Philippine Sea, September 1 -- As target 1081 loomed into sight yesterday morning every eye lit up. Video from the ROV showed a sheer wall rising up yards above the ocean floor before cutting back 90 degrees — just what we've been looking for.

But as the fate of the USS Indianapolis teaches us, things don’t always work out the way they're planned, especially at sea.

A few hours before midnight yesterday, August 31, the remotely operated vehicle Remora 6000 was hauled on deck and we abandoned our search.

According to plans, we should have begun sweeping the ocean floor as early as August 10, but between bad weather and ground faults, our search began in earnest only on two days ago. The delays were frustrating, but nothing compared to the disappointments of the search results.

First the prime target, 1071, and then the backup, 1081— sonar contacts that looked like a ship's hull and lined up perfectly with the wreck's predicted position — both turned out to be nothing more than rock walls. Sonar readings from three other prime sites looked to us like debris fields left by a dying ship. They turned up nothing but scattered boulders and oddly shaped hunks of stone.

There are still dozens of targets turned up by the sonar survey, more than we could ever hope to cover effectively. And after careful analysis of the records, the odds against each are high.

After weeks crisscrossing the Philippine Sea, expedition leader Curt Newport still has energy for the hunt, but his doubts now outweigh his convictions. "We could keep hunting, but it would just be a fishing expedition," he sighs. "And I’m not even convinced that an ROV is the best tool to use in this terrain."

Meanwhile, on the deck of the Sea Eagle, passengers, explorers and crew gather for a brief memorial service.

A freight pallet has been turned into a makeshift raft and covered with the American flag, the flag given to the Indianapolis survivors by Adm. Tom Fellin back on Guam shortly before we shipped out. Resting on the flag is a simple block of granite: a plaque commemorating the ship, the men who were lost when she went down and the men who survived "to build a better world."

Four aging World War II vets — Woody James, Mike Kuryla, Paul Murphy and L.D. Cox — carry the "memorial barge" to the fantail of the ship. After a brief prayer and a few words from each of the survivors, Curt Newport, Steve Saint Amour, Mike Kutzleb and our ship's chief mate, Yulius Pulu, lower raft and plaque into the water.

Floating on the gentle swells for a moment, it reminds us all of the risks, challenges and rewards of life at sea. Then, with the tug of a line, Steve and Curt tip the raft up and the plaque slides down into the ocean, the flag trailing behind.

"Now we can say, at last, that we gave our buddies what they never had, a burial at sea," says Mike Kuryla.

A few hours later, Curt officially calls off the search. After Steve and the ROV team recover the vehicle, Sea Eagle sets course back to Palau for the last time.

Now, on our last night out of port, the survivors gather on the forecastle deck to look out on the black ocean.

"Boy, it's dark out there," says one.

"Yeah, just like the night we got hit," adds another.

A cloudy night, you can't see a thing out on the water, just a star or two and of course our ship, steaming across the vast Pacific, all alone in the night.

In Memoriam:

USS INDIANAPOLIS

Still at sea ...