(ambient music) (radio hissing) (radio static crackling) - Hi, this is [UNINTELLIGIBLE]. Please leave a message at the tone. Thanks for calling.
(beeping) - [Woman] Where are you? I've been trying to reach you for five days. Five fucking days and nothing.
Where are my kids, Frank? Where are my fucking kids? (beeps) (waves crashing) (waves lapping) - [Nexpo] It's a summer day and you're out for an ocean swim.
(water lapping) You take a breath, you head under. It's beautiful at first. You're in a whole new world.
You keep going and going, and going. As you come up for air, you notice the people behind you are quiet, as nature's ambience has overtaken them. You just need one more look, though, and alas, you take one more plunge.
But it seems that you may have had a slight miscalculation. As your eyes draw into focus, you realize that there's nothing to focus on. No floor, no fish, no walls.
All there is is a void of darkness, a cold endless abyss gazing back at you. There is nothing there but yourself, the water, and the vast unknown. (ominous music) (water burbling) You know, it's funny, I've been trying to figure out for years how to put into words the existential dread I get from something as conceptually simple as the ocean.
The immeasurable expanse that remains one of the world's greatest mysteries. It is painfully unsettling that our current knowledge of it is minuscule rivaling that of the moon, and even the planet Mars. Upon looking at the raw data, knowing that over 80% of this underwater abyss remains unmapped and unexplored to this day, drives home the gut-wrenching realization that we truly know next to nothing about what's actually down there.
We know more about the surface of a planet we have never set foot on than we do about the ocean engulfing the vast majority of the planet on which we live in. And to me, that implication is horrifying. It's called the deep blue for a reason because it is incomprehensibly so.
And just over 36,000 feet straight down, you can fit the entirety of Mount Everest with over 7,000 feet to spare. You could theoretically launch a jumbo jet off the bottom of the ocean's deepest point and hardly make it to surface level at its cruising altitude. And if you stacked the Empire State Building end to end, you would need over 24 of them one on top of the other to reach surface level from its darkest abyss.
Thalassophobia is a concept that encompasses the fear of the ocean, yet what it actually entails might mean something entirely different to you than it does to me. Some may fear the ocean's gargantuan, seemingly endless size. Or fear nature's unforgiving wrath.
(waves crashing) Or fear becoming stuck within it. Or fear things that don't belong inside of it. Or fear what we found.
Or rather, fear what we haven't. (ominous music) Much of what we think of when we imagine the ocean are visuals that we can logically comprehend. Reference points like coral reefs, the sea floor, and even sea creatures that share this world with us help us paint a mental picture that is coherent.
In reality, though, once you tread off the beaten path and veer over the continental shelf separating our world from theirs, what's actually out there is a seemingly infinite void and a macrocosm that we may never fully explore. All across the internet, we can find troves of video demonstrating the ocean's colossal scale. It's hard to put exactly into words, but viewing footage of divers like Jonathan Bird treading the fringe of safety and complete danger by venturing out and into what appears to be completely nothing will never not cause me tense up.
There is an entire world below them, a world shrouded in darkness, a world ripe for discovery, a world with caves, valleys, entire underwater oceans and manmade relics all just waiting there until the end of time. (foreboding music) Since I was a child, thalassophobia has unknowingly held me with an iron grip. Jolly Roger Bay and its feeling of constant tension as we explore a manmade creation ravaged by nature.
Pinnacle Rock and its cavernous gorge, infested with creatures unknown. And "Tomb Raider" with its multitude of claustrophobic underwater caverns disorienting us at every turn. It's funny because paradoxically, I have always felt that the soundtracks to these levels are beautiful, which oddly always counteracted the dread I got from having to endure environments like this.
Perhaps it was the fact that in these games we are almost always racing the clock, lest we drown to death when our time is up. Or the fact that enemies always move faster than we do. Or maybe it's the lack of visibility, the darkness that shrouds us just feet away depriving us of any ability to prepare for an impending threat.
