Mystery in Trib 2

by Douglas Anderson

  With introductions by Bob we had met, rather informally, with various people at Elmendorf Air Force Base on two occasions during the winter months. At the first meeting we presented our evidence and spread out maps and rudimentary aerial photographs of the area. At the second meeting the Air Force tabled satellite photographs of enviable detail. To our chagrin the access trail to Trib 1 was all too visible, despite our care and attempts at concealment. We were also able to easily pinpoint the location of the exposed rocky ledge where we had found the pieces of A20 and expound our theory as to what happened.

  There were copies of records—somewhat censored—of two A20 lend-lease aircraft missing after departing in a westerly direction from Whitehorse. One carried classified equipment. And yes, it was confirmed, one had carried a shipment of gold.

  The pieces of aircraft we found were confirmed to be from a Douglas A20H. No, there was no record of a recovery effort at the Ladue site. Yes, the Army Air Force had practice-bombed in the general area of the Ladue. And yes, a Japanese Zero was recovered but many of the official records remained sealed. Not much more was going to be said about that, despite the fact that it was 40 years ago.

  In March we were informed officially that the National Guard would take over and would continue the investigation during the summer. Of course we were invited to go along. Hagen had asked hopefully, “Can you make it sometime before August because that’s when I go to the university in Hawaii?” We had a couple more meetings, this time with the Guard and it had all worked out okay.

  On the twenty-ninth day of June—coincidentally my Birthday—Hagen and I found ourselves strapped into jump seats of a twin-rotor Chinook helicopter as it flew from Anchorage to the Ladue River area. A second helicopter flew in formation and our museum friend Bob Summers was on that. Both Chinooks and pilots—it turned out—were on loan from the active army. Fifteen people in all. Not the most comfortable or quietest way to travel but low and slow enough for us to enjoy the scenery all the way. It was still as fast as my Cessna 150 and for the two of us, unaccustomed to military helicopters, a damn sight more exciting.

  Our pilot was armed with the exact map reference of the ridge and navigated right to the location. As we approached we confirmed it was the correct spot and then let him pick the best place to land. The two helicopters briefly shattered the tranquillity of the whole Ladue area as they approached. One set down gently on the bald ridge with its huge rotor blades thudding through the air and setting up a maelstrom of dust and foliage.

  Our helicopter spent a few minutes thundering back and forth while we on board scanned the western slope of the ridge. There was as yet little foliage but none of us could see any sign of plane wreckage. Only then did we proceed to land close by our companion helicopter on the ridge.

  We remained seated for a couple of minutes for engine cooldown then dismounted as the turbines and massive rotors moaned to a standstill.

  The weather on the ridge was fine but decidedly cool, with a light breeze blowing from the south. There was still snow on the distant highlands and in deeply shaded areas closer by. The air was fresh enough to make us glad we had brought our medium-weight jackets.

  Soon the entire group assembled on the south side of the landing site and surveyed the vast panorama. We were pointing out various landmarks and places of interest, including the line of the ridge from the west. “God, you guys walked all the way out here?” one of the weekend warriors asked.

  “Well, only the 40 miles from the Taylor Highway,” I somewhat nonchalantly confessed, “and not just once. We’ve hiked all over these ridges and valleys too.” The team, a varied bunch, seemed to agree that we must be crazy and laughingly told us so. Bob was joining them but along with another smoker was already polluting the air so several of us pointedly moved upwind.

  Hagen remarked, “Well, we wouldn’t have walked if we’d had one of these.” He cocked a thumb toward the helicopters. “That, without a doubt, is the best way we ever did it.”

  Some smart alec commented; “You would need a pretty productive gold mine to afford one of those.” There was agreement and laughs all around.

  I winked, in an exaggerated fashion toward Hagen and said, “Who said our mine wasn’t a good one?”

  The same smart alec asked, “Where’s that mine of yours again?”

  “Never mind.”

