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Field Ethos
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By Will Dabbs, MD
I’m a card-carrying packrat. My world is covered in a thin patina of otherwise-worthless crap—mementos of adventures long past. My poor long-suffering wife covets your prayers. Some of that stuff, however, is actually pretty epic.
On my mantle at home rests a Civil War cannonball my Dad found while out squirrel hunting in the Mississippi Delta, a jagged piece of shrapnel a dear friend picked up alongside the runway at Beirut International Airport, a chunk of the Berlin Wall, and a small scrap of mangled wire. It is that otherwise-innocuous piece of wire with which we shall concern ourselves today.
I spent two years commanding the U.S. Army High Altitude Rescue Team (HART) in Alaska. Our mission was to use CH-47D Chinook helicopters to snatch injured climbers off of Mount McKinley. At 20,310 feet, McKinley is the highest point in North America. I’ve flown over the top of that thing six times. That’s about as awesome as it sounds. If you were paying taxes back in the mid-1990’s—legit and from my heart—thanks.
Part of the HART mission was supporting the rangers of the National Park Service mountain rescue team. We flew the gear up to supply the high and low base camps at the beginning of the climbing season and then recovered everything at the end of the summer. We also qualified all of the NPS guys on the rescue hoist.
An Alaska Army National Guard CH-47 Chinook helicopter from Bravo Co., 2-211th GSAB, flies a training mission May 31, 2023. (Alaska National Guard photo by Robert DeBerry)
The CH-47 Chinook is hands-down the most versatile helicopter on Planet Earth. Fast, powerful, and shockingly nimble, this behemoth of a machine will air assault combat troops, slingload equipment and supplies, recover downed aircraft, and turn on a literal dime. It can also be rigged for hoist operations.
Just behind the pilots on the right side resides the hydraulic winch. This beast of a thing sports a cable a bit smaller than a pencil. The crew dogs use it to pull heavy cargo up into the voluminous cabin. By rigging a series of pulleys, this same winch can be snaked around such that it drops down the hole in the center of the machine to serve as a rescue hoist. These pulleys snap into the aircraft by means of 10,000-pound tiedown points in the floor and ceiling.
Thusly configured, we flew out to the absolute middle of no place and found a craggly mountaintop that looked like it had never before seen a human footprint. We then lowered the park rangers down to the summit one at a time, piddled around elsewhere for a bit so they could enjoy the view, and then returned to retrieve them. A grand time was had by all. On this particular day we had a spare pilot and some leftover gas, so I figured I’d give that a whirl myself. It looked like fun. I swear, someday they’ll put that on my tombstone.
The trip down was uneventful. The view was truly spectacular, and the experience sublime. The boys let me simmer for about a quarter hour alone on that mountaintop, just me and God. It was such an amazing thing. Then they returned, came to a smart hover, dropped the cable back down, and proceeded to pull me back up. About 15 feet underneath the machine, there was a bit of discomfiting grinding and the hoist stopped. I then began gradually to spin in response to the hurricane-force downdraft of that enormous Chinook helicopter.
I rightfully assumed my guys were just screwing with me. It’s what I would have done. I looked up and saw my flight engineer Chris and crew chief Mike peering down at me intently through the hole in the floor of the aircraft. They appeared troubled. That’s when I realized something had gone wrong.
There was no place to land for a dozen miles in any direction, and the spinning was becoming unpleasant. After what seemed an eternity, the hoist came to life again and begin gradually lifting me up in fits and starts. When I got within reach, Chris all but crawled outside the aircraft until he could grasp the drag handle on my survival vest and lift me bodily to safety.
A U.S. Army CH-47 Chinook Helicopter assigned to the 11th Airborne Division, part of an air assault mission during Joint Pacific Multinational Readiness Center (JPMRC) 26-02 exercise in the Yukon Training Area near Fairbanks, Alaska, Feb. 21, 2026. (U.S. Army Reserve Photo by Spc. Cole Moore)
The cable was a nested affair with several steel strands twisted tightly together. One of these strands had broken and become separated from the rest. As the winch lifted me off of the mountaintop, that strand had been caught outside one of the pulleys, wadding itself into an impenetrable rat’s nest that seized up everything. Thinking quickly, Chris disabled the safety interlocks and proceeded to rip one of those 10,000-pound tiedowns out of the floor getting me back into the airplane.
The geometry of the system was irretrievably wrecked. As Chris did whatever it took to get me back inside, the cable acted like a saw and carved through the structure of the aircraft. We made a beeline home to assess the carnage. It took the maintenance guys more than two months to make the big helicopter airworthy again.
The inside of the aircraft was a mass of shredded cable. I pulled out my Multi-Plier tool and snipped off a piece as a keepsake. That little scrap of wire now rests on my mantle, a tangible reminder of a particularly memorable day.
The post Hanging by a Thread appeared first on Field Ethos.
Continue reading...
