Terrors of the Deep

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The ocean has always captured mankind's imagination.

But where some saw endless potential for travel, trade, and exploration, others could only imagine what untold terrors might be lurking in its depths.

Any sailor, modern or ancient, would tell you that the sea is not only a natural force but a supernatural one.

As more people begin to confront the thousands of first-hand accounts of mysterious terror at sea, it becomes clear that there are things above and below the waves that may never be explained.

Beneath the ocean's glittering surface lies an alien world, one of crushing darkness, impossible pressure, and creatures unlike anything found on land.

In ancient mythology, the sea was considered no different than the weather or the seasons, a primordial unstoppable force that gave and took on its own unforgiving terms.

To the Mesopotamians it was the domain of Tiamat, an ancient sea goddess serving as the embodiment of chaos and creation.

To the Norse and Celts it was a realm of monsters, demons and serpents.

Despite countless technological advancements, the deep sea remains largely unexplored, its mysteries hidden beneath thousands of meters of water.

It is no wonder then that the ocean has inspired some of the most chilling stories ever told.

From the colossal tentacles of the kraken to strange lights above and beneath the waves and ghostly ships that wander the high seas without a crew, the ocean has long been the birthplace of folklore and fear.

Indeed, for centuries, ancient maps described uncharted oceans and seas with the phrase, here be monsters, accompanied by drawings of all manner of unsettling entities.

The Carthaginian navigator Himelko spoke of monsters of the deep that slithered beneath the hulls of ships.

In 1734, a missionary named Hans Egeder described witnessing a sea creature off the coast of Greenland, describing a wrinkled body that was longer than the ship itself, accompanied by humongous fins.

Today, we know that the ocean is home to the largest animals on Earth - whales, giant and colossal squid and three meter-long leather-backed turtles.

It is easy to see how such beasts, glimpsed through the mist or in the flickering glow of lanterns, could grow into the fearsome tales of legend.

But what about the things science can't explain?

Over the centuries, mariners have told of encounters with ghost ships, vessels vessels adrift on the sea, their crews missing without a trace.

In 2007, the CAS-2, an Australian yacht, was found floating near the Great Barrier Reef.

When authorities boarded, they found food set out on the table, an open laptop and personal belongings completely undisturbed.

The three-man crew, however, had utterly vanished without a trace.

Many claim that the scene was reminiscent of the MV Joyita, a merchant boat discovered floating in the Pacific 60 years earlier, this time without its 25-person crew.

Non-seafaring people often attempt to explain away these disappearances as accidents, yet sailors have seen far too much to simply write them off.

Those who haven't seen supernatural phenomena firsthand know a trusted crewmate who has.

Strange lights hovering over the ocean, moving in ways no known aircraft should.

Or ghostly human-like figures drifting in the open sea that always seem to disappear upon approach, leaving nothing but bubbles and an inescapable sense of foreboding.

These are just a few of the strange things witnessed upon the waves.

And they are not just the tales of drunken sailors in old taverns.

Nowadays, you can find forums and websites where crewmen share encounters with things neither they, nor science can explain.

The Pacific Dawn was a colossal vessel, one of countless container ships that move silently across the world's oceans transporting goods from one continent to another.

For most sailors these voyages are long and uneventful, marked by routine and solitude.

But in the late 1990s, during a crossing of the North Atlantic, what began as an ordinary journey would soon take a disturbing turn, leaving the crew to question what they had witnessed and whether they were truly alone on the open sea.

This story comes by way of Ian Michaels, who posted his account online in 2007.

It was early morning when Michaels had stepped up on deck with his cup of coffee.

The sky was a deep blue, just beginning to lighten with the promise of dawn.

But as he looked at the skyline, the light of the rising sun suddenly grew less bright, replaced by a thickening haze of grey fog.

A natural occurrence stemming from warm, humid air meeting the cold ocean surface, banks of sea fog are not uncommon.

The crew member had watched as it drifted towards the vessel in slow curling tendrils, creeping over the water like a living thing.

Within minutes it had swallowed the ship whole, and according to Michaels, the world outside the Pacific Dawn ceased to exist.

Plowing ahead at full throttle with visibility cut to near zero would have been reckless, so as with standard protocol, the vessel began to slow.

Other crewmen then made their way up on deck to take in the sight.

Michaels reported that he quickly noticed just how thick the fog was, significantly denser than similar banks he'd seen before.

Not only did it reduce visibility to just a few meters, but it also seemed to absorb sound, almost muting the rhythmical crash of waves against the hull.

Even the hum of the giant engines seemed to fade, replaced by an eerie, unnatural silence.

At this point, he says that something seemed to shift.

Michaels was a 10-year veteran at the time, but he later learned that even the least seasoned crew members had felt it, an instinctive sense that something was off.

Then came the first sound.

