Modern Triumph In The Northern Ice

In 1953 the United States and Canada jointly contracted to build the Dew (Distant Early Warning) Line.[1] For her part, Canada offered to supply sites and, through Canadian firms, a substantial amount of construction and transport support. When completed, the stations would be manned by civilians, mostly Canadians, under a contract with the Federal Electric Corporation, a subsidiary of International Telephone and Telegraph. The burden of actually constructing and equipping the stations fell to the United States, at a cost estimated from four hundred million to two billion dollars. Scheduled for completion in 1958, the Dew line will provide an interlocking string of radar outposts—each an independent community in itself—from Alaska to Greenland. Taken together with the coterminal, north-south segment of the Alaskan Early Warning System,* Dew Line presents an almost impenetrable detection net designed to give from four to six hours’ warning of air attack to U. S. and Canadian cities. Further increase in this alert time or maintenance of it in the face of the intercontinental ballistic missile must depend on further refinements in detection apparatus. It is doubtful if any more northern network would be feasible.

By late 1954 the stations at both termini of the line had been completed. These stations were located in the comparatively accessible parts of the line, in Greenland and Alaska. There remained a three thousand- mile gap to be bridged. This gap stretched across some of the wildest and most remote country in the hemisphere: the Canadian Northwest Territories.

It was evident from the vast quantities of materials required—548,000 measurement tons of general supplies and equipment and 3,666,114 barrels of oil, the first building season alone—that only shipping could do the job. On the other hand, operation of thin-skinned merchant ships above the Arctic Circle was totally without precedent. No deep-draft cargo ship had ever gone east of Point Barrow, entered Foxe Basin, or touched on the eastern coast of Baffin Island; yet all three passages must be made before the 1955 summer was over. The task was laid on the desk of the Commander, Military Sea Transportation Service.

As coordinated with the building contractor, this was to be a two-year operation. Only during the three late summer months could un-reinforced shipping, even with icebreaker assistance, operate above 62° north. The task for the first summer, 1955, was mainly to resupply, among others, the Foundation Company (the Canadian Construction contractor), and stock-pile materials of a housekeeping nature at sites jointly selected for mutual accessibility. For a year Foundation personnel had been on location, surveying sites by bush-jumper aircraft and moving in advance personnel. The advance bases consisted mainly of a tent, a monoplane, and a month’s supply of emergency rations. In order that these footholds be maintained, it was absolutely necessary that they be supplied immediately. Building material, construction equipment, food, and oil made up the bulk of the first summer’s cargo. In 1956 material to build the radar stations themselves would be lifted in. Literally everything required had to be included; except for stone and fish, the land itself could furnish nothing. So precious was space and so meager the resources of the country, even dunnage and cordage was carefully selected and ordered landed when the rest of the cargo had been put ashore.

When finally organized, MSTS Arctic Operations 1955 was made up of nineteen civilian-manned merchant marine ships, thirty-four cargo vessels, and twelve tankers from MSTS, nine privately-owned, time- chartered vessels, eight U. S. Coast Guard, one Royal Canadian Navy, and forty-three U. S. Navy ships—126 ships all told. The ships supplied by the U. S. Navy were about evenly divided between the East and West coasts, being drawn mainly from PHIBLANT and PHIBPAC. Specifically, there were four icebreakers, one command ship, three survey ships, seven repair and salvage ships, three ocean-going tugs, eight LSDs, six AKAs, and eleven LSTs. Besides their crews, 6,105 U. S. Army Transportation Corps stevedores were embarked for a total of 18,647 personnel directly engaged. Since the U. S. Air Force was requested to provide what support it could, the operation was truly a joint effort of all the services.

The operation was planned as a two-pronged assault: one task force pushing through on the Atlantic side, the other from the Pacific. A third force undertook a resupply of the Pribilof Island Group. The author served in the USS Thuban (AKA-19), an element of the Foxe Basin Unit of the Atlantic task force. Experiences in this area were by no means exceptional. They do, however, illustrate the difficulties common to the operation and the lessons learned in surmounting them.

