Divers recover a bottle of Guinness from a 162-year-old shipwreck

The site of the shipwreck of the Mindoro, which sunk in 1864. (Stefan Panis)

From WashingtonPost by Miriam Waldvogel

The team discovered the bottle with a seal that says “Guinness Extra Stout, London” while exploring a shipwreck in the English Channel

The dark glass bottle was one of dozens strewn around the sunken ship when the divers spotted it. Unlike many others, though, its seal was intact, and up on the surface, they could make out the words: “Guinness Extra Stout, London.”

The antique ale is thought to be 162 years old.

The team discovered the bottle while diving a shipwreck in the English Channel last year but waited to publicize the find more extensively while they conducted research, including contacting the company itself. They hope, with the help of a lab at KU Leuven, a university in Belgium, there’s a chance the historical draft could even be re-created.
“It is quite rare to find something with a seal on it,” said Stefan Panis, one of the divers. “We are very, very excited to see what the test will reveal.”

 

A bottle has a seal that reads "Guinness Extra Stout London." (Stefan Panis)

 

A bell found at the site indicates that the wreck is a ship called the Mindoro, which set sail for Vancouver from London on Nov. 20, 1864. A week later, navigating through a treacherous part of the English Channel, it collided with another ship and sank to the bottom of the ocean, where its contents sat in cold and dark conditions — ideal for preserving a bottle of beer, like the back of a fridge.

If the bottle managed to keep out the seawater, there is a chance the Guinness might still be sippable — the alcohol would have prevented things from growing inside, said Kevin Verstrepen, who runs a lab at KU Leuven that studies yeast and fermentation.
But the Guinness brewed at the time might not have been quite as palatable as modern brews.
“In the old days, brewers were not as good working sterilely. Probably, from a microbial point of view, it was a bit of a zoo there,” Verstrepen said, which means the beer could have sour or funky flavors.
Additionally, Guinness made in that period would not have been carbonated by nitrogen, which was introduced in the 1960s and gives the beer its smooth texture and creamy head.

The company has been based in Dublin since 1759. But there is also evidence that at least some Guinness was bottled in London in the mid-19th century.

Diageo, the British alcohol conglomerate that now owns Guinness, did not respond to a request for comment. The company previously told the Irish Times that it was evaluating the find.
There is probably more Guinness to be discovered in the wreck. While the one recovered bottle was found out in the open, the divers also found wooden crates packed with bottles and stored upside-down. They also plan to examine records that they think will contain the ship’s manifest.

The divers plan to go back in two weeks to recover four additional bottles, two for the Verstrepen lab and two for the company, Panis said.
It’s unlikely that the lab will be able directly recover original yeast, Verstrepen said, because beer yeast does not have a long lifespan after bottling. However, he thinks they can find traces of yeast DNA in the hopes of finding a close living relative to re-create the brew.

“With sequencing the DNA … we can see exactly where it is on this family tree, and then we can look for modern living siblings of that yeast,” he said.
As rare as the find is, one of Panis’s partners, Pawel Truszynski, had experience in unearthing antique alcohol before. Truszynski was part of another team that in 2024 discovered a 19th-century shipwreck in the Baltic Sea laden with 100 sealed bottles of champagne.
In 2014, a different group of researchers recovered a 200-year-old bottle of distilled spirit from a shipwreck off the coast of Poland.
And a small brewery in Sunderland, England, at one point sold a porter made with yeast cultured from old bottles found in a different shipwreck in the English Channel, that one from 1825.

Surfin penguin

This is the moment a Cape penguin jumped onto a surfboard and rode the waves pic.twitter.com/IIfRYQExEH

— Science girl (@sciencegirl) August 6, 2026

Carlo Borlenghi

 “Navigo in mari inesplorati, ma c’è una bussola nel mio cuore che conosce la strada”.… 

 E. Dickinson

 

 Carlo Borlenghi has immortalized thirteen America's Cups, portraying, with his famous and iconic shots, the evolution of the event and the boats in over thirty years of career.

The power of the foils that slice through the water, the emotion in the eyes of the crew, the tension of a match race, they all become palpable in his photos that not only fix the moment, but transform it into art.

 

Links :

• Giornale della vela : Addio Carlo

How whaling strengthens the bonds uniting nation-states and Indigenous peoples

Jerry Arey, Moses Kayotuk and Larry Arey atop a landed bowhead.

 

From Arctic Today by Barry Scott ZellenJuly 24, 2026

Remembering the Great Bowhead Hunt of 1991

 

For more than four decades, my work as an Arctic scholar has been animated by a single, foundational truth: the global arena is not merely a collection of Westphalian states competing for structural dominance.
While classical international relations theory fixates on oversimplified structures such as Kenneth Waltz’s classic “three images,” it leaves an analytical void at the foundational level of human organization.

