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.

There's a glacier for everyone in Alaska

Margerie Glacier often puts on a show as huge chunks break off

With apologies to Texas, when it comes to states with the biggest and the most, Alaska stands above all.

Even though we got the land for a little more than 2 cents an acre, Alaska cost the U.S. $7.2 million in 1867 because it covers more than 375 million acres.

It has the most bald eagles, brown bears, black bears totems and volcanoes of any state.

So it should come as no surprise that when it comes to glaciers, Alaska tops that list as well.

On our recent trips over the past few years to the land they call “The Last Frontier,” we have viewed:

—    Sawyer Glacier in the Tracy Arm Fiord from the deck of the  Norwegian  Cruise ship, Jewel

Shakes icebergs are a photographer's delight 

—    LeConte Glacier from the friendly confines of an Alaska Charters and Adventures’ jet boat – www.alaskaupclose.com/

—   Shakes Glacier off the Stikine River from good friend Earl Benitz’s boat

—   Margerie Glacier in Glacier Bay from the deck of the Norwegian cruise ship, Pearl,

Margerie put on a show with chunks of ice calving (breaking off) much to the delight of the camera-toting tourists.

The Sawyer Glacier wasn’t as active. In fact, only a few of us at the stern got to see it shed some of its ice as the Jewel was making a tight turn before heading to its next port-of-call.

While those two glaciers calve chunks of ice, the water in front of them is relatively free of icebergs — at least what one can see above the surface.

It’s quite another story at LeConte, the southernmost tidewater glacier in the United States and Shakes off the Stikine River.

Icebergs calved from Le Conte fill up the bay

LeConte empties into a bay of the same name between the island towns of Wrangell and Petersburg.

The bay is most often filled with icebergs calved by the glacier.

It’s much the same story for Shakes except that over time sediment has built up to the poiint that the icebergs spawned by Shakes can’t make it out of Shakes Lake and into the Stikine.

Sawyer Glacier is impressive up close

It took several years before I was able to get past the bockade of trapped icebergs and motor the two miles through the lake to glacier’s face.

Apparently the difference is that ice that breaks off Margerie and other glaciers in Glacier Bay comes from the face. At LeConte, the giant chunks that break off to become icebergs separate below the waterline and bob to the surface.

How high a berg floats depends upon its size, the ice's density, and the water's density. Bergs may be weighed down or even submerged by rock and rubble. A modest-looking berg may suddenly loom enormous – and endanger small craft – when it rolls over. Boaters and especially kayakers should keep in mind that what one sees is “just the tip of the iceberg.”

One thing that glacier experts can agree on is why the ice is blue. The density of the ice produces the color. The denser the ice, the bluer it will appear.

Rangers who boarded the Pearl to help visitors enjoy Glacier Bay passed along a tip for photographers. More often than not, the snapping off a huge chunk of ice is preceded by a loud crack or pop. Picture taking is a lot easier when the photographer has inkling that something is about to happen.

Hundreds of thousand visit Glacier Bay each year, but the vast majority never set foot in the national park. Instead, they view the bay and surrounding glaciers from the comfort of a cruise ship, spending a few hours in the bay before heading off for another port of call in Alaska.

For more on Glacier Bay, visit www.nps.gov/glba. For information on the others, just plug the name into an Internet search and browse away.

Montezuma Castle

Story and photo

By Bill Wagner

If one was watching “House Hunting,” the verbiage might go something like: “Five story, mountainside retreat with majestic view of Beaver Creek. Peaceful. Nearest neighbors miles away. No utilities.”

Actually, no one is going to be moving in anytime soon, since Montezuma Castle is a national monument.

Actually, it’s one of the four original sites that received that status in 1906 as President Theodore Roosevelt took advantage of the newly passed Antiquities Act.

Nine hundred years ago, only the Sinagua tribe knew of its location. For reasons no historian or archaeologist has been able to determine, they abandoned the site in the 1400s.

Early settlers in the area presumed it to be of Aztec origin, giving it the name. For the record, it is not of Aztec origin and was abandoned nearly a century before the Aztec chief was born.

The national monument is located just off Interstate 17 about 50 miles south of Flagstaff and 80 miles north of Phoenix.

Despite Roosevelt’s good intentions, the historic declaration came years too late to protect the site from looters, who left the dwelling void of relics.

The structure is actually a five-story, 20-room dwelling built into a recess of a limestone cliff nearly 100 feet above ground. The prehistoric dwellers had to use ladders to climb to and from the residence. Nearby is yet another multistory residence.

The second structure, which today is a deteriorated ruin that is a shadow of its former self, had 45 rooms in six stories. 

For more than four decades, visitors were allowed to climb ladders and wander inside the cliff dwelling. In 1951, the ruins were closed to public access to prevent further deterioration.

They remain among the most accessible and best preserved examples of cliff ruins in the U.S.

Today, visitors look up in awe and wonder what life was like for the Sinagua (Spanish for ''without water'') when they moved into the area some 1000 years ago.

