The planes that we picked up were part of the initial run of 201 such planes at the Martin plant, Baltimore, Md., in 1940. They were the short wing (all of 66'), straight B-26s ordered right off the drafting board by the Army with no test period. The power plants were two Pratt-Whitney 2800s, 1850 hp, no hi or low blower.

On January 5, 1942 we took off in flights of three, stopped at Portland, Oregon for weather reports at Spokane, Wash., took off and landed at Felts Field, Spokane, a small municipal air port. On January 14th we flew on to Edmonton, Alberta, Canada.

On the evening of the 15th, our CO, Major Cork, gathered the pilots into his room for a trip-flight briefing. Among other things he explained that there were no aeronautical maps to take us beyond Edmonton to Whitehorse, Yukon Ter., our next stop. This was to be a flight of some 1000 miles.

Then Major Cork introduced us to a couple of Canadian bush pilots who, on 82"x11" sheets of paper had made pencil sketch maps showing a lake here, a river there, etc. This was all very nice of them, but in a run of 1000 miles we were to see actually hundreds of lakes and river! They left us with a cheery, "You can't miss it (Whitehorse)".

Sunrise didn't come until about 10:00 AM as we prepared to take off on the 16th. However, we were further delayed awaiting a weather report to come through by telegraph from Whitehorse to give us the weather there as of 6:00 AM. All delays were important because at that latitude, sunset would be coming in the middle of the afternoon. We got off at about 11:00 AM.

Here, then, is the setting for the crash landings that were about to take place that same day. Our flight of three was further delayed and took off last. At this point we were already short on day light. To compound to problem of no maps (only the pencil sketches noted above), due to war time restrictions, there were no operating radio beacons, no radio ranges, no navigational aids at all due to the widespread fear that the Japs might ride such aids right into Canadian targets.

The first part of our flight, which was to last six hours and thirty five minutes proceeded without problems. The sun was out and the navigators could take their sun lines, etc. Also pilotage went well.

However, as we passed Fort Nelson, BC, on our way NW to Whitehorse, we ran into a snow storm and had to drop down and try to find our way by pilotage, a tricky thing to do in the Canadian Rockies. Our three planes managed to stay together, but soon the lack of day light, the snow and sleet, and the fact that each plane_was low on gas caused the pilots to try and find a shallow valley and crash land. In short, due to poor maps, weather closing in, almost out of day light, very little fuel and being lost, we had no alternative but to try for a good forced landimg.

A suitable shallow valley was quickly found and the other two planes bellied in with no injuries, the snow making a good sliding surface. They landed about a mile apart.

It was then our turn. As we were on the final approach, our speed was excessive (we would bring these early speed demons in at about 140-150 mph; they would stall out at about 125 mph) and so to slow the plane down a bit, Dancer called for the wheels and I lowered the landing gear.

The spot that had been picked for landing was quite level and in the gathering darkness the surface appeared smooth with little tuffs of grass sticking up above the snow. What we did not realize (due to lack of experience in mountain flying and not being briefed in the matter) was that the snow is deeper on the valley floor and what looked like tuffs of grass were actually the tops of 5' bushes sitting in 4'to 5' of snow. This condition plus the fact that the closer to the valley floor we came, the darker it became.

As we hit, the plane swung 90° to the left, the nose wheel collapsed and the nose of the plane dug into the ground, popping open like a baked potato. Dancer went out through the windshield with head injuries. I was knocked out in my seat with my feet entangled in the controls. The rest of the crew was in good shape.

The identity of these three planes was: 40-1464, 40-1501 and 401459. As stated before, these B-26s were a part of the original run of 201 of such planes from the Martin Company's plant in Baltimore, Md. The plane in which I flew was 40-1464.

The shelter that the crew made for us was very adequate. They had taken the two wing covers that we carried to put over the wings when parked on the ramp to protect the wings from snow, sleet, ice, etc., and draped them over the left wing from the nacelle out to the tip of the wing. They then piled snow of top of the edges of the covers to anchor them. An opening was made at the end of the wing with a flap protection. And so, with our emergency gear which included arctic type wear, sleeping bags for all and food rations for two weeks, we settled down for a long stay. Both Dancer and I could get around in good shape. Our radio operator tried to raise Watson Lake but the equipment was less than cooperative. We learned later that the other radio operators were similarly unsuccessful.

The site of our "Valley" lies about 90 miles ESE of Watson Lake, Yukon Territory. By looking at a map of northern British Columbia and southern Yukon Territory, you can trace the route of the Alcan Highway as it proceeds to the NW towards Watson Lake. About two thirds of the way towards Watson Lake, you will note a short road going straight north to a small settlement called Smith River, located in BC, but almost in Yukon Territory. The crash sites were located just about ten miles ESE of Smith River, but still in BC.

Although we were completely lost and knew that no one else knew where we were, we had some good things going for us. Major Cork, who had taken off from Edmonton before we took off, had landed at Watson Lake for the night. As soon as we did not show up at Watson Lake, he immediately set in motion the establishing of a search center at Watson Lake, requested a medical team from Alaska, requested a bush pilot with plane equipped with skiis. We were soon to be the beneficiaries of this fine planing.

