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South Florida. Maiden voyage for personal submergible
South Floridians create mini subs and get to see a secret world
By Robert Nolin
South Florida Sun-Sentinel
Posted May 13 2007
Photos and article at......
http://www.sun-sentinel.com/news/local/ ... ws-broward
In the seas off Fort Lauderdale, under rain-laden skies, a yellow anomaly sits on the surface: A submarine that won't submerge.
The Antipodes, all 15 feet and 15,000 pounds of her, refuses to sink. Even loaded with 58 extra pounds of lead bars, a 45-pound scuba tank and an old car battery. So instead of snapping photos of the sub's test voyage, Mike Spear became 165 pounds of human ballast.
He paddled a cheap inflatable dinghy from a chase boat to the sub, popped open the hatch and joined the pilot. In a flourish of bubbles, the Antipodes slipped beneath the waves.
"When he comes up, he's gonna be hooked," said friend and sub enthusiast Pete Hoffmann from the wheel of the chase boat.
Hoffmann, a 69-year-old Pompano Beach yacht broker, is one of about a half-dozen South Floridians fascinated to the point of obsession with custom-built mini-subs. These deep-water sailors spend thousands of hours in garages and warehouses building, refitting, testing and marketing sophisticated submersibles.
Every once in a while they actually put one in the water.
Then they get a double payoff: not just crafting a highly technical machine, but entering the exotic world at the sea floor.
"It's a kind of spiritual thing," Hoffmann said.
His sub's pilot, Ed Hoefing, puts it this way: "It's the same as outer space. You get to see something that no one's ever seen before."
Spear, 59, of Pompano Beach, glimpsed that world through the 3-inch-thick acrylic viewports that bracket the Antipodes' bow and stern. He saw coral, sponges, parrot fish.
"I'm thinking this could get to be a habit," said Spear. "Once you get down there it's peaceful, not frightening at all."
Not even when the pilot offered a little submarine humor. "He handed me a flashlight and said, `Check those screw holes for leaks.'" Spear recalled. "That's not what you tell a guy on his first time down."
This was the first time Hoefing, 49, of Jupiter, had been in this particular sub, though he's spent about 3,000 hours working on it. That seems to be the main occupation of South Florida's sub cultists -- tinkering with the vessels so they meet the exacting requirements of the American Bureau of Shipping, which certifies a boat's mechanical and structural integrity.
ABS standards govern how tight certain bolts must be, for example, or which fittings need to be checked with X-rays. Inspectors scrutinize work plans and materials as the sub is put together.
"The process of designing and getting a submarine built to ABS standards is a time-consuming task," said Patrick Lahey, 44, a Vero Beach underwater consultant who's worked on more than 40 subs over 25 years. "When the paperwork weighs as much as the submarine, you're done."
Lahey and his partners are building a two-person, 101/2-foot acrylic spherical submarine for a wealthy client's mega-yacht. Price tag: $1.2 million.
He and Bill Neunzig of Hollywood also restored a 1975, three-man, 27-foot sub once used for tourist dives. The yellow, torpedo-shaped underwater rover, worth about $650,000, is kept in a warehouse in Mangonia Park. "It took us about 21/2 years," Lahey said.
Personal subs always seem to be yellow, more for visibility than homage to the old Beatles tune.
They aren't pressurized, but rather rely on steel hulls at least a half-inch thick to keep from cracking. Batteries, usually stored in pontoon-like tubes on the vessels' sides, provide power. Air conditioning circulates inside. Outside, small thrusters allow the submersible to maneuver.
Parts aren't cheap. The Antipodes' signature features, those 58-inch-wide fore and aft viewports, cost more than $40,000 each; its four thrusters cost $10,000 each
Neunzig, 56, a retired firefighter and lifelong scuba diver, fell hard for submarines about eight years ago after a ride in a research sub. There are distinct advantages over diving, he found. "You're not worrying about sharks, you're not getting cold, and you're going places you never got to go before," Neunzig said.
That could be 1,000 feet down, where South Florida's offshore bottom is a sandy pancake. Hoffmann and his crew were aiming to have an ABS inspector certify the Antipodes as safe at that depth. The operation depended as much on choreographing truck, crane and towboat as on the sub's seaworthiness. A personal sub doesn't travel under its own power; it just submerges and surfaces. Hoffmann had the Antipodes hoisted from its Fort Lauderdale warehouse onto a flatbed, driven to a marina, lifted by crane and lowered into the water. A towboat dragged the unwieldy vessel -- at a painfully slow 3 mph -- offshore to a point in the ocean deep enough. Hoffmann and Spear escorted in a cabin cruiser.
The day's outing cost Hoffman about $2,500.
Pilot Hoefing made a test dive to 90 feet -- after enlisting Spear as ballast. The Antipodes was towed farther out, but Hoffmann was running out of time, and the ocean was still shy of 1,000 feet deep. So Hoffmann opted for certification at whatever depth they were. ABS inspector Don Smith, arriving by rigid inflatable, clambered aboard. The sub disappeared into the deep. Long minutes pass. At 580 feet, Hoefing reported by radio: "Antipodes on the bottom, copy?"
"I copy," responded Hoffmann.
The vessel passed muster with Smith: certified as safe at 580 feet.
