Jumping Wake Turbulence

Position: Taxiway Hotel... KSLC
Groundspeed: 30 knots
Equipment: 319
Pax-on-board: 123

Max forward taxi speed limitation on the 319 is 30 knots. I taxi at 30 knots when I can do so safely. Dry surfaces, light winds with smooth concrete joints are required, and of course, no one ahead blocking the way.

The heavy loads of Christmas and New Years are behind us, as is 2011. In my six... Another year on the Line... Poof! Gone.


We are on the last leg of a four day trip... Been short-hopping across the southwest in a 319 today. My kind of flying! The right seat is a retread captain, now a co-pilot, from two bankrupt airlines who is glad to have a flying job... An aspect of this career that is very unpleasant. If you lose your job at Divided Airlines and are lucky enough to get another job at Oceanic Air, guess where you start?

You say you have 12,567 hours in the B-757? Too bad... Seniority #7124, and, oh, by the way... One year of probation. One more thing, you don't know squat about the 757, so don't get cocky. We are going to teach you the correct way to fly.

There is a lot of silver hair and weathered skin in this cockpit. The lead flight attendant has been harassing us most of the day about a geriatric flightdeck. Should I check on you two every 15 minutes to make sure you're awake? Boys, call me when you want your Ensure. Are you two going to need extra lav breaks? And on it goes... Poking the old lions with a stick through the cage bars.

Is this sexual harassment? Shattering our fragile egos? Damaging on our self-esteem? I'll call an assistant Chief Pilot later and check on this matter.

The co-pilot and I are and have been in the operational groove. We are moving metal and hauling pax with minimum delays. It's nice to fly with someone who speaks the language of my era. A Holley double-pumper has nothing to do with pornography and a Rolls-Royce Merlin is not the latest project from Pimp My Ride. We announce proudly to anyone who asks that we do not have a clue what a tweet is, nor do we want to know.

Salt Lake tower asks, You guys ready? We have just finished the before take-off checklist and the co-pilot alerts the cabin. The co-pilot and I are giddy with last leg euphoria. Home to momma leg.

You ready boss?

Is the Pope Catholic?

The tower releases us for take-off, 16 Left, while we are still on Hotel. We have to make two 90 degree turns to the right... On my last checkride I got dinged for taxiing too fast in turns (again). Ten knots is max for 90 degree turns, although she will do 12-14 knots comfortably. Ten knots it is... These 319s require a lot of braking to keep them below limitation speeds.

All lights ON... Check flaps, trim, and fuel one more time.

On the center line with the nosewheel straight, I hand the aircraft over to the right seat with Your aircraft, I have the radios.

The engines roll past the critical harmonic zone quickly in the -5 C outside air temperature. Professor Energy's invisible force mashes us back into our seats as the engines spool up to a reduced thrust setting. We do not need max thrust in this cold air. I check the engine instruments for excessive vibration and temperature. Both running cool and very strong...

Yikes! We are blowing through 80 knots. I am supposed to call that out... Eighty, uh... ninety, hundred knots. Wow-ee! This baby is getting with it! Not an approved call out, but...

The gap between 80 knots and V1 is covered in two, maybe three heart beats; she is ready to fly. I call out vee one rotate five knots before V1. When the last syllable is out of my mouth, we are 20 knots past V2. The Electric Jet leaves a rolling vortex of runway dust as she leaps into the cool night sky.

Positive rate and the landing gear green lights change to red as the gear doors open.

We reach our KSLC departure altitude limit of 14,000 feet very quickly. Altitude capture happens at 12,700 feet to level at 14,000 feet. The controller points out a heavy freighter at 15,000 feet crossing in our 12 o'clock.

Uh, yeah we got him... Red, green, and white strobes ahead. It's a Mad Dog-11. Big boy!


Roger, maintain visual with the MD11, continue climb to 21,000 feet... Caution wake turbulence...


