This is a story by two old sailors about the
participation of United States submarines Cusk (348) and Diodon (349) in
"Operation Iceberg"—an expedition by four submarines to
Alaska and beyond—during July and August 1946. I first told some of
this story years ago in the USS Cusk Newsletter .
During this arctic cruise I was aboard Diodon, having transferred
from Cusk to Diodon early in 1946. That I was actually on Diodon is of
little importance to this bit of the history of both the Cusk and the
Diodon, as both submarines traveled together throughout the cruise and
what one boat did the other did also or at least was a percipient
witness. Since the time I first related this story, its depth has been
enlarged and its accuracy enhanced through the benefit of some
recollections from the wardroom of the Cusk, courtesy of Ernest
"Zeke" Zellmer, who was the Cusk’s Engineering Officer at
the time.
Any full recounting of the story of the Cusk’s
arctic cruise must contain a diversion or two about incidents that were
not part of the original ComSubPac script and are each a story in their
own right. The titles of these extra curricular adventures might be
"The Dutch Harbor Cumshaw Caper" and "Columbia
Glacier—The Errant Torpedo."
Operation Iceberg
— Part I
Cusk (Comdr. Paul Summers) and Diodon (Comdr. Beverly
Van Buskirk,) left San Diego in late July, destination Kiska Island in
the western Aleutian Island chain. The original sailing orders called
for a rendezvous at Kiska Island with the submarines Blackfin and
Trumpetfish, which were sailing from Pearl Harbor. Instead of proceeding
all the way to Kiska, the rendezvous destination was changed to the U.S.
Army facility at Dutch Harbor, on Unalaska Island—which is located not
nearly as far to the west as Kiska would have placed us.
En route from Pearl Harbor the Admiral aboard Blackfin,
who commanded the expedition, received orders to keep the expedition
east of the International Dateline and of the Russian land mass. This
was apparently due to some elevated political unrest between the U.S.
and the USSR at the time. Eventually all four boats arrived alongside
Dutch Harbor’s single wharf, with Cusk the inboard boat. After a brief
but eventful (as I will later explain) repose at Unalaska, the boats
departed en masse and formed up in the Bering Sea preparatory to sailing
north toward the Bering Strait and polar ice cap beyond.
One of Zeke Zellmer’s lasting recollections of this
early part of the cruise is having to carry-off, as Officer-of-the-Deck
on Cusk, a series of surface-Navy maneuvers that he had not before been
obliged to perform in a submarine. It seems that our Admiral had not
lost his "surface Navy" roots. When the four boats first
formed up in the south Bering Sea and started north, they took up a
line-astern formation.
Later that afternoon the Admiral, who was still on the
Blackfin at the time, dispatched an order to all boats to change
formation to one of line-abreast. (Perhaps it was to present a more
formidable appearance¾ or just a case of having fun with these
submarine sailors?) For the first time since his days at the Academy,
Zeke had to quickly work out a maneuvering board exercise to get the
course and speed for the Cusk’s new station. Cusk had been directed to
take station out on the extreme wing.
He was certain the Admiral would take a dim view of
the Cusk were it to be observed zigging and zagging into its new
position. The Admiral would expect no more (or no less) than a one
course and one speed change in order to get into position and then a
quick return to base course and speed. Zeke executed the maneuvers
without incident but remained apprehensive of what maneuvering the
Admiral might next call for and was glad when his relief arrived.
The expedition group stopped briefly offshore at the
Pribilof Islands near the village of St. George. Sometime during the
trip north through the Bering Strait, the Admiral transferred his flag
to the Cusk. About the only memory I have of Diodon’s northward
traverse of the Bering Sea is that we constructed and flew several metal
framed box kites as radio antennas and also gathered a number of sea
bottom samples with specially fabricated containers. I had no idea as to
the purpose of these activities.
Upon arriving at the southern edge of the polar ice
cap, somewhere above latitude 72° North, the Cusk made a dive and, I
thought, conducted a short sojourn under the ice pack. Zeke concurs that
Cusk dove at this location all right but says she did not go beneath the
ice cap. Zeke tells that part of the mission of the trip was to
reconnoiter the Wrangel Islands, which are considerably north of the
Arctic Circle and far from any U.S. territory.
