Read Jim's about his Dad: "The Patrol to River X"

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Sketch of the area. Note numbers indicating view of pictures. If you click on the map, it will stay open for reference.

On June 10, 1944, on the north coast of New Guinea, the American and Japanese armies fought a little known, month-long battle in a 5-mile stretch of jungle between the Toricelli mountains and the Bismarck Sea, along the Driniumor river. My father was a combatant in that fight. In the later years of his life, he wrote enough about his experiences there to entice me to learn about the history he had witnessed. Toward that end, I resolved to travel to that same river, walk the same trails and see with my own eyes. In July of 1994, 50 years to the month after the battle, I did exactly that. This essay is an attempt to express the high points of the trip, and to underscore some of the problems encountered by a middle class white man used to his comforts. I used disposable cameras with 400 asa for the pictures because I was too paranoid to go there with an expensive camera.

Wewak, NG. Picture thanks to http://www.pacificwrecks.com

that could take me where I wanted, so I just had to plunk down my money and go. The biggest problem I had was psychological, You know, fearing fear itself kind of thing. When you start reading about travel to New Guinea, you start to see the country that is rather dangerous, especially Port Moresby. When I was about to leave the country, Clement Anawan, to be introduced later, told me that I could very easily be killed in that town, so I stuck close to the airport on the trip back.

I arrived in Port Moresby after 26 straight hours of travel, disoriented, jet-lagged, and culture-shocked. The airport is just a big tin-roofed shed. After you get your bags and go through customs, you go out a door and boom! There you are on a street thronged with humanity. There was no buffer and no period of adjustment. I could actually see my hotel up the road, but even at

09. The Driniumor looking north from North Afua.*

a distance you see the concertina wire around it and the guard at the entrance. Between the airport and the hotel were crowds of folks just malingering in the street in bunches in a kind

32. Looking south up river from South Afua*. You can see the mountains through the mist.

of party mode, some clearly drunk, loud and killing time. I hired a cab for the 30-second drive to the hotel, and I'd do it again; although later people told me it would have been safe to walk it if I "walked boldly" and in the daylight. As the cab drove up the hill, you could look back to the north and see the Owen-Stanley mountains in the distance, and though you want to go explore it because of the history, you really need some kind of guide who knows the area, and more time than I had.

I did sleep well at the protected hotel, and took the hotel courtesy van back down to the airport the next day for my flight to Wewak. New Guinea is one big telephone exchange, so you can make a local call to anywhere in the country. I had already called the Windjammer hotel in Wewak from my room and made reservations that morning. I caught an Air Niugini flight and made it to Wewak by dark. They are really trying to encourage tourism around there, and they know that they have to take the odd tourist in hand right away or people will get hurt, so there is a courtesy van from the Windjammer there to meet every flight. The one other hotel in town was run by Japanese but I never saw it. I was driven to the Windjammer where they never heard of me or my reservation but, "yes, we have plenty of rooms available." The Windjammer sits on the edge of the water and even in Wewak they have concertina wire down to the ocean on both sides and

03. From the middle of the coast highway bridge, looking south at the islands in the stream that the Japs called Kwanikajima. It was at this spot the Japs made their initial assault on the Driniumor line on the night of July 10. but panning a little more towards the jungle the Japs emerged from.

they park Doberman Pincers all along the fence to protect the guests. But the bar is popular and I never could go in to get me a couple of beers to drink in my room without being collared by several of the local "old men" in there getting sloppy drunk, pretty much an every night affair. They all have business deals and moneymaking ideas they want you to buy into. I did meet a fellow guest named "Cliff" from Bougainville who said he was a chopper pilot for one of the oil companies there. These guys are very dark and black-skinned, not brown skinned

27 From the single go-down that now comprises South Afua. Many Japs emerged from that jungle and somewhere there the 2nd squadron of the 112th entered the jungle to make its reconnaissance in force on July 10. My dad was with that bunch.

