Page 26 - Chiron Calling Spring 2017

24 CHIRON CALLING
Early Saturday morning when the air was crisp and the milk man was still sound asleep we started our journey to Brize Norton to catch the trooper to the eastern Mediterranean. The 4 hour ight was swift and we were soon in the balmy climes of a Cypriot autumn. On the hilltop in Dhekelia Station, nestled next to the HQ is the Joint Services Adventure Training Wing Cyprus HQ ( JTATWC) . A typical old British Forces building; large, concrete covered with six inches of paint, garnished with the ubiquitous Cyprus water machines. The accommodation was functional and basic but positively palatial compared to others I’ve experienced...there was even a vending machine with croissants! However, after settling in with a brief Cyprus Brief it was down to the Cessac for some cracking sh and chips!
A perilous trip through the bondoo to the cook-house had us ready for the upcoming programme of ground training. By 0700hrs we were zooming across the air eld like Collin McRae on screech, moments from reaching the dropzone (DZ). The DZ was a cluster of low white buildings nestled amongst a patchwork elds. Through the heat shimmer of the runway, we caught a glimpse of a sleek black fuselage. A shiny chromed prop and a broad, swooping high wing. This wasn’t our aeroplane. Our trusty steed was tucked behind the visiting black beauty and was known endearingly as the caravan. Her classic angular lines and duct tape trim did little to reassure those on the slightly nervous side of excited. More caravan later.
After debussing into the warming morning sun we saw swooping shadows. Already moving at a rapid pace under their tiny, experienced canopies, turning swiftly onto their nal approach that had them practically invert in an impressive act of self-pendulation and rush the nal 100ft of descent in seconds. The banshee-like sibiliation of crashing silk vanishing almost as quickly as it started as the pilots applied the brakes to skim the dusty earth and land as delicately as stepping off a bus. The familiar tingles of excitement and trepidation vied for attention in our thoughts. However, both soon disappeared and were replaced by concentration. It’s no exaggeration saying that the information we were about to receive could possibly save our
Here I go adventure !!!!
Parachuting in Cyprus
By Lt Dave Stewart RAVC 101 MWD Sqn
Lt Dave Stewart
inexperienced lives. So, 14 of us settled in for a day of paperwork and power points. The instructors covered topics from parachute anatomy to canopy control and crucially, what to do if it’s gone pear shaped! From the store we collected our kit and headed into the hazy, carpeted packing shed to get aquatinted. We were issued large student canopies. They would be slow and more affected by the weather. Two gusts above 15kts and we’d be grounded. The forecast, so far, was looking good.
The night’s sleep passed in a ash and suddenly we were back in the packing shed clad in our fetching overalls and helmets. We recapped exit procedure, reserve drill and parachute landing falls involving lots of jumping out of mock doors and running off the top of ramps. You feel slightly foolish but with the gravity of the coming task there was little time for self-consciousness.
Jump order sorted, kit checked and rechecked, altimeters adjusted and engines warmed. Each person shuf ed backwards along the narrow fuselage toward the pilot. It was a snug t! The cabin was about a metre wide and three long, tall enough to squat or kneel only, decked out with carpet and stickers from
the units whose members had previously passed through the door. I say door, technically there was only a hole where the door once was. Duct tape lined to prevent snags and ensure an unobstructed exit this is where the rst two in the stick and last two into the aeroplane sat sideways, chutes against the wall and toes inches from the outside world. It took 10-15 noisy minutes to ascend to 4000ft. Then it was time to get out...
‘IN THE DOOR!’ Rushing air pushing you back inside the cabin, cheeks apping like Jeremy Clarkson driving an Atom. ‘ LOOK UP!’ Some romantic eye contact with the instructor. ‘GO!’ Pushing out from the aircraft, trying to adopt the practised arch position. One thousand. A disappearing aeroplane above my head and a jolt of the static line deploying the parachute behind me. Two thousand. Canopy streaming narrowly above me. Three thousand. A rustling crash signalled nine cells of the parachute opening. Four thousand. Looking up I could see a large rectangular canopy and started the drilled processes of releasing the breaks and carrying out control manoeuvres. No longer was I tumbling toward the ground and adrenaline gave way to breezy calmness. Dangling 3,500ft above the air eld with views over the med and across the hilly Turkish north. For 5mins we turned this way and that, waiting in the predesignated holding area. 1000ft, time to start the downwind leg of the landing pattern. 500ft left 90o for crosswind. 300ft left 90o into wind. Trimming left and right under the guidance of the instructor’s disembodied radio voice, hoping to avoid the wet potato eld, we were down! Surprisingly, most stayed upright when our feet touched down and it was broad grins all round. Everyone buzzing having negotiated 4000ft of altitude with nothing but the carefully packed contents of a small day sack! The next challenge was getting it back in the container for jump number two.
Back in the packing shed, euphoria having slightly abated, a new concern struck us: I’m not sure I want to jump if I’ve packed the parachute... the instructor simply turned and asked “who do you think packed them for your jump?” And the answer “last week’s students”.
Our well supervised packing took most of the afternoon compared to the 15