spot just behind the head that would cause the reptile to go limp if you squeezed. I was getting my hands-on shot at seeing how it worked.
“Can I squeeze now?”
“Go ahead.”
As I did I could feel the coils loosen and fall off my arm. I handed the snake to the instructor and was pleased to do so, wondering if I’d ever need that bit of information for real.
How the hell would I get hold of the head of a big one?
The constrictor demonstration marked just one part of a first morning of useful briefings about jungle animals, birds, snakes, trees, plants—edible and inedible. All were interesting, informative and of practical use over the next two weeks, as well as to those of us headed to Africa or Southeast Asia.
Not so the course on rappelling. In a jungle setting the prospect surprised our little group, though not many of the military officers. They had obtained advance knowledge of what to expect during the two weeks and knew what was coming, while we JOTs mostly had to wait and see what each day would produce.
We had become fairly competent at rappelling back at the Farm, where we practiced it regularly. Here it was included not as a jungle skill but a confidence builder.
We loaded onto trucks and drove inland. After dismounting, we walked for half an hour up to the top of a precipice overlooking the Chagres River. It wasn’t exactly a waterfall, but here and there the footing was slippery, because water lightly flowed across the rocks and fell about 150 feet to the river. We couldn’t see all the way down until we got to the edge, where the rappelling ropes had been secured. What we could see, about two-thirds of the way, was a rock shelf where we would change ropes.
At the Farm we had practiced on a 20-foot tower, and some of us had gotten good enough to make it to the ground in one or two pushes. This looked considerably more challenging.
The tropical sun beat down on us, as we waited to rappel.
“Looks neat; should be fun,” Bob Manning announced, moving to the edge. He would be first in our group.
“I never did like heights,” Mike L., another member, responded from farther back.
We watched Bob prepare.
“Throw the rope over your shoulder and between your legs,” the instructor explained.
“Yeah, I know,” Bob answered, as he took the rope. He had been a pole vaulter at Princeton and had done some rock climbing in New Jersey. He also had practiced rappelling a lot back at the Farm. He knew what to do.
“No, the other shoulder,” the instructor said, sounding alarmed, not knowing Bob was left-handed.
“Okay, thanks,” Bob responded.
Without further ado he went over the edge, and we watched as he more or less swooped down the cliff. We weren’t surprised, but the instructor was. I was tempted to quip that it was his first try, but I didn’t. My turn was coming.
“Throw the rope over your shoulder and between your legs,” the instructor repeated for the umpteenth time that morning. I stepped into position with my back to the edge of the cliff. He looked me over, approved, and I pushed off, but less forcefully or boldly than during our tower drills.
I watched the rock below me, looking for my first touch. As soon as I connected I bounded outward again, feeling pretty comfortable. My foot slipped once and I bumped against the rocks, but I swung clear and continued down. When I reached the shelf I moved right away to the second rope, where another instructor waited. He had been watching me, as he did everyone coming down. He saw that I could rappel, so he just handed me the rope and said, “Move on.”
I took a moment to look up to the top of the cliff, admiring the rugged natural beauty and enjoying the pleasure of the day. Bob was right, this was fun.
More confident now, I started the shorter leg.
Shove off, facing back and down.
Let the rope run freely over your shoulder and between your legs, making sure you place it on one side or the other.
Squeeze the rope a bit to control your speed, and catch yourself with your feet as you swing into the rocks.
Pay attention.
Try to touch on flat, solid spots to avoid slipping.
I got more aggressive as I neared the bottom and covered a longer vertical distance with the last several bounds. No mishaps. I slipped off the rope and handed it to a waiting sergeant.
Maybe they thought we needed more confidence building, because the next exercise of the day involved a river crossing under a zip wire. The terrain on our side of the river was higher than on the other side, and the gorge was about 200 feet wide. They had built a crude platform in a tree about 30 feet up from the ground.
I watched those in front of me cross using the wire stretched from the tree on our side to another tree on the opposite bank. Hanging just below the wire, fixed with a roller, was a 2-foot metal bar. The idea was to reach up and grasp that bar from the platform while standing well over 40 feet above the water.
“Just hold on tight,” the sergeant told Bob Manning, who stood on the platform. “And drop into the water when you get to the other side,” he added.
Bob let out a yell, leaped off, slid down the wire—much as we had done from the tower during our parachute training—and dropped into the waist-deep water. He waded ashore, all grins.
By the time it was my turn, several of our group had already made the crossing. This exercise differed from the tower, because from there we had jumped with a parachute harness securing us to the wire and just slid down. Here we had to hang on as we slid and dropped off at the right time. The instructors on the other side yelled when it was time to let go.
I felt confident I could handle it.
“You got the bar?” the sergeant asked.
I nodded and gripped it firmly.
“So fly away, man!”
I jumped off the platform and started down the wire. I quickly gained speed and felt like I was rocketing toward the opposite bank. It happened quickly and there was no time to worry. I dropped off just as I heard the instructor tell me to let go. Relieved, I waded ashore and climbed up the bank.
It wasn’t as much fun as the rappelling.
Fourth or so behind me was Don Farley. The oldest man in our group, he had served in the Office of Medical Services. After receiving an assignment to South Vietnam, he had volunteered to take the paramilitary course. A pleasant, likeable guy we all admired for his grit, Don wasn’t as physically fit as the rest of us, but he hung in there on our field exercises.
As Don made his descent, something didn’t look right.
Watch out!
He froze, holding onto the bar too long; he crashed into the bank.
We rushed to him, but two of the instructors beat us there.
“Relax,” one ordered.
Don was lying half in the water.
“I think I broke something,” he said, in obvious pain.
“Don’t try to stand,” the other instructor said.
Don was right; one of his legs was clearly broken. A third instructor was already on his radio calling for a helicopter evacuation. Carefully and with considerable effort, because Don was a big man, they helped him onto the bank and tried to comfort him until help arrived.
“I suppose this means you’re going to poop out on us,” Bill Watkins joked.
“Nah, I’ll be back after lunch,” Don kidded right back.
“Tough break,” Bill said. “But heck,