GREAT ISAAC
Whale of a Tail Series
By Gene Peterson
As diving history progresses, legend begets fact. Some
stories are too good to dissolve in the brine of the sea
and continue to endure. This is one such tail.
Adventures on the Great Isaac
Initially the Great Isaac was constructed to tow
fuel barges for the WWII allied efforts. The Great
Isaac was a massive V-4 tug, 194-foot in overall
length and considered to be one of the largest
operating tugs in the world. It took a crew of
over 30 to operate this titanic workhorse. As a
part of this fleet, the Great Isaac gained
prominence when employed during the
Normandy Beach invasion to tow concrete
Gooseberry structures to create a harbor for
landing supplies essential to the invasion.
V-4 tugs towing bulky Gooseberry system
Historically the Great Isaac was recognized for
those efforts when Captain C.I. Parkin received a
Bronze Star for metritis duty under fire during
the D Day landing. After the war, these powerful
2800 horse powered behemoths were employed
throughout the world by private towing
companies for bulk towing tasks.
On the night of
April 16, 1947, the Great Isaac operated by
Moran towing, plowed north to New York
trailing behind was the liberty ship Thomas M.
Cooley. The towed Cooley was destined to be
refitted in New York.
At the time of the sinking, dense fog cloaked the
night making for hazardous conditions. Caution
required the regimented use of fog horns and
addition watches. Even with such prudence
demanded under the capable hands of Captain
Ernest McCreary, a fateful collision was eminent.
The Isaac was punctured by the reinforced bow
of the Norwegian freighter Bandeirante. Captain
Lief Bjornstad of the Bandeirante, likewise had
cautiously maneuvered in the fog, sounding his
horn yet to no avail. After his ship pierced the
port engine compartment of the Great Isaac,
Bjornstad backed away from the doomed tug.
He quickly surmised his own mutilation. The
robust hull of the Bandeirante had sustained
limited damage.
Meanwhile on the Great Isaac, the crew
hurriedly abandoned the doomed tug. Steam
and acrid smoke rose from the swirling sea as it
plunged to the depth of 15 fathoms. Fortunately,
there were only minor injuries, as all escaped the
condemned vessel. Noting a less than
remarkable anecdote, one sailor hastily jumped
up from his bunk absently leaving his false teeth
behind in his urgency.
The Thomas M. Cooley anchored by the tow
cables of the sunken wretch would sit there with
a skeleton crew overnight. Towed the next day
north by the Great Isaac’s sister ship, Trinidad
Head, the liberty ship Cooley would sail again,
but the hulk of the Isaac would lay dormant at
the bottom of the sea for more than two
decades.
In the late sixties with the establishment of the
LORAN navigation system along coastal waters,
offshore shipwrecks could now be rediscovered.
Dead reckoning by compass fell short when
relying on land structures in hazy or limited
visibility. Loran extended the accuracy to within
fifty feet with a range greater than 200 miles.
The topography of the Great Isaac made an easy
target lying on its port side rising nearly 30 feet
off bottom. 
Since its discovery, less than a dozen
miles off Barnegat inlet, this intact site remains a
popular destination. The wreck has continued to
dramatically deteriorate due to the caustic effect
of the sea. The once impenetrable hull has
become a skeleton. Compartments that were
boxed tight, dark inaccessible confines have
recently opened becoming sunny exposed
spaces. There is still great risk for explorers.
Divers should remain wary of the crumbling
overhead and swinging I-beams. There is an
increasing danger of an avalanche from the
massive engines, that are tentatively held by
rusting mounts. With that said, the tug remains
a captivating structure. The profusion of fish and
marine life camouflage the hull. Recent
discoveries have stimulated greater interest for
seekers meandering through the edifice.
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| Onboard the White Star recovering one on the 1/4-ton helms. |
A crane raises the helm as Chuck Wine guides the lift.
When first explored, divers took advantage of
the loose and more accessible openings of the
tug. Soon the bell was recovered, as well as the
helm wheel. Short order was made of the
humungous bronze propeller by commercial
divers. Before long, recreational dive charters
began taking throngs of wrecks divers to scour
the popular site. Most divers explored the outer
structure, occasionally dipping their head into
the wheelhouse. Some would stretch a leg
length into the forward hatch gazing up into the
foreboding darkness. After summing up the
muddle overhangs, sensible explorers would
soon exit to the more comfortable open exterior.
There were those few that went beyond the
ambient light. They pushed on from room to
room or descending the stack into the more
menacing engine-room.
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| Joe Lesneski, alpha flag over Great Isaac |
As a progression of wreck divers passed over and
throughout the hull of the Great Isaac, many
compartments continued to remain inaccessible.
The forward loading hatch and the top door to
the wheelhouse were the only access points for
dozens of years. Barely, a handful of divers had
gained any access beyond the engine-room. The
tight corridors and silty confines of the
deteriorating compartments unnerved the most
intrepid of penetrators.
In the late seventies and early eighties, a small
core of divers from South Jersey shared their investigations, and experience on the Great
Isaac. Their mutual respect and passion carried
little rivalry. Strategies were made to gain
greater entrance to more remote interior
cubicles despite the restricted access. Pouring
over deck plans they started pushing further
through the tight corridors into the navigation
room, gyro room, galley, medical room and
officers’ quarters. The Great Isaac was becoming
ripe. Exciting finds including sextants,
chronometers, wine decanters, silverware and
china were being unearthed. As the warm
weather waned, the time was right to continue
exploring before winter storms covered over the
next cornucopia of discoveries.
