I hadn’t paid attention to the ground instruction. I was just excited that it was time to rappel. I had been chosen to join the upperclassmen of the ROTC program for some advanced training. Apparently, this freshman had shown superior land navigation skills and “rabbit skinning/preparation skills” and it impressed the cadre. They felt that I should go to the “Cadet Ranger” program (or some other sort of assumptive title). Evidently, it was a bit of an honor to be invited. I didn’t really care about that, I was just excited to rappel for the first time from a 70 foot tower, cross a rope bridge and run for a few miles with a backpack. It sounded like an adventure and it was free.

I climbed the ladder, noticing my breathing was getting pretty labored. But it wasn’t from climbing, I was pretty nervous. When I reached the top, a short, geeking looking officer (a Major) in a camouflage uniform grabbed my lanyard and clipped it into the safety rope. Then a loud, energetic cadet ordered me to the anchor bar and to hook up. The Major calmly said, “Stand down cadet, I got him”.

He told me to raise my hands, inspected my improvised harness, jerked it, rigged the carabiner (they called a “D ring”) and ordered me to the edge. I glanced down and immediately thought, “Whoa, this is really high!”. I turned the Major with a pleading look – hoping it would change something and alleviate my rising fear. He just looked at me and said, “sit back into an L position.”

“Seriously”, I thought, “that won’t work . . . no way.” I hesitated and pulled back onto the platform. He just stared at me. I realized I had no choice but victory (and death), or defeat and shame. I leaned back. Then leaned back more. He said, “lean back more”. I could feel the 70 foot drop behind me. . . beckoning me to a horrible and terrifying fall leading to a painful and lonely death.

I turned to look below. The Major interrupted me with a firm, but quiet voice, “Don’t do that, look at me.” I looked at him with his cheezy little moustache and blank stare. So, I accepted the impending doom and leaned back. I suddenly felt unstable.

Then everything changed. I briefly saw the blue sky and heard my helmet thud against the planks of rappel wall. I saw a cadet far below me strain to pull the rope and belay my fall. I was suddenly upside down. I struggled to look back to the edge above me. And. . . there he was. His cheesy little moustache, clenched jaw, arms crossed. He was unflinching and didn’t care that I was terrified.

I was desperate. I couldn’t believe that he was just watching me in the throws of my imminent death. Well, possibly I was going to die. Actually, I started to realize I was fine. Wait. . . I just “possumed”. That shameful position you fall into when you don’t start your rappel right. I didn’t step down at that critical time. The Major just watched me struggle, unmoved. I tried to regain my footing. The loud cadet was out of sight and busy yelling at the next rappeler leaving the ladder. It was just me and that dorky Major, waiting for me to get ahold of myself.

I did get ahold of myself. I got my feet under me with a little calm instruction. Then the Major said, “jump and throw your arm out”. I did. I dropped 10 feet. WOW! I was rappelling. I bounded again. Another 10 feet. And again. A few more bounds and the cadet below me yelled, “10 Feet!”. With my last bound, I hit the ground.

I was pretty unnerved. My first “official” rappel and I “possumed”. But, it was awesome. I got a few congratulations. I climbed the ladder and rappelled again. And again. Each time a little more confident.

That’s my “first time” story. I sometimes tell it to new students before their first rappel. Sometimes, I don’t. Most people are surprised when I recount this experience. My wife, upon first hearing that story said, “I’m trying to get over the fact that you possumed your first rappel.” Apparently, they don’t expect that someone with my experience and background could have ever – possumed. Well, yeah – I’ve done most of the embarassing stuff. That’s the only way to become a better person. To risk embarrassment and failure – many, many times.

Many of my readers know that I recently retired as director of the Fortune Bay Expedition Team in September of last year (9 months ago). I spend 22 years of my life trying to recreate the exact environment of my first rappel. Today, I returned to the team (as I occasionally do) to be an instructor. After the lecture for Technical Ropework, I stopped by the practical to watch new and experienced students rappel off a defunct train bridge into the moving waters of the river below. Each time I participate in such a course, I remembered my first rappel and how terrified I was. I watch the first timers as their apprehension reaches a high point, but they push forward – outside of the comfort zone. Each time I am proud of them.

In my many years with Fortune Bay, I have encouraged others to push forward, I have listened to that labored breathing and I have watched fearful eyes (just like mine) as they look up from that awful possum position. Sometimes, I just wait patiently as they work themselves to the “moment of truth”, when the position changes from a “stance” to a “descent”. A moment of truth for all of us who have tried it.

Today, I reflected on the importance of pushing myself through my fears. Recently, I have logged about 20 hours flying an airplane in pursuit of a private pilot license. This was after 15 years of refusing to fly due to a couple of horrible flight experiences that took away my confidence and caused me to develop a paralyzing fear of flying.

Just like that Major in the ROTC program, I found an instructor with that same quiet attitude. The one that lets me push right into a uncomfortable place. Where they let me work through it on my own, only intervening to keep me alive. I appreciate these role models in life. They are rare and valuable. I tried for over 2 decades to return the favor. Today, as I watched the Fortune Bay “experiment” continue on without me, I was proud of those that have taken over. The new leadership has struggled magnificently to carry on with this supremely important mission. I watch, a little helpless, trying not to intervene. This is their project now.

I strongly believe that if we all pursue this endeavor, the conflicts, silly politics and problems we face will become less and less important. And the things we should be doing will become more and more important.

I loved watching as a whole crew of dedicated mentors and leaders patiently gave of themselves to help people become better than their former selves (in the words of Hemingway). I pondered how awesome it was and how I wish more than ever, that they accomplish more than I ever could. After today, I already know they have and will.

Please, consider joining the Fortune Bay Expedition Team for a event, class or become a member. You won’t be disappointed. The team is a collection of amazing people, each with that quiet desire to help you be more than you thought you could be.

To close this thought, I reflect on the words of Hemingway and Teddy Roosevelt. Their words seem to always apply, no matter what we do in life.

“There is nothing noble in being superior to your fellow man; true nobility is being superior to your former self.”
― Ernest Hemingway

Far better is it to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs, even though checkered by failure… than to rank with those poor spirits who neither enjoy nor suffer much, because they live in a gray twilight that knows not victory nor defeat.
― Theodore Roosevelt