The Disturbing Truth Behind What Happened to Edmund Fitzgerald

SS On November 10, 1975, the Edmund Fitzgerald, an American freighter operating on the Great Lakes, sank in Lake Superior due to a storm, killing all 29 members.

She was the biggest ship on the Great Lakes of North America when she was launched on June 7, 1958, and she is still the biggest ship to have sunk there. On November 14, 1975, she was discovered in the deep sea by a U.S. Navy aircraft looking for magnetic anomalies. Shortly after that, she was discovered to be in two significant parts.

When this behemoth of the waters was christened on June 7, 1958, it held a grim distinction as the largest vessel to grace North America’s Great Lakes.

It was a monolithic presence, dwarfing all others that dared to venture near its path. Little did the world know that this colossal titan would soon succumb to a nightmarish fate.

From mines near Duluth, Minnesota, to ironworks in Detroit, Michigan, Toledo, Ohio, and other Great Lakes ports, Edmund Fitzgerald transported taconite iron ore for 17 years. She set seasonal haul records six times as a workhorse, frequently surpassing her mark.

Edmund Fitzgerald in the Great Lakes

Between the lakes Huron and Erie, between St. Clair and Detroit rivers, Captain Peter Pulcer was renowned for pipe-piping music over the ship’s intercom at all hours of the day or night. He was also known for entertaining onlookers at the Soo Locks (between the lakes Superior and Huron) with a running commentary about the ship.

Her stature, record-breaking abilities, and reputation as the “DJ skipper” won over boat watchers. However, the happy times were not to last.

On November 10, 1975, Edmund Fitzgerald told the ship Avafors they were having serious difficulties: “I lost both radars and have a terrible list. And I’m enduring rough seas on the deck. The worst sea I’ve ever encountered.”

But no distress signals were transmitted before her sinking; Captain McSorley’s final communication to Arthur M. Anderson (another ship) at 7:10 p.m. was, “We are holding our own.” 29 people were on her crew, and none of them survived. Even though the sinking has been extensively studied in books, research, and expeditions, its precise reason still needs to be discovered.

The Edmund Fitzgerald may have run aground on a shoal, experienced a structural breakdown or topside damage, been swamped, or experienced a combination of these problems.

As a result of the sinking, required survival jackets, depth finders, positioning devices, increased freeboard, and more frequent vessel inspections were added to the Great Lakes shipping regulations and procedures.

The Prelude to a Disaster

Edmund Fitzgerald met its untimely demise on that bleak November day when the tempestuous tempest bared its wrath. The vessel, torn asunder by the storm’s merciless hands, surrendered to Lake Superior’s depths.

Two colossal fragments, a ghastly testament to its demise, were all that remained of this maritime monstrosity.

The saltwater vessel Avafors received a harrowing transmission from the doomed behemoth, its voice trembling with desperation. The vessel’s ominous words painted a picture of impending doom, a macabre dance with fate.

“I have a bad list, I lost both radars. And I am taking heavy seas over the deck. One of the worst seas I’ve ever been in,” the captain of Edmund Fitzgerald confessed, his voice laced with terror.

Yet, in the face of imminent destruction, no distress signals pierced the nightmarish storm-laden skies. Captain McSorley uttered his final message to Arthur M. Anderson, a haunting farewell amidst the chaos, his soul teetering on the precipice of oblivion.

“We are holding our own,” his chilling words whispered through the void, a testament to the relentless determination that gripped the doomed vessel.

As the tempest roared with a vengeful fury, the ship descended into the watery abyss, consuming the souls of its 29 ill-fated crew members. The tumultuous waves became their eternal shroud, denying the world the solace of their final resting places.

No bodies emerged from the watery depths, lost forever in a macabre symphony orchestrated by the malevolent forces that enveloped Edmund Fitzgerald.

Edmund Fitzgerald pictured by the stern

The true catalyst of this nautical nightmare remains an enigma shrouded in eternal darkness. Countless volumes, exhaustive studies, and perilous expeditions have sought to unravel the sinister tapestry that led to the ship’s demise.

Swallowed by the ferocity of the elements, Edmund Fitzgerald may have succumbed to a watery grave consumed by the unforgiving wrath of colossal waves. Or perhaps, its essence fractured beneath its hubris, crumbling into the abyss with a mournful cry.

The catastrophic tragedy etched itself indelibly upon the annals of Great Lakes shipping, its sinister echoes reverberating through time. A haunting ballad, woven from the threads of despair, emerged from the depths of darkness.