To fill this gap, I have advanced 4th Image Theory.
This framework recognizes that beneath and before the modern state lies a deeper, older reality: the tribal, sub-state, and indigenous polities that have survived millennia of change.
These are not mere domestic minorities; they are enduring sovereign entities whose governance models, land claims, and cultural practices provide a platform for enduring regional stability.

Nowhere is the intersection of state sovereignty and indigenous self-determination more sharply defined — or more routinely misunderstood —than in the deep blue waters of our global commons.
For decades, the international community, led by urban activists far removed from the realities of life on and by the sea, has viewed the harvest of cetaceans through the singular lens of prohibition.
Whaling has been falsely cast as an archaic, ecologically destructive relic of a bygone era.

This view is profoundly flawed.
It ignores both the success of modern conservation and the deep, constitutional evolution of native land claims.

When we look past the emotive rhetoric of anti-whaling campaigns, a startling paradox emerges.
The sustainable management of whaling is not a point of permanent division.
Instead, it offers a powerful framework for bridging the gap between sovereign nation-states and Indigenous peoples, forging a shared, collaborative international order.

Alternative:

To understand how whaling can unite rather than divide, one need only look to the Western Arctic.
In 1982, Canada made the decision to withdraw from the International Whaling Commission (IWC).
This move was not an act of environmental defiance; it was a pragmatic recognition of domestic political realities.

At the time, Ottawa was deep in negotiations over comprehensive land claims agreements with Arctic Indigenous peoples —treaties that would ultimately reshape governance of the Northwest Territories and lead to the creation of Nunavut.

By stepping away from the rigid, often deadlocked dictates of the IWC, Ottawa cleared a path to restore the traditional Inuvialuit and Inuit bowhead whale hunting.
It replaced distant, centralized and neocolonial governance with an innovative domestic model based on co-management.

Through boards composed of both indigenous hunters and federal biologists, decisions on quotas, sustainability, and ecosystem monitoring were co-produced.
Traditional Ecological Knowledge (TEK) was elevated to equal standing with Western empirical science.

The foundational proving ground for this paradigm shift occurred on Sept.
3, 1991, in the waters off Shingle Point.
For over half a century, the Inuvialuit had been denied the right to hunt a bowhead whale (Arviq), a restriction born of global conservation anxieties that completely ignored the ecological balance maintained by the original inhabitants of the coast.



The 1991 hunt was one of many fruits of the historic 1984 Inuvialuit Final Agreement (IFA) — the first Canadian comprehensive land claim settlement north of 60.
This treaty did not merely grant land rights; it erected a revolutionary, constitutionally protected architecture for wildlife co-management.
When the Inuvialuit Game Council and the newly formed Fisheries Joint Management Committee approved a license for a single bowhead, they were putting the constitutional teeth of their land claim to the test.

The hunt itself became a masterclass in cross-generational, cross-cultural collaboration.
Because a full 54 years had passed since the last local bowhead harvest, the Inuvialuit faced a profound rupture in practical whaling knowledge.
To bridge this historical chasm, they looked across the border to their Inupiat kin in Alaska.

Experienced whaling captains from the North Slope traveled to the Mackenzie Delta, bringing with them modern safety protocols, traditional tracking techniques, and specialized harvesting equipment.
This included penthrite projectile bombs designed to ensure a humane, efficient kill.

On Sept. 4, a crew led by Inuvialuit whaling captain Danny A. Gordon successfully landed a 36-foot, 40-ton bowhead whale.
The event was a profound cultural awakening, but its political implications were even greater.

The processing of the whale on the beaches of Shingle Point required the mobilization of whole communities — Aklavik, Inuvik, Tuktoyaktuk —distributing muktuk (skin and blubber) across the region according to ancient laws of sharing that reinforce social cohesion.

For the Canadian state, this was a watershed moment in regulatory flexibility.
Federal fisheries officers worked alongside indigenous hunters — not as adversarial enforcers, but as technical partners.
The 1991 harvest proved to a skeptical international community that an indigenous polity, armed with modern legal authority and rooted in traditional ecological wisdom, could safely manage a protected species without state paternalism.
It transformed the concept of conservation from a top-down mandate into a collaborative, treaty-based partnership between indigenous peoples and the state.

This historical lesson demonstrates that when a nation-state respects the maritime traditions of its Indigenous peoples, it does not weaken its own sovereignty; it actually strengthens the fabric of its domestic peace.

The restoration of the bowhead hunt in the Western Arctic did not spark ecological collapse.
Instead, it revitalized community cohesion, strengthened food security in an economically marginalized region, and integrated indigenous governance directly into the structural machinery of the state.

