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, one week in this steamy jungle is probably enough anyway.”
We all knew Don would be sent home. That would be hard for him, but he had a much harder moment coming. Because of the broken leg his impending assignment to Vietnam was postponed. Eventually he went and was in the U.S. Embassy in Saigon on March 30, 1965, the day it was bombed. Like many others Don caught glass splinters in his face and eyes. The incident cost him his sight and forced his medical retirement. But his grit came through then, too, and he made a terribly difficult adjustment look easy. He continued to pursue life vigorously despite his blindness.
That afternoon we returned to the Chagres for a second river crossing. This time we would use a rope hanging about 8 feet above the water and tied to trees on either bank. We considered this drill more practical because it was the way to cross a river during a real operation.
First you stretch out atop the rope, grasping it with both hands in front of you, letting one leg dangle for balance, and hooking the other ankle over the top. To move forward you pull with your arms and push with the leg hooked over the rope.
The