Prior to departure, the ship was granted a restricted availability at the Norfolk Shipbuilding and Drydocking Company yards. As well as insuring that all necessary repairs were effected before sailing, this time provided all departments an opportunity to follow through the standard cold-weather check-off list. Special lubricating and tuning up of all equipment, particularly electronic gear, comprised the bulk of the work. Major alterations were few. The ship exchanged her eight LCMs for special arcticized boats and put off the LCVP normally deck stowed. The new LCM featured enclosed cockpits, winterized engines, radios, radar reflectors, magnesyn as well as magnetic compasses, propeller iceguards, and modified lubricating and cooling systems. One boat, in addition, was fitted with radar and another with a gyro compass on an experimental basis.

The largest change was the installation of a special propeller having a cast steel hub with stainless steel blades. However, the majority of the ships in the operation were fitted with propellers cast in a new alloy, “nickel-aluminum bronze,” which has all around superior qualities for both normal and ice operations. This alloy is tough enough for ice work and not subject to the corrosion steel propellers incur in warmer waters.

While no special hull strengthening was performed, water-tight fittings were carefully checked and extra shoring and damage control material obtained and stored on board in key locations. Included in this stock were several sheets of steel plate, some of which were later to be used in a most unexpected manner. These modifications, together with the improvisation of enclosed lookout stations in the bow and on the bridge wings and a shelter on the signal bridge, comprised the total of modifications. Cost for work on all navy ships involved was only about three million dollars. Few such special preparations were undertaken for the merchant ships.

Spare parts and items of special equipage taken on board were in the thousands. Special clothing and self-heat rations; several hundred LCM shafts, screws, and cutlass bearings; thermos jugs and electric heaters— the list ranged from the simple to the complex, from the obvious to the subtle. From the bamboo poles and ballbats used in deicing topside fittings and antennae to the RDF and improved depth sounding gear, every piece gave excellent performance.

The Hydrographic Office was keenly interested in the expedition, providing a veritable library of information on the Arctic as well as a special portfolio of charts. In return, each ship participating was requested to collect and forward data on tides and currents, weather, flora and fauna, bathothermographic readings, depths, bottom characteristics, chart tracks, and sailing directions. For the first time in history, the Northwest Passage, sought for centuries by explorers, was to be used as a passage to move men and supplies. This afforded a unique opportunity to catalogue a tremendous quantity of information on a hitherto uncharted expanse of water. Indeed, in view of the likelihood of vastly expanded naval activities in these waters, the gathering and collation of hydro- graphic information might be considered an important secondary objective of MSTS Arctic Operations 1955.

Oceanographic datum was especially sought from the Foxe Basin area. Prior to 1954 the total of information available consisted of the reports of the Englishman Parry who explored some sections of the area about 1823, of the pioneer Manning who surveyed a minute part of the coast of Baffin Island in a canoe, and a single line of soundings made by two U. S. Navy breakers up the center of the Basin in 1949. This was supplemented by the icebreaking Arctic Patrol Ship HMCS Labrador in 1954. However, the charts available were little more than blank sheets of paper overlayed with warnings against relying too heavily on any of the non-triangulated information they contained. At least one large charted island did not exist. Few of the charts were Mercator projections, and in practice the charts used were those made from week to week on the Labrador.

Ice was, of course, the most serious of all the hazards to be encountered, while time was the all-important factor. In Arctic work, maximum advantage must be taken of a relatively limited number of days, demanding the utmost in careful planning and coordination. Original timing and selection of sites as well as final cut-off dates for each sector were made on the basis of long-range Hydrographic Office ice predictions. A heavy schedule of ice reconnaissance flights was set up for the duration of the operation and task unit commanders given the widest latitude to change plans on the basis of these reports and local observations. So poor were the original predictions and so frequent the changes that the motto of HMCS Labrador, freely translated, “Haven’t you heard, it’s all been changed?” was adopted as such by the entire expedition. As a last resort, all ships were instructed to be prepared to winter in the ice. Locations for wintering were selected and preliminary planning for evacuation of personnel and preparation of the ships was undertaken. It is a tribute to all concerned that these plans were never executed.

