated. His crew breaks out champagne and Honduran cigars. 鈥淣ow I can take this
thing home and make it into an aquarium,鈥� he laughs.
Goofballs鈥� victory
At noon, the racing is declared over. Bill Nicoloff鈥檚 6.69-knot run on the
first day of racing turns out to be the fastest of the six-day event. 鈥淚 think
this just goes to show what two goofballs can do in their garage with used parts
and scrap metal,鈥� says Bob. The Canadians think they know the Nicoloffs鈥� secret.
鈥淭heir sub has a volume of 0.75 cubic metres while ours is 1.4 cubic metres,鈥�
says Joncas. The volume is an important factor because it equals the amount of
water that the sub displaces as it moves forward. The team is already planning
to try again next year with a smaller sub. 鈥淚 think we can reach 7 knots,鈥� says
the ever-hopeful Joncas.
To round off the event, Hardy announces that the next human-powered races
will be in 1998. He promises bigger and better activities, possibly including a
new course to test manoeuvrability, head-to-head racing, and even more
competitors. Several European groups have inquired about the races and Hardy
plans to invite them all. 鈥淭his is the sport of the future,鈥� he says.