The village that included the Montezuma Castle probably finished growing around 1300 and was abandoned a century later when the Sinagua left the Verde Valley area, according to the National Park Service. 

In addition to the castle, Montezuma Well and Tuzigoot are nearby and part of the national monument. 

The well is 11 miles from the castle and is described by the park service as a limestone sink formed when a huge underground cavern collapsed centuries ago. The Sinaguans used its waters for irrigation.

Tuzigoot, the remnants of another Sinaugan village, is 30 miles to the northwest off U.S. Highway 89.

Thanks to its central location and the fact there is little else on I-17 between Phoenix and Flagstaff, the monument gets a steady stream of visitors. The monument is open year-round except on Christmas Day. In the summer, the areas are open from 8 until 7 p.m. Winter hours are 8 a.m. to 5 p.m. The entrance fee is $5 per person. 

For more information visit www.nps.gov/moca or www.nps.gov/tuzi. 

Millions of salmon call Alaska's scenic Stikine River home

By Bill Wagner

Most folks don’t give a second thought to where their Stikine River salmon comes from. They should.

Flowing more than 400 miles from its headwaters in British Columbia in Canada, the Stikine is the birthplace of millions of salmon each year.

All five salmon species of salmon — king, sockeye, Coho, humpback/pink and chum — call the river home.

“It’s a significant wild river in North America,” said Brenda Schwartz-Yeager, who, along with her husband John, operates Alaska Charters and Adventures (www.alaskaupclose.com), who shows tourists a river that is close to her heart. She’s one of several captains that offer tours. They also ferry in kayakers, backpackers and trout fishermen.

“The Stikine is one of the few navigable wild rivers that don’t have dams, bridges or cities. It doesn’t have a lot of human impact on it.”

And that’s what makes it special.

She grew up on the river, often traveling with her dad, Skip, who was a wildlife biologist. For the past 26 years she’s been sharing her love of the pristine wilderness.

Most recently she’s been using a custom designed and built jet boat that skims across the often shallow spots as the river gets ready to dump into the waters of the Zomovia Strait off the island of Wrangell in southwest Alaska.

Actually on this trip, I not only got to see the river from the jet boat but also took a closer look thanks to Earl Benitz and his aluminum skiff.

Earl and his wife, Mary, live year-round on Farm Island, which is about seven miles north of Wrangell. That’s seven miles on a map, but probably 14 miles or so by the time boaters make their way around the sandbars of the Stikine’s huge delta.

Farm Island was homesteaded decades ago and now those homesteads have been broken up into smaller parcels. Four months out of the year, Earl and Mary are iced in.

The low-lying delta is littered with the stripped and bleached remnants of one-proud 100-foot spruce tree along with hemlock and cottonwoods. Some have traveled hundreds of miles before beaching themselves on the sandbars.

Cruising the river and its many tributaries and offshoots, the banks are lined with trees dangling at differing angles, waiting to be claimed as the rushing waters eat away at the banks.

While much of the river is silt-covered, there are creeks that are crystal clear.

The scenery is spectacular. The sky is blue, the trees a brilliant green. Pristine. Stunning. Spectacular.

When the boat motor is off, one has to wonder if Simon & Garfunkel had the Stikine in mind when they collaborated on “Sounds of Silence.”

While we see coyote, moose and bear tracks, we don’t run into any wildlife.

Interestingly, while the river is loaded with fish, not much fishing goes on — at least folks with poles. Upriver some fly fishermen go after trout.

Most fish taken from the river itself fall victim to gill nets of subsistence fishermen. The Stikine is in an area designated for local residents to use the nets.

While most fishermen go after the salmon in saltwater, the migrating fish in the Stikine are still mighty tasty.

“The salmon have been genetically altered to adapt to the long journey home,” Schwartz-Yeager said.  They are loaded with the right kind of oils that makes them tastier, she added.

The river is lined with snow-capped peaks of the Coastal Range. Unlike the Rockies, which are sheer granite, these mountains are mostly covered with green trees. Only the very tops exposed thanks to the gale force winds that blow in the winter months.

If it’s Alaska, there’s bound to be a glacier nearby. For this part of the Stikine its Shakes Glacier, which creates Shakes Lake.

The Shakes Glacier melts off to create Shakes Lake which in turn empties into the Stikine. There’s plenty of ice in the lake from the calving glacier. On of the few good days in September, boats can get closer to the glacier than we did in mid-July.

Between the glacier and the Stikine delta, hot water from Chief Shakes Hot Springs bubbles to the surface. The U.S. Forest captures the steaming water in a couple of wooden hot tubs — one inside a screened hut with the other in the open. It might not be much of a treat in summer, but in the winter snowmobilers and those with hovercraft can drop in for a relaxing afternoon or evening.

In April, the river comes alive with eagles swooping down to feast on hooligan run. Like salmon, the tiny hooligan return to where they hatched.

For more information on other companies offering tours, hotels in Wrangell and the Stikine and Wrangell itself, visit www.wrangell.com