Navigation and piloting, as indicated, were expected to present a problem only slightly less in magnitude. Since, during the early weeks at least, the midnight sun would be in evidence, celestial navigation must be impaired. In addition the incidence of fog and snow and the frequent mirages on the horizon conspired against this means. Loran reception in the area was marginal, lights and buoys non-existent, magnetic compass worthless and gyro often erratic, land flat and featureless, and sailing directions vague. Bubble sextants, good surface search radar, and RDF were expected to provide the answer. The latter was to be used with the radar reflectors, radio beacons, and electronic distance finders set up at critical points by Labrador in her preliminary work. Happily the odd, pan-like bottom structure of Foxe Basin lessened the danger of grounding, particularly if the ship were navigated seaward of the last line of soundings.

Few additional preparations could be made to overcome the other anticipated obstacles. Fog, snow, cold weather, unimproved beaches, nonexistent repair facilities, difficulties of resupply and communications must be met and dealt with “by ear.”

Taking a partial load and embarking nearly two hundred Army Transportation Corps stevedores, the Thuban left the Norfolk area on July 19, 1955. The first difficulties appeared almost immediately. Due, apparently, to the difference in weight of the ice screw, a main shaft bearing began to overheat. This trouble plagued several other ships during the entire cruise. The general success in the use of the new propellers of both types is seen, however, in the fact that though forty-one ship propellers sustained some damage, in only four instances was the damage more than slight. Losses were limited to two relatively small LST propellers. No nickel-aluminum-bronze propeller was damaged beyond repair.

The balance of the Thuban’s cargo was taken at Nova Scotia, and topping off was accomplished at Argentia, Newfoundland. Two days out of Argentia the first bergs were sighted, just on schedule. These wonders of nature lived up to their advanced notices as scenic wonders but, fortunately, not as navigational hazards. Although close observation of injection temperatures failed to disclose any significant drop even at close proximity to icebergs, radar detected all at comfortable distances. Only rarely were course changes necessary, even in areas of heavy concentration where dozens were simultaneously in sight, since sailing northward we paralleled their lines of advance rather than cut across them. Significantly, too, never were bergy- bits or brash seen except within a thousand yards or so of the parent berg. Accordingly, if the berg when detected on radar was plotted to be cleared by a mile, there was no danger of collision with undetected bits.

Especially on bright nights, the bergs were visible at great distances, shining palely as if with a light of their own. Turning these ice mountains to advantage, a series of gunnery passes were made on one selected for its apparent stability. Five-inch high-explosive projectiles made little impression, yet the gentle rays of the sun and a slight swell are enough to send hundreds of tons of ice cascading. It is these occasional calvings and up- endings as the berg rebalances that bid the mariner steer well clear.

As the ship made the turn into the Hudson Straits, the last berg was left behind, and the first salt water ice encountered. Injection temperatures, previously steadily declining, plummeted to around 28°F. So called “Foxe Basin Ice” is a unique sort, identifiable by its dirty, brown appearance. The exact cause of this phenomenon is still a subject of speculation, but the fact that new ice is clear supports the theory that it is discolored by soil blown onto older ice during the summer. Being the first ice encountered, the tendency was to give it a wide berth and, by prodigious use of rudder and engine, to avoid striking even the smallest piece. Happily for the nerves of all concerned, it existed only in a few patches and these in concentrations of less than two-tenths. Coral Harbor, Southampton Island, the first stop, was reached without incident.

Until this point, progress on the part of all ships, owing to varying loading commitments, had been largely independent, the rendezvous being set for Coral Harbor. This location had the double advantage of being an advance site and at the same time virtually assured of being ice free until late in the summer. Here the Foundation Company had its largest base and an airstrip, and here any materials unable to be beached elsewhere would be unloaded.

The arrival of the merchant bottoms on the scene had been staggered. This accomplished the dual purpose of keeping no more ships in the ice than could be worked and of maintaining some slight stream of fresh provisions, mail, and last minute equipage flowing into the area. In addition, should unloading at any or all of the advanced locations prove infeasible, later ships would be on hand at Coral for discharging.

Work on the cargo to be unloaded, mainly oil, was begun at once. For this purpose all LCMs and the LCUs embarked in the LSD were water-borne and placed in ferrying service. Though better than any other beach encountered in the area, Fubar Beach as it was dubbed, was immensely below standard. The gradient was slight, general composition amazingly rocky, and tidal range wide. This latter caused the deeper drafted LCU to hang up on the beach at low tide, jamming the narrow beach, putting the craft out of commission until the next high water and often damaging its bottom.