A low rumbling growl so deep that it vibrated through the steel of the freighter's hull.

In any other circumstance, he would have assumed that they had scraped against a large rock.

But as the ocean below his feet was over two miles deep, his immediate thought was that the engines were either stalling or that there was some other malfunction deep in the belly of the ship.

But then it repeated,

closer and louder,

this time accompanied by splashes.

Michaels went on to state that these weren't the sounds of fish jumping or dolphins playing, but the slow, deliberate commotion that only occurred when something heavy displaced a vast amount of water.

For the first time, he realized that something was out in the mist and

it was moving.

About five of the 18 crew members were on deck, but Michaels couldn't see or hear any of them.

He says that the fog had reduced his world to just 20 meters, that had he not been fixed to the spot, he would have struggled to find his his way below deck.

As he stood there not knowing what to make of the situation, there was another deep rumble.

But this time, it was much closer.

To Michael's ears, it wasn't quite animal, nor was it mechanical.

It was something in between.

And he had the distinct sense that it wasn't just coming from one direction.

The commotion had continued continued over the next few minutes, coming from the bow, then the stern, then the port side.

Occasionally the sounds of groaning and water displacement was accompanied by a low constant vibration, which was felt throughout the entire ship, indicating that something large and solid had grazed the hull.

Michael says that he believed the Pacific Dawn was being circled, and whatever was doing it felt as if it was somehow bigger than the ship itself, which had a dead weight of 150,000 tons.

This continued for 10-15 minutes as the ship had crawled through the water.

For all that time, the sounds never stopped.

Deep shuddering splashes, low growls that seemed to vibrate from after stern.

The rest of the crew later reported that no one spoke during this time, not even the captain or the helmsman.

They all just stood, watching the fog, as if waiting for something to suddenly lurch from within it.

Finally, as the mist began to thin, the light from the rising sun broke through.

Startled out of their daze, the crew simply went about their duties as if they'd just awoken from a dream.

Michaels later reported that nobody spoke of the event, not even himself.

The most that anyone communicated in regards to what had happened was to cast an occasional knowing glance between one another.

Only when they reached shore again did one of the crewmen ask to review the sonar logs.

They showed nothing unusual, not even so much as a large school of fish.

Sailors have always been a superstitious group, and to speak of something often has a way of making it feel far too real.

And so, the Pacific Dawn's strange encounter that morning faded into obscurity,

even amongst the men who had experienced it.

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The Gulf of Alaska is a vast, unforgiving stretch of water known for its towering waves, relentless winds, and frigid temperatures.

Over the decades, countless vessels have disappeared beneath its surface, resulting in it being nicknamed the Alaska Triangle.

Yet despite the extreme weather and propensity for sudden storms, the Gulf is one of the world's most valuable sources of fish and crab and a vital export route to Asia.

As a result, Thousands of ships navigate these waters each year despite the well-recorded peril.

One of the strangest events in recent times occurred aboard a converted LCM-8,

a Vietnam-era landing craft repurposed for Alaska's bustling fish trade.

Typically responsible for ferrying salmon and herring to processing plants, the company had recently assigned the 75-foot vessel to tow a 220-foot barge from Whittier through the Aleutian Islands at Fulse Pass and onwards to Bristol Bay.

On the trip, the crew experienced something so terrifying that it would cause several of them to abandon the industry altogether.

One of the fishermen on board was a 23-year-old named George.

He'd been working in the fishing industry since he was 17 and was by no means new to the treachery of the Gulf.

However, he was particularly unnerved by this job.

The LCM was slow, with a top speed speed of around 9 knots in standard conditions.

When towing the barge, it could barely exceed 4 knots, forcing it to crawl through some of the most unpredictable waters in the world.

As they worked their way up the Aleutian Peninsula, the crew of the 75-foot vessel was dismayed to see a massive storm creeping up on them.

Knowing there would be no way to outrun the gale, the captain made the call to seek shelter behind an island.

However, the surging currents and wind eventually wrenched the ship from its position and dragged it out into the open water.

To make matters worse, the barge behind lurching in the storm had caused the windlass to start to break free.

As it did, it tore a large hole in the engine room.

Their only choice was to release the larger ship, track it by radar and try to recover it after the the storm subsided.

But

the storm didn't subside.

For days the crew of the LCM was battered.

At times, the vessel would roll and pitch more than 30 degrees, almost causing it to capsize.

When not holding on for dear life, the crews were forced to pump water out of flooded compartments.

Finally, on the third night, something happened that was unlike anything they had experienced before.

A deafening boom rang out across the ship, shaking the vessel from bow to stern.

At first, the crew thought they'd actually struck something,

but as they checked the compartments, they saw there was no flooding, nor were there any hull breaches or alarms.

Still,

something was very wrong.