as are African blacks, and are a handsome race in a way that the photographs you see in National Geographic never quite catch. They tend to have facial tattoos which make them look wild but once they speak they are typically quite educated. Anyway, this guy Cliff was pleasant and articulate. Later in Aitape he pulled my fat out of the fire (more on that to come.) One thing about the New Guinea nationals (they do not like to be called natives) is that they have very Anglicized first names and more oriental surnames. This takes some getting used to. The first time you meet on a trail a 70-odd year-old grandmother with bare breasts down to her navel, spotted tattoos all over her face around her eyes, with her grand baby in a sling and you say "Wha name name belong you?" She looks up and through the three teeth she has in her entire head she smiles and says "Barbara" -- you just shake your head.

A Japanese war memorial is just across the street from the Windjammer. It was about a half acre fenced in. There were places with beer bottles and trash where, it appeared people slept. On the last day I walked back one last time and found before one of the shrines a tray with fresh Japanese style rice cakes, a ceremonial offering. One day I rode in the courtesy van to downtown Wewak, bought some groceries, and walked back some two miles down the beach. The guards in front of the Windjammer all knew me by then and were angry that I would do such a foolish thing; they said it was lucky I didn't get pickpocketed in town and robbed on the road back. They were upset enough that I did not go out alone after that. I caught a commuter flight to Aitape the next day because the

35. Shrine in the Japanese war memorial in Wewak, fortunately right across the road from the Windjammer. The entire memorial looked forlorn and forgotten and run down, but on the last day I was there Japanese style rice cakes on a nice tray were left in front of this shrine.

36. The main pavilion of the Japanese war memorial in Wewak.

highway between Aitape and Wewak was unpaved all the way and uncertain. We flew to a small town in the mountains named Lumi and landed, taking on and letting off passengers. It was quite a scenic flight. On the way into Aitape the pilot, on the intercom, announced that because of rain, the Aitape airfield was closed and we would be landing at Tadji. Tadji was one of the main landmarks that the battle revolved around. We landed, and I cannot imagine the field looking any different from what it did 50

years ago. The reason they can land on it in the rain is that the Marsden Matting is still there. It was a little rusty, but I scraped a little rust off one of the panels and it was solid steel. It will probably still be there in a hundred years. You see the stuff all over in people's yards and huts. They called it "rail."

All there is on Tadji is three palm fronds tri-podded to make a shelter (that's the terminal), and a white pickup truck with two young guys and a girl about 14-years-old waiting for the airplane. The truck was missing a starter which they had ordered from Lae but it did not make it this trip. They agreed will give me a ride to Aitape. I helped them push start their truck and rode in the back with one of the guys who introduced himself as Gerald.

06. James, Gerald and Simon at the west end of the coast highway bridge

38. Clement Anawan sitting on his front porch in Aitape, with his still starter-less pickup behind him.

He said he would be happy to guide me to the Driniumor, only they called it the "Numor." Gerald is from the village of Yakamul, east of the Numor. He was in Aitape to visit his uncle. On the way to Aitape, it started pouring rain. They dropped me off at the Aitape hotel soaking wet with a promise to come by later and "sort it out." Ten minutes later I was drying off in a modern hotel room watching Rosanne on a full color satellite TV. New Guinea is definitely a country of contrasts. All I will say about the Aitape hotel is that it is very nice and very expensive and the nicest thing I can say about the fellow who ran it was that he was a devout capitalist.

04. The coast highway bridge, from the American vantage point, looking east across the Driniumor. The men are James and another whose name I lost.

I showed them all the maps of the river and the battle I had copied from the Levenworth Paper and the Approach to the Philippines book. They are really fascinated. I think they knew something important happened there but they did not know many details. Gerald said his uncle was in local government, the Minister of Education (I think) and would I come by the province offices tomorrow and meet him? I can't wiggle out of that one, I figure, so in the morning Gerald comes by and we go meet Clement Anawan, a man I will remain eternally grateful to for making the trip to the Driniumor possible. We sat and talked for about two hours while they taught me to chew betel nut. I think it amazed

them that some guy would come all that way just to see a river. They were somewhat used to business men traveling, but not tourists, and not alone. Clement talked a great deal about the danger in their country, and warned me repeatedly about watching where I went and who I fell in with. Although I did walk around Aitape alone and unmolested, there were some white Australians and missionaries who would drive by me and look clearly amazed to see a white man walking alone. I figured I couldn't just hunker down in my room and be scared, so I usually got up and out when I could. Every national I met assumed I was a missionary till I told them otherwise.