Captivated by the tale’s malevolence, Gordon Lightfoot immortalized the ship’s ill-fated voyage in his haunting 1976 ballad, “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.” A somber melody echoed through the souls of those who dared to listen.

In the wake of this unspeakable horror, the maritime realm trembled, forever altered by the specter of Edmund Fitzgerald’s demise. Regulations and practices, forged in the crucible of tragedy, emerged as feeble attempts to appease the restless spirits of the fallen.

Survival suits became mandatory, desperate attempts to defy the icy grip of the waters. Depth finders and positioning systems sought to unveil the lurking perils beneath the surface.

Increased freeboard, a feeble barrier against the wrathful waves, and more frequent vessel inspections emerged as feeble gestures of precaution, desperate to ward off the encroaching darkness.

What Happened to Edmund Fitzgerald?

In the waning hours of November 9, 1975, Edmund Fitzgerald embarked on its ill-fated journey from Superior, Wisconsin. Under the helm of Captain Ernest M. McSorley, it set course towards the steel mill on Zug Island, a desolate destination near Detroit, Michigan.

Laden with a full cargo of 26,116 long tons of taconite ore pellets, the ship swiftly accelerated to its maximum speed of 16.3 miles per hour (14.2 kn; 26.2 km/h), its form slicing through the frigid waters of the Great Lakes with an air of steadfast purpose.

As the sun descended towards the horizon, casting an eerie twilight upon the horizon, Edmund Fitzgerald joined forces with another freighter, Arthur M. Anderson, captained by Jesse B. “Bernie” Cooper.

The weather, while foreboding, bore no unusual signs for the desolate month of November. The National Weather Service (NWS) had foreseen a tempestuous storm’s path, predicting that its wrath would bypass Lake Superior, grazing the region’s southern fringes by the early hours of November 10.

The eerie dance of fate continued as another vessel, the SS Wilfred Sykes, crossed paths with the ill-fated Edmund Fitzgerald. Under the watchful eye of Captain Dudley J. Paquette, the ship set sail at the ominous hour of 4:15 p.m., a mere two hours trailing behind Edmund Fitzgerald’s departure.

Edmund Fitzgerald being launched

In stark contrast to the National Weather Service’s forecast, Captain Paquette harbored a harrowing dread based on the weather he was seeing. He foresaw the impending arrival of a tempest of unfathomable magnitude, poised to ravage the treacherous expanse of Lake Superior with unbridled fury.

Taking heed of this grim vision, he charted a course that clung to the protective embrace of the lake’s north shore, seeking solace within the ephemeral sanctuary it offered against the impending storm’s wrath.

As the voyage progressed, the crew of Wilfred Sykes listened intently to the radio conversations between their ill-fated counterpart, Edmund Fitzgerald and Arthur M. Anderson. Through the airwaves, they glimpsed the unfolding decisions made by their captains, opting to adhere to the customary downbound route designated by the Lake Carriers’ Association.

At 7:00 p.m., the National Weather Service altered its forecast, a stark proclamation that sent tremors through the frigid night air. Gale warnings echoed across the expanse of Lake Superior, casting a veil of trepidation over its restless waters.

In a desperate bid for salvation, Arthur M. Anderson and Edmund Fitzgerald altered their course, veering northward, seeking refuge along the desolate Ontario shore.

Edmund Fitzgerald, its timeworn hull creaking under the weight of relentless winds, reported the malevolent tempest’s ferocity. Winds of 52 knots (96 km/h; 60 mph) whipped through the night as towering waves rose like grotesque sentinels, reaching 10 feet (3.0 m).

Aboard Wilfred Sykes, Captain Paquette bore witness to this savage display, his senses gripped by disquieting awe.

In the depths of the turmoil, an astonishing revelation pierced the air. Captain McSorley, known for his unwavering resolve and resolute nature, uttered chilling words that sent shockwaves through the radio waves.

“We’re going to try for some Lee from Isle Royale. You’re walking away from us anyway… I can’t stay with you,” he confessed, his voice laced with an undeniable sense of resignation.

Under the cloak of darkness, at 2:00 a.m. on November 10, an unforgiving declaration reverberated from the depths of the National Weather Service. With an unyielding sense of finality, the warnings escalated from mere gales to a monstrous storm; its winds were forecasted to reach a tempestuous range of 35–50 knots (65–93 km/h; 40–58 mph).