I’m a card-carrying packrat. My world is covered in a thin patina of otherwise-worthless crap—mementos of adventures long past. My poor long-suffering wife covets your prayers. Some of that stuff, however, is actually pretty epic.
On my mantle at home rests a Civil War cannonball my Dad found while out squirrel hunting in the Mississippi Delta, a jagged piece of shrapnel a dear friend picked up alongside the runway at Beirut International Airport, a chunk of the Berlin Wall, and a small scrap of mangled wire. It is that otherwise-innocuous piece of wire with which we shall concern ourselves today.
Dream Job
I spent two years commanding the U.S. Army High Altitude Rescue Team (HART) in Alaska. Our mission was to use CH-47D Chinook helicopters to snatch injured climbers off of Mount McKinley. At 20,310 feet, McKinley is the highest point in North America. I’ve flown over the top of that thing six times. That’s about as awesome as it sounds. If you were paying taxes back in the mid-1990’s—legit and from my heart—thanks.
Part of the HART mission was supporting the rangers of the National Park Service mountain rescue team. We flew the gear up to supply the high and low base camps at the beginning of the climbing season and then recovered everything at the end of the summer. We also qualified all of the NPS guys on the rescue hoist.
An Alaska Army National Guard CH-47 Chinook helicopter from Bravo Co., 2-211th GSAB, flies a training mission May 31, 2023. (Alaska National Guard photo by Robert DeBerry)
Technical Details
The CH-47 Chinook is hands-down the most versatile helicopter on Planet Earth. Fast, powerful, and shockingly nimble, this behemoth of a machine will air assault combat troops, slingload equipment and supplies, recover downed aircraft, and turn on a literal dime. It can also be rigged for hoist operations.
Just behind the pilots on the right side resides the hydraulic winch. This beast of a thing sports a cable a bit smaller than a pencil. The crew dogs use it to pull heavy cargo up into the voluminous cabin. By rigging a series of pulleys, this same winch can be snaked around such that it drops down the hole in the center of the machine to serve as a rescue hoist. These pulleys snap into the aircraft by means of 10,000-pound tiedown points in the floor and ceiling.
Thusly configured, we flew out to the absolute middle of no place and found a craggly mountaintop that looked like it had never before seen a human footprint. We then lowered the park rangers down to the summit one at a time, piddled around elsewhere for a bit so they could enjoy the view, and then returned to retrieve them. A grand time was had by all. On this particular day we had a spare pilot and some leftover gas, so I figured I’d give that a whirl myself. It looked like fun. I swear, someday they’ll put that on my tombstone.
Men Do Silly Things
The trip down was uneventful. The view was truly spectacular, and the experience sublime. The boys let me simmer for about a quarter hour alone on that mountaintop, just me and God. It was such an amazing thing. Then they returned, came to a smart hover, dropped the cable back down, and proceeded to pull me back up. About 15 feet underneath the machine, there was a bit of discomfiting grinding and the hoist stopped. I then began gradually to spin in response to the hurricane-force downdraft of that enormous Chinook helicopter.
I rightfully assumed my guys were just screwing with me. It’s what I would have done. I looked up and saw my flight engineer Chris and crew chief Mike peering down at me intently through the hole in the floor of the aircraft. They appeared troubled. That’s when I realized something had gone wrong.
There was no place to land for a dozen miles in any direction, and the spinning was becoming unpleasant. After what seemed an eternity, the hoist came to life again and begin gradually lifting me up in fits and starts. When I got within reach, Chris all but crawled outside the aircraft until he could grasp the drag handle on my survival vest and lift me bodily to safety.
A U.S. Army CH-47 Chinook Helicopter assigned to the 11th Airborne Division, part of an air assault mission during Joint Pacific Multinational Readiness Center (JPMRC) 26-02 exercise in the Yukon Training Area near Fairbanks, Alaska, Feb. 21, 2026. (U.S. Army Reserve Photo by Spc. Cole Moore)
The Aftermath
The cable was a nested affair with several steel strands twisted tightly together. One of these strands had broken and become separated from the rest. As the winch lifted me off of the mountaintop, that strand had been caught outside one of the pulleys, wadding itself into an impenetrable rat’s nest that seized up everything. Thinking quickly, Chris disabled the safety interlocks and proceeded to rip one of those 10,000-pound tiedowns out of the floor getting me back into the airplane.
The geometry of the system was irretrievably wrecked. As Chris did whatever it took to get me back inside, the cable acted like a saw and carved through the structure of the aircraft. We made a beeline home to assess the carnage. It took the maintenance guys more than two months to make the big helicopter airworthy again.
The inside of the aircraft was a mass of shredded cable. I pulled out my Multi-Plier tool and snipped off a piece as a keepsake. That little scrap of wire now rests on my mantle, a tangible reminder of a particularly memorable day.
The post Hanging by a Thread appeared first on Field Ethos.
Continue reading...
