Mystery in Trib 2

  Mystery In Trib 2

  Alaska hiking, flying, and gold mining adventure interwoven with a World War II mystery

  Douglas Anderson

  PO Box 221974 Anchorage, Alaska 99522-1974

  ISBN 1-888125-75-6

  Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 00-108760

  Copyright 2000 by Douglas Anderson

  —First Edition—

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in any form, or by any mechanical or electronic means including photocopying or recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, in whole or in part in any form, and in any case not without the written permission of the author and publisher.

  Manufactured in the United States of America.

  Dedication

  Dedicated to the memory of my son, Simon Reid Anderson, who loved the outdoors and all living creatures but who relinquished his place on this earth in 1985. He will never be forgotten.

  My wife, Jennifer, who encouraged me and endured many lonely hours while I worked to produce this book.

  My long time friend and confidant, Hagen, who has shared many of my trials and tribulations and who was my mentor on the wilderness hikes. His contribution to this manuscript is greatly appreciated.

  Table of Contents

  Foreword

  Chapter 1Ladue

  Chapter 2The Discovery

  Chapter 3Memories

  Chapter 4Gore Field Montana 1944

  Chapter 5Departure

  Chapter 6Sneak Attack

  Chapter 7On The Claim

  Chapter 8Flight To The Ladue

  Chapter 9Research

  Chapter 10The Final Visit

  Chapter 11Waikiki

  Foreword

  Hagen Gauss

  When my friend Doug penned his first manuscript, Gold in Trib 1, I thought it was a wonderful and befitting tribute to our adventures together in Alaska’s Ladue area. We experienced trials and tribulations hiking through the-wilderness regions and somehow always managed to come through unscathed and much wiser. For myself, it was like a dream come true. I had always aspired to be a pioneer and, as Doug aptly put it, “was born one hundred years too late.” Too late that is, to participate in the real gold rush days at the end of the nineteenth century. Nevertheless, our arduous hiking and prospecting in search of gold quenched a craving for adventure both of us felt blessed with and at times burdened by. Frequently we found ourselves more than forty miles from the nearest road, subject to the trickery of Alaska’s elements and forced to commune with nature in ways only a fool would call harmonious. Yet, so many would envy us. Much of the time we survived on what we could carry on our backs. Now, some years later, we both look back with considerable satisfaction and ask ourselves, “Did we really do that?” Well of course we did, and we are all the better for it. To see it so cleverly recorded in Gold in Trib 1 was surely as satisfying to me as it was for my friend, Doug Anderson, the author.

  Now Doug has written a second book, Mystery in Trib 2. It is something of a sequel to the first. Again it takes us back to those memorable days spent in the wilderness. However, the fictional mystery my friend has so cleverly conceived adds an interesting facet to the account of our trips to the gold claim. It weaves fact and fiction into an exciting and believable story. Despite my knowledge of events and having made some contributions to the manuscript, I still consider the completed book interesting and spellbinding. In a way this book has also turned into a tribute, although leaning on fiction, the mystery is very closely aligned to actual events and historical facts. My own contribution, details of my early life in Germany, is a tribute to those who lived through the same times and who undoubtedly will have strikingly similar recollections of World War II hardships.

  Chapter One

  Ladue

  The tributaries and western reaches of the Ladue River lie in a wild, remote, and unpopulated part of Alaska. The region is centered roughly fifty miles north of the Alaska Highway and twenty miles from the Canadian border. Within this general area the terrain varies from swampy valleys to mountainous ridges accented by rocky peaks.

  One major ridge forms a spine running east to west through the region. The Fortymile River drainage lies to the north of this ridge and the Ladue River drainage to the south. Both river systems are fed by a multitude of smaller tributaries, which, over millennia, have carved deep valleys in the flanks of the main ridge.

  Seventy-five miles to the west, easily visible in clear weather, is the beginning of the immense Alaska Range. This most easterly extremity of the range is anchored by the Mentasta Mountains. Another chain of lesser mountains, dominated by Mt. Fairplay, Prindle Volcano and Divide Mountain, form the horizon to the north of the Fortymile River basin. To the south of the Ladue lie the rounded, spruce-covered hills of the area known as Tetlin. The snow-capped Wrangell Mountain Range forms a distant but very impressive backdrop further south.

  The spine of the Ladue Ridge averages 3,000 feet above sea level with occasional high points such as Mt. Son, 3,800 feet and further east an unnamed dome of 3,950 feet. In clear weather the views in all directions from these high points are spectacular.

  Within the Ladue area are found a variety of climatic micro-zones, each brought about by changes in elevation and northerly or southerly exposure.

  The valley bottoms are predominantly swampy, too acidic to support anything more than marsh grass punctuated by occasional patches of weedy tamarack. Larger trees are present but only on the banks of rivers and streams, which provide better soil drainage. Surprisingly, for so far north, large cottonwood, black spruce, and Sitka spruce survive in some of the well drained, south-facing valleys.

  The steep hillsides support aspen, silver birch, conifers and prolific, impenetrable thickets of dwarf willow and alders. In summer, patches of cow parsnip, purple fireweed, blue lupine and wild roses add a touch of brilliant color. At higher elevations, low-growing northern hemlock, gnarled and winter blasted, finally give way to ground-hugging alpine plants and lichens, which provide a fragile, but colorful, cover.