In the preceding hours, Edmund Fitzgerald had dutifully trailed behind the Arthur M. Anderson, the two vessels navigating the treacherous waters with cautious synchronicity. Moving steadfastly at a constant speed of 14.6 miles per hour (12.7 kn; 23.5 km/h), the relentless pursuit of their destined path seemed unyielding.

An artist’s impression of what happened to the SS Edmund Fitzgerald

However, as the hands of time drifted towards the desolate hour of 3:00 a.m., a shift emerged. The ominous silhouette of Edmund Fitzgerald pulled ahead, her powerful engines going full ahead.

As the storm’s center loomed overhead, an unsettling dance of shifting winds seized the ships in its merciless grip. The very air around them seemed to quiver with disquieting anticipation.

In a bewildering twist, the winds momentarily relented, their fierce gusts waning as the direction transformed from the northeast to the south and then further still to the northwest.

It was a deceptive calm before the impending storm’s true fury would be unleashed upon their vulnerable frames.

The clock continued its relentless march, and the calamity intensified. At the stroke of 1:50 p.m., Arthur M. Anderson bore witness to the unrelenting onslaught of winds, registering an ominous 50 knots (93 km/h; 58 mph).

With a bone-chilling swiftness, the gusts spiraled into a crescendo of malevolence. Sensing the impending tragedy, the heavens above unleashed a veil of snow upon the desolate scene, shrouding visibility in an ethereal haze.

Within this wintry maelstrom, Arthur M. Anderson lost sight of the ill-fated Edmund Fitzgerald, its colossal form fading into the swirling abyss, a mere 16 miles (26 km) ahead at that fateful hour.

The SS Edmund Fitzgerald Sinks

As the sun sank deeper into the somber horizon, the hour of reckoning approached with relentless determination. It was shortly after 3:30 p.m. when Captain McSorley’s strained voice pierced through the airwaves, reaching Arthur M. Anderson with a harrowing proclamation.

Edmund Fitzgerald, the mighty vessel, was succumbing to a cruel fate. Water infiltrated its vulnerable hull, gnawing away at its strength, claiming two vent covers and a fence railing as sacrificial offerings to the tempestuous sea.

A disquieting list had taken hold, an unnerving tilt that disrupted the vessel’s once steadfast balance. In a desperate struggle to combat the encroaching peril, two of the ship’s six bilge pumps toiled ceaselessly, their relentless efforts expelling the insidious waters that threatened to consume them.

Faced with the dire reality of their plight, Captain McSorley resolved to slow their beleaguered vessel, Edmund Fitzgerald, allowing Arthur M. Anderson to narrow the gap that separated them. It was a desperate plea for solidarity, a flickering hope that they could perhaps endure the storm’s merciless onslaught together.

Yet, as the echoes of their communication faded into the icy abyss, a chilling broadcast reverberated from the United States Coast Guard, a stern warning to all who traversed these treacherous waters. Once a gateway to safety, the Soo Locks had been sealed shut, sealing the fates of those left adrift. Seeking refuge became a grim imperative, a lifeline amidst the encroaching chaos.

Time wore on, its passage marked by palpable tension and looming despair. Shortly after 4:10 p.m., Captain McSorley’s strained voice broke through again, his words burdened with a crushing revelation.

Radar failure had plunged Edmund Fitzgerald into a harrowing state of blindness, robbed of its visual compass in this nautical abyss. In this dire predicament, McSorley beseeched Arthur M. Anderson to assume the mantle of guidance, to become the beacon amidst the howling tempest.

Edmund Fitzgerald, its pace reduced to a languid crawl, yearned for the proximity of Arthur M. Anderson, allowing a mere 10-mile (16 km) span to separate them, their only lifeline in this desolate and perilous realm.

In desolation and uncertainty, Arthur M. Anderson assumed the unwavering role of Edmund Fitzgerald’s guiding light, navigating them toward the relative sanctuary of Whitefish Bay. However, the tides of fate continued to churn with relentless cruelty.

At 4:39 p.m., Captain McSorley, gripped by mounting desperation, reached out to the USCG station in Grand Marais, Michigan, seeking solace in the assurance of functional beacons that could pierce the encroaching darkness.

An air of trepidation clung to the response he received as the USCG’s monitoring instruments conveyed a haunting truth – both the Whitefish Point light and navigation beacon lay dormant, swallowed by an eerie silence.

