Grant's rise started at Fort Donelson

By Bill Wagner

Auspicious is not the definition for the North’s initial efforts at the outset of the Civil War in 1861 into 1862.

President Abraham Lincoln quickly discovered to his dismay that leadership was lacking. As the Union forces suffered setbacks at the hands of the Rebels, Lincoln tried to find a leader to stem the tide.

Winfield Scott, George McClellan, Don Carlos Buell and Henry Halleck all came up short.

One of Fort Donelsopn's "big" guns overlooks the Cumberland River

The outlook was bleak when an unknown general out in the West (Tennessee in those days) started winning battles, making a name for himself, and in the process changed the history of the United States.

Ulysses Grant (the S came later) proved to be the man Lincoln needed to lead the Union army.

Grant began his ascent along the Cumberland and Tennessee rivers at the then little-known sites of Fort Henry and Fort Donelson.

“The soldiers and sailors who fought here, on both sides, were volunteers who did so because they were fighting for what they believed in, and those reasons are numerous,” said Doug Richardson, chief of resource education and visitor services at Fort Donelson.

“Soldiers walked, slept, fought, suffered, and died on this land, a major battle in this most important war that created who we are as Americans today,” he said.

Fort Henry on the Tennessee River fell to a Union Gunboat attack on Feb. 6, 1862, but 2,500 rebel soldiers scrambled away 12 miles to Fort Donelson on the Cumberland River before Grant’s troops could slog their way to the action.

Militarily, Fort Donelson was a much better spot for the Confederates. They had eight 32-pound seacoast artillery pieces and several other big guns to control river access. They fortified an outer defense line and waited.

Grant was slow to leave Fort Henry, and then his 15,000 troops were hampered by the weather and soggy ground as they plodded toward Donelson.

Thanks to the Confederates concentrated efforts to fortify their position, Grant’s troops were able to advance unopposed and encircle the fort.  The battle began on Valentine’s Day 1862. This time the Confederates held their own against Union gunboats, but were no match for Grant’s force that grew as reinforcements continued to arrive.

Fearing a total defeat and capture, Rebel generals John Floyd, Gideon Pillow and Simon Buckner, the southerners massed their troops on the Union’s right flank in an attempt to break out and escape to Nashville.

The rebels were actually in the process of making this all work when they were inexplicably ordered back to their original defensive positions.

Pillow and Floyd turned over command to Buckner, took a couple thousand troops and high-tailed it for Nashville. Other Rebels went with Lt. Col. Nathan Bedford Forrest.

However the bulk of the southern forces 5,000 men, were left in an untenable position. Buckner asked Grant for terms of surrender.

The Answer:  “No terms except an unconditional and immediate surrender can be accepted.” Buckner was none too happy, but in the end, he had no choice but to give up.

The capture of the two forts was the first major victory for the North. A new – and much needed – hero materialized — Ulysses “Unconditional Surrender” Grant.

“Our visitor center receives over 40,000 visitors per year. When you include those folks, plus those who come to walk trails, run, nature-watch, picnic, visit the National Cemetery, it adds into the hundreds of thousands,” said Richardson.

Richardson is in his 23rd year with the NPS, arriving at Fort Donelson in September 2010 as part of a career goal to work at a national park where he could further study and understand Ulysses S. Grant.

For more information on Fort Donelson, visit www.nps.gov\fodo

Moose hunt ends in success in Anchorage's Kincaid Park

The long hunt for a moose photo in the wild is over — sort of — thanks to Jack at www.anchorage.net/visit-anchorage, who pointed us to Kincaid Park in Anchorage.

The 1,500 acre park in western Anchorage backs up to the Knik and Tunagarin arms of the Cook Inlet on two sides and the Ted Stevens Anchorage International Airport. 

It’s not exactly the wilderness or the wide open spaces, but moose travel through the park on a regular basis and some actually reside there.

The park has trails for hiking in the summer and skiing in the winter.