  The Ladue area is habitat for a wide variety of animals: moose, bears, wolves, fox, lynx, porcupine, squirrels, and smaller rodents. Some can frequently be seen, others are more elusive. Each, of course, occupies a particular kind of terrain most suited to their needs. Caribou visit briefly as they migrate north in spring time and south in the fall.

  Beavers have been active in these valleys for eons and are responsible for the formation of fertile meadows and chains of ponds. These industrious creatures still can be observed gradually changing the landscape.

  During winter, which spans six or seven months, the whole area sleeps under a blanket of ice and snow. With the temperature occasionally dipping as low as 50 or 60 degrees below zero it is a very inhospitable place.

  It is August 1983. Five years since my friend Hagen and I scouted this remote area of eastern Alaska from the air using my single-engine Cessna 150. We had “gold fever” and were in search of a suitable place to prospect.

  Our aerial search led to the discovery of an old, partially overgrown trail leading from the Taylor Highway along the spine of the Ladue Ridge. Further research revealed that a major company prospecting for mineral deposits had carved the trail through the wilderness. From the Taylor highway it reached east forty miles along the Ladue ridge then turned and continued north another thirty miles to the southern fringe of the renowned Fortymile gold-mining region. The commercial venture was obviously well funded as it employed powerful Caterpillar tracked equipment but, to our knowledge, nothing had come of it.

  The first few miles from the trailhead saw some occasional use by hunters and trappers. Further in the trail seemed to be little used, was overgr
own and, in some places, not easy to discern even from the air. Traveling on foot would be challenging but not beyond our capabilities. We figured it would take at least three days to walk in with heavy backpacks, caching supplies at intervals for use on the return, maybe two days to walk out with a lighter load. Initially we planned to spend six or seven days exploring the valleys on the south flank of the ridge. This off-trail hiking would undoubtedly be the hardest part.

  Several additional careful aerial surveys from the Cessna and hours poring over aerial photographs and maps convinced us it was a worthwhile proposition. By then, no doubt, the gold fever had well and truly hooked both of us. We dreamed of huge nuggets in our gold pan and of making our fortunes. Later reality set in and we persevered as much for the wilderness adventure as for the gold.

  My companion, Hagen, had always fancied he was born one hundred years too late. He would have been in his element had he been one of those nineteenth-century explorers, breaking new trails into raw Alaska. Crossing mountain ranges and hazardous glaciers into areas as yet unexplored. Surviving the crossing of icy cold, glacier-fed rivers—indeed, using those rivers as a route through otherwise impassable territory. This, he fancied, was his style and he had made several arduous wilderness trips to prove it.

  In many ways contemporary Alaska is still pioneering country. Surveyed, yes, but much of it has yet to be explored on foot. One can still experience a wilderness adventure without venturing very far afield. The challenge, however, has been somewhat diminished by the availability of detailed maps and modern equipment such as aircraft and all-terrain vehicles. On our hike we would not really be pioneers. The ridges and valleys we were about to explore had undoubtedly been explored before at one time or another.

  Nevertheless, this was still isolated and wild country. Only people on foot or those using specialized vehicles could take on the trail, the rocky escarpments and the swamps. It was unpopulated and it was forty miles in from the Taylor Highway, the nearest gravel road. To the east lay the vast and sparsely populated Yukon Territory of Canada.

  From the air we scouted all the valleys south of the Ladue ridge. The old trail wended its way along the ridge, passing close to the northern end of each valley. It seemed to be the best, if not the only, summer route into the area.

  We took many photographs and were quite proud of our aerial survey work. Soon we had a crude photographic mosaic of the target area. By the time we were ready to hike in we believed we had a good idea of what challenges lay in our path.

  First we daringly air-dropped tools and supplies near the southern end of the Trib 1 valley, as we dubbed it. Then, a week later, we drove from Anchorage, stashed our vehicle, well camouflaged, in the dense forest near the trailhead and set off along the forty miles of trail.

  Initially we sought to make it, perhaps, harder than it might have been, simply to slake my companion’s thirst for yet another wilderness adventure. We were not entirely masochistic, however. Air dropping supplies and basic tools saved us from packing these items and served to lighten our backpacks appreciably. Still they weighed in at seventy odd pounds.

  Ladue Trail – Down-slope from Squirrel Peak

  All our advance planning had still not fully prepared us for the reality of the hike. Very soon we found the hills were steeper than we’d thought, the low points were lower and wetter and in some places, due to the rough terrain, one mile seemed like three miles.

  Fickle weather was a factor over which we had no control. We had to contend with miserable, cold, and rainy days. Other times it was blazing sunshine and ninety degrees on the exposed high ridges. Keeping ourselves supplied with potable water was a problem. Last, but not least, we walked every inch with rifles in hand. Just in case.

  My companion in this venture was one lean, tough character. Five-ten in height, 185 pounds in weight, mostly muscle. An angular countenance with deep-set, blue eyes under dark eyebrows and a shrub of curly black hair with no sign of graying. When the fancy took him, he sported a neatly trimmed mustache.