In recent years, we have seen history repeating itself, with Tokyo’s decision to exit the IWC in 2019, following in Canada’s footsteps so that Japan, too, could resume coastal whaling within its own territorial waters and EEZ.

Japan’s pivot offers a compelling point of alignment with northern Indigenous communities.
Small, historic whaling towns of coastal Japan —such as Taiji, Wada, and Ayukawa — possess a deep maritime heritage that mirrors the subsistence culture of the Inuvialuit.
For coastal communities of both the Arctic and the Pacific, the whale isn’t merely a resource to be extracted; it is an economic anchor, a dietary staple, and the focus of deep cultural veneration.

When modern states like Japan, Iceland and Norway defend their right to utilize abundant marine resources sustainably under international law, they are fighting the exact same battle against eco-colonialism that Indigenous communities have waged for generations.

By reframing the whaling debate around the principles of sustainability, food security, and cultural survival, we create a powerful common denominator: sovereign nations defending their maritime rights and indigenous polities protecting their ancestral subsistence traditions find themselves standing on the same side of the geopolitical ledger.
They are united by a shared commitment to what I call constructive realism—a pragmatism that recognizes that real-world stability requires balancing ecological limits with human survival and cultural continuity.

The international community must stop viewing whaling as a binary conflict between conservationists and exploiters.
Instead, it must be recognized as a sophisticated arena for co-management, where the sovereign rights of coastal states and the inherent rights of First Nations converge.
By honoring Native traditions through robust, collaborative, and scientifically sound frameworks, we do not fracture global unity.
Instead, we ground it in the realities of our shared environment, proving that international relations are at their most resilient when they honor the tribal foundations upon which our world was built.

From Hormuz to the Black Sea: Maritime battlefields are shaping ‘a new world order’

Satellite view of Tuapse Oil Refinery, Russia.
Ukrainian drones struck fuel storage tanks at the Rosneft‑operated facility, igniting a major fire visible for kilometers.
Gallo Images | Gallo Images | Getty Images

 

From CNBC by  

• Attacks and threats around the Strait of Hormuz, Red Sea, Black Sea and Sea of Azov are disrupting commercial shipping routes.
  
• Roughly 80% of global merchandise trade by volume moves by sea, so chokepoint disruption can affect energy, food and consumer goods prices.
  
• Shipping companies are weighing rerouting, insurance costs, inventory buffers and emerging risks around routes including the Panama Canal.

The Strait of Hormuz is rattling global trade, but the waterway is just one example of a vital maritime corridor becoming a frontline, in a new age of drones and missiles targeting economic lifelines.

From the Strait of Hormuz and the Red Sea to the Black Sea, attacks on commercial vessels have disrupted trade, raised insurance and freight costs, and forced shipping companies to reconsider routes once treated as dependable.

The stakes are high: roughly 80% of global merchandise trade by volume moves by sea.
Disrupting even one major route can delay cargo, tighten supplies and drive up prices for energy, food and consumer goods thousands of miles away.

How drones are changing maritime warfare

“We have a new chokepoint and a new war,” David Roche, president and global strategist at Quantum Strategy, wrote in a July report, referring to the Sea of Azov, where Ukrainian drones have been striking Russian tankers, and the Black Sea.

 

Roche described this fighting as the first maritime offensive conducted almost entirely with drones, supplemented by missiles.
Such weapons give smaller military forces a cheaper means of threatening ships, ports and other infrastructure whose disruption carries a huge economic cost.

Quantum estimates that about 25% of Russia’s grain exports and 25% to 30% of its Black Sea oil exports could be disrupted.
Russia grows more than a fifth of internationally traded wheat, magnifying the potential consequences for global food prices.

Yevgeniya Gaber, a senior fellow at the Atlantic Council think tank, said Russia’s move earlier this month to suspend shipping through the Kerch Strait, which connects the Sea of Azov and the Black Sea, has effectively shut down a vital maritime corridor.

“Maritime transport through the Sea of Azov had become an increasingly important alternative to the land corridor connecting Russia with occupied Crimea,” Gaber told CNBC by email.

“The economic implications are equally important,” Gaber said, adding that the Sea of Azov has been used not only to transport sanctioned crude oil and petroleum products but also grain, coal and steel.

Gaber said Ukraine’s efforts to exploit Russia’s maritime and economic weaknesses constitute “one of the most significant blows to military and commercial fleets” since World War II.
Indeed, Ukraine says it has degraded roughly one-third of Russia’s Black Sea fleet since 2022. 