We struck up a deal that I would contract with Clement and his folks to act as my guides to the village of Afua and up the river. They could see from the maps where I wanted to go. When I left, I left all my information about the river and the battle with them. They were so interested and could not get the same data themselves. Clement agreed to provide transportation up the coastal highway to the Paup villages. In the morning, Gerald (who was running the show) collected me and we walked to a section of Aitape where Clement lived. His solution to having no starter in his truck was to draft four or five of his sons and nephews to ride in back and push start when required. One of his sons named James drove since he was the

05. The coast highway bridge, looking west, back toward the Paup Villages. That's Clement junior in the middle, Simon in yellow in the very back, and Clement's white truck. Lost the names of the other folks.

only one with a license. I filled up the truck with gas and we stopped at the grocery for supplies. Obviously, I was bankrolling the whole trip but that was expected. I bought two bottles of water which they acted like was an extreme extravagance but I was glad because I ended up badly needing them. Their solution for bottled water was that every time we came to a village, the headman would send one of the little boys up a palm tree to cut down a couple of coconuts. They would then clip the top off and offer it as a drink. I guess it would keep you alive, but it never really satisfied my thirst which just built and built the whole time. We drove east out of Aitape along the coast highway passing their high school, the Catholic mission

down to the water and put my hand in it, just to sort of commemorate all the effort I had put out to get there. One of the guys walked over to the rail of the bridge and started spray painting graffiti on it. It soured my stomach but what could I say, I was a guest in their country. I don't think he would have done that if Clement had been there. We took pictures and tried to explore the jungle a little but it's so thick and there are no trails so I didn't want to go too far into it. Besides, I couldn't hold up the truck since Clement needed it back. So we pushed it to start it, got in and they drove us back to the intersection with the track to Afua.

Gerald, Stephan, James and I, hopped out for the walk inland. All the way from home I had carried this two-man tent and some marginal camping gear. Lord knows I never needed it. If

any of these folks from Afua found you camping in the jungle, they would insist that you be a guest in their home. They would never allow you to be out in the weather. My suitcase was the kind that broke out into a full pack, and that was a Godsend. We didn't walk long before I saw why they couldn't take the truck. Big creeks cut right across the road that only a 4-wheel drive with a winch could navigate. You had to take off your pack and hand it across before you could jump. I never saw any vehicle tracks once we left the coast highway. I did see some pig tracks,but in

01. The Driniumor River, from the middle of the coast highway bridge, looking north toward the Bismarck Sea

general I was disappointed that I never saw much wildlife as my dad had described, not as many birds as I expected either.

After about 3 miles we walked into the village of Afua. On the map you see the trail from Animo going at a bit of a diagonal and not intersecting the river till about half way to the mountains. I think that first junction of the trail and the river is where the village is since I never saw the river till I got into Afua. Right away I start cross referencing in my mind all that I had read about events around the village,

like Japanese attacks from across the river. Right away, it just did not add up. For one thing, the village is on a high bluff over the river (see photo 07) with a steep 30 to 40 foot cliff going down to the stream bed. It was a beautiful spot on the river but in no way could you assault that position from the other side, even if no one was shooting at you. Behind the village, on the jungle side, were big swamps that just didn't fit the descriptions of the fighting. Later I asked one of the old boys about it and he pointed at the village and said "new camp" and some Pidgin that I took to mean the old Afua was two miles up river and was destroyed in the battle. That made sense to me; we would walk there the next day.

