The Nickajack Trail

(My 21st year was spent with the military on a island in the Pacific. In a rather uneventful life, I do find a number of occurrences in this one year worth recording.)

Steak fry day on Japtan. We hit the beach running. A day away from the military routine. A day of fun and exploring on this uninhabited island. Our small group moved single file, safari like, into the center of the small, small isle; and pushed on to the ocean side. The jungle canopy parted and shimmering sunshine momentarily blinded us. As our eyes adjusted we were confronted by an awesome sight.

A great ship, 10 stories high loomed before us. The rusted hulk was nosed onto the reef with its bow in four feet of water. Its stern, hundreds of feet beyond, extended past the reef hanging over the deep blue Pacific. It was securely beached and didn’t rock or shudder as breakers piled into the stern sending three foot waves rolling along its sides.

We waded out to it and looked up. The graceful curve of the ship extended out over us, giving the frightening feeling that it was toppling over unto our small group. The heavy steel at the bottom of the bow was wrinkled from its trip onto the reef. Further along, at the water line, the sides were rusted and broken through by wave action.

A fire hose hung almost to the water from a square port near the lower deck. Athletic Bob Horwitz grabbed the hose and hand over hand, went up and disappeared through the opening. The rest of us attempted to follow. Despite our youth and enthusiasm, the best we could climb was about fifteen feet before falling back into the shallow water. We were bitterly disappointed -- so near and yet so far.

Bob worked his way down inside the ship using stairs and ladders until he neared the bottom. We waited impatiently, staring upward at the prize which was inaccessible to us. He returned to the deck to inform us of welcome news.

“The underside of the bow has been ripped open and there is light coming from below.”

We carefully went underwater and timing the surge of the waves, pulled ourselves into a dark slimy hold. As our eyes adjusted, Bob led us to a ladder of steel rungs fastened to the bulkhead.

“Go easy,” he cautioned, “There are a few rusted out and missing steps.”

In the dark we worked our way carefully up the ladder feeling for those missing steps. After climbing several internal stairways, we came out at last into the sunlight. A feeling of disbelief swept through us. This museum of the recent past was here for our enjoyment. We ran like kid from deck to deck -- exploring through offices, crew sleeping area, bridge, kitchen, dining room, and captains quarters.

We rushed to a 4” gun mounted on the bow. To our disappointment the ammunition locker was open and empty.

“Bogies coming in on the starboard quarter.”

We climbed into metal seats and tried transversing and elevating the muzzle but the action was corroded tight. We brought down a few enemy zeros and tired of that game.

Bill Whitmore came up with a set of the ships blue prints from an office. We were on a tanker. In a locker Wally Rudevich found the signal flags. There were still blankets on the bunks in the crews quarters which were damp and rotting and fell apart in our hands. I found a book, an adventure story, belonging to one of the crew. From an office file I saw the chief engineers and reports which carried 1944 dates. I claimed a rubber stamp with the ships name, Nickajack Trail. After serving in World War II she had come to his inglorious end -- aground on an island reef.

We rushed on toward the stern. The center of the ship where the oil had been stored was rusted through. We looked down through gaping holes in the deck and saw waves washing beneath us. It appeared that the stern section was being supported only by a rusting deck.

When we reached the stern we could see the deep blue water which indicated that sudden ocean drop off to umpty thousand feet. The crash of the waves caused eerie creaking sounds in the metal. We sensed the entire stern section was going to break off and slide down into the depths -- hopefully not today.

Before we left the stern, we wanted to climb down into the engine room and view those engines. We entered a companionway and found another ladder of metal rungs. Peering in the darkness, we dropped a chunk of metal into the abyss. After a long wait we heard it splash.

Three of us started down in the pitch dark. Going cautiously, about fifteen feet, we could look up and see that rectangular doorway which now was just a dim speck of light above. Courage left us and we ascended to the daylight. If we had reached the bottom there was no light to see anything we rationalized. Also we had no idea how deep the water in the hold might be. Next time we came we would bring a flash light.
With a sigh of relief we again crossed the rusted deck and arrived at the safety of the bow. Then retracing our steps we climbed down our precarious ladder to the light filtering in through the water at the rip in the bottom. Gauging the surging rhythm of the waves we grabbed the slippery metal and lowered ourselves through the hole, surfacing on the beach.

Months later we did returned to Japtan. We were not allowed flashlights on Eniwetok and the best we could come up with was a pen light. But, we would see those engines. Again, down the ladder toward the engines we went again to about 15 feet. Our weak light shone about 2 feet ahead which showed us nothing but blackness. Defeated by fear, we gave up thoughts of ever seeing the engines, and climbed back up the ladder with shaking hands.

Leaving the Nickajack Trail we turned back for one final look. Framed by palm trees, on a beach of coral sand, she sat surrounded by blue skies and a bluer sea. Colored by rust she posed gracefully as white surf rolled along her side which was slowly being eaten away one microscopic bite at a time.

We crossed the island, back to the lagoon beach and boarded our LCM. The front ramp was drawn up and as the engines roared we backed off and slowly Japtan Island returned to a little mound of green on the horizon, with a reddish speck on the ocean side.

(The SS Nickajack Trail was built by Kaiser Company, Swan Island Yard, Portland, Oregon in June 1944. She wrecked in the entrance to Eniwetok Harbor on March 30th, 1946. Her hulk was offered for sale in 1952. There were no takers.)

Story ID:	1369
Written by:	Dick Dunlap (bio, contact, other stories)
Story type:	Story
Location:	Eniwetok Marshall Islands
Year:	1953