There began at once the stream of casualties that was to persist until the end of the operation. On Thuban boats alone some one hundred screws, eighty shafts, and as many cutlass bearings would have to be replaced. Damage to screws was sharply reduced when iceguards installed in the winterization process were cut away. In the absence of ice, the guards served no good purpose, tending rather to collect stones and hold them into the screws after the manner of a rock crusher. Coxswains reported continual difficulty with the starting and priming systems, modified for cold weather. Boat radios gave excellent service, but the modified radar never operated satisfactorily and was shortly put out of action permanently when its antenna shattered on the counter of a merchantman, much to the relief of overworked electronics technicians. Magnesyn compass masts showed a similar predilection to destruction. For a like reason the shields outboard on the lazarets were found impractical and were removed. They were quickly crushed as the boats lay alongside, jamming the cockpit doors and acting as a hazard to crews working inside the boats. The LCUs took numerous holes in their hulls often requiring days of repair in the well decks of the LSDs. LSMs, on the contrary, were usually repaired and returned to service after only a few hours.

Despite the difficulties on the beach, unloading, blessed by near perfect weather and the midnight sun, progressed smoothly. Two of the LCVPs carried as lifeboats were equipped for salvage and odd chores. Boat crews and army stevedores were divided in two twelve-hour shifts and five meals were served daily on both Navy and civilian ships to accommodate them. When experience overcame the stevedore’s lack of training, they were quite satisfactory and never lacked in willingness to work and to learn. CIC’s were modified and became boat control centers. Here careful track was kept of the location, condition, and status of all boats engaged and fueling, feeding, and relieving schedules coordinated. The mountain of oil drums on Fubar Beach grew apace, and nearly a week ahead of schedule the first phase over. Those ships that had been completely discharged transferred what of stores, fuel, and water they could spare and left for warmer waters.

Reports from HMCS Labrador confirmed by flights in Foundation planes from Coral revealed that ice conditions in Foxe Basin were greatly worse than had been anticipated, and the convoy, now numbering over a score of ships, was forced into inactivity until they should improve. The icebreakers, HMCS Labrador having been joined by the USS Edisto, were freed now to survey and chart routes to the next sites and the ships at Coral to concentrate on improving flagging morale.

A series of softball games between Army and Navy, officers and enlisted, Americans and Canadians, etc., were most popular, particularly when reenforced by a substantial quantity of beer providently embarked in Norfolk. The fishing was excellent and well patronized. Hunting would doubtless have been also were it not forbidden by Canadian law to all save Eskimos. And, of course, camera and exploring parties, undaunted by Canadian regulations prohibiting fraternization with the natives and lurid tales of lost ways and death in the unexplored hills of Southampton Island, were everywhere. The settlement, though small, provided a number of fine subjects: a Roman Catholic Church, a Hudson’s Bay Company trading post, and a small summer encampment of Eskimos. In addition, a team of Walt Disney cameramen were present and obligingly posed at work. Some concern on their account later developed when they were missing for several days in their light plane before being located unharmed.

The Eskimo segregation policy, enforced in an area of about one hundred thousand square miles by one RCMP, has not been scrupulously observed. This was shockingly evident in its effects. The adult tuberculosis rate among the Eskimo at Coral is almost one hundred per cent and various Caucasian parasitic diseases are nearly as ravaging.

Nonetheless, the Eskimo is fascinating. Sufficient of his exotic mores survive to thrill the amateur anthropologist. Different, to say the least, were his beautiful soapstone carvings; his ancient—over a thousand years— cemetery on the crest of a wild flower strewn hill, its graves rocky cairns above the ground because of the permafrost; his methods of curing magnificent polar bear skins—in his own urine—and of softening leather for the inside of gloves and mucklucks—by communal chewing “bees”; his boats and his method of fishing and beaching whale; his winter sleds, twelve foot frames used to stretch skins in the summer; and his tremendous husky dogs, growing fat and lazy, never barking but periodically howling mournfully in mass choirs.