Or could it be the creatures, the monsters who call this unforgiving habitat home? (ominous music) (foreboding music) In early 2022, a video game released encompassing every fear that I have ever had regarding the ocean. It's called "Iron Lung" and you may have heard of it through my fellow creators like Markiplier, Pyrocynical, and Jacob Geller.
The game puts us into the shoes of a convict, trapped in a world far removed from ours. At the game's beginning, we're told that out of nowhere every single habitable planet was demolished in a cataclysmic event known only as The Quiet Rapture. With this, the future of humankind was left dangling by a thread as only those aboard spacecrafts were safe from it.
For years, the remaining survivors have done what they could to jumpstart humanity navigating the vast frontier, that is the universe, in search of any sliver of hope that a habitable planet remains out there. Guided by nothing but dying starlight, mankind is confined to the vast expanse of nothingness left to salvage the scant resources left behind on a multitude of barren moons. But on just a handful of them, we find a strange anomaly.
Oceans of blood that might be the key to unlocking the resources we so desperately need to survive. You and I are tasked with boarding a makeshift submarine that was not designed for extreme depth. Navigating an ocean that is completely alien from anything we have ever seen or known, left to search for and photograph natural resources that may not even be down there.
To add insult to injury, the submarine will be welded shut and the window reinforced with thick metal. A rolling method of navigation, a map, a rudimentary control system, a single camera, and our own intuition guided by whatever sounds we may hear down there. For all we know, we may not survive.
But inside the Iron Lung, at least we won't know what killed us. - [Man] Beginning your descent. (foreboding music) Cruising depth in roughly 40 seconds, standby.
(foreboding music) Um, I'm seeing some voltage irregularities in the instrument so keep an eye out for sparks or flames or anything like that. (foreboding music) Approaching maximum depth. The hull is feeling it bit it's still holding strong.
(foreboding music) Closing, porthole shielding. (porthole rattling) (foreboding music) (water spattering) We're starting to lose radio signal. You'll be at cruising depth soon so and be careful.
You're on your own. Good. (foreboding music) - [Narrator] From the very beginning, we know this will not be simple.
The Iron Lung flexes and creaks, seemingly reaching its limit under the crippling weight of the ocean. The radio cuts out severing our only line of communication and letters penned by previous convicts warn us of an impending fate. For the entire game, we're left to follow a map, adjusting our rotation as we blindly navigate this foreign underwater sea in hopes of taking pictures at each designated point.
Interestingly, the Iron Lung is equipped with a proximity sensor to warn us when we come too close to an obstacle. And at first, it seems like a no-brainer. The ship is already cruising on its last leg so any physical contact couldn't spell the end of us altogether.
As we make our way to each checkpoint, we're able to utilize a shoddy camera system to view the outside world and with intervals of just one single frame we're left with nothing but grainy, black and white visuals that are more often than not completely inexplicable. A corpse of a foreign giant. Unknown structures with monsters just out of view.
Legs from what appear to be giant spiders. And objects that bare no discernible shape. (ominous music) (pulsing tense music) The horror of Iron Lung comes interwoven within the very fabric of how it's played.
We are confined to an iron cell, left with none other than the dread stemming from our own biases, as our minds fill the blanks these cranny images leave for us. And on top of this, as we traverse this underwater helm. (beeping) (ominous music) That proximity sensor sure goes wild even when we're certain there's no obstacle anywhere around us.
Whatever is out there is lurking, analyzing us for just the right moment. We cannot see them, we cannot prepare, and we have no idea what it is around us. In a way, it's sort of poetic because it resembles the real world.
Blood oceans upon vast alien moons aren't too far off from the concept of our own and I think that's what makes "Iron Lung" so horrifying. Anytime we enter the ocean we enter a habitat not made for us. We can't breathe, we can't hear, we can't see.
