In the late 1950's, a proposal to drill deeper into the earth than ever before sparked the imagination of scientists and the public. Backed by the National Science Foundation (NSF), the project yielded promising results at first. Yet only four years later, after a projected cost increase of 145 percent and allegations of mismanagement and fraud-what began as the most ambitious geological experiment ever became a textbook lesson in how not to run a scientific endeavor.
Discussions on the possibility of collecting samples of the earth's mantle began at an impromptu breakfast in the spring of 1957, among a gathering of oceanographers, geologists, and engineers appropriately called the American Miscellaneous Society (Amsoc). They shared views on ways they could get more information on the Mohorovicic discontinuity (Moho), a boundary layer approximately 322 kilometers below the earth's crust that geologists knew little about. By drilling at sea where the crust is relatively thin, they hoped to retrieve geologic records and samples of the Moho and mantle. The Mohole, as it came to be called, seemed feasible, and a group of Amsoc members drafted a proposal to the NSF.
Phase one of the project drilled test holes east of Guadalupe Island, off the lower California coast, where the crust was only 4.7 km thick under 3.65 km of water. The Amsoc, now allied with a the National Academy of Sciences, appointed veteran oceanographer Willard Bascom as project director. A drilling barge named CUSS I was rented and outfitted for deep-sea operation. The platform could not be anchored to the sea floor like traditional drilling rigs because of the depth, so Bascom invented a dynamic positioning system that used anchored position markers and maneuvering propellers to keep the barge in place.
It was noisy and crude, but it worked. CUSS I exceeded existing drilling records by more than 30 times by drilling 170 meters into the seafloor at a depth of over 3600 meters for only $1.7 million. The dynamic positioning system had been proven, and the leap to the mantle was seen as feasible.
Amsoc proposed to the NSF that two or more intermediate ships be built to make measurements and perfect the design, culminating in the primary drilling platform for the mantle penetration. The proposal was brought to the NSF with the recommendation that an outside contractor be appointed to manage the project, since the members of Amsoc did not have the time needed although it was assumed that they would be included in the final project.
The NSF called for bids, and in July 1961, 200 people representing 84 companies attended a project briefing. By September, 10 competitors had submitted bids, many of them in team with oil companies or oil companies themselves. At the last minute, a proposal was submitted by Brown & Root, a Houston, Texas, engineering and construction firm that was considered a dark horse at best. To the surprise of almost everyone involved, they won.
The choice of Brown & Root for the project was controversial. The firm had only limited experience in offshore drilling, and none of it in deep water. Its proposal was third in a rating of all submitted, and was criticized by some on the NSF staff for not containing explicit descriptions of how the job would be done. In addition, it was the only competitor to as for (and receive) a fee for its consulting work, $1.8 million, calling into question its scientific motives.
Many in the NSF assumed that an oil or drilling concern would automatically be chosen because of its expertise, but a vocal minority feared a team involving an oil company might have motive other than pure science. Brown & Root was seen as being more impartial, and concerns about its lack of drilling expertise were allayed by assurances that it would be able to bring in any experts needed.
>From the beginning, the project was rife with conflict. Brown & Root supported the NSF's all-or-nothing design using a new semisubmersible platform-against the wishes of Amsoc. The expertise of the original design team was ignored. and one year after the contract had been awarded, Brown & Root had still not finalized the design. In addition, cost estimates sent to the NSF had been revised from $47 million to $68 million, with little apparent justification, and a Senate inquiry into possible political favoritism surrounding Brown & Root's contract win slowed work.
As completion dates for the project were delayed, the project's cost ballooned. Mounting financial pressure from the war in Vietnam caused Congress to balk at appropriating more money, and funding for Phase II was cut off in the Spring of 1966. Although there was some talk of the NSF's resurrecting the project at a later date, all subcontracts were canceled soon thereafter.
Several factors contributed to the demise of Project Mohole. Many have criticized the NSF's role, declaring it had neither the skill nor the charter to manage such a project. A congressional hearing into the project faulted the foundation for mishandling the project. The comptroller general accused the NSF of fully backing the program, especially the one-platform design, before the technology needed to undertake such a project was in place. The NSF charter states that it shall "initiate and support scientific research," not manage programs.