This plan was, however, scrubbed after receipt of the
message to remain clear of Russian waters. I am glad this planned action
was scrapped as those Islands are in an isolated section of the Chukchi
Sea and they belonged to the USSR. The Russians coincidentally kept us
under radar surveillance much of the time we were north of the 68th
Parallel. As I recall we all remained near the ice cap overnight.
Next morning all boats departed to the south. It was
very foggy at the beginning of the trip southward. On Diodon, we were
using radar to plot the locations of some of the Russian defense radar
facilities, which we could readily detect by the lines of electronic
interference shown on our own radarscope. Somewhere between 70° &
71° North, Diodon’s surface search radar detected a target proceeding
directly toward us on a northeasterly course.
We confirmed the target with the Cusk who also had
picked up the target on their radar. At first, we suspected that it was
some kind of an ocean patrol craft as its speed was in the neighborhood
of 20-25 knots. The target continued to head towards the Diodon until it
reached a point less that a mile distant.
We could not observe anything visually because of the
fog. The target then reversed its course and proceeded to exit the area
at an estimated speed of sixty knots. We know that in 1946, no
sea going vessel could attain a speed of 60 knots and no fixed wing
aircraft could fly as slow as 25 knots. So, what was it? It was too far
from land to be one of the rudimentary helicopters of that era. It was
not a sea going surface craft of any known type.
Was it a blimp or dirigible operating above the fog
layer? We never learned its true nature or origin, nor did we even
confirm that it was indeed anything more than an unidentified image on
our radarscopes. It sure looked and behaved, however, like something
that was real.
The group continued southward through the Bering
Strait, passing slightly east of the Diomede Islands. It is at these
islands where a distance of less than two miles separates United States
and Russian soil (and the inhabitants of both islands fraternize back
and forth without the niceties of passport or entry visa).
Somewhere around Cape Prince of Wales, the western
most extension of the Territory of Alaska, Cusk and Diodon left the
company of the Hawaii boats and took up a course southeast to the town
of Nome, Alaska. (There is a wonderful old poem, "Nome Town, My
Home Town," that paints a much prettier picture of this small city
than it truly deserves)
Operation Iceberg —
Part 2
Cusk and Diodon arrived off Nome, Alaska, early the
next morning. Both boats anchored about a mile from shore, as Nome’s
small harbor was only sufficient for shallow draft fishing boats. Some
ship’s personnel were given a few hours liberty in the town and were
ferried by small open boat from ship to shore. I remember that I slipped
ashore on one of the ferry runs without permission and got caught coming
back aboard that afternoon. Nome in those days had very little to offer
except a few bars along Front Street (a dirt street with wooden
sidewalks) and native handicraft for sale at the Post Office.
One of those bars was named "Arctic Bar"
(What else?) The Arctic Bar is still there, in the same location, and
remains one of those attractions that tourists consider a must place to
visit while in Nome. The principle differences between 1946 and today is
that there are several more such establishments in town, including one
with a small hotel. In addition, the sidewalk in front of the Arctic Bar
is now concrete with (at various times depending upon the existent mood
of the city counsel) a couple of parking meters adjacent to the
curb—and there are a lot more people now.
The Cusk and Diodon crews did not do themselves proud
in Nome. Many became more than just inebriated. I remember two or three
of the Diodon crew trying to "borrow" an old flatbed truck
that was standing in someone’s yard, in order to provide themselves
with a ride down to the docks. These characters got the truck running
and proceeded to drive it a couple of blocks before crashing it ever so
slightly it into the side of a building close to the wharf.
At some point before all the liberty goers were
returned to their respective boats, a fight broke out on the wharf
between members of the two crews. I do not remember how it got started
but it was a "Cusk vs. Diodon" issue of some kind. Both subs
left Nome in the late afternoon for their next stop at Kodiak, Alaska.
After Kodiak, it was northeast into Prince William
Sound for a visit to Seward, Alaska. In Seward, we berthed both boats at
the Army dock and again crews were afforded shore liberty. The main
street of Seward (unpaved then) was just a couple of blocks walk from
the dock. The location where the boats docked in 1946 was later
destroyed in the 1964 earthquake and is now little more now than the
remnants of a crumbled seawall. (To my knowledge the most recent visit
to Seward by a submarine was the USS Alaska which stopped there with
it’s Blue Crew over the July 4th holidays in 1987.)