The Edmund Fitzgerald being hit by the three sisters (a group of rogue waves)

Driven by a desperate need for confirmation, McSorley’s voice trembled through the airwaves, beckoning any nearby vessels in the desolate expanse of Whitefish Point to shed light upon the state of the navigational aids. Captain Cedric Woodard of Avafors heeded this call, offering a glimpse into the chilling reality that unfolded.

Between the harrowing hours of 5:00 and 5:30 p.m., Woodard’s voice intermingled with McSorley’s, their words a testament to the haunting nature of their predicament. Amidst the howling winds and crashing waves, Woodard overheard McSorley’s commanding plea, “Don’t allow nobody on deck,” a cryptic directive that carried an undercurrent of foreboding.

The details of a vent, shrouded in incomprehension, added to the enigmatic mosaic of their conversation. And then, in a moment etched into Woodard’s memory, McSorley uttered words that bore witness to his vessel’s grim reality, “I have a bad list; I have lost both radars and am taking heavy seas over the deck in one of the worst seas I have ever been in.”

The magnitude of their plight, veiled in those chilling words, echoed through the desolate void surrounding them.

As the dark veil of November’s wrath tightened its grip, the tempest unleashed its full fury upon the forsaken waters of Lake Superior. By the late hours of that fateful afternoon, the air reverberated with sustained winds that surpassed the limits of reason, exceeding the 50-knot (93 km/h; 58 mph) threshold.

Ships and observation points scattered across the desolate expanse bore witness to this relentless onslaught. Arthur M. Anderson etched their struggle into their logs. At 4:52 p.m., their trembling hands recorded sustained winds reaching a chilling crescendo of 58 knots (107 km/h; 67 mph), a symphony of torment orchestrated by the merciless storm.

Yet, the wrath of the tempest did not end there. The waves, like frenzied behemoths, swelled and grew, towering above all reason. Their monstrous forms, reaching 25 feet (7.6 m), crashed upon the vessels with an insatiable hunger. Rogue waves, monstrous apparitions rising to 35 feet (11 m), added to the relentless assault, striking with a malevolence that defied comprehension.

In the depths of this maritime inferno, Arthur M. Anderson, desperate to maintain a tenuous connection to Edmund Fitzgerald, reached out to inquire about her well-being. At approximately 7:10 p.m., as their voices intertwined amidst the chaos, Captain McSorley’s words slipped into the void, resonating with a haunting finality. “We are holding our own,” he uttered, a fragile declaration of defiance in the face of impending doom.

And then, silence descended like a shroud.

No more words emerged from the vessel that sailed into the abyss. No distress signals pierced the darkness, and no cries for salvation echoed through the storm-ravaged air. In a mere blink of an eye, Edmund Fitzgerald was swallowed by the relentless tempest, her presence forever erased from the world above.

And at that very moment, Arthur M. Anderson, bereft of the ability to reach out, lost both the ethereal connection of radio communication and the tangible gaze of their radar. The shroud of darkness had consumed them both, leaving only desolate echoes in its wake.

The Search for SS Edmund Fitzgerald Begins

In the depths of despair and encased in suffocating darkness, Captain Cooper of Arthur M. Anderson sought solace in the distant voices of the United States Coast Guard (USCG). Desperation mingled with urgency as he grasped the radio, his trembling hand finding the distress channel, 16.

Through the crackling void, he reached out to the guardians of the treacherous waters, seeking aid, seeking answers.

But the very fabric of communication had been torn asunder by the storm’s ferocity. The USCG responders, battling their tumultuous trials, requested Cooper switch to channel 12, reserving the sacred realm of distress for emergencies. Their communication systems lay crippled, antennas shattered by the wrathful winds that howled mercilessly.

Undeterred by the mounting obstacles, Cooper sought solace in the company of the upbound saltwater vessel Nanfri. Alas, even her vigilant radar eyes failed to perceive the presence of Edmund Fitzgerald. It was a haunting revelation, a confirmation that the abyss had swallowed the ill-fated vessel into its depths.

Cooper persisted, his voice carrying waves of concern through the radio waves, his pleas echoing into the void. Time seemed to stretch agonizingly as he strained to establish contact with the USCG. It was not until the clock struck 7:54 p.m., a resounding moment of connection, that the officer on duty responded.

But even then, the urgency in Cooper’s voice was met with a request to keep a watchful eye on a small boat, a mere speck lost amidst the desolation.

The wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald at the bottom of the Great Lakes

At approximately 8:25 p.m., Cooper’s unwavering persistence pushed him to reach the USCG again. A current of unease coursed through his words, a testament to the growing concern for the elusive Edmund Fitzgerald.