  We led everyone a hundred yards to the rock ledge where we had found the first piece of evidence. We pointed out the marks on the rock surface and the direction they indicated. Then we moved to the shallow depression in the high point of the ridge where we had picked up the smaller pieces.

  “We might be wrong,” Hagen said, “but we figure the plane hit the rock there, shed some metal, struck the ground here and went down somewhere out there.” He pointed down toward the swampy Trib 2 valley. “At first we thought perhaps there was a connection between this and the three bomb craters which are…” he angled around and indicated with one arm outstretched, “over there, the other side of that ridge. Now it seems there may not be a connection after all.”

  Everyone milled around examining the evidence and seemed to agree with Hagen’s rendition of what had happened.

  “Okay then,” said Major Stirling, the leader of the group. “Let’s all have some chow and coffee and then we’ll get busy. We don’t want to spend the night out here. Huh,” he nodded toward the two of us, “though I’m sure it wouldn’t faze these two guys. It’s ten-thirty and we have lots to do.”

  A couple of guys hauled several large coolers out and away of one helicopter and set about making coffee. They had no intention of going hungry or thirsty and there was no sign of K rations or the like. Hearty sandwiches and bags of apples, bananas and fresh donuts appeared. Cans of Coke and 7-up as well as the hot coffee.

  Everyone pitched in and grabbed something to eat and drink. It was without doubt the largest picnic ever held on the top of this particular lonely ridge in the wilds of Alaska.

  After the break we three stood back and let the professionals go about their business. Several aluminum containers were unloaded from the helicopters. These were instrument packs; some, we learned, were on loan from the Air Force.

  The main instrument was a magnetometer capable of detecting any metallic anomaly in the terrain below. In two sections, 8 inches in diameter and totaling 25 feet long it was placed crosswise below the first helicopter. Slings were attached and wires were connected to instruments on board.

  Other instruments were set up on a folding table near the second helicopter. A portable antenna was erected close by to receive the radio telemetry from the on-board instruments. Time was spent on checks to ensure all items were functional and radio links were established between the different teams.

  Six men equipped with large hand-held metal detectors went to the place where the plane had impacted and commenced a ground search. They would continue downslope where we had not already been. Anything they found would add yet another piece to the puzzle.

  Two guys set up a pair of optical transits 300 yards apart along the ridge, took sightings on distant reference points, then began to confer with the helicopter pilot. We joined them by the table as they worked up a slightly fan-shaped grid with coordinates on a large scaled map. The helicopter would fly back and forth in accordance with the grid and would progressively scan the valley floor. The transits would help fix coordinates to keep them on track.

  Eventually everything was ready. Personnel were stationed with at the transits with field radios and four men boarded the helicopter and began preflight checks. We stood well back to watch.

  With a whine, the turbines spooled up and a few seconds later the massive twin rotors began to turn. Slowly at first, then gaining speed, they sliced the air. We waited as the rotor speed stabilized. After a couple of minutes the pilot gave a thumbs up to the nearby attendant who gestured with both hands palms upward. Lift.

  There was a visible change in the pitch of the rotor blades. They began to b
ite into the air and flexed upward as they generated lift. The downwash blew debris in all directions. Rapid shockwaves thudded uncomfortably at our chests as the helicopter rose gently into the air. On the ground the attendant continued with hand signals until the slack was taken out of the wire slings. Then the long magnetometer was picked from the surface.

  Slowly the helicopter with its instrument package moved westward from the ridge and then descended to within 30 feet or so of the swampy surface 1,000 feet below our location.

  Curious, Hagen and I went over to where the equipment array was set up. Instruments to receive the telemetry from the on-board transmitters, a chart recorder, reel-to-reel tape recorder, oscilloscope and, of course, various field radios.

  Major Stirling was coordinating everything and with a headset and mike was wired into the instruments on the table. Two of his men manned the various instruments. The search pattern began at the northeast corner of the grid. A point located about halfway up the Trib 2 valley and close by our side. The helicopter would fly its first leg almost due south parallel with the base of the ridge. It was out of sight from us on this run due to the curvature of the slope and the larger trees down there.