After a day in Seward, Cusk and Diodon departed for
Columbia Bay on the eastern side of Prince William Sound close to the
town of Valdez, which is now the southern terminus of the Alaska oil
pipeline. Columbia Bay was carved out by the Columbia Glacier, which is
over forty miles long and has its terminus, then and now, at the
northern end of this wide fiord. Because it terminates in an ocean inlet
Columbia is the most spectacular alpine glacier to be seen in the world.
This excursion of Cusk and Diodon to the Columbia Glacier was to prove
to an adventure of its own.
Operation Iceberg —
Part 3 and "Columbia Glacier —
the errant torpedo"
Cusk and Diodon entered Columbia Bay in mid afternoon
of a typical August day in South-central Alaska--high overcast and
temperatures in the sixties. The mission was for Diodon and Cusk to fire
live Mark V electric torpedoes across the bay toward the one hundred
foot high and four-mile wide face of Columbia Glacier. Columbia Glacier
deposits thousands of tons of ice each summer day into the bay. This
occurs as the warmer seawater melts the submerged portion of the
glacier’s face and the ice calves off into the bay to float away as
small icebergs.
Zeke explains that the reason for firing the torpedo
was to test, in that ice cube filled water, how well the WWII electric
torpedoes would function in the cold environment. Certainly, today,
firing a torpedo at this alpine glacier would not be permitted or even
considered in light of pristine environment of the glacier and its
surrounds. I was on the Diodon when this took place and was topside at
the time of the torpedo launch.
At this point, I return to the recollections of Zeke
Zellmer, who witnessed the incident from the bridge of the Cusk. Diodon
launched the Mark V torpedo from the stern tubes. The launch of the
torpedo was in the direction of the glacier—directly toward the
sixty-foot tall face. As this was an electric torpedo, there was no
visible wake.
To those of us watching from the topside positions
nothing was happening—we were just watching and waiting with an
expectation of seeing a large explosion and a scattering of ice when the
torpedo struck the glacier. We watched and we waited. We waited and we
watched. Nothing! Then we noticed that the Cusk was backing emergency
and rapidly moving away. We soon learned that Cusk’s sonar had
reported the torpedo making a circular run counter clockwise toward the
west.
On Diodon, we must have lost track of the torpedo
because we continued to watch for impact against the face of the
glacier—but nothing happened. No explosion was heard or felt and it
was far past the time that impact was supposed to have taken place.
While some were speculating that it might have been a dud, the bridge
nevertheless put on emergency power to "get the hell out a
here."
Then, when those persons topside least expected it,
there was an explosion several thousand yards to the east of our
position at the site of gravel spit (an old lateral moraine) that
extended southward from the glacier. Zeke, on Cusk, says the Admiral
ordered "End of Exercise." We departed the area with most of
us on Diodon convinced that the torpedo had completed a circular run
around the boat before it impacted against the gravel spit.
The force of the explosion must have been directed
harmlessly upward into the atmosphere, which was perhaps for the better.
An explosion of that magnitude against the face of the glacier would
have generated tremendous forces downward and seaward of the face where
the waters abound with marine mammals—seals, sea lions and sea otters
primarily, with an occasional pod of killer whales in the area.
Later the experts speculated that cold water (in the
tube before the firing as well as in the bay where the torpedo was
running) caused the lubricants to become so viscous that the rudder
froze in a hard over position. The torpedo apparently required some
running time to allow the motor heat and vibration to free up the rudder
and let it try to get back on course.
From Columbia Bay, both boats sailed south through
Prince William Sound and into the Gulf of Alaska to began the journey
homeward. Both vessels diverted over to Juneau, the Capital of Alaska,
for a visit and a day in port. The next day both headed southward
through portions of the Inland Passage of Alaska’s southeastern
archipelago and home. The traverse of the Inland Passage was
foreshortened to just one day and a night due to constant fog, which
made navigating all of those Islands too torturous a task. The boats
headed for deep water and a faster trip home.
Operation Iceberg
— Part 4 — "the Dutch Harbor Cumshaw Caper"
At the beginning of my recounting of this cruise, I
spoke of an episode worthy of telling by itself—the cumshaw caper.