And finally, at 9:03 p.m., the crushing weight of reality forced Cooper to utter the chilling truth – Edmund Fitzgerald was missing, swallowed by the clutches of the tempest.

In a subsequent deposition, Petty Officer Philip Branch stated, “I deemed it serious, but at the time, it was not urgent.” The weight of Edmund Fitzgerald’s absence was immense, though its true significance had not yet fully crystallized in their collective consciousness.

Despite extensive search efforts, remnants of the ill-fated Edmund Fitzgerald were discovered, including lifeboats and rafts, but tragically, the crew remained elusive. The vessel’s final voyage carried a crew of 29 individuals, each playing a vital role in the intricate workings of the ship.

Among them was the captain, accompanied by the first, second, and third mates, guiding the vessel through perilous waters.

The engineering team comprised five skilled individuals, supported by three diligent oilers. The crew also included a cook, a wiper, two maintenance men, three watchmen, three deckhands, three wheelsmen, two porters, a cadet, and a steward, all essential in their respective duties.

Regrettably, all hands were lost at sea.

Theories Regarding the Sinking of SS Edmund Fitzgerald

All published hypotheses regarding the sinking of Edmund Fitzgerald acknowledge the significant influence of extreme weather and challenging sea conditions. However, their explanations of the additional factors contributing to the ship’s loss vary.

Different hypotheses put forth various causal factors, such as ineffective hatch closures leading to flooding, shoaling, or grounding on the Six Fathom Shoal, structural weaknesses, modifications compromising the hull’s integrity, or topside damage caused by a heavy floating object.

While weather and sea conditions are recognized as common elements, the specific causes beyond these factors diverge among the published hypotheses.

The Three Sisters struck the Ship

In the haunting realm surrounding the sinking of Edmund Fitzgerald, reports emerged of an ominous trio known as the “three sisters.” These waves, carrying an air of malevolence, were said to manifest in the vicinity of the ill-fated vessel.

Referred to as the “three sisters” phenomenon, this spectral occurrence originates in the treacherous waters of Lake Superior. It unfolds as a sequence of three rogue waves, each possessing a height exceeding that of ordinary waves.

The first wave crashes upon the ship, unleashing an overwhelming deluge upon its deck—an unnaturally vast volume of water that lingers, unable to recede before the arrival of the second wave fully. This second tempestuous force compounds the reservoir of liquid menace as the accumulated depths reach a perilous zenith.

And then, with a chilling crescendo, the third wave descends upon the beleaguered vessel, mercilessly amplifying the two preceding backlashes. The deck, already burdened beyond measure, succumbs to the weighty onslaught, succumbing to an inundation too profound to endure.

The SS Edmund Fitzgerald underwater

Captain Cooper of the Arthur M. Anderson recounted a harrowing encounter, detailing the relentless assault his vessel endured. Around 6:30 p.m., two colossal waves of towering proportions, measuring approximately 30 to 35 feet in height, assailed the ship with unyielding force.

The first tempestuous surge crashed upon the aft cabins, submerging them beneath its weight and inflicting damage upon a lifeboat as it was forcefully pressed onto the saddle. Shortly thereafter, a second wave of comparable magnitude surged over the bridge deck, further intensifying the onslaught.

These two monstrous waves, and perhaps a subsequent third, forged ahead in the direction of Edmund Fitzgerald, poised to strike at the very moment of her tragic demise. This theory suggests that the fabled “three sisters” compounded the already formidable challenges faced by the ill-fated vessel, exacerbating the effects of her documented list and reduced speed in the tempestuous seas.

The combined forces of these treacherous elements conspired to prolong the presence of water upon her deck, ushering her closer to an inevitable fate.

The Cargo was Flooded

According to the USCG Marine Casualty Report issued on July 26, 1977, the accident’s root cause was due to hatch closures’ ineffectiveness. These vital mechanisms proved incapable of withstanding the relentless assault of waves, allowing water to infiltrate the cargo hold.

The flooding transpired gradually and likely went unnoticed throughout the vessel’s final day, ultimately leading to a catastrophic loss of buoyancy and stability. With no warning, Edmund Fitzgerald succumbed to the depths below.

Detailed examination of the wreck site through video footage revealed that most hatch clamps remained undamaged and impeccable. The USCG Marine board determined that the few damaged clamps were likely the only ones adequately secured.

