Always on the lookout for a nautical adventure, my ears perked up when I received a call that a famous research vessel needed to be seized for nonpayment.

It was the 210-foot R/V Atlantis II, one of the world’s most famous vessels. No other research vessel has covered as much of the ocean as Atlantis II. During her 33-year career with Woods Hole Oceanographic Institution, the ship sailed more than 1 million miles on 486 cruises, spending 8,115 days at sea in every ocean of the world.

Built by the Maryland Shipbuilding and Drydock Company in Baltimore, she was launched on Sept. 8, 1962 and retired from scientific service in 1996.

In 1986, Atlantis II visited the site of the R.M.S. Titanic, and for more than a decade she was home to the Alvin submarine, the world’s first deep-sea submersible that would make 12 dives on the Titanic. In recognition of her contributions to science, NASA named a space shuttle after her.

Rescuing this old lady was right up my alley. I gathered my sea bag and flew to Rhode Island where I was met by Dave Allan, project manager for the repossession and delivery to Atlantic Dry Dock in Jacksonville.

Dave briefed me on the plan: Watch the bad guy to find a window of opportunity, board and commandeer Atlantis II, move her to safety, prepare her for the trip south, and take her to Jacksonville.

Four retired police captains from Pinkerton National Detective Agency accompanied us. These armed, fit, great-natured guys made the entire project exciting, yet with a significantly serious, don’t-screw-with-me attitude at all times.

Our first step was to set up a liaison with the local police and port officials. We managed to get a series of cameras monitoring Narragansett Bay focused on the ship, which was anchored off Jamestown. We set up observation posts on Goat Island, at Newport Shipyard and in Jamestown. The temperatures had already started to lower in late October, so some of our 10-hour observation details left us pretty stiff and cold.

The guy who had taken over the vessel under the pretext of being a "professional adventurer" (but who had never made a payment) came ashore once every four days to buy groceries. That was our opportunity.

One afternoon after he came ashore, four of us sprinted to the Boston Whaler tender he had arrived in, fired her up and raced to the ship. From the Goat Island side, Newport Shipyard’s tender crossed the bay with four more crew, so there were two armed guys in each approaching boat.

My gut started to churn over the possibility of a confrontation with the crew onboard, not knowing if they were armed or what their attitude would be. We observed two large dogs patrolling the decks as well. I scanned the deck for movement as we approached. There was none.

My heart was pounding, like I hadn’t felt since my first skydiving experience. Scenarios flashed in my mind. Was I going to be met by an armed criminal? Would one of these dogs attack?

Adrenalin pumping, I was first out of the tender. The Jacobs ladder was old and long. My hands were sweaty and I held on tight climbing the 10 wooden steps. I was on deck before a crew member appeared.

"Are you armed?" I shouted to him.

He appeared stunned and was shaking as he put his hands in the air and I searched him.

The much-anticipated takeover was anticlimactic. The crew and the pups were relieved to finally be out of the clutches of the bad guy. They had not been paid for months and were not allowed ashore. Dave had brought cash to pay back wages in hopes of gaining their good will. It worked. On shore, state police arrested the bad guy, allowing us to relax enough to get the ship operational.

For my first half-hour aboard, I roamed about the ship, dodging piles of dog hair, boxes of trash, tools left on deck rusting, discharged fire extinguishers, and dirty bed linens piled in corners.

What in the hell had I gotten myself into?

Stepping into the engine room and machinery spaces was a peak into a long-neglected and rusty past. Most of the antiquated equipment was not operational. Nevertheless, we fired up the engines and moved Atlantis II to the old aircraft carrier dock at the Quonset Naval Air Station.

At the helm for the three-hour trip, my eyes roamed over the massive glass-and-bronze controls for the original steam engine, a talk tube to the engineer, two crank intra-ship phones, and a host of switches, toggles and lights to equipment long removed or inoperative. I was overwhelmed at the history under my feet. Just think of the countless scientists and crew who had driven this ship worldwide in her search for true science. Their energy was tangible as I steered the old gal to safety.

I was surprised to learn that the ship entered U.S. waters without filing a notice of arrival, and had no COFR (certificate of financial responsibility), official registry or insurance. On top of that, the U.S. Coast Guard Captain of the Port has issued an order of non-movement. Yikes.

It turned out that Atlantis II had only a Delaware registry, much as one might have on an inflatable tender. The more I learned about Atlantis II’s past year, the more my guts churned over what I had gotten myself into.

Not wanting to get into any license hassles with the Coast Guard, I had to tread lightly yet at the same time overcome serious issues of noncompliance.

Further perusal of the engine room left me with grave doubts about the sanity of driving her 800nm to Jacksonville. Overhead water leaks had corroded the high pressure hydraulic lines on the reduction gears. If one of those rusty pipes let go, a stream of hydraulic oil could spray on the hot engine exhaust, surely a recipe for a fire. The bilge pump situation was dicey, at best. The hull plate was known to be 50 percent in a wide area.

I toyed with the idea of bailing on this mission and flying back to Ft. Lauderdale. After a couple of restless nights, I decided to finish what I had begun. Just to be safe, I took my first two-weeks cash pay and sent it home. I was giving this mission a solid 50-percent chance of ending up in a life raft. Who needed wet Franklins?

It became apparent that I required skilled professionals to get the Coast Guard’s approval to move. I contacted a friend who had spent the summer in Prince William Sound as captain of a passenger cruise ship.

Her handling of safety drills twice a week and knowing how to create a proper station bill made Laura Tritch the perfect person to get our vessel’s mish-mash crew into shape. She drilled the 10-person crew relentlessly in the fire, man overboard and abandon ship drills until we could pass the Coast Guard inspection. Twenty drills in five days.

Capt. Gray and his right-hand man Eddie, who had brought the ship out of the scrap yard in Louisiana where she had been abandoned for six years, came aboard. It was their intimate knowledge of the ship’s hundreds of idiosyncrasies that made the voyage south possible.

Linda Turner of Crewfinders in Ft. Lauderdale sent us three engineers from the commercial industry who were up-to-speed on the mammoth old diesels. Dave, the project manager, brought aboard a couple of his neighbors who had never been on a boat before; their enthusiasm made up for their lack of experience.

The next week was spent getting the fire extinguishers and CO2 system recharged; purchasing life jackets, immersion suits, rocket flairs, hydrostatic EPIRB and six ICOM handhelds; and ordering current charts and all coast pilots and applicable tables. We spent $80,000 to meet the USCG’s requirements.

After 10 days of drills and preparations, we were ready. Our inspection was scheduled and we loaded up our provisions, confident that we would get clearance. Coast Guard officers arrived at 0900 hours. From bridge to engine room to exterior decks, nothing escaped their intense stare. These guys were serious.

The initial response to our drills was terrific. Then, with a shock, the lieutenant in charge announced that we should be towed, dead ship, to Jacksonville. My head felt like exploding. Sensing an ensuing brawl, Dave threw his hands up and shouted, "Clear the room."

Twenty minutes later, he and the lieutenant emerged in agreement that our professional team of three licensed 3,000-ton captains, three licensed unlimited engineers and four eager deckhands could safely handle the trip. We got our clearance to proceed to Jacksonville.

Four days later as we steamed up the St. Johns River in Jacksonville, I couldn’t help but feel a little privileged to have steered her home to her rightful owner. While this was an adventure for me, it surely wasn’t one befitting such a grand research dame as Atlantis II.

I eagerly await news of her being refitted for more adventures of the scientific kind.

Capt. David Hare is a regular contributor to The Triton. Comments
on this story are welcome at editorial@the-triton.com .