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From an EPPT to future NPPT's:
The sleeping bag. Your home away from home. Your sanctuary. (And henceforth to be referred to as "The Bag".) Treat it well, and it will do the same for you. I've seen many NPPT's make the same mistake: they try to sleep with their clothes on.
Do not do this. It will make you colder, and you will not sleep. Get as naked as you can ("naked" meaning without clothes. "Nekkid" meaning you got no clothes on an' you up to somethin'. Don't be gettin' nekkid in your sleeping bag. At least, not in the field.) Strip right down to your skivvies, troops. It will be chilly at first, but The Bag will warm up fast, and you will sleep much better. Quality of sleep is more important than quantity of sleep.
Do NOT be wearing your boots in The Bag! This is just stupid. I don't care how tired you are; take your darn boots off. Take 'em off, I say!
Now, sometimes, I admit, it's just too much effort to take your long underwear and socks off. I've been there, and I will now illustrate to all the NPPT's out there the pitfalls.
The EPPT (screw it, I'm going back to EP and NP. It's shorter, and I'm a lazy man.) The EP has just crawled into The Bag, wiggled around on his Thermarest to get the various rocks sorted out according to size, shape, and in alphabetical order, and is finally about to drift off into a well-earned rest, having just taught various NP's the HRPS. And he detects what appears to be a minor problem - the wool sock on his left foot has become partially pulled off.
In the grand scheme of things, a partially pulled-off sock is not a major issue. It is not any sort of tactical threat; it does not mean an end to one's continued presence on this plane of existence. On the other hand, it is not the sort of thing that can be ignored. It gives one a feeling that all is not right with the world. Everything is not in its' proper place, performing its' designated function in the prescribed military, traditional manner. A partially pulled-off sock is an irritant. Nothing more. Not nearly an irritant of the magnitude say, a mosquito walking around in one's ear, or a new lieutenant fresh from RMC, but an irritant nonetheless. It offends the EP's sense of military protocol. He is a paratrooper. His kit is always squared away, and he always has a firm grip on it. This sock is an insult to his sense of professionalism. This is one cheeky sock!
After twisting and turning in The Bag for some time (causing other EP's in the nearby vicinity to curse him and possibly strike him with footwear) telling himself that the sock is of no consequence, the EP eventually arrives at the inescapable conclusion that it will drive him into a fit of PTSD if he allows it to continue with this blatant insubordination for another minute. Enough is enough. Something must be done about this sock with the temerity to cast aspersions on his professionalism.
The simplest way to settle the sock issue would be to unzip The Bag, pull down the bivie bag, sit up, and pull the sock back up with a firm overhand grasp and a reprimanding jerk. Thus teaching the sock it's place in the food chain. (Warrant Officer, then Section Commander, then EP, then fellow EP's, then sock, then NP's). The problem is that unzipping The Bag will invite in a blast of frigid Canadian winter air, requiring the EP to turn his metabolism back on to get warmed up once more, resulting in turn in the EP staying awake until he is once again warm and cozy. And the EP has shift on the C6 in two hours.
Another problem is the previous twisting, turning, and snuggling has relocated the zipper somewhere between the shoulder blades at the top, and your gluteus maximus at the bottom. The EP then decides to try to pull the sock up without unzipping The Bag.
This is what is known as a Tactical Error.
The EP's first thought is that he can simply raise his leg high enough to reach the insubordinate sock. But no, the EP's leg wedges against the sides of The Bag, keeping the recalcitrant sock just a few inches out of reach of his clutching, clawing fingers. The effort has now turned the EP and The Bag at right angles to his Thermarest mattress, but no matter; this has become a matter of honour. A duel to the death. A contest of wills. And no sock, no matter how canny, will win against an EP.
Since there is more room in the top of The Bag, the EP reasons that by tilting his head forward onto his chest, he should be able to double over enough to get a grip on the sock. As he executes the maneuver, the Gore-Tex bivie bag squeaks from the strain and squeezes his shoulders against his ears. He is now locked into a sort of prenatal position inside The Bag, presenting a spectacle that any outside observer (such as the NP currently on the C6) might compare to a defective German sausage in need of recall. The EP, at this time, will make a mental note to beat said NP about the head, neck, and upper shoulders with a large and heavy blunt object.
At last the EP will have the offending wool sock (which is snickering) in hand and will pull it back into it's pre-ordained and assigned place on his foot with a pained but satisfying grunt (the truly hardcore EP will turn the grunt of effort into a cool-sounding Hooah!). All that now remains is for the EP to extract himself from his compressed posture.