Therefore, it was the failure of hatch closures to adequately fulfill their function that resulted in the flooding and subsequent sinking of Edmund Fitzgerald.

The SS Edmund Fitzgerald Shoaled

The Lake Carriers’ Association (LCA) believed that Edmund Fitzgerald’s loss was more likely caused by shoaling or grounding on the Six Fathom Shoal, located northwest of Caribou Island. They proposed that the vessel unknowingly encountered a reef when the Whitefish Point light and radio beacon were unavailable for navigation.

This hypothesis gained support from a Canadian hydrographic survey conducted in 1976, which revealed an undocumented shoal extending a mile farther east than indicated on the Canadian charts. Officers from Arthur M. Anderson, another ship in the area, noted that Edmund Fitzgerald passed through this area.

The underwater stern of the SS Edmund Fitzgerald

Proponents of the Six Fathom Shoal theory speculated that McSorley’s reported loss of a fence rail could only occur if the ship experienced “hogging” during shoaling. This phenomenon involves the bow and stern bending down. At the same time, the shoal raises the midsection, resulting in the tightening of the railing until the cables dislodge or tear under extreme strain.

Following the wreck, divers examined the Six Fathom Shoal but found no recent collision or grounding evidence.

However, the shoaling hypothesis faced challenges when Shannon’s photography in 1994 revealed detailed images of the devastation of Edmund Fitzgerald. According to maritime authors Bishop and Stonehouse, Shannon’s photographs explicitly displayed the overturned stern of the ship, with no indications on the bottom, propeller, or rudder that would suggest the vessel had struck a shoal.

The SS Edmund Fitzgerald had a Structural Failure

An alternative hypothesis put forward by some publications suggests that the structural integrity of Edmund Fitzgerald was already compromised, and modifications made to its winter load line, allowing for heavier loading and sailing at a lower position in the water, potentially contributed to its vulnerability.

According to this theory, the significant waves of the storm, rather than specifically rogue waves, could have exerted enough force to create a stress fracture in the hull.

This hypothesis considers the powerful waves commonly experienced during severe storms without relying on the occurrence of rogue waves.

There was Irrevocable Topside Damage

According to the USCG, an alternative explanation for the sinking of Edmund Fitzgerald could be attributed to topside damage. They suggested that a substantial floating object, such as a log may have damaged the fence rail and vents.

Historian and mariner Mark Thompson proposed a similar theory, speculating that something dislodged from the ship’s deck. Thompson postulated that the loss of vents led to the flooding of either two ballast tanks or a ballast tank and a walking tunnel, resulting in the vessel listing to one side.

He further suggested that undetected damage, more severe than what Captain McSorley could observe from the pilothouse, allowed water to enter the cargo hold. Thompson concluded that the combination of topside damage experienced by Edmund Fitzgerald at 3:30 p.m. on November 10, compounded by the turbulent sea conditions, provides a plausible explanation for the ship’s sinking.

Conclusion

The sinking of the SS Edmund Fitzgerald on November 10, 1975, remains a haunting and tragic event in maritime history. The ship’s final moments continue to captivate the imagination and spark debates among experts and enthusiasts alike. Despite extensive investigations and numerous hypotheses, the exact cause of the ship’s sinking remains uncertain.

What is known is that Edmund Fitzgerald encountered treacherous weather conditions on Lake Superior, including powerful winds, towering waves, and limited visibility. The ship’s crew, consisting of 29 dedicated individuals, valiantly battled the elements as they navigated through the storm. However, a fateful combination of factors ultimately led to the vessel’s demise.

Regardless of the specific cause that led to the sinking, the tragedy serves as a somber reminder of the power and unpredictability of nature and the dangers faced by those who venture out to the great unknown. The loss of Edmund Fitzgerald was a profound and devastating event, leaving a lasting impact on the maritime community and the crew’s families.

At the request of family members surviving her crew, the Edmund Fitzgerald’s 200 pound bronze bell was recovered

Over the years, the story of Edmund Fitzgerald has been memorialized through songs, books, and documentaries, ensuring that the memory of the ship and its crew lives on.

Their courage and the enduring mystery surrounding their final moments continue to captivate our collective imagination, reminding us of the immense respect and humility we must have in the face of nature’s raw power.

In memory of the victims of SS Edmund Fitzgerald. RIP Victims.

Next, read about the True Story Behind the Horrifying Hauntings of the Hoosac Tunnel. Then, about the Man Whose Precisely Predicted the Crash of American Airlines Flight 191