US TV reporter gives nerve-jangling account of the day he survived a Titanic submarine scare

The suppressed terror, the sense of loneliness and helplessness that must be gripping the five occupants of the lost Titanic submersible, is something I understand only too well.

I survived a chillingly similar ordeal more than 20 years ago. The experience of being completely on your own, beyond hope of rescue, is hard to describe to anybody who hasn't been through it. The emotions have stuck with me ever since and are painful to relive.

When I first heard the Titan submersible was missing, I felt a sense of disbelief that this could happen again.

A knot formed in my stomach. It brought back all those memories, with an enormous sadness and sense of grief. I immediately put myself there again.

As the science editor of ABC News television, in 2000 I was invited to dive in a deep-water submersible to the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean to report from the wreck of the Titanic.

Since childhood I have had a morbid fear of water and drowning. But now I had the chance to become the first reporter ever to visit the Titanic. I couldn't wimp out.

Flimsy tin can: An interior view shows the Titan submersible that went missing as it descended to the wreck on Sunday

Journey to the bottom of the ocean: Dr Michael Guillen was the first TV reporter to visit the Titanic wreck 

My production team and I flew to Halifax, Nova Scotia, to join the Akademik Mstislav Keldysh, a 6,240-ton Russian research vessel. Little more than a day later we arrived at the spot, 400 miles south-east of Newfoundland, where the Titanic collided with an iceberg, broke in two and sank.

After intensive training sessions and with my heart beating like a bass drum, I clambered into the Mir1 submersible together with my diving buddy, the British sitcom writer Brian Cooke, and our pilot, a Russian named Viktor.

Inside the cramped cabin, Brian and I lay stomach-down on small, padded benches and stared out through portholes roughly 9in in diameter. Viktor seated himself between us, facing a much larger porthole, above which was a control panel.

Corkscrewing down at roughly 1mph, it took us about two-and-a-half hours to reach the bottom. By contrast, the Titan lost contact with the surface within two hours, which tells me something disastrous occurred before they reached the wreck.

I can't speculate, but it must have been a much more serious problem than getting snagged in a fishing net, for example. These are incredibly durable machines, made to withstand the most hostile undersea conditions.

When we reached the seabed, Viktor switched on the sub's flashlight and my eyes beheld pale sand like a lunar surface. There isn't much sea life that can survive at that extreme depth, but we saw slender, rat-tailed fish and delicate sea stars, as white as titanium. Minutes later, a vast wall appeared right before my eyes, studded with rivets. 'Titanic,' intoned Viktor.

The Titan sub submerged at 8am on Sunday morning around 400 miles southeast of St John's, Newfoundland, according to the US Coast Guard. It lost contact at 9.45am but it wasn't reported to the Coast Guard until 5.40pm 

It was one of the most chilling moments of my life. All the electric feelings of awe and disbelief quickly gave way to an overwhelming sense of sorrow. Brian and I observed a moment's silence. I am not ashamed to admit I wept as I thought about the scores of people who drowned there.

During the next hour or so, Viktor took us on a grand tour of the wreckage. I could see, half-embedded in the sand, women's shoes, leather suitcases and crates of champagne — and, at the stern, one of the ship's giant propellers.

It seemed to me we were heading towards it too fast. Later, I learned that our sub was caught in a fast-moving current.

As the Mir1 smashed into the 21-ton propeller, I felt the shock of the collision. Shards of reddish, rusty debris showered down, obscuring my view through the portal. 'Oh my God, look at the size of these things,' Brian said. We exchanged anxious looks.

'So are we stuck or what?' I murmured. Bespectacled Viktor was staring intently at the control panel. I can close my eyes and still see him now.

There is an unimaginable moment when your mind hits a brick wall and you realise there is no way out. We were in a situation that seemed utterly hopeless.

I had to deal with that for half an hour. The people on the Titan have been down there since Sunday morning.

Ten minutes passed, then 20 and 30. All the while I could hear the engine straining forwards and backwards. Clearly Viktor was trying to rock us out of a stuck position, lodged beneath the giant propeller, and equally clearly it wasn't working.

As the Mir1 smashed into the 21-ton propeller, I felt the shock of the collision. Shards of reddish, rusty debris showered down, obscuring my view through the portal

He was also communicating urgently with the crew on the surface via hydrophone. The tense dialogue was in Russian and the voices sounded wavy and echoey, as if they were coming from another world. Viktor's demeanour was sombre.

A voice in my head spoke up: 'This is how it's going to end for you.' Even now I can hear those exact words. I knew Mir2 was in the water but even if it could get to us in time, how could it pull us out without endangering itself?

Next, I started calculating how much oxygen we probably had left: another eight to ten hours at most, and then we would slowly suffocate.

That's when I thought of my wife Laurel, and a crushing sadness descended on me at the thought I would never see her again.

Then something happened that is difficult to describe. The feel of the sub's interior space abruptly changed. It was as if an invisible presence had entered it and an uncanny, unheralded sensation of peace washed over me.

Shortly after that, everything went quiet. The engine stopped roaring and it felt as if we were floating. Brian and I traded hopeful glances. Turning to us, Viktor flashed a big smile and announced: 'No problem!'

Somehow he had managed to free us from the propeller. Later I learned that he was an experienced MiG jet pilot, accustomed to handling crises.

A few months later, Laurel and I were reading the Bible when we came across Psalm 139: 'If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, even there your hand shall lead me and your right hand shall hold me.'

For as long as I live, never again shall that psalm be merely words in the Bible.

•  Dr Michael Guillen is a scientist, journalist and bestselling author. michaelguillen.com