Why the Panama Canal could be the next flashpoint

In the Strait of Hormuz, commercial operators are contending with attacks and rapidly shifting signals over whether passage is safe.
Governments can declare a waterway open, but shipowners make their own decisions based on the likelihood of a vessel being hit and crew members being injured or killed.

“We often treat the Strait of Hormuz, the Black Sea, or Bab el-Mandeb as isolated events.
They are not,” said Daejin Lee, global head of research at Fertistream Freight.

“These waterways are increasingly becoming battlegrounds within the broader transition toward a new world order,” he told CNBC via email.

And the next threats are already emerging.

“If you’re talking about the next flashpoint, I wouldn’t look at the Strait of Hormuz,” said Lars Jensen, chief executive officer of Vespucci Maritime.
“I would look at the Panama Canal.”

The strategic passage, which has offered a shortcut for ships transiting between the Pacific and the North Atlantic for more than a century, is already caught in a geopolitical dispute involving the U.S., China and Panama over influence.
Potential weather-related restrictions toward the end of this year and early next year could compound those tensions by reducing capacity, Jensen added.
 

Impact on shipping ‘bigger than most realize’ 

For shipping companies, the challenge is preparing for a world where the next chokepoint can emerge before the last one has reopened.

Kevin O’Marah, co-founder and chief research officer at supply chain intelligence firm Zero100, told CNBC the Strait of Hormuz became the most critical part of the U.S.-Iran war after Iran discovered merely threatening traffic there was enough to stop it.

While none of Zero100′s clients had come under attack in the strait, O’Marah said some had decided to avoid that risk by actively managing inventories and rerouting shipments.

“It has added cost and delay for some of our clients in the energy, food, and electronics industries,” he said.
“As of now, traffic through the Strait looks to be running at about half the normal flow.
The recent breakdown in the ceasefire has definitely hurt the situation but no one is surprised.
Supply chain leaders, and in particular logistics specialists like Martin Brower and Maersk, are aware and have well established protocols for dealing with the risk.”

This photo obtained by AFP from the Iranian news agency Tasnim shows an Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC) boat allegedly taking part in an operation to seize ships attempting to cross the Strait of Hormuz, on April 21, 2026.
Meysam Mirzadeh | Afp | Getty Images

Mitigation strategies include rerouting across the Arabian Peninsula via pipeline for oil, overland into Turkey for certain kinds of commodities and avoiding the area completely as much as possible, O’Marah said.

The war in the Middle East “does not look like an escalating conflict to most supply chain leaders, but it does look likely to be a long-term problem in terms of freedom of movement through the Strait of Hormuz,” he added.

“We are planning on a steady state of transportation uncertainty and costs associated with reroutings, inventory buffering, and shipping surcharges.”

Alain Bejjani, a Dubai-based investor, business executive and judge on “Shark Tank Lebanon,” told CNBC shipping lanes would stay at the center of the war “because they are the conflict.”

“The war has migrated from territory to logistics.
A strait does not close when missiles fly; it closes when insurers stop writing cover,” he said.
“That makes disruption cheap to sustain and hard to price, which is exactly why it persists.”

 

A spokesperson for insurance broker Gallagher told CNBC war risk insurance — an add-on that covers financial losses caused by war, terrorism, and civil unrest — is still available.
But they noted that “a handful but not many” ship owners or charters are opting to travel through the Strait of Hormuz.

“Given the challenging maritime security environment, rates have increased from levels that owners and charterers will be used to.
The cost will vary depending on the vessel type, cargo and routing, however marine insurers are continuing to provide cover and helping to ensure marine commerce can continue with adequate coverage in place,” they added.

How companies are responding to shipping risks

Bejjani told CNBC that the structural consequence of maritime warfare “is bigger than most people realize.”

“The Gulf is bracketed by two straits, not one, and the region is now designing around both Hormuz and Bab el-Mandeb to the maximum extent possible,” he said.

“That is new. Past crises produced hedges. This one is producing an architecture: overland corridors, bypass pipelines, forward storage near the markets that matter most. It will cost heavily, take a decade, and ripple for decades more. I expect other strait-dependent regions to follow, though few with the same urgency or resources.”

Vessels transit the Bab el-Mandeb Strait off the coast of southern Yemen on July 25, 2026.
Khaled Ziad | Afp | Getty Images

He warned that, although shipping will maintain its edge in terms of volumes, it is likely to “lose its monopoly on trust” in the business world.

“Other modes of transport will be substantially enhanced where certainty matters most, and redundancy becomes a permanent, priced feature of logistics,” he said.
“The strait will reopen. The assumption that it stays open for free will not return.”

 

Links :

• The pioneer : The seas need rules, not just warships
• SeaNews : The New Normal in Hormuz: How Shipowners Plan for Permanent Uncertainty