The day of January 18th dawned clear and cold (it was about 0°F). There was no wind and it seemed that you could hear for miles. Along toward noon, as we were in our cozy shelter, we suddenly heard a low humming noise off in the distance. We dashed outside and looking toward the sound (which later proved to be south) we saw several little specks and one larger speck going from left to right just over the trees on the horizon. These specks were the P-40Es and their escort on their way from Fort Nelson to Watson Lake. It turned out that fortunately we had landed about 15-20 miles north of the flight line between Fort Nelson and Watson Lake.

Our crew, as well as the other crews had prepared for just such an event. Almost immediately, flares and tracer shelIs from the plane's guns started to blaze away, a real Forth of July! As we watched to see if the planes had seen our signals, suddenly the whole flight slowly turned to the left and flew over our positions. It was a great sight, you can be sure, for although we did not know where we were, we knew that somebody did and would bring help. As the planes passed over us, we all stood outside so that they could count us and see that there was no serious injury amongst us. They then flew on to Watson Lake.

On January 19th, as soon as the sun was up, we heard the sound of an approaching, single engine plane. Soon a 1920's vintage, high wing Fokker monoplane on skis flown by two bush pilots landed skillfully near our planes. While the two pilots remained with the ship, a Canadian Mountie got out to check the condition of the personnel of our three planes and found that only Dancer and I would possibly need a little more medical attention. He loaded us into the ski plane and then returned to the three planes to see what more help he could be to them. Within a week or so, he led all of the rest of the personnel down to a nearby frozen lake where they were picked up by additional ski equippted planes and flown out to Alaska.

After waiting for good weather, two veteran Alaskan pilots, one of whom was Lt. Bordelon, flew into Watson Lake in an AT-7 to take us to Ladd Field. After making one start on the 20th only to be turned back by weather, we made it all the way to Ladd on the 21st. On the 22nd I was pronounced fit to return to duty. The next day, I was flown to Elmendorf Field, Anchorage, Alaska and within a week was back flying our beloved beast, the straight B-26! The 77th looked good to me! I do not know what became of Dancer.

In the Spring of 1942, the Army sent in crews to the "Valley" to bring out all of the parts that could be stripped off of the three planes. When these parts were brought to Anchorage, they formed a spare parts inventory which we would need to back up our efforts against the Japs from June 3, 1942 until the end of the year.

As to how the name "Million Dollar Valley" came into being I do not know. We were always led to believe that the cost of the B-26 was $250,000.00 each, WWII prices. This would mean that the total of the three planes in the Valley would be $750,000.00. Apparently, some one used a generous portion of poetic license in naming the area.

In January, 1943 I was rotated back from the Aleutians to the 3rd Air Force Training Command in the US and stationed at Avon Park, Florida. I ended my tour of active duty as Base Executive Officer, Lake Charles (La.) Air Base, which was an RTU unit training B-26 and, later, A-26 (the Douglas ship which was renamed the B-26 when the Martin Marauder was taken out of service at the end of the war) crews, in July, 1945. I then returned to the practice of law which I had left to sign up with the Air Corps in 1940.

40-1464 is still alive!

In the mid 1960s, David Tallichet, an ex-B-17 pilot in WWII, President, Specialty Restaurants, Inc., Anaheim, Cal., 92806, and restorer of WWII planes at Chino Air Port, Chino, Cal., heard of the three B-26s when visiting Watson Lake in search of a fighter alleged to be in the vicinty. He flew over the Valley, located the three planes and flew home to make plans for their retrieval.

In 1971, he led an expedition to the Valley and brought out all shells for shipment to California. One of the men on this historic mission was a B-26 buff, Richard Shepard, 3355 Debbie Lane, Riverside, Cal., 92501. Shepard wrote wrote a terrific article on the work of the expedition which was published in the Spring/1976 issue of Air Classics Quarterly, Vol.3, No.1, by Challange Publ 91304.

Because the shell of 40-1464 was in the best shape (except for nose) and had its main landing gear intact, it was decided to restore it with a nose off of one of the other shells.

I was out to see the plane in 1988 and it looked great! Lacking only in instrumentation, it is hoped that 40-1464 can fly again this year. When it does fly it will be the oldest B-26 flying, the only other flying B-26 is the Carolyn of the Confederate Air Force

Howard F. Smiley

July, 1990

All rights reserved.

A photograph of Howard in 40-1464 as it was being restored in 1988

42nd Bombardment Group 1

B

bush pilots, Canadian 2

C

Canadian Mountie 5

Chennault, 1st Lt. John S. 5

Cork, Major 2, 4

Cork, Major Robert O. 1

D

Dancer, Jr., 2Lt. William J. 2

Doolittle, Glenn A. 2

M

Meals, Lts., Elbert (Jack) O. 2

P

Pickard, John G. 2

T

Tallichet, David 7