  At first there was a lot of chitchat on the radios but nothing abnormal to report. Moving slowly, but steadily, the search helicopter took five minutes to cover the first leg to the southeast corner of the grid. We stood and watched as paper marched slowly out of a chart recorder. The multiple penned lines were wavy but unremarkable. The helicopter moved twenty yards to the west and then headed north on the second leg. Again, nothing dramatic noted by the instruments.

  Third leg. The helicopter was in sight now, fourth leg, fifth leg, and sixth leg. Each leg a little longer and taking more time than the last one. Nothing.

  Hagen and I, over at the west of the ridge, watched the helicopter working below and were beginning to feel apprehensive. We knew the wreck could be anywhere out there. It might even have flown for several miles before crashing. Only our gut feelings told us it must be nearby. A feeling we had obviously managed to convey to our companions of the Air Force and National Guard.

  While we were standing there I said, “ Whether they locate anything or not, this is a pretty good last trip to the Ladue. Look at all that wilderness. Doesn’t it make you feel privileged to have been able to do what we have done out here. Even if we had never found a fleck of gold it would have all been worthwhile.”

  “Yes, I’ve always felt a bit humbled by all this space,” Hagen said. “It almost has a feeling of reverence. Like it should not be disturbed at all. Even this noise is an invasion. You’re right too. It has been a privilege. An experience most people will never have.”

  We stood silently with our thoughts for a couple of minutes.

  “Feel the fresh air. Soak in the view. In just a few weeks all you will see is miserable palm trees, blue water and wall-to-wall tourists.”

  “Yeah, 18th of July I’ll be on my way to a very different kind of place. Let’s face it. I’m homeless and I’ll soon be jobless. I’m a bit apprehensive but I guess it will be okay.” He was a little watery eyed, “I’m going to miss this. We have such a lot of memories of this area.”

  “Well, you’re not really homeless,” I enjoined, “You’re staying at my place until you fly out.” Hagen’s home had sold quickly and we had rushed to pack everything and get him settled temporarily at my place.

  One hour of search time had elapsed and so far there was nothing remarkable. The helicopter was a little past midway down leg number eleven and near the middle of the valley when there was a buzz of activity within the group by the table. We hurried over.

  “Got a real strong indication just here,” Major Stirling said indicating some well-defined spikes in the otherwise wavy lines on the chart, “We’ll see if anything shows on the next run. Might as well keep charting to see how widespread it is. Everything’s working well so we can return to these coordinates again.”

  We all watched with bated breath as the helicopter again traveled north. “Getting close” Stirling said. “Yes, there it is.” The lines spiked a little, though not as strongly as the first time.”

  I noticed there was a muted clicking sound accompanying the chart recorder. As the lines spiked, so the intensity of the clicking increased. Noting it had piqued my interest Stirling abruptly reached out and threw a switch. The sound ceased, though I felt certain he could still hear it over his headset.

  He gave me a hard, guarded look, that almost seemed to say, “Don’t ask,” wrapped his hand around the mike, and said; “If that’s anything to go by, the object giving us this signal is not widely scattered.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “We’ll make a few more runs.”

  Four more legs yielded nothing of significance so Major Stirling addressed the helicopter crew; “Let’s concentrate on this small area and see if we can map its limits. We’ll guide you into it.”

  “Give me a shout when they get to the place,” Hagen said to me, “I’m going to have a look.”

  He and Bob watched from the edge of the ridge as the helicopter relocated the place and slowly went back and forth with the magnetometer only about 10 feet from the surface. I stayed to watch the instruments.

  “Okay, that’s it. We will have to call them in,” Stirling said looking at his watch again. One guy had been monitoring fuel consumption and it was obviously of concern.

  “Looks as if you two were right on the money. There’s definitely something there and its very well defined.” He spoke over the radios. You guys at the transits get a good fix on the helicopter when I say ‘Mark’.” He talked the helicopter slowly to the point where the signal was strongest.

