One of the more depressing aspects of living in the current epoch, at least for me, is a nagging sense that the days of the Great Adventure are over. What do I mean by this? Consider: throughout much of the 20th century, larger-than-life men and women were constantly pushing the boundaries of how far, how high, and how fast human beings could go, either making or contributing to extraordinary scientific discoveries along the way, and all with the full attention and support of the general public. Viewing the popular movies and newsreels of decades past, and reading the contemporary pulp fiction (which I believe is often more representative of a particular milieu than the "good" stuff), you can really
feel the shared sense of excitement ordinary joes must have vicariously experienced as daring aviators flew solo across the Atlantic for the first time, then circumnavigated the globe by plane, then broke the sound barrier and ventured to the edge of outer space; as intrepid explorers uncovered the tomb of Tutankhamun and located the legendary city of Macchu Picchu high in the mountains of South America; as hardy adventurers reached the poles and summited Mount Everest; and ultimately, as astronauts first stepped onto the surface of another planetary body. The word "progress" meant something unambiguously positive then, and it must've seemed to folks living in those heady times as if the human race was really going... well,
somewhere. I personally came along a little too late to share in that zeitgeist firsthand, but even in my own youth during the 1970s and '80s, I recall the public imagination being captured by the early space shuttle launches, by the first untethered spacewalk by an astronaut with a jetpack, and by Dr. Robert Ballard's discovery of the most famous shipwreck in history, RMS
Titanic, lying in the silent darkness two-and-a-half miles below the surface of the ocean.
Nowadays, though... things are different now. Here in the second decade of the 21st century, every square foot of the Earth's surface has been mapped and photographed from orbit. Ancient cities lost for centuries in desert sands and steaming jungles can be pinpointed from air-conditioned rooms in anonymous suburban office parks using thermal imaging satellites. Any place on the globe can be reached by air in a matter of hours. African safaris and Everest hikes are vacation destinations for those who can afford them. And even distant worlds are accessible to the human race as never before, via our robot proxies and the information-sharing power of the Internet. And that's all
good, it really is. Many of those early adventurer/explorers I romanticize met with pitiful and/or horrific deaths because they had to be there in person, and the folks back home never got more than just a glimpse of the sights they saw and things they learned. Today, technology has made discovery much safer, and it's made it truly democratic as well --
everyone can view the latest photos from the Hubble telescope or the surviving Mars rover, or zoom in on some section of the globe at the click of a mouse. People can even participate if they like, though projects like
SETI@home. But the trade-off, unfortunately, and the irony as well, is that just at the moment when the average citizen can become more involved in this sort of thing than ever before, not many people seem to care anymore. Exploration and discovery seem to have become, at least as far as I can tell, a niche enthusiasm that attracts a relative few, rather than a society-wide concern.
Why else would there have been so little apparent interest three weeks ago when James Cameron -- yes,
that James Cameron, the writer/director of
Titanic, Avatar, and, somewhat prophetically,
The Abyss -- joined the ranks of the great explorers by riding a revolutionary new submersible to the bottom of Challenger Deep, the very deepest point in all of Earth's oceans? To my mind, this was a Big Damn Deal. The sort of thing that strangers on trains should've been talking about for days afterwards, worthy of front-page articles and magazine covers. Instead, it seems to have been a mere blip on the cultural radar, duly noted and then shoved aside with the turn of another 24-hour news cycle. There
are follow-up stories out there, but you have to seek them out if you're interested. And my inner cynic can't help but wonder with a sour grumble just how many of the mouth-breathers walking around out there actually are interested. Neither he nor I like the odds much.
To be fair to the mouth-breathers, though, a big chunk of the blame for the indifference that surrounded this story must be thrown at the media. There wasn't much news about Cameron's plans beforehand -- I myself only heard about the expedition by chance a couple weeks prior, via the blog
Boing Boing, if I remember correctly -- and, as I said, the coverage of the actual dive has been perfunctory at best. I guess a good old-fashioned adventure is just not that important at the moment, not when there's an endless race for the Republican presidential nominee to focus on, and hey, did you hear Snooki's pregnant, and of course Facebook just bought Instagram, whatever the hell that is. If people who don't follow certain types of blogs aren't hearing about expeditions like Cameron's, why should they care?
