Dunker Training and Panic

“What is the ‘coolest’ military course you’ve ever been to?”

Dunker Training.

One of the more interesting aspects of my professional training consisted of helicopter underwater egress training or, as we referred to it, “dunker training.”

Note: One of the best videos I have come across on this training would have sufficed for a simpler explanation, but there is always an interesting story involved… so choose according to your interests and desired investment of time.

For those unfamiliar, this training has become mandatory for all Army aircrews who perform overwater flight. I would love to say “frequent overwater flight,” but it is my understanding that this requirement has extended to those who perform aerial firefighting – even if their water source is a small pond hundreds of miles from the nearest large body of water. The purpose of dunker training is simple and self-explanatory in the official name: it teaches you to remain calm and safely exit a helicopter after ditching in water.

Like all military training, it is broken down into progressive steps which build upon the skills learned in the previous module – “crawl, walk, run” for simplicity’s sake. The first portion usually consists of a skills evaluation to determine the participants’ ability. From there, you are moved onto either practice with the shallow-water egress trainer, otherwise known as the “SWET chair,” or poolside familiarization with the Helicopter Emergency Egress Device, or “HEEDs bottle.” Terrifying to some, both serve a purpose: the SWET chair to familiarize the crewmember with the physical act of unbuckling and exiting from a floating inverted chair/frame assembly, and the HEEDs bottle to initiate the novice with the challenges of inhaling compressed air through their mouth without freaking out over the chlorinated pool water going into the free-flooding nasal cavity.

The final major portion involved getting into an airframe mockup which was then raised into position above the pool, lowered, and rolled inverted to simulate the often inevitable roll of a helicopter once it has settled into the water. Sometimes the roll is initiated upon contact with the surface of the water, while other times the roll occurred after submersion – the trainers typically varied to prevent complacency and predictability. The overall goal was to have several fully equipped crewmembers to demonstrate a safe and orderly exit from an environment which was neither safe or orderly…

By 2008, I had participated in several of these courses, and I had lost count of how many dives I had in the five years I had been a certified open-water SCUBA diver. Hawaii, for those who love the open ocean, is an ideal assignment, and the dangers posed by frequent overwater operations was mitigated by the courses offered by the U.S. Navy and Survival Systems USA Inc. For me, this was nothing new, and actually a pleasant break from the daily chaos of shifting flight schedules, never-ending progression flights, and ongoing evaluations…

May 28, 2008… A day over-confidence taught me one of the most valuable lessons I will never forget. I had completed several “rides,” mandated by the syllabus to verify that I was both comfortable and capable of implementing what I had learned over the three-day course. Because it was challenging, instructional, interesting, and – best of all – free, I asked to go for another iteration for the purpose of simulating a blocked primary exit and subsequent movement to an alternate.

I secured another fresh HEEDs bottle from the collection point on the pool deck, verified it was full, and gleefully hopped into the pool to queue for the next ride. As it was approaching the end of the day, most of the other trainees had met their requirements and moved on; the ones left were either those who arrived later or were still wrestling with their own comfort level with the training.

Strapped in, up we went… then down, slowly rotating as the cabin filled with water. The process expected of us was deliberate: assume a good brace position, wait for motion of the aircraft to stop, get air going from the bottle, establish a reference point on either a seat corner or other solid part of the airframe, and exit by pulling – no kicking – to your identified exit. Once clear of the airframe and associated pieces, exhale on the ascent, and upon reaching the surface, link up with other survivors.

This I knew, and I unworriedly let air trickle from my nose as we continued to an inverted position. I casually grasped the regulator from the holder clipped to my vest, confident that it would be a breeze just like every time before. However, in the steps leading up to the point where I was underwater, upside down, and strapped in, I became aware of one step I had missed as soon as I went to purge the regulator and take in my first breath of dry compressed air: I forgot to open the valve to the bottle itself.

It is said, casually, that fear can rise. This sensation, I can honestly attest to as being chillingly accurate. I felt my lower intestines solidify, my leg muscles tense up, and the confusion collision of thoughts which suddenly piled one on top of the other in my mind:

“What?” 
 “No air?”

“NO AIR!”

“Why isn’t there air?”

“Where is the knobwhereistheKNOB?!?”

Panic is a multi-dimensional state of mind that, when allowed to manifest slowly, could be best described as reassembling an onion, layer by layer. The first layers are that of a groggy realization that the expectations are not matching up with the evidence at hand.

The second layers are the initial realization that you might not belong wherever it is you presently are. Denial.

Following that is the logical breakdown of what needs to happen at this exact moment.

The actual panic sets in when the actions necessary and the time available begin to compete. Time seems to accelerate as quickly as it slowed.

Thankfully, the concept of “muscle memory” played a vital role – I knew where the bottle was located on my vest, I knew where the knob to turn the air on was located, and my hands flew to that area, frantically turning the knurled dial. I exhaled forcefully but carefully, knowing that I may have to repeat the process if the regulator didn’t purge the water within it; luckily, that first attempt was sufficient to get nearly all of the water out and my first breath of air was slightly damp but extremely satisfying. As I took in a second breath, the full realization of what had happened hit me – I had gotten too comfortable and nearly screwed up… big time.

Even with this primal emotion of self-induced crisis, I maintained the presence of mind to keep from kicking as I pulled myself through the open window to an uneventful exit.

“You had a bit of a problem,” said the safety observer after his head broke the water next to me. His was a guarded smile – I can only imagine how many freakouts he had to contend with on a frequent basis.

“Ah. You saw that,” I replied sheepishly. I had forgotten he was there but was grateful he was watching me so closely.

“Yeah. That was actually pretty neat – I could tell when you started to panic, but I saw you grab the bottle once you realized what you needed to do to fix yourself. Good job.”

That wasn’t the last time I participated in dunker training, but it was the last time I ever allowed myself to make such a stupid mistake on such a small detail…

Lessons learned:

Turn the stupid air on.

Overconfidence is a more deadly state of mind than it is ever truly given credit for.

Fear and panic, when properly administered in a controlled setting will never be effectively replicated and are some of the most memorable teaching tools.