As interesting as the Eskimo were the Foundation personnel. They were a mixed lot, signed on by the company for a full two- year term in the Arctic. Wages were extraordinary and equalled savings, more or less, since there were few places to spend money. Neither liquor nor women existed for them, and gambling was frowned upon. In these pioneers could be seen the successors of those Americans who laid a railroad across a continent. Each with his own remarkable history and eager to tell it, each with something independent in his walk, and all in complete agreement with Mr. Weber, the company’s representative in charge, “Nowhere has man undertaken so difficult a construction task. The Arctic conspires against his every effort to move material or assemble it when moved.” Time had run out on the Atlantic task force. After a conference it was decided to assemble all ships—twenty-two by now—and start north come what may. A single column was formed, stronger ships interspersed among the weaker ships and the icebreakers at the van. Besides general three to nine-tenths ice blockage, at least two areas of total coverage were encountered. For eight days the average advance was just two knots. Working with great respect— almost fear—of the ice at the start, the particular circumstances and experience dictated several departures from “the book.”

The standard ice convoy arrangement was found impractical. The column length even at reduced interval was over ten miles. This oftentimes represented a half day’s advance, even for the icebreakers. When, accordingly, ships toward or at the end of the column needed assistance, the rest must lay to and wait, often the whole day. As the merchant ships were at first highly timid of the ice, this was a common occurrence. Again, by the time the icebreaker rejoined the van it was caught fast and further waiting resulted. This condition persisted even when two columns were formed and each led by a breaker. The solution arrived at was to keep moving, with or without an icebreaker. It was found that only when a ship allowed herself to come dead in the water did entrapment result. When bare steerage way was maintained, seldom was the ship so badly beleaguered as to require assistance. Moreover, very impressive advances were scored— quite as great as with the icebreaker in the lead. The method used was to approach flows slowly until the stem was in contact and then to order a burst of power. Unlike the breaker, the ship did not ride up on and break the ice, but slowly shouldered it out of the way no matter how large the flow or congested the water. The device invariably was successful, and no damage resulted solely attributable to it. It is to be emphasized, however, that the ice was old and rotten and consisted mostly of medium and small flows. Field ice, obviously, could not be penetrated in this manner. The essence is that in brash ice the breaker’s path is totally obliterated after the passage of only a few ships and nothing is lost, accordingly, proceeding without the breaker.

This method led inevitably to another tactic. Instead of attempting to maintain station of any sort, ships chose the path of least resistance as it presented itself to them. Only in general terms was the order of ships in column preserved, yet there was little straggling, less indeed than heretofore. The merchant captain could now exercise his natural instinct of self-preservation rather than following blindly an oft-congested wake. This alleviated the main concern of the conning officer—collision. Standard doctrine calls for each to follow closely as possible the ship ahead. As this distance was often a few hundred yards, and sudden stops were frequent, it was generally felt that there was more to be feared from collision with other ships than with the ice. Two other factors were involved: when backing, screws were more likely to draw in ice, and communications with the merchantmen, although only plain language was used on TBS and all signals were paralleled by international flag hoists and the ice whistle code, were something less than satisfactory. Unless called directly, they seldom responded, and the long delay in passing visual or audible signals down the line resulted in several near misses. Under the “make-your-own-way” policy the peril was considerably lessened, and, too, the icebreakers were left largely free to help laggards and ships in real difficulty.

Experience on August 18 when our ship crossed the Arctic Circle impelled yet another simple extension. During that day, in the heaviest ice yet encountered, the convoy made some sixteen miles good. More miles had been steamed but mainly in a futile effort to find a shore lead—open water that normally exists close offshore. Following standard procedure, ships hove to in the ice two or three miles apart to wait out the few darkness hours. Driven by a current somewhat heavier than usual, the convoy found itself at dawn further south than at the previous dawn. Nearly the whole day was consumed making back the loss, and all hands became Blue Noses, complete with card and ceremony, for the second time in two days, a unique if unenviable achievement. Each night thereafter all ships kept turns on, letting the ship have her head, and held her own against the current with no ill effects. This also eliminated the regular loss of two to six hours each morning as the breakers freed the ships beleaguered in the night; ice frequently piled dozens of feet high above their screws.

That these constant motion maneuvers may have wider application is seen when one considers the tremendous advantage submarines must have against convoys in ice. A long line of evenly-spaced ships motionless for long periods of time would be sitting ducks for torpedos fired from its flanks, especially from submarines against whom counterattack would be almost impossible. Some planning, it would seem, is indicated along these lines as shipping commitments in Arctic waters become heavier.