Originally it was used as a missile storing site during the height of the Cold War in 1950s. Eventually, Anchorage got the land around 1980 and created the park. Still, visitors can see the concrete missile silos that are now used for storage of more mundane items.

Over the years, we’ve seen moose in the distance and have captured a few shots of cows, a bull moose has been elusive.

We’ve been traveling to Alaska for more than decade, spending more than a few hours on the Stikine River and in the waters southeast of Wrangell.

Despite all that time, a bull moose sighting was not in the cards.

Kincaid Park was an answer. Early on a drizzly morning we had just entered the heart of the park when a moose of the male variety strolled across the road to find a better spot to munch on the foliage.

He nibbled, I shot and voila! Bull moose checked off the animal photos bucket list.

But that doesn’t mean I won’t be keeping an eye out for one of his really big cousins.

Overlooked World War II relic hidden in plain sight above Hoover Dam

The World War II machine gun nest sits atop the hills on the Arizona side of the dam.

By Bill Wagner

Each year Hoover Dam attracts more than 1 million visitors.

But only a very few are aware of an interesting historical tidbit that is hidden in plain sight.

The solution to the mystery is a machine gun bunker in an inaccessible spot high on a rocky bluff above the overlook on the Arizona side. It’s a remnant of the post Pearl Harbor hysteria that gripped the nation as the U.S. was plunged into World War II.

Seven decades ago, it was added for security. Today, the abandoned remote location is probably just a home for rattlesnakes and other critters.

“I’ve talked to long-time Las Vegas residents who have been visiting Hoover for years, who never knew the structure was there until I told them where to look for it,” said Pat Hicks, Ph.D., an archaeologist for the Bureau of Reclamation.

In addition to Hicks, Patrick R. Jennings, Ph.D, a military historian for the National Park Service’s American Battlefield Protection Program, and Jim Bailey, Ph.D. a Bureau of Reclamation senior historian, were able to answer most questions about the bunker or MGN, machine gun nest, as it is also referred to by governmental entities when it was being proposed and built.

Hicks described the bunker as “built of cast-in-place reinforced concrete and covered with a veneer of native rock camouflaging. This camouflaging serves to blend the structure into its surroundings so it is difficult to see from the air and the ground.”

The fact that there was a turret, bunker or machine gun nest (take your pick) on one side of the dam begs the question “What about the Nevada side?”

“Evidently there were two turrets, one on the Nevada side and one on the Arizona side. Details are sketchy at best on the Nevada-side turret, I could not find any info, and not sure if one was even built there,” Bailey said.

“The rumors that there is another pillbox at Hoover Dam start with a map drawn by a Reclamation employee during WWII, who had registered concerns with the FBI and others about security measures at the dam,” Hicks said.

The hand-drawn map has a cross on the Arizona side that is labeled “MGN” where the WWII machine gun bunker stands. It also has another location on the Nevada side of the dam west of the main switch yard complex that’s marked with another cross. That has led to speculation that pillbox/bunker existed on the Nevada side. 

“We've done surveys out in this area and haven’t located another formal pillbox/bunker structure,” Hicks said.

“Some of the other historic documents we have indicate there were a number of guards/sentries stationed in various locations around the main switch yard complex … so it wouldn't surprise me in the least that there was another machine gun emplacement out in this area, but I suspect it was a simple informal ‘nest.’ ” 

The bunker was occupied only for a short time as “those in charge figured out the Western Defense Command would not allow Japanese bombers to fly 200 miles inland to take out the power houses and switch yards,” Bailey said.

Christine Pfaff, authored an article in the summer of 2003 for the National Archives Prologue Magazine Summer — “Safeguarding Hoover Dam during World War II” http://www.archives.gov/publications/prologue/2003/summer/hoover-dam-1.html.

Reports such as Pfaff’s indicate concern over defending the dam was lukewarm at best among Army officials and at high levels within the Roosevelt administration.

“Truth be told, the U.S. Army never considered the dam under any credible enemy threat,” said Dr. Jennings. “The Army only reacted when forced to by Nevada Senator Patrick McCarran, who offered legislation proposing a fort be built in Boulder City.”

