When USS Narwhal SS-167 slipped away on her fourth war patrol, the crew didn’t expect the weeks ahead to feel so long, cold, and cloaked in mist. They were headed for Midway first, a routine leg with training dives and gunnery drills to keep everyone sharp. By July 13, they made it to Midway Lagoon, tied up next to the tender Fulton, and took on over 29,000 gallons of fuel. The crew from Squadron Eight and Fulton gave them everything they needed and more. Spirits were high. Repairs were done quickly. At 1641 local time, they steamed out again, escorted by a friendly bird overhead.
CO of Narwhal during her 4th War Patrol
The real work began as they set course toward the Kurile Islands. Fog hit hard after sunset on July 13 and didn’t let up. Visibility dropped to a few hundred yards at best. On July 22, still wrapped in mist, they made landfall by sextant on the 100-fathom curve. At just past noon, the navigator found a break in the clouds, took a shot with the bubble octant, and confirmed what they hoped. Uruppu To was off the port bow. They skirted around the southwest corner of the island, slipped through the strait, and entered the Sea of Okhotsk. Late that evening, the fog peeled away like a curtain, revealing the peaks of Kamo Dake. It didn’t last. At 2034, they spotted smoke and a light from a vessel hugging the coastline. That was Contact No. 1.
What followed was one of those strange nights submariners remember. The water was alive with phosphorescence. Two fish darted toward the boat, leaving bright streaks in their wake. The Officer of the Deck thought it was a torpedo attack. It wasn’t. But for a few seconds, hearts pounded.
July 23 brought the first clear chance for a real look at the enemy’s coastline. Just after 0330 King time, they dove and made a submerged approach to Shirya Sento. Visibility was good. They saw nothing. Moving southwest, they kept the periscope up now and then, scanning just inside the 100-fathom line. Past Shibetsu Byochi, mist swallowed the shoreline again. Navigation shifted to the fathometer. By early afternoon, the fog thinned. At 1415, they got a clean look at the bay. No ships. No movement. No signs of life. It didn’t even look like a place the Japanese were using. That night, they surfaced near Chiriputan. A few cooking fires burned on the beach, but the fog came down heavy not long after. They moved off by sound alone.
On the 24th, they returned to Shana Wan, diving in thick fog two and a half miles offshore. Late morning brought a clearing. Still nothing in the bay. They pressed on toward Rubetsu Wan. Just before 1540 King, they broke out of the fog again and saw the shoreline and village ahead. Two small sampans sat moored in the shallows. Then came a more tempting sight. A small inter-island steamer, Contact No. 2, slipped into the bay. They moved into position and fired a torpedo at 1625. It missed. Possibly underestimated her speed. Rather than waste more fish, Narwhal surfaced and opened up with her six-inch guns. The steamer didn’t return fire. She went under by 1703.
As that ship disappeared beneath the waves, a second one appeared on the horizon. Narwhal gave chase, caught her, and sank her with more gunfire by 1733 King. That evening, two large sampans, Contacts 5 and 6, met a similar fate. They were tougher than expected. Machine guns couldn’t ignite them. The six-inch shells did the job. Fires lit the night behind them.
They kept pressing south. Naibo Wan, Iroyekeshi Wan, and Tannemoyo Wan were all empty. The maps suggested some weren’t even good for anchoring. They pushed through Kunashiri Strait on the surface. Fog returned on July 25. That morning, they dove and tried to scout the cove at Yetorofu’s southeast corner. Nothing to see. Nothing to hear. They didn’t linger. That evening, they surfaced and swung northeast to Hitokappu Wan.
The next morning brought a brief window of clarity. At 0845, they spotted a large sampan, Contact No. 7, chased it down, and destroyed it with guns. As they wrapped that up, a small steam trawler, Contact No. 8, appeared. They began pursuit but quickly had to pivot. A destroyer, Contact No. 9, barreled in from the north. They dove at 1016, rigged for silent running, and went deep. The destroyer didn’t use sonar and dropped no charges. Perhaps she was just listening. After an hour and a half, Narwhal surfaced again. They tried to pick up the trail but found nothing.
Late in the day, sound picked up fast screws. Another Japanese ship, Contact No. 10, possibly a minelayer, dashed by 5000 yards out. Too far to shoot. Another chance lost to fog and timing.
By July 27, they decided Hoyorro Wan was worth a look. They reached it submerged, patrolled off its entrance, and hoped for a break in the fog. It never came. That night, they called off the Yetorofu coast entirely. They had seen enough. Nothing was there. No enemy patrols suggested anything worth guarding.