07. View overlooking the Driniumor from the North Afua*, which sits high over the river on a 30 to 40 foot high bluff. Its right where I'd put my village if I were them.

There was one old guy there who had remained in the village throughout the battle while the rest of the village stayed with relatives up in the mountains. His name was Albert, and there were pictures of him. He and all these folks were gracious as all get out and went out of their way to make me welcome. We had long talks about the battle. I showed him and another guy the photo of the natives carrying the stretcher across the river during the battle, and they definitely knew them. My notes said that the one just left of the one wearing the helmet was named "Spatcher." Another was "Yakala." But seeing this picture really animated these guys. I

08. Albert and his daughter and granddaughter in front of the hut I slept in in North Afua.* Notice how neat they keep their villages. That neatness was true everywhere I went.

think it made them feel like the US had included them in our history. At the same time, my impression of most folks in Afua was that in WWII they were rather pro Japanese. From their perspective, they were occupied by the Japs, but it was the Americans and Australians who my impression of most folks in Afua was that in WWII they were rather pro Japanese brought true war to their homeland -- bombs and bullets and fire. They were polite about it, but the feeling was pretty clear. On the other hand, in the context of the post WWII cold war dichotomy, they were every one of them totally pro American.

They wanted to associate with the West and there was no doubt about it. They are very serious about their democracy; I think having a small population has that effect. They arranged for me to stay as a guest in one of the huts for a small fee. Everyone slept in one big room with brick and mud fireplace in the center and the roof sides open to vent smoke. You have some sense of privacy because you are in a mosquito net. As tired as I was, I was the main attraction in the village that night as you are expected to share your knowledge of your universe and the outside world. I sat on the stoop for hours conversing with all comers, many kids. How much did this trip cost? Do you own firearms? Do you go about armed? Do you own pigs? Do you own a car? What about John Kennedy? (They were fascinated with him, for some reason) Every so often, a woman from the area would emerge out of the darkness and place some tray of food for everybody. That night I ate sago root, wallaby, sea prawns on some kind of greens, chicken and rice. It would have been just plain rude to turn any of it down, so I ate plenty, and I never once got sick in New Guinea. But I never drank un-boiled water, and neither did I see any of the residents drink it.

12. Two Afua residents walking north towards the bluff that North Afua* sits on. The clear patch in the upper right is where the village lies, and they will mount a very steep trail up the side of the bluff to get there.

In the morning we drank instant coffee and bananas cooked by placing them in the fire, peel and all, and then scraping off the burned peel. Very interesting. It was announced that we intended to hike back up the river that day, and everyone wanted to go. This I had no control over, so it turned into a village pig hunt. Everyone got their bows and arrows (they can't own guns) and started to saddle up, laughing and joking and in a party mood. Actually all the kids had left at daybreak for school up on the coast. All the dogs in the village click to what's happening, and they all came. And I do not mean dogs like these beauty contestants we raise over here in the land of veterinarians and air conditioning. I mean mangy, three-legged, one-eyed, toothless,

half starved looking mutts, but every one running around and game as hell for the hike. It just about broke my heart that it rained in the mountains that night, and the river was very high. This meant we couldn't go everywhere I wanted, and we could not walk to the other side of the river. Such is life, but I took what I could get and we started down the steep bank from the village to the river bottom. Albert came with his umbrella and a bemused expression on his face. All along the walk he collected greens for his table and pointed to spots where the villagers found dead bodies years after the battle.

