The one sound that gladdens the heart of any person deployed on Siachen Glacier is that of a helicopter. And in this the troops don’t make any distinction — both the Air Force and the Aviation choppers are welcome. I also confess that though the foot soldier gets all the credit for braving the odds during the glacier tenure, the job of a chopper pilot in that inhospitable land mass is equally dangerous and hazardous.
Flying here is extremely challenging. The machines were not built for this altitude and the vintage engines can collapse all of a sudden. Weather can also play truant by packing up all of a sudden, so you are in great trouble if airborne, even if on a sortie to the nearest post (30 minutes away). Fog can set in fast, blinding the pilots who might have to fly on instinct alone.
The Base Camp has permanently stationed detachments of Aviation and AF choppers, manned by young energetic pilots and a senior Lt Col/Maj (equivalent) officer in-charge to supervise the pilots so that they do not have to challenge the odds beyond limits. My first introduction to these pilots was even before our Glacier induction.
Maj Sri, the pilot, was a maverick, downright loony. Normally, from snout, a chopper is taken along the glacier bed. Each valley is entered into, searched, before returning to the glacier bed for going into the next valley. Sri decided to strike the fear of god in me during my first chopper flight. He took off and flew cross country. Up over the ridgeline, down into the valley, up again over the next ridgeline, and then down again!
By now I was holding my seat tight, knuckles all white. In between, he would point the marks of last artillery firing by Pakistanis, forcing me to open my eyes and look down. We flew close to the northernmost tip of Jammu & Kashmir, where he showed me an ongoing avalanche, with the chopper within its shouting distance. If his aim was to scare me, he succeeded. I let go of my seat only when we descended down to the Glacier floor. Later, I ensured that I was never ever slotted in the same chopper with Sri. To be fair to him, Sri was a tremendous pilot, knew the capabilities of his machine and the measure of his skills very well.
The troops loved the arrival of choppers. They brought fresh supplies, Kero oil (without which you cannot survive), mail and took way serious patients. Nothing had prepared me for certain scenes that I witnessed here. Like Cheetah helicopters landing on handkerchief-size helipads, guided by an NCO standing perilously at the edge of the helipad. The moment a chopper was heard, all eyes would turn towards the sky to locate it. This was difficult in winters against the snow backdrop. Once clear that it was headed your way, the boys went about the helipad activation drill efficiently. After it left, everyone would gather at the helipad to see what it had brought. Some would be disappointed if they did not see what they were hoping.
03/02/19 Brig Sandeep Thapar/Tribune
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Flying here is extremely challenging. The machines were not built for this altitude and the vintage engines can collapse all of a sudden. Weather can also play truant by packing up all of a sudden, so you are in great trouble if airborne, even if on a sortie to the nearest post (30 minutes away). Fog can set in fast, blinding the pilots who might have to fly on instinct alone.
The Base Camp has permanently stationed detachments of Aviation and AF choppers, manned by young energetic pilots and a senior Lt Col/Maj (equivalent) officer in-charge to supervise the pilots so that they do not have to challenge the odds beyond limits. My first introduction to these pilots was even before our Glacier induction.
Maj Sri, the pilot, was a maverick, downright loony. Normally, from snout, a chopper is taken along the glacier bed. Each valley is entered into, searched, before returning to the glacier bed for going into the next valley. Sri decided to strike the fear of god in me during my first chopper flight. He took off and flew cross country. Up over the ridgeline, down into the valley, up again over the next ridgeline, and then down again!
By now I was holding my seat tight, knuckles all white. In between, he would point the marks of last artillery firing by Pakistanis, forcing me to open my eyes and look down. We flew close to the northernmost tip of Jammu & Kashmir, where he showed me an ongoing avalanche, with the chopper within its shouting distance. If his aim was to scare me, he succeeded. I let go of my seat only when we descended down to the Glacier floor. Later, I ensured that I was never ever slotted in the same chopper with Sri. To be fair to him, Sri was a tremendous pilot, knew the capabilities of his machine and the measure of his skills very well.
The troops loved the arrival of choppers. They brought fresh supplies, Kero oil (without which you cannot survive), mail and took way serious patients. Nothing had prepared me for certain scenes that I witnessed here. Like Cheetah helicopters landing on handkerchief-size helipads, guided by an NCO standing perilously at the edge of the helipad. The moment a chopper was heard, all eyes would turn towards the sky to locate it. This was difficult in winters against the snow backdrop. Once clear that it was headed your way, the boys went about the helipad activation drill efficiently. After it left, everyone would gather at the helipad to see what it had brought. Some would be disappointed if they did not see what they were hoping.
03/02/19 Brig Sandeep Thapar/Tribune
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