July 28 and 29 were uneventful, except for more fog. On the 29th, they stayed submerged near Iturup to avoid air patrols. Several sampans and white lights were sighted. None were worth exposing the boat to engage.
By July 30, they had reached the Erimo Saki to Kushiro patrol line. The fog, faithful as ever, showed up around 0335 but cleared by mid-morning. Peaks and landmarks gave them a fix. They held their lane and waited.
The 31st offered a possible strike. Two ships were spotted, Contact No. 19. They closed to 3000 yards but didn’t fire. Too small. Too risky to reveal their position. That night, they moved off to the Shirya Saki area.
August 1 would become the busiest and most dangerous day of the patrol. Just after 0400, they sighted ships, Contacts 20 through 23, all moving along the coast. Most were too close in or too small. One steamer looked promising. At 0656, they fired two torpedoes. The first exploded only 12 seconds out. The second missed. The ship evaded and zigzagged hard. They let her go. The premature detonation likely shook the hull badly. Maybe it even threw the rudder out of alignment. That torpedo might have hit the beach, for all they knew.
At 0819, another steamer, Contact No. 25, offered better odds. Two torpedoes hit. The ship stopped and listed to port. Just in case, they fired a third. It hit amidships. She went under at 0859 (see notes below). Two lifeboats got clear. The crew felt the difference this time. After the earlier miss, the success brought real relief.
And then another one. Contact No. 26. They fired again. One torpedo struck, maybe triggering a sympathetic explosion in the second. As they watched for damage, bombs or depth charges exploded nearby. Likely dropped by aircraft. The boat dove, went quiet, and endured it. By day’s end, they counted 124 explosions. Some close. Some farther off. Narwhal took no serious damage. Just chipped paint, rattled gear, and tired men. At 2141, she surfaced and charged batteries. They had survived.
August 2 was a day of recovery. They stayed submerged and rested. One more contact was noted. Two white lights moved along the surface. Evasion was easy.
August 3 brought more patrols near Kuji Wan. A small carrier wasn’t worth the effort. A steamer looked promising, but fog and false sound contacts made a clean shot impossible. By the time the squall passed, the ship had slipped by overhead. There was no good chance left.
So ended this chapter for Narwhal. A patrol shaped by fog, lined with missed opportunities, punctuated by a few solid hits and a trial by fire from depth charges. The sea kept its grip. The boat kept her crew safe. Not every torpedo found its mark. Not every day brought action. But through the fog and the silence, Narwhal held her course.
NOTES: In the chaos of war, reports from submarines were often based on what could be seen through a periscope, felt through the hull, or heard in the tense silence after a torpedo hit. Some sinkings were certain. Others were hopeful guesses. After the war ended, Allied intelligence combed through Japanese records to separate confirmed victories from best estimates.
Only one ship from Narwhal’s August 1st attack made it onto the official postwar sunk list. That was the Meiwa Maru, a 2,921-ton freighter. She was struck on August 1, 1942, in the Tsugaru Strait. Narwhal fired two torpedoes. At least one found its mark. Observers in the control room saw the explosion. They later noted a second blast, possibly from the ship’s cargo or boilers. When the smoke cleared, Meiwa Maru was gone.
Other attacks during the patrol caused damage, even panic, but none were credited as confirmed sinkings. One ship likely made it to shore with heavy damage. Another evaded altogether after a torpedo exploded prematurely and forced Narwhal to break off. A third was last seen settling in the water but wasn’t listed among wartime losses. No entry. No confirmation. No kill.
In the end, Narwhal’s fourth patrol would be remembered for that single confirmed sinking. One ship down. Countless lessons gained. And a long trail of salt-streaked days that taught her crew just how cruel and cloudy war at sea could be.
National Archives and Records Administration. USS Narwhal (SS-167) War Patrol Report No. 4, July 8 – August 26, 1942. Record Group 38: Records of the Office of the Chief of Naval Operations, Entry P 10, File Unit: World War II War Patrol Reports. National Archives Identifier 74827136. Retrieved from https://catalog.archives.gov/id/74827136. Narrative by David Ray Bowman FTB1(SS) 07.30.2025
PigBoats.com. “167 – USS Narwhal.” PigBoats: The History of U.S. Submarines Prior to and During World War II. Accessed July 30, 2025. https://pigboats.com/index.php?title=167
Roscoe, Theodore. United States Submarine Operations in World War II. Annapolis, MD: United States Naval Institute, repr. 1982. ISBN 0-87021-731-3.
U.S. Navy Memorial. “Wilkins, Charles.” Navy Log. Accessed July 30, 2025. https://navylog.navymemorial.org/wilkins-charles
Patrol Reports 
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