LAUGHING THROUGH THE PAIN

In a two-man tent in northern Norway 1980s

Having spent my 22 SAS career so far in B Sqn and Training Wing, I was selected to become the boat troop staff sergeant of 23tp G Sqn in the mid to late 80s.

Terrific, all the lads are the same no matter the squadron, so really chuffed.

One of the skills that I would have to catch up on, though, was Arctic warfare and the skills of skiing.

It was an absolute blast when the time came. I, along with a handful of recent selection passes, would all learn together while mixed in with the rest of G Sqn. I’d never laughed so much in my career. Every moment for me was a school moment, hard graft but really really funny. Going up the “T bar” to the top of the slopes, slipping off the T bar, holding onto it for dear life while trying to keep the downhill skis on each foot. Watching other new boys to the skill come off too, get hit by the next T bar coming along, or losing a ski and watching it travel for hundreds of yards as it made its way alone back down the slope.

One day, when the lads were bored due to a helicopter exercise being canceled because of poor visibility and no flying, someone decided to have a pulk race. That meant two of us in a pulk racing others down a winding and undulating ski slope.

I was in a pulk with the Sqn SSM (sergeant major), we were both on selection together, so we knew each other well. Unfortunately, as we were in the lead, he stuck his leg out of the pulk and badly wrenched his crucial ligaments which attach the femur to the tibia…way worse than a break.

By the time we got to the bottom, having carried him (and he was a lump of a laddie too) the rest of the way down the slope to the accommodation, the weather had cleared. A heli came in and picked him up and took him off to hospital. He was in agony, but still laughing about what had just happened…endex for the pulk race, and sadly for him too.

On the final exercise after weeks of learning the Arctic trade, at about 2am in pitch darkness, I was unaware that I was standing on the very edge of a snow overhang. Personal equipment, rifle, and pulling a fully laden pulk, the overhang gave way. I dropped about 30ft with the pulk following me. I hit soft snow, and the pulk flew in nose-first right by my side. My M16 hit me in the face, smashing a couple of teeth, cracking my cheekbone and breaking my jaw. I would be out of it for a few minutes.

The rest of the patrol thought that I was dead. They skied around and down until they could contour to get to me. Given the frigid cold early morning, I bled more than I would have had it been less cold. The damage looked horrendous… apparently.

I could hear chatter about calling in a casevac (casualty evacuation by helicopter). No, no no I’m calling out, I’ll be fine.

Anyway, as the troop staff sergeant I got my way, and after getting the pulk back out of the snow and taking a bit of time to gather myself, we continued on our way.

Lying up in the daytime in our two-man tent, I just had to take all of the piss taking on the broken chin. Troop leader and can’t ski. Troop leader and had to be rescued…and so it went on.

Downhill, cross country…whatever the skiing, the whole trip was funny, tough, and a huge learning curve, and I’m so glad to have had the opportunity to spend time with amazing Arctic warfare skilled lads…which I was not!

The above photo shows me in my tent the morning of the accident, after a wee clean-up and a brew of hot chocolate, along with much piss-taking.