For decades rumors and tall tales relating to the sunken remains of an experimental submarine ran rampant in the mountain town of Central City, Colorado. To many, it was simply unbelievable that such a thing could be found nestled amongst the slopes of the majestic Rocky Mountains at an elevation nearing 9,000 feet above sea level. Many dismissed this oddity as just another campfire yarn played for laughs.
At least one man, however, knew the truth and set out to prove the veracity of the sunken submersible.
In the Fall of 1943, Fred de Mandel, assissted by a handful of dedicated workmen, began to map the contours of nearby Missouri Lake with the lake of fiding and raising the submarine in question. With winter rapidly approaching, Mandel and his hands adopted the strategy of moving about the lake’s frozen surface, chopping holes in a sheet of fourteen inch thick ice with hand axes. Through each frigid portal, Fred would take soundings with line and lead. The excavations were arduous and never ending, for every night the openings would re-freeze and need a new round of cutting in the morning.
Nearing the end of their survey, in January of 1944, Fred and his team finally found a tantalizing clue to the wreck’s location. When dropping the lead it thudded against something solid, unlike the muddy lake bottom. Further probing revealed that the object in question was also quite large, making it a prime suspect in the search for the missing subamrine.
With a sort of glass bottomed bucket to use as an underwater observation device, Fred was able to make out the outline of the submersible lodged in the lakebed approximately fourteen feet below the water’s surface.
With a steel tripod and winch positioned on the ice above the submarine, Fred and his crew were able to manuever a seven-ton chain about the nose of the craft. A crowd gathered around the lakeshore and the submarine began to rise from the murk. As the submersible broke the surface, once again seeing the light of day, the local high school band belted out Columbia, the Gem of the Ocean.
Fred had proven the story to be truth, not the fiction everyone supposed.
With the facts revealed, one question remained: How did the submarine get there in the first place.
In 1898 a recluse by the name of Rufus T. Owens ambled into the mining camps of Central City. While he came with the intention of trying his luck with mining, he also worked as a blacksmith and engineer. His expertise was used in the design and implementation of water systems in Central City and nearby Blackhawk, both of which were still in use in 1944 when de Mandel raised the submarine.
Submarines themselves had been conceived much earlier, with prototype designs having been used during the Civil War. Owens, convinced he could improve on theses early iterations, and evidently inspired by Jules Verne’s 1869 serial epic 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, began preparations to build his own submersible craft that he would dub Nautilus.
His early attempts to secure funding were met mostly with derision and mocking laughter. Eventually, he found local business owners that were willing to gamble on Owens’ vision. Hiring a pair of carpenters to help with construction, he built the Nautilus out of native wood hewn from the very crags of the Rockies. Few knew about Owens’ plan, leaving many to wonder what exactly the man was doing while he hammered away in his workshop on into the wee hours of the night.
Finally, in July of 1898, Owens would reveal his masterwork to the world. Loading his invention onto a rented flat-bed wagon with a team of four horses, he carted the submarine to the shores of Missouri Lake on a warm Sunday afternoon. The Nautilus resembled a thick cigar and measured about twenty feet long and five feet across the middle. Initially, Owen’s was prepared to climb into the submarine for its inagural expedition. However, at the urging of his crew, Owens instead opted to test the waters using rocks from the shoreline as ballast. Lucky for him, this change in plans saved his life.
When finally the submarine was lauched, it rapidly took on water and sank.
Few locals were present to see Owens’ failure. In fact, young Fred de Mandel hadn’t been there either. While he could indeed be found amongst the mine workings of Central City, he’d only heard tell of the strange contraption through word of mouth.
After the failure of his Nautilus, little is known about R.T. Owens. Supposedly, he left Central City in shame, despite the continued legacy of his contributions to the community. Some say that he continued his reasearch and passion for submersibles, even teaming up with Simon Lake - an early pioneer of submarine technology - to create the Argonaut, Jr. and attempt to sell the design to the U.S. Navy. The rumors say that the Navy turned down the offer, which sent Owens across the Atlantic to the Kaiser of Germany. Their supposed adoption of Owen’s submarine would go on to create one of the deadliest war machines of World War I.
Whether or not this final tale is true, the Colorado Submarine remains an interesting oddity to the history of both the American West and the ingenuity of its pioneers. The Nautilus can still be found today in the hallowed halls of the Central City Museum and outdoor enthusiasts can hike the shores of Missouri Lake within Colorado’s Holy Cross Wilderness.