[The Reaper]

Meet Nasty Nick

The first real physical test came in the way of an obstacle course known simply as “Nasty Nick” (named after the late Colonel Nick Rowe). The obstacle course boasts some pretty high rope climbs as well as some obstacles that measure a candidate’s equilibrium and courage. The SF cadre is interested in finding out how a man reacts in unfamiliar terrain. We each live in our own comfort zones. We have these individual shells of protection that we utilize to avoid the outside world from exposing our softer insides. The cadre works to observe our performance in each obstacle and assess our hesitation when confronted by the danger of falling and possible maiming. There was no cadre around each obstacle waiting to catch you if you fell. There were enough of them around, however, to document your success, or failure, at most obstacles. Looking at some of these architectural nightmares, I appreciated how close one could come to a life changing physical paralysis should one fail to pay attention to detail, follow instructions, or was too weak. If one fell from an obstacle, whether it resulted in a compound fracture, or just a bruised ego, a cadre member would just stand over you with a pen and clipboard and with a monotone voice say: “Candidate you have failed to successfully complete this obstacle. Would you like to try again?” And that was that. No emotion, no encouragement, no alarm. Of course, if the injury were serious enough, an SF medic would check you out and decide whether it was unwise for either SF, or the Army, to allow you to continue. In this case, you were Medically Dropped (Med Drop – see IVW) from the course and were given another chance at it in the future, provided a doctor’s note in your medical records stated you have healed completely.

With this happy thought in mind, I headed into the obstacle course. By now, just after the first week, we had lost enough people to consolidate into just three huts. Our last man was now roster number 257. I was one of the first ten guys, from my group of 69 men. Naturally, Hut 3 was the last hut to tackle the obstacle. We were required to wear olive green, or yellow, Protec hockey helmets in order to protect our gray matter. The first obstacle, some horizontal poles that needed vaulting-over, presented no problem for me. However, in my excited state, I noticed that I felt as if I had just sprint a 100-yard dash. I reminded myself to calm down and breathe normally. The next obstacle was an impressive rope climb. One merely had to climb a rope and touch the knot at the top of the obstacle. Then, one was to slide down an angled rope to an anchor point down at the bottom. The rope was most likely about twenty-five feet up. It sure felt like it was thirty-five feet up; I was not sure. I began using a rope climb technique that used the assistance of my legs in concert with my arms. It was supposed to save energy throughout the course. Somehow, on the descent, I felt quite drained. It took me about three other successful rope obstacle climbs to realize that my technique was flawed and I was actually doing more work with my arms than I should be doing. After leaping onto logs of varying height, crawling under barbed wire, inside underground tunnels, traversing long “monkey bars” similar to those found in kids’ jungle gyms everywhere, I came upon my last vertical rope obstacle. One had to jump on a horizontal log, attain a second or so of balance, jump to a vertical rope in front and climb its length to the top, touch the knot, climb over the horizontal log onto which the rope was tied, walk along a support beam, suspended about twenty to twenty-five feet off the ground, walk over a one-rope bridge without loosing balance, and walk another plank to a fast rope and finally, descend in a controlled manner at the other end.

By this point I was totally spent. I hardly had anything else left in me. But, I knew that quitting was not an option. This was not to be that last obstacle, however; there were about three others. But, this would be the last hard one, in my estimation. At the top of the obstacle I noticed an instructor shouting instructions to the candidates below. He also held a clipboard and that meant he was assessing this particular obstacle. Any hint of hesitation on my part would be recorded.

I double-timed up to the horizontal log and jumped on it. I leaped to the vertical rope and found my arms were totally exhausted of energy. I climbed up and by the time I got about eighteen inches from the vertical log at the top, I totally ran out of energy. I gripped the rope in what must have been sheer internal panic. I was not afraid of falling, or sliding down. I was afraid of failing. My whole career could come down to this very obstacle, if at the end it cost me enough points to cause me not to be selected for the Special Forces. The idea of returning to the regular and conventional Army made me cringe. I was but a few feet from the instructor but was even closer to not completing the obstacle. I was full of mud and sweat and grass and snot blew out of my nose like when a hockey player is hit just a bit too hard. I wondered what I must have looked like to the instructor standing just three feet over me. Other candidates kept sliding down the rope on their attempts up. Their arms must have failed them too. In a moment, I took a deep look inside myself and all around me became eerily quiet. I looked at the log down below over which I would break my spine should I fall from this height. I looked up at the log that was just about eighteen inches from my reach, but yet seemed so far. I recalled a move that rock climbers do when trying for a handhold beyond their reach. I have seen it on the Discovery Channel a few times. The climber re-chalks his hands from a bag he has attached to his waist; he would then muster all his strength and release his current hold while leaping for the one just out of reach. It was amazing that these guys put that much faith in their skill and training, but each time I’ve seen it, they’ve pulled it off. I looked up at the log, and back at the vertical log beneath me. The decision had been made. I would not slide down this rope, for I surely did not have the strength to climb back up. I silently recited a quick prayer and released the rope as I simultaneously pushed up with my legs. I stretched as far and as high as I could towards the log above me. Time seemed to stand still until I felt both the knot and the log on my hands. Thank God! I climbed over the log and looked at the instructor for further guidance. He motioned behind him with his pen and said, “Ok, candidate, make sure that you climb under the next log to the rope bridge … and be careful.”

The next three obstacles were relatively easy to accomplish. The only difficulty came with another set of monkey bars that had become wet and muddy from the attempts of other candidates from Huts 1 and 2. I slid from the bars twice, but I was able to complete them on the third try. The very last event was a sprint to the finish line which was some distance away. Another candidate from Hut 3 was neck and neck with me on this one. We arrived at the finish line just seconds from each other. We were totally exhausted. The only words either one of us could muster were “This really sucked!” I’m not sure which one of us actually said it but I was definitely thinking it. There was an instructor at the finish line that calmly noted our arrival. He communicated further instructions in a conversational tone, “Ok candidates, pick up your gear from the formation area and head for the huts. Conduct personal hygiene first with the hoses outside the latrine.” We simply nodded in unison and walked to our hut formation area just outside the entrance of the “Nasty Nick” to pick up our gear.

We learned later that we lost three candidates to the obstacle course. One nearly died of heat exhaustion with his core body temperature going as high of 107 degrees Fahrenheit. He was quickly evacuated by helicopter to the nearest medical facility. The other two suffered from dehydration and heat exhaustion. These events must have shaken-up the cadre a bit as it resulted in several stern discussions with the SFAS course commander as well as several warnings from the cadre regarding proper hydration. We were instructed to unblouse our pants from our boots and to loosen the cuffs of our uniform tops for better ventilation. We were also provided with Oral Rehydration Salts (ORS) that were to be mixed with our water to ensure we replenished lost electrolytes. To say that ORS made our water taste funny would be an understatement. I wasn’t sure what it made it taste like. But, from past experience with ORS and dehydration, I knew that this stuff worked and I was not afraid to ask for seconds. ORS can get one out of a tough fix.

(TBC)