The trail winds in and out of the jungle, sometimes skirting the river and sometimes deep in the bush. They had to hack the trail with machetes some of the way and took turns at the point. I was not allowed to work. At one spot in the jungle the villagers had created stacks of debris left from the battle. One pile had five or six mortar rockets that were unfired and unexploded. One pile of rusted metal had four or five rusted out hand grenades, just the pineapple part, so encrusted you could not tell if it was American or Japanese. There was one pile of M1 clips, some with eight rounds of brass still in them but only two retained their bullets and many with eight rounds of encrusted brass. I tried to convey the idea that this ordinance was dangerous as hell, but I never felt like any of them got the message, and I was told that a lot of what I saw was uncovered when they did a clear-burn of a section of the

19. Not far from 16 and 17, Gerald shows the remains of a tripod from a Jap machine gun.

20. Not far from 16 and 17, Gerald shows the remains of a tripod from a Jap machine gun.

river valley for cultivation. I emphasized the danger, and then that was all I could do. I asked permission and picked up a rusted out clip from a Japanese light machine gun to take home as a souvenir, though the New Guinea embassy had told me when I had contacted them in the states that it would I would not be allowed to remove artifacts. I got the clip home though and still have it. Also there were five or six big spools of communication wire; some with rusted wire, some without. Albert said they had used a

lot of it for construction, but I was reminded by the sight what a big role communications played in army.

I came away with several major impressions from the walk. One was the narrowness of the area on the west (American) side of the river, between the water and the finger of the Toricelli mountains that paralleled it, going the entire length down from the mountains to just north of North Afua. My dad had said that when he fought his way into the troop C position to re-enforce them when they were surrounded, he came down the Chinapelli trail from the river X and when he topped a high hill behind Afua, he first heard "an American machine gun in

02. From the middle of the coast highway bridge, looking south at the islands in the stream that the Japs called Kwanikajima. It was at this spot the Japs made their initial assault on the Driniumor line on the night of July 10.

action." The long finger looked to me to be a severe geographical boundary that formed a natural arena beside the river. It is the narrowness of that channel and the degree to which it would have forced everyone into such a constricted zone of fighting that must be appreciated to understand the soldier's perspective. The other thing that stands out in my memory is the image of the hill "Sagi", that the Americans called Hill 80. It was just such a striking and anomalous geological feature looming up out of the river valley and constricting the river to deep rapids at that spot. When you see on the maps, the symbol OP on top of that hill, I assure you it is appropriate. Albert said he witnessed an exchange of mortar fire at night where the Japanese targeted the top of the hill and struck it many times, but I never read that in any of the histories. I took several photos of it, and none came out unfortunately.

I found the place where I believed the drop zone had been, and a banana grove still there just as described in the history books. The area is so totally overgrown with vegetation that you couldn't make out many surface features, but always that line of hill sides to your west when the river was to your east. If the trees had somehow been defoliated, you could sit on the ridge of that hill and cover the entire drop area with a carbine, maybe even a pistol, it's that close. Once we got back behind Sagi, where the books talk about the "lazy S" defense, you start to realize you are looking at the remains of foxholes. They are just depressions now but when you start to see the pattern you realize what the "dents" in the ground really are. I think someone with a metal detector could have a field

16. From further south down the river,looking south, up river. Really not south enough to see Where the drop zone was on your right, or to see Sagi looming up out of the river valley.

17. Same as 16. That's Simon with his back to us.

day there. We walked on to the little clearing that held a single, thatch roof godown, which Albert said was "Afua", meaning I guess what I now call South Afua*. This is where much of the 112th 's battle was fought, and from here you can easily imagine the descriptions of troop dispositions and movements in the histories. We walked inland up the trail that leads to the river X ( these guys called the river X the "Ringeroop") and Chinapelli.

just before the "high hill" you can start to see the outline of Troop C's perimeter from when they were surrounded. You can see the creek on one side and follow the ring of foxholes and gun pits through the trees in a big circle, maybe 75 yards in diameter. The Japanese would have been shooting down at them from the west side because of the hills, seemed like horrible enfilade except for the trees. There were several bigger holes in the center, probably the command section. But, since it was totally overgrown with

33. From the South Afua* go-down, looking directly across the river.

jungle, all you see are a series of small views and you are never able to step back and see the entirety. Most of what I describe I put together in my mind later. Even that 75-yard measurement is a total guess; it's just so hard to tell. Still I never had any doubt that I was right where the encirclement happened.