However, the slight and gentle slope he has chosen for his bed site begins to take an aggressive and malignant role in compounding his plight. Apparently, the slope and the sock had some sort of Pact. An alliance, if you will. With its' ally removed from the fray, the slope feels it must now act. The EP topples over onto his side. The sore one, with the chafe from the loose strap on his rucksack. With Herculean effort and gasped curses that would shame a Merchant Marine (answered by similar terms from his EP neighbours, but directed at our hero) he manages to roll onto his knees, using a reverse right-front roll.
This is what is known as compounding the previous Tactical Error, or Entering a Quagmire, if you prefer the media terms.
This movement onto his knees (never a truly favourable position, historically) leads to a series of flopping somersaults down the incline, which is much steeper at night than it is during the day (an oddity of nature, only discovered by EPs trapped in sleeping bags, which would explain why it has never been documented). The EP finally comes to a jarring halt jammed under a fallen tree, face first, and head downward, some fifty feet away from his hootch.
When the EP's partner on shift comes to wake him for their watch on the C6, he stops at the hootch, stares at the empty Thermarest, shrugs, and walks off to the 12 o'clock position to man the gun, cursing the EP for leaving him to do it alone. All the time, the EP is weakly gasping for help. Eventually, at reveille, the EP is discovered under the tree and extricated. It is this moment that differentiates the EP from the NP. The NP would simply look embarrassed and suffer ridicule from his compatriots for the remainder of the Exercise. The EP, on the other hand, makes The Appropriate Comment and earns his comrades' everlasting respect and admiration (ever-lasting being approximately 3 days, or until he spotted doing something foolish).
What, you ask, is The Appropriate Comment? What could earn the EP the esteem of his comrades? Whining and jabbering inanely about a partially pulled-off sock simply will not cut it. In fact, this will ensure derision and practical jokes for months (and possibly physical violence from the partner who feels he was left to do the shift on his own). All the more so, if you insist on hobbling around in a manner reminiscent of an orangutan with lumbago. Instead, the EP will yawn hugely, stretch luxuriously, and as soon as his vertebrae ceases popping, will say with a lascivious smirk and chuckle "Man, I didn't think they made dreams like that anymore! Halle Berry is some kinda woman!"
again, with respect and admiration, dedicated to Patrick F. McManus
The sleeping bag. Your home away from home. Your sanctuary. (And henceforth to be referred to as "The Bag".) Treat it well, and it will do the same for you. I've seen many NPPT's make the same mistake: they try to sleep with their clothes on.
Do not do this. It will make you colder, and you will not sleep. Get as naked as you can ("naked" meaning without clothes. "Nekkid" meaning you got no clothes on an' you up to somethin'. Don't be gettin' nekkid in your sleeping bag. At least, not in the field.) Strip right down to your skivvies, troops. It will be chilly at first, but The Bag will warm up fast, and you will sleep much better. Quality of sleep is more important than quantity of sleep.
Do NOT be wearing your boots in The Bag! This is just stupid. I don't care how tired you are; take your darn boots off. Take 'em off, I say!
Now, sometimes, I admit, it's just too much effort to take your long underwear and socks off. I've been there, and I will now illustrate to all the NPPT's out there the pitfalls.
The EPPT (screw it, I'm going back to EP and NP. It's shorter, and I'm a lazy man.) The EP has just crawled into The Bag, wiggled around on his Thermarest to get the various rocks sorted out according to size, shape, and in alphabetical order, and is finally about to drift off into a well-earned rest, having just taught various NP's the HRPS. And he detects what appears to be a minor problem - the wool sock on his left foot has become partially pulled off.
In the grand scheme of things, a partially pulled-off sock is not a major issue. It is not any sort of tactical threat; it does not mean an end to one's continued presence on this plane of existence. On the other hand, it is not the sort of thing that can be ignored. It gives one a feeling that all is not right with the world. Everything is not in its' proper place, performing its' designated function in the prescribed military, traditional manner. A partially pulled-off sock is an irritant. Nothing more. Not nearly an irritant of the magnitude say, a mosquito walking around in one's ear, or a new lieutenant fresh from RMC, but an irritant nonetheless. It offends the EP's sense of military protocol. He is a paratrooper. His kit is always squared away, and he always has a firm grip on it. This sock is an insult to his sense of professionalism. This is one cheeky sock!
After twisting and turning in The Bag for some time (causing other EP's in the nearby vicinity to curse him and possibly strike him with footwear) telling himself that the sock is of no consequence, the EP eventually arrives at the inescapable conclusion that it will drive him into a fit of PTSD if he allows it to continue with this blatant insubordination for another minute. Enough is enough. Something must be done about this sock with the temerity to cast aspersions on his professionalism.