“The army decided to kill two birds with one stone, and created Camp Williston (initially named Camp Siebert) as a Military Police training post. The trainees, in turn, could guard the dam before shipping off to war,” Jennings said.

A long-standing debate over who actually built the bunker wasn’t resolved until a couple of years ago, more than 70 years after construction.

Hicks said the questions were answered when she spotted a notation in the “Boulder Canyon Project Annual Project History” for 1941 (Vol. 12, Page 146) in a section titled “Miscellaneous Protective Features.”

The details included: “…(c) Concrete pill box near Arizona East gate. …”

“So, it’s pretty safe to say now the WWII pillbox at Hoover Dam was built by Reclamation forces at the request of the U.S. Army immediately after the bombing of Pearl Harbor and the declaration of war on Japan.”

Hoover Dam is a modern marvel. Looking over the spillway is breathtaking, but history comes alive if a visitor looks up instead of down.

For more info on the dam and the tours that are offered, visit http://www.usbr.gov/lc/hooverdam/.

United Airlines poor service as inevitable as death and taxes

Poor customer service and horrible operations management by United Airlines. It’s as inevitable as death and taxes.

The latest fiasco involved a return flight from Las Vegas to San Francisco (April 26) with a late night connection to Redding. The flight was delayed and then delayed again and again — the final delay being a late arriving crew. The counter reps continuously assured us we would make our connection — the last flight of the day to Redding.

Even on board they announced that we would make our connections — that info having been texted and otherwise communicated to the folks at SFO.

Naturally, we landed at the furthest gate from the main unit area at SFO. We ran across the airport, arriving at 10:30 p.m., the original departure time.

Guess what? The flight had not been held. Door closed with the plane sitting there.

Why was it still there you ask? It was waiting for our luggage. Our luggage (with my prescription medicine) made it to Redding, but we didn’t.

What happened to the luggage having to be on the same plane you were on?

The biggest question is why the flight to Redding couldn’t have waited. They knew we had landed. The flight goes to Redding and the plane sits overnight. There was no reason it couldn’t have waited 15 minutes.

The same flight was nearly two hours late a couple of weeks ago.

Our reward for trying the unfriendly skies was having to wait 14 hours until Monday afternoon to get home.

With jet service restored to Redding, we tried to fly out locally. 

Big mistake. We’ll head to Sacramento in the future.

Thought cats were curious? Here's Georgia, a coastal Alaskan brown bear, checking the outhouse at the Anan Bear and Wildlife Observatory in southeast Alaska.

It's a great place to get close to both brown and black bears as they gorge themselves on pink salmon that jam Anan Creek in July.

Only access is by water or float plane. We usually stay in Wrangell and take a jet boat tour.

If you're interested in going, just check with John and Brenda Yeager at Alaska Charters and Adventures at www.alaskaupclose.com.

Fog of memory? Brian Williams, give me a break.

By Bill Wagner

Crashing in a helicopter in a combat zone let alone being shot down is not something one forgets — ever.

Tail rotor failure let to a crash in the Mekong Delta in 1969. Only the radio was salvaged. 

In my case, we are talking about a crash that took place in a dry rice paddy in Vietnam’s Mekong Delta in March 1969.

I may not remember the exact date, methinks it was March 29, but the memory is vivid, and I know we didn’t get shot down – though the end result was much the same.

Back in those days I was lowly Spec. 5, doing my year in Vietnam as a combat correspondent for the 9^th Infantry Division. My “beat” was five batteries of the division’s artillery.

Most days I hitched a ride to a forward fire base or remote temporary location where artillery was in place to support infantry soldiers airlifted out to search for the enemy.

The mode of transportation was a Hughes OH-6A Cayuse helicopter — one of those egg-shaped choppers that held four people.

I’d been told that these observation helicopters had a stellar track record when it came to crashes – they didn’t blow up like the venerable Bell Hueys did.

That and my young 20s pilot turned a disaster into a “lucky” day.