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| Tony Mazziotti with signal light |
In the late months of 1982, some die-hards
decided to push on through the fall and bear the
cruelty of winter wreck diving. That type of
diving meant treacherous conditions above and
below the surface. Sudden violent storms, icy
boat decks, frozen regulators, and bitter cold
decompression stops in frigid waters are just a
few of the trials suffered by those possessed
aquanauts. Most rational folks would bail, but
we chaffed at the bit for the opportunity.
Finding a boat to continue in the conflicting
condition of winter was no easy task. Only a few
capable masters would venture offshore in such
extreme conditions. Joe Lesneski, captain of the
Down Under was willing. Captain Joe was a
tough salvager who fearlessly ran his forty-foot
wooden boat out of Barnegat Light, one of the
most perilous inlets on the New Jersey coast.
His recognized voyages included rough-water
excursions beyond New York waters down to the
dreaded shoals of North Carolina.
On a frosty day in February, the Down Under was
prepared to cruise off to the Great Isaac. The
chronic circumstances of winter diving prevailed.
The smell of the kerosene heater saturated the
air. Slick icy decks made loading hefty double
tanks and equipment hazardous. As usual the
frozen head remained inoperable to the chagrin
of the coffee engorged regulars. The deck was
garland with a conglomeration of lines, weights,
lights baskets, and assorted dive essentials. As
the parade of loaders settled, a shot of ethanol
was whiffed and the two smoky 671 Detroits thundered. Then steadily the diesel droned
breaking the early morning silence. We broke
free and soon cruised pass Old Barny, the
familiar red and white lighthouse.
The cabin warmed as the deafening roar of the
engines prevailed. Soon the ice choked head
flowed to the relief of all. Smiles resumed
among us. Life was good.
The lighthouse faded behind us as we neared the
target. Various projects were discussed by all. 
On the surface, the other divers had squared
off on their projects spread throughout the
wreck. Harley and I were still damp and shivering
from first stroll in the park. We discussed our
next strategy. There was an eminent danger
entering the locker. Not knowing what other
loose entanglements or entrapments remain
dangling overhead could be a lethal risk. Harley
was too bulky to fit through the tight and gnarled
opening. He sensibly declined to enter the hold.
I had slithered through similar constrictions
before and felt comfortable pushing through this
gap. There was one condition for the menace I
was going to embark on. We would split the finds
evenly, but if there was a single unique element,
it was agreed it was my claim. We shook and
prepped for the next plunge.
The visibility cleared after our surface
intermission allowing us to better decipher the
obstructed hatchway. Harley agreed to station
himself at the entrance while I carefully removed
the hindrances. After some gently nudging, I
managed to clear enough space for me to slide
through. Waiting at the tight escape hole Harley
shown his light to guide me back. Inside the
cavernous hold I saw wonderous things. Cage
lights, turtle lights, massive spools of towing line,
bits, block and tackles, and brass telephone
boxes were strewn throughout. In the far corner
my eyes locked on a huge towing lantern
mounted on a six-foot steel pipe. Overhead, I
looked for dangling cables or loose debris that
could snag or slide down and trap me. I glided
over piles of disconcerted clutter. Reaching the
piece, I found it to be loose but mixed in some
confusion. I swooped up the awkward assembly
and hovered back to Harleys guiding light. Harley
pulled the lantern through the hatchway; I
passed out an assortment of additional finds and
then followed. In the sand, as we gathered up our discoveries, I
made a gesture to Harley that there was only one
lantern. He made a gesture back to me
indicating his dismay. We ascended. 
Reminded of this previous incident, I redonned
my dry suit with my street clothes. I inserted my
wallet, truck keys, donned my fins and sat in the
back of the boat clutching the lantern. Tom
Packer jeered this action. I let him know that
when the boat went down, I was going to swim
to shore and drive home with my prize. After a
few more jolting waves, the entire boat was
suited. Barnegat was still one of the most feared
inlets on the east coast before the south jetty
was extended in the 1990s. It was a wise act for
all to prepare. As we approached the dreaded
channel, the seas had built to a catastrophic
height. Waves broke across the shallow sand bar
ahead. The Down Under pressed on through the
crest of a breaking wave, when the boat stalled
struggling against the surge. A second wave
broke flooding the stern knocking Dave Poponi
off his feet. It left him helplessly floating in the
detritus. Captain Joe powered up the boat to full
throttle as we sped ahead of the next breaker.
Dave jumped back up, shaking off his
awkwardness. We all laughed with relief,
knowing how fortunate we were.
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| Great Isaac Light in the Bahamas |
Since then, many of dive boats have safely passed
through Barnegat inlet voyaging to the Great
Isaac. Today, Captain Gary Smith of Dina Dee
regularly visits the tug. Old Barny greets all that
pass. Many great Great Isaac adventures await.
Perhaps someday a lucky diver will stumble upon
a set of false teeth…
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| At the NJ Maritine Museum. |
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| Drawing of the current condition of the Great Isaac by Greg Modelle |