(foreboding music) But they can. Tonight I won't spoil the ending so if you haven't yet experienced this game, please do because it'll be well-worth your time. The story is engaging and thought-provoking.
The atmosphere is unmatched for those afraid of the deep and the ending has a catch, and will stick with you for a while. In my opinion, "Iron Lung" is one of the greatest modern examples of thalassophobia portrayed through video games, and as an avid fan of "Subnautica," that's sure saying something. (suspenseful music) (foreboding music) Hidden inside the second chapter of "Slug Girl," part of the horror world of Junji Ito collection exists the story "The Thing That Drfted Ashore.
" It involves the tale of a mysterious object that washes up on the coast of the Pacific Ocean. It's a creature completely alien. It's gargantuan, slimy, it's disgusting.
On its face are massive cysts and tumors with small appendages emerging from them. And worst of all, it smells because it's rotting. (flies buzzing) Nevertheless, it draws a crowd in the hundreds all eager to examine and preserve this colossal spectacle.
(crowd chattering) Among the crowd, we encounter a young boy with an acute fear of the ocean. All his life, he's had nightmares of floating in the deep sea surrounded by hordes of massive ocean giants. While out there, he meets a woman named Mie.
She explains that seven years prior she had lost her fiance in a ferry accident. No trace of him was ever found. However, ever since, she's been afflicted with ocean nightmares highly similar to the boy's.
As she's telling her story, though, (foreboding music) the onlookers notice something. (crowd chattering) The creature's skin has transparent spots and on the inside are humans, entirely intact. (crowd chattering) They cut the creature open.
(crackling) (humming loudly) (ominous music) The people are still alive and it's realized that one of them is Mie's fiance, the one who went missing years ago. Shortly after, the bile-covered people begin to panic, crawling in all sorts of directions like inhuman monsters. As it turns out, they were trapped inside of this thing for years, living off it like parasites as it traversed the pitch black deep ocean.
And the dreams they had of the ocean giants larger than a school bus, were in actuality, what those inside of it were seeing all those years. Because of their confinement, every person recovered that day was officially declared insane and the story ends pondering on what else might be out there. (foreboding music) "The Thing That Drfted Ashore" is special because its horror is twofold.
On one hand, we have an ocean monster that lives off shipwrecked human beings. Yet on the other, we have the visual of what they saw all confined down there. Grotesque, giant fish with massive eyes and appendages, beasts capable of devouring entire human beings.
And creatures beyond our level of comprehension. The ocean is uniquely fascinating because it's the one medium on earth in which fact can meet fantasy. Ocean monsters can be thought into existence with hardly a way to disprove them within our lifetime and the potential of what could be overpowers our collective psyche as that curiosity may never be satiated.
It seems that, until the end of time, legendary ocean monsters like the Kraken, the Hydra, and the Leviathan will always fascinate us given our sheer inability to explore the habitat in which they live. Tales of the high seas, of tragedy by the hands of fantastical beasts will persist evermore fueling fans and fears of the ocean for generations to come. "The Thing That Drfted Ashore" nails this mystique in the realm of legend, yet it plays on concepts entirely grounded in reality.
Deep sea giants are not fiction and the condition of abyssal gigantism is in actuality, the farthest thing from fantasy. (projector clicks) (film reel rattles) (foreboding music) Around 3,000 feet deep, the ocean becomes cold, dark, and full of creatures inexplicable. In lieu of the octopi, dolphins, and vibrant ecosystems embedded within coral reefs, we instead find species exhibiting bioluminescence, bearing foreboding teeth, and riddled with a curious affliction.
Colossal size. (foreboding music) (film reel rattling) (metal clinking) (foreboding music) When we look at these photos, it's difficult to establish a sense of scale. The colossal squid alone looks relatively unassuming until you're given a visual comparison respective to a human.
The oarfish appears like a minuscule eel, until you realize they can grow up to 36 feet long. Deep sea gigantism has created a plethora of monsters, Japanese spider crabs bearing 12-foot legs, deep sea isopods growing multiple feet in length. Sea spiders up to nearly two feet long.
