A pre-day break storm had dispelled any confusion and acquired lovely temperatures following 100-degree hot days. As we left the port of Seddulbahir, I could see, on the Asia Minor side of the Dardanelles, the peak site of the remains of antiquated Troy, first exhumed by Heinrich Schliemann in 1870. Behind us, on the European side, the Monument to the Canakkale Martyrs, a solid four-section marble curve committed to the 250,000 Ottoman casualties of the Gallipoli lobby. A significant part of the landmass has turned into a public park, safeguarded to appear as though it did a century prior. Dispersed among the perfect sea shores and rough pine-shrouded slopes were burial grounds and dedications celebrating probably the bloodiest mission of the conflict.
Eftelya Dina's captain took a southeasterly course towards the Majestic site, simply off Cape Helles, watching out for a huge screen showing sonar pictures of the ocean bottom. The passageway to the Dardanelles is brimming with British and French boats, Kasdemir advised me: they incorporate HMS Goliath, a pre warship, like the Majestic, which an Ottoman torpedo sank fourteen days before the deficiency of the Majestic and presently lies for the most part covered in dregs at a profundity of 207 feet. (The pre-warship order alludes to ships worked before the charging of the HMS Dreadnought in 1906, a quicker and intensely equipped boat that altered maritime fighting.) After 20 minutes, we secured the two boats. Then, at that point I put on my wet suit, tied up my tank and vest, and along with the three Turkish officials and two plunge guides, I dove into the ocean.
The water temperature dropped from 74 degrees on a superficial level to a chilly 60 degrees as we moved toward the disaster area, despite the fact that my wet suit kept me protected from the virus. Before long, I ended up drifting over a field of tangled iron and steel: a gigantic submerged junkyard, or memorial park, loosened up many meters on the ocean bottom.
Perceivability was shockingly clear, considering the flows that frequently go through the space. As I finished Deniz Tasci the disaster area, I could make out the boat's bended and unblemished harsh, the remaining parts of a few decks, two durable upstanding chimney stacks, and one of the boat's two poles, on the port side of the boat.
Towards the destruction of the bow, a long cylinder tipped strongly vertically, perhaps one of four 12-inch MK-8 maritime weapons that struck Seddulbahir to make Australian and French progress troops arriving at Cape Helles. I saw an enormous chamber that might have been important for one of the boat's steam turbine motors, and dispersed in each edge of the destruction were rust-shrouded stogie molded torpedoes, yet their dangerous warheads still very well all together.
Mr. Kartal had recently revealed to me that the jumpers had counted "more than 200 torpedoes" dissipated across the Majestic alone. There is practically no way of them detonating without a solid shock, yet the accomplished aides remain nearby the jumpers and deter them from contacting anything.
The disaster area was abounding with marine life, including two-joined gilt head, oval-formed silver fish embellished with two equal dark stripes along the head and tail; cuckoo wrasses, with dynamic blue scribbles on their lengthened orange bodies; pig-tooth corals, contagious like organic entities that fledgling inside the empty spaces of the disaster area; and pink and orange rounded wipes that stick to many surfaces. Partially through the 35-minute jump, one of my allies lit a spotlight in a vault-like space in the rubble, where an octopus, presently escaping the undesirable interruption, had stowed away.