  More often than not Hagen looked quite grim and unsmiling. It gave people the impression he was none too friendly. In fact, the opposite was true. He had a wry sense of humor that turned frivolous with a little coaxing. His whole appearance transformed if you could get him to smile. Perhaps in keeping with his German heritage he was stubborn and tenacious. Also, he was never inclined to deviate once he had made up his mind, even though his tack might plainly be leading him into trouble. This, combined with his strength and zeal, gave him quite an advantage over me. Especially, it was patently apparent, on the more difficult sections of our wilderness hikes.

  I was of the same physical size, healthy and reasonably fit but the similarity ended there. Less muscular, I tended to be rounded in places where I should have been angular. Too much time working behind a desk was my pathetic excuse. It didn’t work and Hagen gave me a hard time about it. I must confess I could sweat away some of the rounded parts and quickly lose a few pounds during a two-week hike with Hagen. I think sometimes he did it on purpose.

  When it came to our hiking, he was my mentor, or more aptly put, tormentor. I have often said it was akin to having a drill sergeant driving and cajoling me along. However, I was usually more cautious in my approach to obstacles and was able to temper my companion’s exuberance. This plainly irritated Hagen at times but I like to think it kept us both out of too much trouble.

  It was rough going, for both of us, but terribly exciting. The fact that it was black bear, grizzly and moose country added to the sense of adventure. Nevertheless, during our first hike into the area, we explored three valleys with small tributaries draining southward from the main ridge toward the Ladue River. Since these were hitherto unnamed on our maps we called them, from west to east, Trib 1, Trib 2 and Trib 3.

  Through luck, perhaps rather than through knowledge of geology, we found promising traces of placer gold at the head of Trib 1 valley. From here a vibrant little stream tumbled down a narrow gorge. Erosion was constantly taking place. Almost at the base of the slope was a reef of fractured bedrock, which forced the stream to make a sharp turn. Now, having lost some of its vitality it meandered at a slower pace southward a couple of miles to join with the Ladue River.

  From the first we thought the terrain had good potential. The abrupt turn at bedrock had resulted in deposition of a crescent-shaped gravel bar. Prime place—we theorized—for gold to be entrapped. It proved to be so. Close by the bedrock our sampling revealed flakes of gold. Needless to say we were ecstatic. We believed we had found our very own “Glory Hole.”

  Despite or initial findings we continuing the exploration. We found Trib 2 valley to be very wet and there was no clearly defined stream upon which to focus our attention, Trib 3 had good potential but apparently had been staked already. We decided it was wise not to intrude. Thus satisfied we returned to the Trib 1 site, staked, and later registered, a recreational mining claim. Four consecutive summers we returned to our mine, pooling vacation time from our regular work schedule, to spend a few weeks separating, flake by flake, gram by gram, the precious metal from the earth.

  After the first summer our trips to the claim were made much easier by the acquisition of “Herman,” a sturdy, and customized—thanks mostly to Hagen’s welding skills—six-wheel all-terrain vehicle. It enabled us to spend less time traveling and more time productively mining. We still occasionally hiked and explored the area some more as a relief from the backbreaking work.

  Doug with ATV on No Name Peak

  Evenings on the claim were usually quite pleasant. After a hard day we ate well and relaxed our weary bodies by a cheerful campfire. Times like this Hagen and I usually found something to talk about. Perhaps because we had so many interests in common and we understood each other so well.

  We were both immigrants to this land, he having come from Germany and I from England. We were both survivors of divorce, mine more recent than his. We were both “on the prowl” and were prepared, if not ent
irely eager, to make a commitment if the right lady came on the scene. This latter topic alone led to some interesting fireside discussions but we had to agree that getting hitched would put a severe crimp in our current footloose and fancy-free lifestyles.

  “Footloose and fancy-free.” We could say that with some alacrity. In Anchorage we had been introduced to dancing classes and we now frequented some of the country western dance places. We were regulars at a rousing polka session on Sunday evenings and often found ourselves invited to various dance functions by eager dancers wishing to ensure they would have a partner. Obviously, the underlying intent of these social activities was working. We did meet a lot of ladies.

  During the long winter we attended aerobic fitness classes several times a week. We skied downhill and cross-country. In the summer we hiked. Of course I enjoyed flying the Cessna year round, weather permitting. Hagen had a well-equipped workshop set up at his house and always had some projects underway. All in all we both kept a pretty full calendar. Regular jobs, unfortunately so necessary for our subsistence, tended to get in the way of all this recreation. Hagen grumbled, “We have our priorities all wrong. Recreation should come first and we should work in our spare time.”

  The days of August at this northerly latitude were long and it would not get dark until almost ten-thirty. We sat comfortably within the warm circle of firelight and watched the sparks fly to meld with emerging stars in the heavens. Sometimes we pondered a subject or philosophized endlessly, other times we stayed silent, wrapped in our own thoughts. If the mosquitoes were hungry, or it turned too cool, we found it best to retreat to our shelter and the comfort of our sleeping bags for an early night. Always we slept with our weapons close by in case a bear decided to visit.