South Floridians create mini subs and get to see a secret world
By Robert Nolin
South Florida Sun-Sentinel
Posted May 13 2007
Photos and article at......
http://www.sun-sentinel.com/news/local/ ... ws-broward
In the seas off Fort Lauderdale, under rain-laden skies, a yellow anomaly sits on the surface: A submarine that won't submerge.
The Antipodes, all 15 feet and 15,000 pounds of her, refuses to sink. Even loaded with 58 extra pounds of lead bars, a 45-pound scuba tank and an old car battery. So instead of snapping photos of the sub's test voyage, Mike Spear became 165 pounds of human ballast.
He paddled a cheap inflatable dinghy from a chase boat to the sub, popped open the hatch and joined the pilot. In a flourish of bubbles, the Antipodes slipped beneath the waves.
"When he comes up, he's gonna be hooked," said friend and sub enthusiast Pete Hoffmann from the wheel of the chase boat.
Hoffmann, a 69-year-old Pompano Beach yacht broker, is one of about a half-dozen South Floridians fascinated to the point of obsession with custom-built mini-subs. These deep-water sailors spend thousands of hours in garages and warehouses building, refitting, testing and marketing sophisticated submersibles.
Every once in a while they actually put one in the water.
Then they get a double payoff: not just crafting a highly technical machine, but entering the exotic world at the sea floor.
"It's a kind of spiritual thing," Hoffmann said.
His sub's pilot, Ed Hoefing, puts it this way: "It's the same as outer space. You get to see something that no one's ever seen before."
Spear, 59, of Pompano Beach, glimpsed that world through the 3-inch-thick acrylic viewports that bracket the Antipodes' bow and stern. He saw coral, sponges, parrot fish.
"I'm thinking this could get to be a habit," said Spear. "Once you get down there it's peaceful, not frightening at all."
Not even when the pilot offered a little submarine humor. "He handed me a flashlight and said, `Check those screw holes for leaks.'" Spear recalled. "That's not what you tell a guy on his first time down."
This was the first time Hoefing, 49, of Jupiter, had been in this particular sub, though he's spent about 3,000 hours working on it. That seems to be the main occupation of South Florida's sub cultists -- tinkering with the vessels so they meet the exacting requirements of the American Bureau of Shipping, which certifies a boat's mechanical and structural integrity.
ABS standards govern how tight certain bolts must be, for example, or which fittings need to be checked with X-rays. Inspectors scrutinize work plans and materials as the sub is put together.
"The process of designing and getting a submarine built to ABS standards is a time-consuming task," said Patrick Lahey, 44, a Vero Beach underwater consultant who's worked on more than 40 subs over 25 years. "When the paperwork weighs as much as the submarine, you're done."
Lahey and his partners are building a two-person, 101/2-foot acrylic spherical submarine for a wealthy client's mega-yacht. Price tag: $1.2 million.
He and Bill Neunzig of Hollywood also restored a 1975, three-man, 27-foot sub once used for tourist dives. The yellow, torpedo-shaped underwater rover, worth about $650,000, is kept in a warehouse in Mangonia Park. "It took us about 21/2 years," Lahey said.
Personal subs always seem to be yellow, more for visibility than homage to the old Beatles tune.
They aren't pressurized, but rather rely on steel hulls at least a half-inch thick to keep from cracking. Batteries, usually stored in pontoon-like tubes on the vessels' sides, provide power. Air conditioning circulates inside. Outside, small thrusters allow the submersible to maneuver.
Parts aren't cheap. The Antipodes' signature features, those 58-inch-wide fore and aft viewports, cost more than $40,000 each; its four thrusters cost $10,000 each
Neunzig, 56, a retired firefighter and lifelong scuba diver, fell hard for submarines about eight years ago after a ride in a research sub. There are distinct advantages over diving, he found. "You're not worrying about sharks, you're not getting cold, and you're going places you never got to go before," Neunzig said.
That could be 1,000 feet down, where South Florida's offshore bottom is a sandy pancake. Hoffmann and his crew were aiming to have an ABS inspector certify the Antipodes as safe at that depth. The operation depended as much on choreographing truck, crane and towboat as on the sub's seaworthiness. A personal sub doesn't travel under its own power; it just submerges and surfaces. Hoffmann had the Antipodes hoisted from its Fort Lauderdale warehouse onto a flatbed, driven to a marina, lifted by crane and lowered into the water. A towboat dragged the unwieldy vessel -- at a painfully slow 3 mph -- offshore to a point in the ocean deep enough. Hoffmann and Spear escorted in a cabin cruiser.
The day's outing cost Hoffman about $2,500.
Pilot Hoefing made a test dive to 90 feet -- after enlisting Spear as ballast. The Antipodes was towed farther out, but Hoffmann was running out of time, and the ocean was still shy of 1,000 feet deep. So Hoffmann opted for certification at whatever depth they were. ABS inspector Don Smith, arriving by rigid inflatable, clambered aboard. The sub disappeared into the deep. Long minutes pass. At 580 feet, Hoefing reported by radio: "Antipodes on the bottom, copy?"
"I copy," responded Hoffmann.
The vessel passed muster with Smith: certified as safe at 580 feet.