With a brief spell of warmer weather, fog became a major problem. Here, too, the looser arrangement of the convoy allowed some progress, otherwise impossible—surface search radar in an ice clogged sea being next to useless. Conning, by an ingenious connection of sound powered phones, previously moved to the flying bridge, was conducted now from the forecastle. When one became used to the odd perspective and the lack of a point of reference, this was not at all difficult. From here, even in severely reduced visibility, paths could be judged and the ship directed so as to avoid heavy collisions with larger flows.

The previously mentioned fear of, and monomaniacal respect for, ice lessened with experience, and after only a few days conning officers had become quite adept at “threading the needle.” The natural inclination when approaching some obstacle is to swing away from it; this instinct must be overcome in ice-conning. The stem is by far more rugged than the bows, and here the shock must be taken in the case both of small, hard bits and the very large floes against which a slow, powerful push makes progress. Only when a wedging action or a glancing blow is desirable should the bow plates be the point of initial contact. In learning these lessons, the Thuban took a split some four feet long in the bow. Several other ships incurred similar damage at the same time. Double plate re-enforcement and permanent shoring in the bows of all ships participating in future ice operations is definitely indicated.

The sensational evening displays of Northern Lights took their toll. Two areas of nil radio reception were noted, and numerous other communication singularities. At one point, when the ship next closest was out of contact, tactical signals were heard originating with ships in the western sector of Dew Line eight hundred miles away! Similarly, it was later reported that traffic on the boat control nets was drowning out police calls in a mid-western American town. The Armed Forces Radio Service was generally loud and clear as was the English language broadcast of Radio Moscow. One of the latter included a discussion in detail of our U. S. Arctic Operations. No mention was made, however, of the team of Russian scientists rumored to be outposted near the Pole. Loran and magnetic compasses were almost totally obliterated by magnetic effects. To which we will add only in passing the continual presence of visual mirages of a dozen varieties.

Mention must certainly be made of the teeming fauna of the Arctic. Whales were not uncommon, and on one occasion collision with one was missed by a matter of yards. At Repulse Bay where the ship worked for several days, a small white calf adopted the ship in lieu of its slain mother and rubbed contentedly against the accommodation ladder. Seals, porpoise, and birds of many species were common. Polar bears were occasionally sighted on the ice, and one LSD tried for several hours to herd one fine specimen into its well-deck with an LCVP. Failing, the ship was said to have returned to Hampton Roads and launched there a small ice floe making possible the first ice report in the history of the Coast Guard from this area. Most impressive of the animal life were the thousands of walrus, resting on floes turned beet-red by their own blood, it being the mating season.

After eight days, there was suddenly no more ice, and within a few hours the site was reached. Unloading began at once. For the first several days, despite the rock-crusher effect of the beach on boat screws, operations went very well. Several ships were discharged and returned through seas now totally free of ice, traversing in hours what had taken days. Once again the icebreakers were released to survey the next location and to escort several of the ships there—the prognosis being sufficiently bright to divide the force. These splendid prospects were shattered in the space of a day.

Revealing its true colors from behind its pleasant mask, the Arctic struck with blinding snow, frigid temperatures, and, the worst danger, ice. Unlike the rotting, “Foxe Basin” ice previously encountered, this was hard, new, blue ice. Propelled by the racing current (four knots at maximum ebb), the floes crashed against the chain and bow with shocking force and grounded on the beach. It became necessary now to have an LCM at the ship to fend off the larger floes and another, after an unhappy experience with a boat lost six hours in the snow, anchored half way to the beach as a marker vessel. For both of these tasks the LCM proved helpful but not fully adapted. While strong and not likely to be damaged or to capsize, the boat tended to ride up on the ice rather than “dig in.” Anchoring the boat without dragging in the heavy current, due to its weight, proved most difficult. There is indicated here, perhaps, the need for some kind of intermediate boat, constructed with these tasks in mind.