The Loran navigation system had lost signal, the radio was dead, and all their breakers had tripped, taking out the decklights and navigation systems.

Dead in the water, there was nothing the crew could do but wait for daylight.

To their surprise, The next day greeted them with both sun and calm seas, but this was accompanied by a terrifying sight.

The ship's mast, a 4 inch thick steel beam that supported their antennas and navigation lights, was gone, twisted off at a perfect 90 degree angle some 25 feet above the waterline.

Even the reinforced steel plate that affixed it to the deck had been warped, as if some unimaginable force had wrenched it from the deckhouse roof.

According to George, every single person knew that no storm could possibly shear off a reinforced steel mast.

The only possible explanation, save for a collision with another ship, was for something massive to reach out of the sea and break it off, a feat that would require immense strength.

Again, the code of the sea demanded that there be no speculation.

Instead, The crew set about locating the barge and towing it back to Dillingham.

By the time they limped into port a week later, they learned they had already been declared dead due to the loss of the mast deploying the emergency signals.

It was a grim reminder of what had happened and how close the crew came to certain doom.

Isidoro Arias was no stranger to the ocean.

A seasoned Spanish sailor and pilot, the 49-year-old had spent his entire life mastering the art of navigation.

For years he had dreamed of a solo voyage around the world, a journey he knew would push him to his limits.

In March of 2001, after years of meticulous preparation, he finally set out from Malaga, Spain aboard a 47-foot sailboat he named Islero.

For nearly two years, Everything went according to plan.

Isidoro remained in constant communication with his family, friends and an online audience via a satellite phone and an online blog.

But as he neared the final leg of his journey,

something changed.

The trouble started on March 22nd, 2003, less than a week before Isidoro was scheduled to return home.

That day, he sent out two messages, one through his satellite phone, the other via the internet, both of which were deeply unsettling.

He reported that his engine had failed, leaving him to battle strong winds under an overcast sky.

Without power he would lose electricity, meaning no phone, no lights, and no contact with the outside world.

That alone would have been worrying enough, but it wasn't his failing engine that had him scared.

In his his second message, he stated that a whale and its calf had been following his boat for hours.

Though far from uncommon, the way Isidoro described it, the whales weren't just swimming nearby, they were tracking him.

Despite spending years at sea and encountering whales countless times, he was clearly unsettled by their presence.

Unfortunately, this was the last coherent message he sent.

Three days later, on March the 25th, Isidoro's son Mario received a short email from his father.

He reportedly found the content so distressing that he immediately reached out via the satellite phone.

When Isidoro answered, his voice seemed different.

Mario would later describe him as sounding fragmented, erratic and paranoid.

He listened in terror as his father explained that something had been climbing aboard his boat at night.

He described them as small humanoid figures that moved unnaturally and were always lurking just out of sight.

It was the last contact the family, or anyone, would have with Isidoro.

Despite the satellite phone signal still being active, all calls went unanswered from that moment on.

Desperate, Mario contacted Rafael del Castillo, a fellow sailor who coordinated a network of mariners that monitored each other's safety.

Rafael immediately put out radio calls asking any nearby vessels if they had seen the Islero.

But there was no response.

No distress signal.

No sighting.

It was as if the sea had simply swallowed Isidoro up.

Then on May the 2nd, 2003, a French fishing vessel spotted a lone sailboat drifting aimlessly near the Gulf of Guinea, off the coast of Nigeria.

The back of the hull identified it as the Islero.

They hailed the ship but received no response.

Finally, they went aboard, only to find it completely abandoned.

Unsure of what might have happened, they towed the Islero to Abidjan, Ivory Coast, where Spanish authorities quickly arrived to investigate.

What they found only deepened the mystery.

They instantly realised that there were no signs of damage or indications of a struggle.

The furniture remained upright.

The kitchen was spotless, and Isidoro's belongings were still neatly stored.

His passport and identification were all untouched.

It was as if he had stepped away for a moment, expecting to return.

The only thing that was missing was the lifeboat, an inflatable dinghy that featured a small outboard motor.

For a few brief minutes, the police constructed some semblance of a story in which some unforeseen circumstance forced Isidoro to abandon ship.

But these theories were dashed when they found the engine for the dinghy still on board.

If Isidoro had planned to escape, why would he leave behind the only means of propelling himself to safety?

Then came the most chilling discovery of all.

Like many sailors, Isidoro had been keeping a logbook, carefully documenting his days at sea.

His final entry, Written in shaky, uneven handwriting, was just one sentence.

It read,

Something is climbing up the hull.

That was the last thing he wrote before he left the Islero, dozens or perhaps even hundreds of miles from the nearest landmass.

This meant the only clue remaining was the phone call he'd had with his son, in which he described humanoid figures climbing onto his boat to terrorize him at night.