Anglerfish the size of humans. The bigfin squid with tentacles extending upwards of 26 feet long. And even creatures like the siphonophore, a floating amalgamation made of a colony of zooids, chaining themselves together hundreds of feet in length.
(foreboding music) For over 90% of the ocean, sunlight is not able to penetrate fostering an environment in which life like this needs to adapt to survive. A region known as the abyssal plain makes up 70% of the entire sea floor as we know it. However, because of the lack of sunlight, plants and vegetation simply cannot thrive down there.
This in a way, presents a natural conundrum as the bottom of the food chain typically relies on flora for satiation. And so, this is where a phenomenon known as marine snow comes into play. Made up of decomposed organisms from above on top of fecal matter, sand, and the remains of fish, most of the known deep ocean fauna rely on it as their main source of food.
With this in mind, it would only make sense for creatures to evolve by shrinking as not only are they compressed by the ocean's sheer weight, but are also left devoid of solid meals. As we've seen though, reality is quite the opposite. (foreboding music) Kleiber's Law states that the larger an organism's mass is, the more efficient its metabolic rate becomes.
This notion results in colossal highly efficient sea life lurking within the ocean's darkest depths, waiting, and grazing for their next meal. (foreboding music) I would be remiss, however, if I did not state that these are mere postulations, as the phenomenon of abyssal gigantism is still being studied. Because of the historical impossibility of exploring the deep ocean, much of how sea life survives down there is entirely unknown.
Alongside this, it's believed that over 91% of the ocean's species have not even been discovered compounding with the already extraordinary statistic that the vast majority of the deep blue remains completely unseen by human eyes. Up to this point, everything I've shown you in this video has fallen within the mere 9% of creatures we have seen. (foreboding music) Now imagine what we haven't.
(foreboding music) (film reel rattling) (projector clicks) (crackling) (water burbling) (foreboding music) It goes without saying that the ocean is treacherous, yet that hasn't slowed those eager to explore it. The allure of underwater caves, blue holes, and ocean cliff sides make for an experience both riveting and spiritually fulfilling. However, it's unfortunately fairly common for deep sea dives to go awry.
(somber music) On the 28th of April, 2000, 22-year-old Yuri Lipski geared up for a dive within the Blue Hole in Egypt. Known as one of the most dangerous diving locations in the world, traversing this environment is no small feat. One of its standout features is its underwater arch, a massive 170-foot tunnel resting 164 feet below the surface and extending 85 feet in length.
It's been reported that the Blue Hole is deceptive appearing to be much shorter than it is when you manage to get down there. Alongside this, it bears areas with strong down currents making for a physically grueling experience. When inside, depth and oxygen monitoring are a must.
Yet Lipski, fully aware of the risks involved with such an intensive dive maintained optimism in his physical ability. (video recorder clacking) (video recorder hissing) (water burbling) At 5:03 p. m.
, Lipski embarks into the depths. Contrary to standard procedure, he attempts this dive not in a group, but alone. For the first two minutes, we can observe Yuri swimming parallel to surface until he is over the deepest point of the Blue Hole.
He then begins a slow, controlled descent before he begins releasing air from his BCD or buoyancy compensation device, in hopes of sinking faster. (water burbling) (inhales deeply) (water burbling) (inhales deeply) (water burbling) (inhales deeply) (water burbling) (inhales deeply) (water burbling) (inhales deeply) At this point, his regulator begins to work harder to supply Yuri with the increased amount of oxygen he's taking in, evident by the numerous wheezes we hear throughout this footage. By now, he's descending rapidly, likely more so than he realizes.