The simplest way to settle the sock issue would be to unzip The Bag, pull down the bivie bag, sit up, and pull the sock back up with a firm overhand grasp and a reprimanding jerk. Thus teaching the sock it's place in the food chain. (Warrant Officer, then Section Commander, then EP, then fellow EP's, then sock, then NP's). The problem is that unzipping The Bag will invite in a blast of frigid Canadian winter air, requiring the EP to turn his metabolism back on to get warmed up once more, resulting in turn in the EP staying awake until he is once again warm and cozy. And the EP has shift on the C6 in two hours.
Another problem is the previous twisting, turning, and snuggling has relocated the zipper somewhere between the shoulder blades at the top, and your gluteus maximus at the bottom. The EP then decides to try to pull the sock up without unzipping The Bag.
This is what is known as a Tactical Error.
The EP's first thought is that he can simply raise his leg high enough to reach the insubordinate sock. But no, the EP's leg wedges against the sides of The Bag, keeping the recalcitrant sock just a few inches out of reach of his clutching, clawing fingers. The effort has now turned the EP and The Bag at right angles to his Thermarest mattress, but no matter; this has become a matter of honour. A duel to the death. A contest of wills. And no sock, no matter how canny, will win against an EP.
Since there is more room in the top of The Bag, the EP reasons that by tilting his head forward onto his chest, he should be able to double over enough to get a grip on the sock. As he executes the maneuver, the Gore-Tex bivie bag squeaks from the strain and squeezes his shoulders against his ears. He is now locked into a sort of prenatal position inside The Bag, presenting a spectacle that any outside observer (such as the NP currently on the C6) might compare to a defective German sausage in need of recall. The EP, at this time, will make a mental note to beat said NP about the head, neck, and upper shoulders with a large and heavy blunt object.
At last the EP will have the offending wool sock (which is snickering) in hand and will pull it back into it's pre-ordained and assigned place on his foot with a pained but satisfying grunt (the truly hardcore EP will turn the grunt of effort into a cool-sounding Hooah!). All that now remains is for the EP to extract himself from his compressed posture.
However, the slight and gentle slope he has chosen for his bed site begins to take an aggressive and malignant role in compounding his plight. Apparently, the slope and the sock had some sort of Pact. An alliance, if you will. With its' ally removed from the fray, the slope feels it must now act. The EP topples over onto his side. The sore one, with the chafe from the loose strap on his rucksack. With Herculean effort and gasped curses that would shame a Merchant Marine (answered by similar terms from his EP neighbours, but directed at our hero) he manages to roll onto his knees, using a reverse right-front roll.
This is what is known as compounding the previous Tactical Error, or Entering a Quagmire, if you prefer the media terms.
This movement onto his knees (never a truly favourable position, historically) leads to a series of flopping somersaults down the incline, which is much steeper at night than it is during the day (an oddity of nature, only discovered by EPs trapped in sleeping bags, which would explain why it has never been documented). The EP finally comes to a jarring halt jammed under a fallen tree, face first, and head downward, some fifty feet away from his hootch.
When the EP's partner on shift comes to wake him for their watch on the C6, he stops at the hootch, stares at the empty Thermarest, shrugs, and walks off to the 12 o'clock position to man the gun, cursing the EP for leaving him to do it alone. All the time, the EP is weakly gasping for help. Eventually, at reveille, the EP is discovered under the tree and extricated. It is this moment that differentiates the EP from the NP. The NP would simply look embarrassed and suffer ridicule from his compatriots for the remainder of the Exercise. The EP, on the other hand, makes The Appropriate Comment and earns his comrades' everlasting respect and admiration (ever-lasting being approximately 3 days, or until he spotted doing something foolish).
What, you ask, is The Appropriate Comment? What could earn the EP the esteem of his comrades? Whining and jabbering inanely about a partially pulled-off sock simply will not cut it. In fact, this will ensure derision and practical jokes for months (and possibly physical violence from the partner who feels he was left to do the shift on his own). All the more so, if you insist on hobbling around in a manner reminiscent of an orangutan with lumbago. Instead, the EP will yawn hugely, stretch luxuriously, and as soon as his vertebrae ceases popping, will say with a lascivious smirk and chuckle "Man, I didn't think they made dreams like that anymore! Halle Berry is some kinda woman!"
again, with respect and admiration, dedicated to Patrick F. McManus