According to his family, Isidoro was not a superstitious man, nor was he the type of sailor to willingly leave his vessel unless forced to.

Whatever happened, only he and the ocean know the truth, and neither is telling.

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All of these stories share a single common thread: something unknown and beyond explanation lurking in the vastness of the sea.

Yet each of them is also unique in its own way.

The Pacific Dawn incident in the fog is what experts call a shared paranormal encounter.

There were around 20 people on board the ship when it entered the fog bank, and though they were reluctant to speak of what they had seen and heard, it's clear from the account that they all had the same experience.

Though some scientists argue that mass hallucinations could be explained by psychological stress and sensory deprivation, according to Michaels, none of the men on the ship seemed to be under any unusual pressure that day.

Sceptics explain the sounds heard by the crew as marine acoustics being amplified by dense fog and playing tricks on the men's ears.

Theories range from the songs of whales to the shifting of tectonic plates.

Yet this does not fully explain the heavy vibrations felt through the hull as if something was scraping against it.

The same can't be said of the men in the Alaskan Gulf.

However, that story mostly hinges on clear physical evidence.

Nobody saw or heard anything that couldn't be explained.

Only the missing steel mast served as any indication that anything beyond the storm itself might have occurred.

Some argue that rogue waves, sudden swells of water that appear seemingly out of nowhere, could generate enough force to inflict such damage.

But how could the vessel encounter such a wave without capsizing?

In Isidoro's case, accusations of stress, paranoia or hallucinations have a bit more meat to them.

His final days were filled with tension, engine troubles, unpredictable weather, and isolation.

If he was also suffering from dehydration, lack of sleep or even mild hypothermia, it is possible that his perceptions became distorted causing him to believe that something was climbing aboard his boat.

But why did this only set in at the end of his trip after two years of relative calm?

This has led some to speculate that Isadoro had fallen ill with malaria or some kind of poisoning, driving him into a hallucinatory state.

But this theory doesn't hold up under scrutiny.

Medical experts confirm that hallucinations would be rare without a catalyst.

Moreover, the Islero's food supplies were in perfect condition.

As always, when natural explanations fall short, we must consider the unknown.

Current estimates state that more than 80% of the world's oceans remain unexplored, at least in the depths, meaning there could be entire ecosystems and species that have never been observed.

Even the giant and colossal squid were relegated to the realms of cryptozoology until living specimens were finally captured on camera.

Could it be that there is something or some things lurking in the deep that we have yet to discover.

Could the Pacific Dawn and the Alaskan Trawler have accidentally stumbled into the hunting grounds of an undiscovered predator?

Again, Isidoro's story stands out.

The fact that the dinghy's outboard motor was left aboard the Islero suggests that he left in a hurry, as if something had spooked him beyond rational explanation.

Though his fear was initially sparked by the whale and her calf, He clearly stated that he wasn't afraid of them, but of what they were doing.

Could he have possibly misidentified some sort of underwater craft as whales?

And what of the small humanoid creatures he described climbing aboard his boat?

Perhaps they were the occupants of these submerged vessels.

It's clear that nothing in marine biology matches their description.

Even sea fables rarely mention human-like beings save for sirens and mermaids.

What he describes seems much closer to aliens.

Believe it or not, not, sightings of USOs or unidentified submerged objects go back hundreds of years.

Even Christopher Columbus once mentioned seeing strange lights moving beneath the ocean's surface.

Ufologists claim that the sea would be the perfect place for a visiting extraterrestrial race to hide, given its immense depth and size.

Could Isidoro's boat have drawn the unwanted curiosity of alien beings, causing him to flee and succumb to the ocean's dangers.

Or perhaps the sea, like many places on land, contains areas where the boundaries between dimensions are uncommonly thin.

Many theorists claim these areas are portals, a place between worlds where entities can cross over.

Could the sailors who vanish without a trace enter these areas and get stuck, leaving only their boats to return?

Is it possible that the Pacific Dawn encountered such a ripple in time and space whilst moving slowly through the fog?

If so, it hardly seems impossible to imagine some eldritch creature from another realm reaching out to pluck the mast off a ship amid a terrifying storm.

The ocean has always been vast and unpredictable.

While science offers us logical explanations for many of the world's oldest maritime phenomena, there are still stories that refuse to fit neatly into reason.

As modern mysteries, the experiences of the Pacific Dawn, the Alaskan LCM-8 and the Islero continue to pose new questions, many of which seem to have no answers.

Were the people in question victims of natural forces and tricks of the mind, or

Did they encounter something that defies all explanation?

Ancient writers described the sea as a place of passage.

Most of us have accepted that to mean the act of moving from one landmass to another.

But

what if the ocean is also a passage to a realm between the known and the unknown, where people vanish, ships drift empty, and things move beneath the surface of the water that are too frightening to be named?

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