Others closer to the project blame the prime contractor. "Basically, Brown & Root killed it," claimed Walter Munk, an Amsoc member and one of the driving forces behind the Mohole. Many of the scientists involved did not believe that Brown & Root understood enough about the project to make an accurate bid or effectively coordinate it, while others believed the primary reason Texas-based Brown & Root won the contract was its political ties to President Lyndon Johnson. Also, its unwillingness to use the Amsoc staff and resources alienated many of those who had worked on the project from the start.
Brown & Root argues that although its initial estimates may have been optimistic, its work would have been successful had the NSF continued funding the project. "The engineering studies done by Brown & Root led to the development of semisubmersible drilling rigs in widespread use four years later," observed Jay Weidler, a marine engineer at the company during the project. In the end, though, almost $50 million was spent on Phase II, but construction never went beyond the design stage.
Although the goal of Mohole Phase II, to retrieve samples of the mantle, has never been realized, the work done by the CUSS I "carried tremendous weight in terms of the credibility of deep-sea drilling," noted Terry Edgar of the U.S. Geological Survey. In 1966, the U.S. Joint Oceanographic Institution for Deep Earth Sampling (Joides) was formed to take long-core sediment samples of the Atlantic, Pacific and Indian oceans. Using the Glomar Challenger, a ship similar to the intermediate design proposed by the Amsoc, the Joides Deep Sea Drilling Project made over 624 drillings into the late 1980s.
Unfortunately I hit, in mining terms, a "dry hole"; several years earlier there had been a massive early retirement program at Brown and Root and the few old-timers who might have actually been associated with the project had left the company. After much effort I managed to track down Jay Weidler, an engineer indirectly associated with Mohole, to indirectly say something good about the long term results. But I never could get anyone to directly counter Munk's assertion that Brown and Root was the source of all Mohole evil. I tried to be as objective as possible, sent what I had to my managing editor, and moved on to my next story.
At the end of Summer 1990 I said goodbye to my newfound journalist friends and headed back to the University of Houston to complete my Senior year of Electrical Engineering. The first day of school found me in Controls Engineering I, a controls theory class taught by the very friendly and grandfatherly Professor William Schneider. I took an instant liking to him, as he concentrated on practical examples to explain what could otherwise be a very esoteric topic. "This 'controls stuff'," he said "is real practical engineering, not like a lot of the math you learn. I have actually used this 'stuff' in the real world. In the 1950s, I was part of a team that designed a control system that drilled the deepest hole ever seen, out in the middle of the ocean..." I don't think I heard another word after that. Sitting in the back of the classroom, I slowly raised my hand. After an eternity, he called on me "yes?" his bushy white eyebrows lifting slightly. "Excuse me, sir," I stammered. "But that drilling project in the ocean you mentioned, that wouldn't by chance happen to be Willard Bascom's group aboard the CUSS I, would it?" Scheider's eyebrows climbed to the top of his head and he slowly took off his glasses. "Why yes," he replied, "How did you know that?" By this point everyone in the class was staring at me, trying to figure out what was going on. We chatted excitedly for a minute ro so and then broke off the conversation so the class could continue.
After class I walked back to his office with him. I explained to him that I had just written a "Whatever Happened To?" article about the Mohole Project for Spectrum. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that my professor for Controls I was the person who had designed the dynamic positioning system for the CUSS I! When we arrived at his office he motioned toward a wall and told me that the black binders which filled the bookshelf were the technical logs of the CUSS I voyage. He mentioned that as a young engineer it was one of the most exciting projects he had worked on. I told him about the problems I had finding reliable sources, and how I would have gladly interviewed him. He was very surprised when I told him about Munk's "Brown and Root is the antichrist" reaction to why the project failed.
Scheider had a much different take on the demise of the project. Initially, the plan was to take core samples to investigate the Mohorovicic discontinuity. Brown and Root was quite far along the design when the scientists added the additional requirement that they wanted to collect the tailings, or waste material such as mud and rock chips, left over from the drilling. While a lot of scientific data can be collected from the tailings, the new requirement was a radical change; it essentially meant transforming a drilling rig into the world's largest vaccum cleaner, sucking mud and rock from beneath the ocean floor and pumping it miles to the ocean surface. Brown and Root submitted their response: large portions of the project would have to be redesigned at an astronomical cost, resulting in the ballooning cost described above. "The scientists didn't understand anything about the engineering involved," said Schneider, and their lack of how the proposed changes would impact the cost were one of, if not the, nail in Mohole's coffin.
|
|
 Email us! |
Copyright © 1996-1999 Kevin and Lee Self Last Updated: March 1, 1999 Obligatory Disclaimer |