Boats loading alongside were required to cast off frequently as floes came crushing down the sides. The path to the beach had become a tortuous serpentining amid grounded floes. Constant bulldozer and demolition work were required to keep even this line open. Soon there was room for only one boat on the beach at a time. At night and during snow, operation of boats, even when equipped with powerful lights and flares, was extremely hazardous. Since conditions were steadily deteriorating, it became absolutely imperative to keep as many boats operating as possible. The absolute cut-off date for this area was only a matter of weeks away, and a half-dozen ships still remained to be worked. The three boats detached for demolition, marker, and ice pushing duties together with the standard salvage boat cut the craft available in half. The LCVP and gig (LCPL) were tried in varying capacities with varying success. The danger to their plywood hulls posed by the swift moving ice led, however, to their recall. It was a nearly disastrous blow when the ramp of one LCM broke completely away and sank while the boat was underway.

Since these ramps are secured with eight heavy duty bolts some three inches in diameter and are inspected regularly, the cause of the damage could be attributable only to brittle fracture. This phenomenon, whereby the tensile strength of metal falls off sharply at freezing and near freezing temperatures, is a constant plague in the Arctic. Hatch dogs, crowbars, winch foundations, and LCM ramps will suddenly part under the slightest stress. In this case, the casualty was more than an inconvenience. All undaunted, the overworked ship fitters set to work, and two days later the boat was at work again, a new bow ramp fashioned out of damage-control sheet metal welded in place. It was because of ingenuity and improvisations of this sort that the unloading, after four weeks, was brought to a successful conclusion. The trip to the next and last site was uneventful, as was the return home on October 1

On the Pacific side, of the fifty-three ships assigned all but eleven went east of Point Barrow, the first ever to do so, and the force included twenty-two civilian cargo types. It was there and across the four hundred miles east to Herschel Island that ice was the most hazardous. There the Arctic Polar Pack lies menacingly offshore at distances varying according to the duration and force of the changing winds. When the pack closes in on the coast and again recedes, it leaves masses of ice along the shore which must be penetrated to effect landings, while concentrations of polar ice generally require close icebreaker support.

The ships passed Point Barrow on August 1st. Heavy ice was encountered around Jenny Lind Island, and the constant presence of the breakers was essential to penetrate it. The easternmost point was attained on August 15. Under the poorest ice conditions, the unloading was successfully completed and the ships released for the journey home. By September 15 the last of the empties rounded Point Barrow, and two days later, the cargo for Point Barrow having been put ashore, the last ship left the area.

Damages in this sector were objectively heavy, but in light of the obstacles, surprisingly light. The heaviest casualty rate was on the northern Alaskan Coast. Overall, most ships suffered, but fifty-eight came through with no significant damage. Quite a number ran aground, but all save two came back under their own power, and none was lost. The final totals reveal no planes and only a single helicopter downed. One life was lost, by drowning. Sixty-three ships reported one hundred fifty-four casualties. Included were five lost or broken anchors, thirteen lost or damaged rudders, forty-one lost or damaged screws or shafts, seventeen groundings, and fifty-three hull ruptures, of which thirty- seven involved flooding.

Among the several lessons learned was (in this writer’s opinion) that of the usefulness of the AKA over the LSD and LST. The LSD are no better nor no worse in ice than the AKA, being perhaps more versatile and maneuverable. The LST, on the other hand, is poor in the ice and offers difficulty with the type of arctic beach whose rocky makeup causes damage. In the Foxe Basin, beaching must be at right angles to the heavy tidal currents; the range of the tide is sometimes stupendous; grounded ice, if present, will absolutely prohibit landings; and finally drifting ice could be lethal when striking at right angles the beached ship. Lastly, the LCM is irreplaceable. Properly prepared and handled, this “poor man’s tug boat” is little short of magnificent in the ice. It is and will remain the work horse of Arctic Operations. The unwieldy LCU has its place, but it can never supplant it.

In all the story of MSTS Arctic Operations is a story of cooperation and coordination on all levels. Each group demonstrated their willingness and ability to perform, under the greatest pressure, with efficiency and courage. I can think of no better summing up than the words of the then-MSTS Commander, Admiral F. C. Denebrink, USN, to the American Legion Convention at Miami October, 1955: “In our first major battle in the mass delivery of cargo to the top of our continent, against the very real enemies of ice, snow, fog, and low temperatures, a victory was achieved by American and Canadian demonstration at all levels of fundamental qualities without significant loss. I am proud to make you this report.”