I also wonder if perhaps part of the problem is James Cameron himself. My mother's reaction when I told her about the expedition was something to the effect of, "Why him?" And I imagine that's not an unusual reaction. He's a
filmmaker, after all, not any sort of scientist (although the National Geographic Society has named him an explorer-in-residence, and he's made over 70 deep submersible dives in the last couple decades, which I think qualifies him for this). That "
king of the world" thing at the 1998 Oscars still sticks in some people's craws, and he has a reputation for being a royal son-of-a-bitch to work with. But hey, let's be honest: I think a certain degree of arrogance is probably a requirement to doing something like this. You have to believe that the thing
can be done, and you have to believe you're the one who can do it, and both require a sizable belief in oneself. In this case, Cameron wasn't the first human to journey into the Challenger Deep -- two men did it in 1960 with the help of the U.S. Navy and a submersible "bathyscaphe" called the
Trieste -- but he is the first to do it in 52 years, and the first to do it solo. And the conditions he knew he'd be facing were pretty daunting, even with a half-century of technological advancement since the
Trieste.
Cameron's submarine, the
DEEPSEA CHALLENGER, dropped seven miles straight down into the Pacific Ocean, the downward journey taking close to three hours while his six-foot-plus body was folded into a steel sphere only 43 inches in diameter. The pressure outside grew to an astonishing 16,285 pounds per square inch -- barely less than the pilot sphere's rated capacity of 16,500 psi -- pressure so intense that the sub actually shrank in height by a couple of inches. Meanwhile, the temperature inside Cameron's sphere fell from uncomfortably warm near the surface (because of the electronics and Cameron's own body heat in such a confined space) to meat-locker cold at the bottom of the sea. And of course it was pitch black at the bottom. He was all alone in utter darkness farther below sea-level than Mount Everest rises above it, trusting that the engineers who designed and built
DEEPSEA CHALLENGER hadn't overlooked anything. In other words, this situation was very much like a flight into space... and as much as I admire astronauts for their drive and guts, I admire James Cameron for his.
The Sunday he went down, March 25, I was following along on Twitter, a service I normally find rather silly, but that day it was the only place I could find any news. I was on the edge of my seat as each new update came in from the expedition, ticking off the latest depth he'd reached, the time elapsed since he'd submerged, etc. And when Cameron's own tweet flashed across the Internet -- "Just arrived at the ocean's deepest pt. Hitting bottom never felt so good. Can't wait to share what I'm seeing w/ you" -- I exhaled a breath I didn't know I'd been holding, and thought of the words of Charlie Duke, the CAPCOM on the Apollo 11 mission, when Neil Armstrong radioed back that the
Eagle had landed: "Roger, Tranquility. We copy you on the ground. You got a bunch of guys about to turn blue. We're breathing again. Thanks a lot." (Sidenote: How bizarre is it to think that a man was able to send a "tweet," surely one of the most frivolous means of communication ever invented, from the bottom of the ocean? We really
are living in the future, aren't we?)
I don't know... maybe a moment like that doesn't do anything for you. Maybe this really is just one of my esoteric and slightly backward interests, like old movies, something that the vast majority of the population no longer has any use for. Another example of how I should've been born a generation or two back. These days, there are a lot of people out there who feel we shouldn't bother trying to put human beings into space or other hostile environments; it's too expensive, they say, and too dangerous to justify what we get back, and anyhow we can learn all we need to know with cheap, efficient robot probes. I don't know if these people are in the majority. They certainly seem to have the loudest voices sometimes. And that just makes me sad, and frustrated. Because the world of the early 21st century feels too bloody tame to me. I'm so grateful that every once in a while, somebody like James Cameron comes along and does something to demonstrate that there are still frontiers to be crossed, and it's much more interesting to cross them in person, if only somebody is willing to cross them.
So here's another cool pic I ran across earlier. That's Enterprise and the Shuttle Carrier Aircraft again, flying over Manhattan back in 1983. I had forgotten -- if I ever knew -- that, following the completion of the approach and landing tests and the beginning of regular shuttle operations, NASA sent Enterprise on a world tour, visiting airshows in France, Germany, Italy, the U.K., and Canada, as well as a number of U.S. states. She even appeared at the 1984 World's Fair held in Louisiana before being handed over to the Smithsonian Institution and becoming a taxidermied display piece in 1985. 
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