  “Mark. Right then. Now we can tell to within a yard of two of where it is.” He turned to us. “The guys on the helicopter said there’s absolutely no sign of anything on the surface. Whatever is there is completely submerged. Uh. If it is the plane, it must have augured straight in to leave everything in such a small area.”

  Hagen and Bob returned from the edge of the ridge just in time to catch this. “It’s slap bang in the middle of a nest of beaver ponds.” Hagen said, “Just about the wettest part of the whole damn valley.”

  “How’re the guys doing with the metal detectors?” I asked. “We haven’t heard from them yet have we?”

  “We’ll soon find out,” Stirling said, switching channels and keying his mike. There was some chitchat back and forth. “They’re on their way back up and they have found several pieces. This should be interesting.”

  The search helicopter approached and hovered carefully to set down the magnetometer. A couple of guys braved the violent down wash to unhook the cables and unplug the instrument wiring. Then the craft crabbed sideways and settled down 50 yards away.

  In a few minutes the crew climbed down and walked over to the command post. We were all gathered around discussing the chart recordings when six bedraggled and sweating guys carrying metal detectors hove into view from the hillside. Only then did I notice a couple were also carrying shotguns. Huh, in case of bears, I thought.

  “What did we do to deserve this,” one complained, stopping to wipe his brow. “I don’t remember drawing the short straw or volunteering to go mountain climbing. That’s some mean slope.”

  “Hey,” one of his companions’ remarked, “don’t complain. At least we found something.” He recovered several objects from his backpack.

  More small pieces of gray aluminum but this time a rusted steel strut dangled from one. “This is the first piece we found. Just off the top of the slope. The rest were not too far away. Down the slope we didn’t find anything and we went right down to the edge of the marsh. There’s nothing big down there. It’s That’s rough going down there and we were only able to search the open areas.”

  I commented, “A lot of that brush is just impenetrable. You did well to go down at all” I reached for the object. “This looks like a bit more of the undercarriage door. In fact, that’s an actuatin
g rod still attached, isn’t it?. Broken off at the adjusting thread.”

  “Right, it is. We’ll have it checked along with the other pieces and get the official word on it,” said Major Stirling and added to the six mountaineers, “Well done you guys, Grab yourselves some refreshments.”

  He turned to the group as a whole. “I guess we could say this part of the mission is accomplished. Let’s have this gear squared away and target to be out of here within the hour. Got a long ride ahead and we need to drop in at Tanacross to refuel.”

  We all pitched in and helped pack and load everything into the helicopters. The ramps were raised and latched. When it was all done Hagen and I took a last look around and quietly said our goodbyes to the Ladue before boarding. The side door slid closed.

  Strapped in we listened to the engines run up and in a few minutes we were off. After the initial vertical lift, the nose dipped downward and we literally zoomed westward from the ridge, launching out over the swamp where the crash site lay.

  I gazed out of the small window to my right side and after we crossed the next high ridge had a clear view of Trib 1 valley. Two miles up there was the mine. The gold mine that used to be ours. In a couple of minutes it was gone, hidden by the shoulder of the ridge. My eyes continued to trace the main high Ladue Ridge and the trail we had fought our way along so many times in the past. First on foot, later with Herman. Squirrel Peak, Poplar Hollow, Mt. Son, No Name Peak. Each recognizable location brought back a memory. Goodbye Trib 1. Goodbye Ladue Ridge.

  Forty miles, a good three day’s hike for us. In the Chinook we covered the same distance in something like 20 minutes.

  I glanced over toward Hagen seated and strapped in on the other side. He was staring fixedly out of the window. He had a clear view to the south. The serpentine Ladue River with its many small tributaries, the rolling, tree-covered hills of the Tetlin area and the distant snow-capped peaks. I could sense what was going through his mind too. He cherished the memories. Memories of a hazardous winter snow machine trip through those hills and along that valley. The dangerous incident with the ice and water and his solo nights of winter camping. I could tell he was reliving it all mile-by-mile.