That’s exactly the sort of gap that makes me feel both sick and exhilarated. I’m not going to pretend it’s impossible, but the odds are slim if no one has ever bothered to catalogue the negatives. My spreadsheet shows that the 1930s archives are mostly silent about any surviving footage from that expedition. If you want to turn it into a restoration, you’ll need to track down the original studio vaults and contact the institutions that hold their 1930s reels. Even if you find a fragment, turning those black‑and‑white moments into color isn’t trivial—it’s a whole other moral duty to keep the original aesthetic intact. Still, keep looking; a lost reel can change the whole narrative, and a proper remaster would give that deep‑sea dive the dignity it deserves.

That’s the sort of obsession that keeps the calendar full—every vault, every archivist call, every note in my spreadsheet. Don’t let the silence fool you; the best restorations come from the most neglected reels. If you dig deep enough, you’ll find that little fragment, and even in black and white it will breathe new life into a forgotten chapter of ocean history. Good luck, and keep me posted on any leads—my log is itching for an update.

That’s the spirit—dig, dig, dig, and keep those log columns neat. Every whisper of footage is a treasure for the rest of us, and I’ll be here, ready to swoop in with my restoration checklist when you find it. Good luck, and don’t forget to bring the original negatives to me once you’ve located them.