We were delivering mail and some supplies to the 2^nd of the 4^th Artillery. I can’t recall if we were headed toward their firebase in Tan An or to a more remote location that they had been airlifted to.

We hadn’t been out long before a grinding noise cut into the monotonous drone of the engine as we flew along about 1,000 feet above the dried rice paddies.

I was in the backseat on the left side behind the pilot. The crew chiefs, who I replaced when I needed a ride, advised me to always sit behind the pilot “because if he has to dump it, he’ll put his side up.” I was wearing a helmet that I got from a pilot heading “back to the world” in trade for some photos of him and his chopper. Per the rules, I had my sleeves down. My M-16 was in its familiar flying spot — wedged upright between the two rear seats.

Somewhere along the line I heard “Mayday! Mayday! Snowsnake 16…!” Then the pilot advise me to hang on — “We might crash.”

Crash? Big deal. I was an invincible 23-year-old. I was too dumb to be scared — then.

Fright would come later.

Apparently the tail rotor failed — due to a mechanical malfunction — not a unlike had we been hit by enemy fire. Makes no difference, we were in trouble.

Unbeknownst to me, the young warrant officer’s plan was to find an open spot for a power on skids landing ala an airplane.

The pilot thought the “book” said to keep the chopper’s airspeed at 60 mph or above to keep the chopper airborne. Apparently that book had been rewritten to make the speed 80 mph.

After he spotted a would-be airstrip in a dried paddy, he banked to roll in for the landing. As soon as he went below 80 mph, we started spinning.

Now I was scared. In my mind I said to myself “I’m going die.” More than likely I yelled that.

It was my lucky day. The pilot later told me he powered everything off as we augured in as I snapped around in the back seat.

In seconds it was over. We were down. I was dangling from a shoulder harness. And yes, the pilot and I were on the upside. And no, the Cayuse did not burst into flames.

My cameras snagged on the shoulder harness as I tried to extricate myself.

“Get away, it might blow up.” I didn’t need any other encouragement. Good-bye cameras.

In seconds, we were both out. The pilot just went out through the front, since the plastic bubble was no more.

Within minutes? Seconds? A little prop job called a Beaver (I believe) was above us, carrying an FAO (Forward Aerial Observer). My glasses were somewhere yet to be found, but I could make out the observer’s M-16, sticking out of the cockpit as the plane circled us just in case there were any Viet Cong nearby.

Moments later a Huey landed.

By now I had my cameras and went to work, snapping shots (in color with my personal Pentax) of the destruction. I handed my other camera, the Army’s Nikkormat loaded with B&W film to a guy who had jumped out of the Huey. Turned out he was major but protocol was ignored and he helped me out.

The M-16’s stock was shattered diagonally. The helicopter was a total loss except for the radio.

Then came the second chance for the ride of a lifetime. A Huey med-evac arrived on scene. They loaded us up and off to the 9^th Infantry Division’s field hospital we went.

Crashing in a helicopter is like falling off a horse, you’ve get to get right back at it. We did, nose down just above the nippa palm all the way to base.

By then the adrenaline was wearing off. I couldn’t really move my head much. Whiplash was my new friend. They managed to take some X-rays, suggesting I spend the night in the hospital.

Not a good idea. My understanding was that next of kin were notified if you spent the night. My parents couldn’t handle that. Besides, I wasn’t hurt that bad, and there were others who would probably need the bed more than me.

My unit’s Doc rubbed wintergreen on my neck for a week. It didn’t do much, but the pain subsided and I went back to work — and flying, taking photos and writing stories.

My souvenir turned out to be migraine headaches that persist to this day. A cervical fusion in 1995 helped relive some of the pain.

There was no Purple Heart – although blood was drawn in a combat zone when I bit my lip and tongue.

The story isn’t told often, but when folks say “Oh, you were shot down,” I am quick to note it was a mechanical failure.

I’m a lot older than Brian Williams, but my mind isn’t foggy

He should be ashamed of himself.