18. Same as #17 looking north down river. The face is that of the fellow whose hut I slept in while there.

Actually, I could have spent several days walking around that area; it's just that the logistics were so stacked against anyone like me doing that. But I had my one day, and toward afternoon the group started heading off north toward their village. That evening passed just like the one before. In the morning as we departed Afua, I have an image of three village women waving at me as I walked out of sight and yelling "apinoon, Jim!" meaning "so long." We hiked seven hours that day, me with a full pack, north to the coast highway and then east to Yakamul where Gerald lived and we

would spend the night. We stopped at little villages by the ocean here and there and I was always unequivocally welcomed, no hint of distrust or dislike that I could detect. On the other hand, at one point on the road we spotted some women about 150 yards up ahead, and as we walked on towards them they ran into the jungle in a most fearful way. I think everyone knew the guys I was with, for sure they new Gerald, but these gals were taking no chances. I was starting to feel complacent and this event kind of sobered me.

We spent the night in Yakamul, again a small fee was charged to sleep in someone's house, again sitting up all evening in a bull session. In the morning, we caught a ramshackled bus back to Aitape. By now these guys were my contacts in the area, and they got the driver to drop us off at the Catholic mission. Here they maintain a sort of lodge for the missionaries who come down from the mountains to rest up in, and they gave me access for about $10 a night. The Aitape hotel wanted $135 for the nice rooms and $85 for a cinder block cell with a bed, and the owner had his little

Catholic Mission. Picture courtesy http://www.usc.edu/

The locals got wind of this situation and those who had to travel would buy up all the seats on the plane I came in on. My friends were not sure how I would get to Wewak. I was getting so desperate that I started to yearn for a country with strict law enforcement like Australia. But I walked into Aitape (30 minute walk from the mission) and was sitting on a bench in front of the post office when here comes walking down the road that fellow Cliff from Bouginville I had

met at the Windjammer. He had been ferrying oil company supplies into the mountains in his chopper, and was standing down for a while, staying in the Aitape hotel (on an expense account, I am sure). I told him my problem and he said, "No worries, I'll fly you to Wewak in the morning I am going down there with an empty chopper." He said, "In the morning, when you hear me from the mission, just come out on to the beach and I will see you and land and pick you up." Now this had a lot of potential, but the

37. Clement Anawan and family, to include the Cassawory named 'Billie'.

arrangement was just a little loose for my comfort. Still I told him that I would certainly be on that beach in the morning. And later in the evening, I ran into an Australian who was staying on the first floor beneath me and he reported that he had run into Cliff in a bar and that Cliff had told him to remind me of his (Cliff's ) offer. So I felt he meant it, and to hell with waiting on the beach for the sound of rotors, I got up way before daylight, packed all my gear and humped it down the beach to the area in front of the Aitape hotel where Cliff parked his chopper. I sat tight and was waiting there when he walked out in the morning, and helped him through his preflight procedures. I think it was a Bell Long-Ranger helicopter. We finally got aboard and took off. Simon showed up to make sure I got off, and said good by; he seemed really concerned about me.

34. View from the door of my room in the WindJammer hotel in Wewak, looking at the Peninsula known as 'Cape Wom'

As we flew down the beach, right outside of Aitape, some folks came out onto the beach and Cliff landed near them and picked up a package he would deliver, so that was a common practice with him. By that time, I didn't care what happened as long as I wound up at the Wewak airport in time for my flight. And I made it, followed by six hours in the Port Moresby airport and then the plane to Carins and a hotel reservation where they had heard of me before. I remember sitting in my room drinking glass after glass of ice water. Just soaking up water and the total joy of Australian law and order.

*I have taken to calling the two Afua's North Afua (where people actually live) and South Afua, where the 112th Cav. were mainly in action.

More Photos

10. The Driniumor at the base of the bluff upon which sits North Afua*, looking south up river.

11. The Driniumor looking straight across from North Afua*.

13. Looking across the Driniumor and just a little north of where the trail breaks back out to the river. We go a little more south and will arrive at the drop zone and the banana grove.