What this is about is the activity of several crews while at the
group’s rendezvous at Dutch Harbor. Dutch Harbor, on Unalaska Island,
was the site of United States Army, Air Corps and Navy activity during
World War II. It was one of the major U.S. outposts in the Aleutian
Island chain, which stretches westward beyond the International
Dateline. There were some military facilities farther west but those
bases were much smaller than those of Dutch Harbor. The arrival of the
Cusk, Diodon, Blackfin and Trumpetfish was in late July of 1946 and the
military facilities at Dutch Harbor were being mothballed.
Navy activity was completely shut down and all of the
Navy’s old equipment and stores were housed in three warehouses along
a Spit where the Navy dock was. This was in turn less than a mile from
the Army base, which still had some limited operations and a full
Colonel in command. Some of the sub sailors could not suffer the idea of
all this gear and equipment going to waste and destined only for return
to the States as surplus hardware.
A bit of scouting around on the day before the arrival
of the Pearl Harbor boats had pretty much reconnoitered where the
choicest of the goodies were stored. They could be had for the asking as
long as the Army MP’s on base patrol did not get nosy. Some
enterprising crewmember had managed to obtain the loan of a Jeep.
Besides the Jeep, there were several hand held walky-talkies available
from the boats. With a well-organized system, the Jeep and two lookouts
patrolled along the Spit and back toward the Army base, keeping eyes
open for any sign of the MP’s on patrol.
In the meantime, other crewmembers operated inside the
warehouses gathering up what hardware and equipment was of interest and
placing it near the entry door. The use of the Jeep and the radios to
warn those inside of any approach of an MP patrol worked to
perfection—they passed by on patrol with no sense that anyone was
inside the warehouses. In one of the warehouses, it was all Navy gear
and included some deep-sea diving equipment such as helmets and rubber
suits.
In another of the warehouses nearer the Navy dock (and
the submarines) there was some fancy mess gear that could be utilized.
In a third warehouse there were a lot of radio spares and a lot of
"radiosondes" which were used for on weather balloons for
sending back radio signals. What useful purpose they could serve on a
submarine I do not know but we had to steal some anyhow.
Every boat managed to get hold of some of this free
for the taking booty. What most of us did not know was that several
Torpedomen from the Blackfin and Diodon had come across several leather
upholstered office chairs at the Army’s Headquarters building and had
purloined two of them for use in the torpedo rooms. They found that the
chairs would not go down the hatchways in one piece.
Thus, they partly disassembled them in order to get
them below decks where they were reassembled. The next morning all boats
were due to sail north and continue the expedition. About 0900 all the
boats had the main engines running and were ready to cast off one by
one. Suddenly down the road from the direction of the Army base there
appeared one of those Olive drab painted 1942 Ford 4-door sedans headed
in our direction. The car pulled up to the dock and an apparently exited
Bird Colonel demanded to talk to the skippers of all of the
submarines—who were on their respective bridges ready for getting
underway.
It seems that the Colonel’s office was missing two
leather chairs and he wondered if somehow they had walked off and found
their way over to one or more of the submarines. I understand that the
boat's several skippers assured the Colonel that their crews had not
taken the chairs but that an inquiry and inspection of the below decks
would be undertaken anyway. They did not have to investigate very far as
the culprits came forth voluntarily.
So, everyone stayed right in place for more than an
hour while the Torpedo divisions on two boats disassembled each chair
enough to get them up the hatches and then undertook to reassemble each
one on deck for return to the Army. I am not sure whether the commanding
officers involved were upset about the incident or were really amused by
the whole thing. I understand there were some restrictions meted out to
the guilty in the torpedo sections.
What was fortunate for some other crewmembers was that
the cumshaw of other material was not discovered and no one ever got
into trouble over that aspect. I have always been able to bring up smile
when I think back to those several sailors inside the warehouses
gathering up their loot to be picked up at the door while a Jeep cruises
around outside performing lookout duty. That image is topped only by
recollecting the vision of four United States submarines holding forth
from their scheduled sailing while several sailors are on deck screwing
on the legs and re-securing the leather covers to a couple of stolen
chairs.
That is the end of our story but not of the memories.