And soon after, the alarm from his dive monitor sounds signaling that his depth is reaching a critical level. (water burbling) (inhales deeply) (water burbling) (wheezes) (inhales deeply) (alarm beeping) (water burbling) (inhales deeply) (water burbling) (wheezes) (water burbling) (inhales deeply) (water burbling) (wheezing) (water burbling) (inhales deeply) (film reel clicks) Yuri is now over 270 feet below surface signaling a multitude of inconvenient truths. The oxygen in his tank is quickly becoming toxic.
His buoyancy is dwindling. And an effect known as nitrogen narcosis is plaguing him, instilling a sensation of complete drunkenness. (water burbling) (wheezes) (alarm beeps) (inhales deeply) At 5:09 p.
m. , Yuri approaches the bottom of the Blue Hole at over 300 feet deep. Immediately he fully inflates his BCD in hopes of returning to the surface.
However, it's entirely ineffective as the down force of the ocean negates any semblance of buoyancy. This realization appears to cause him to panic because his tank is now empty. He's disoriented.
Yuri Lipski is trapped. (rattling) (inhales deeply) (rattling) (inhales deeply) (rattling) (inhales deeply) (rattling) (inhales deeply) (rattling) (alarm beeps) (inhales deeply) (alarm beeps) (inhales deeply) (video recorder clicks and hisses) (foreboding music) Yuri Lipski met his demise in one of the most dangerous diving locations in the world. He embarked to set a personal record to achieve a depth that he had never before seen.
Yet in that pursuit, lost his life to the grueling conditions of the deep blue. Since the incident, Yuri's body was recovered, however, the same can't be said for a multitude of others that have met the same fate. Online you can find footage of divers discovering the remains of their counterparts with their gear still intact, and it's haunting knowing that if those specific divers did not dive in that specific spot, their remains may have never been found, forever confined to the pitch black crypt, that is the deep sea.
(foreboding music) (ambient music) Humanity and the ocean have a bizarre relationship with death. (intense music) Superstorms leveling entire cities. Gargantuan waves rocking man's largest ships like a bath time toy.
And rogue waves that emerge from nowhere destroying even the largest and safest of oil rigs. To this day, remnants of over 3 million shipwrecks exist on the sea floor with thousands upon thousands of massive manmade objects accompanying them. Much like the remains of divers, these relics imply and signify defeat and death.
Loss by the hand of an environment we had set out to tame and an everlasting token of failure. (foreboding music) There's an interesting subset of thalassophobia called submechanophobia that delves into the very specific fear of encountering these relics in the wild. It's this primordial repulsion caused by the crippling uncanniness of an object that does not belong, compounded with the lack of any ability to determine its true size.
Photo and video of the Titanic, of forgotten animatronics, of ancient relics, a massive anchor, of sunken airplanes, and the interior of shipwrecks are effectively fueling a newer, more recently discovered phobia made possible by the rise of cameras able to document them. But it isn't always abandoned structures though, as video, like this one. (water burbling) (propeller whizzing) Also exemplify this phobia in its purest form.
For me personally, submechanophobia persists because of the total inability to fully see an object as it truly is. Like we touched on earlier, our minds are hardwired to fill in blanks with what could be, and more often than not, we achieve this with the most horrifying possible outcome. On land, fog is always seen as a mood-setter for the strange and mysterious.
And inside the darkest confines of the deep blue perhaps we can see this idea at work here, too. (ambient music) (ominous music) It's hard to find the words to conceptualize the fear of the deep in just a single YouTube video, as there are so many ways we can and have taken it. Whether it's the fear of sea life, or its infinite size, or how dark it is, or how much we truly don't know about it, or its capability of devastation, or its grip on human life, one thing has and will always hold true.
The ocean is fucking horrifying. It's an unforgiving frontier harboring some of the most harrowing life and environmental enigmas on the planet. It is and always will be one of life's great mysteries.
An entire world we share yet know so little about. The vast majority of the planet, yet completely uninhabitable by mankind. Throughout history, it's been said that the moment you enter the ocean, you enter the food chain.
Yet contrary to how it is on land, in their world, in their vast abyss of darkness, humankind is nowhere near the top.