The freighter is disappearing in our two o'clock, but the wake is still in front of us and slowly descending toward our altitude. The flight attendants are up and working in the galleys. I look at the co-pilot and before I say anything, he asks You want to jump this wake? He is reading my mind, which, admittedly is not hard. Yes, no broken flight attendant ankles, please.


Fi-Fi responds to the co-pilot's commands and soars high over the wake turbulence with minimum effort. The twinkling lights of the freighter are in our three o'clock low now. We crossed 1500 feet or better above the wake trail.

Salt Lake City is falling away rapidly us as we ascend into dark and thin air. It has been a long day, but we are pumped up about off-duty time in our twelve o'clock. Less than an hour to the nest.

Life on the Line continues... 2012. Unreal...

Christmas Lift 2011

Position: 100 miles south of KMSP

Altitude: 37,000 feet

Groundspeed: 515 knots (592 mph)

Equipment: A320 V2500-A5 engines

Pax-on-Board: 150 + 2 jumpers

Local Time: 0220 hrs

Airborne... Compass heading 091 degrees

It's the beach thing again... Think I am looking west (for as the Led Zeppelin song goes: there's a feeling I get when I look to the west...)

The wife-of-my-youth, laying beside me in the ridiculously skimpy bikini I bought her last summer, is the quintessential, semi-professional, non-revenue, sun bunny. The beer is iced down in a battered but still functional airline-issued six pack cooler (Yep, back in the un-PC days it was SOP for the Chief Pilot's office to give us atta-boy prizes for behaving longer than a couple months; beer coolers, pens, wind breakers, etc.). Little trinkets dropped from Cloud City where the F-4 Gods of Thunder lived... I remember.

How did I get to this beach? Well, obviously I have made it to the top of the seniority mountain where the wise old captains fly day trips, or an occasional run to the sun. A Chicago overnight? You must be kidding!

Reality check... 37,000 feet

The noise of the slip stream is back in my head again. What happened to the world's smallest bikini and coldest beer? Am I awake? Yes, I am awake... The thin air beach fantasy runs wild in the middle of the night. My co-pilot looks like he is awake, but you never know. We are operating a trans-con red-eye in the deepest part of the night. Even though I am a high-time night pilot, my body wants to sleep. It is called circadian rhythm and trying to defy it is most difficult.

My left hand reaches behind the seat and brings the oxygen mask out of its storage box with a loud hiss as the regulator charges the head-gripping harness. The co-pilot jumps when the mask hisses... I laugh and tell him, "Need to wake up. Going on the Os."

The alien-inspired harness slips over my head; I release the finger-pinch valve and the harness squeezes my head sealing my consciousness from the outside world. Automatically, fingers feel for the 100% valve under my chin. It is ON... Pure aviator's oxygen. A deep breath of the cold, gaseous elixir... And I feel better instantly; will stay in the mask until my throat gets too dry.

Overhead, the star fields of the Milky Way are bright and clear. Consider that I am looking through an oxygen-mask face plate and one inch of heated Plexiglas with old eyes. Imagine what the stars must really look like... It is a humbling thought. One hundred miles north, I can see a yellow smudge on the horizon. That is Minnie under a layer of fog.

Underneath, appearing sporadically through a broken cloud layer, the homes of sleeping farm families are disappearing in our six. If they are awake, the faint whisper of V2500-A5 engines passing overhead in their ears...

First hints of twilight...

Finally, the morning light ahead of us.  It is a beautiful pale blue... The pale blue light of Christmas Eve 2011. Payloads are heavy, open seats are non-existent as we haul the kids to Grandma's once again.

Tonight, westbound and looking for Rudolf's nav light...

Life on the Line continues... Crew O2 pressure is 1400 psi.

Elevator to Heaven

Position: Fifty miles southeast of KOAK (Oakland)

Altitude: 18,000 feet and climbing

Groundspeed: 370 knots

Rate-of-climb: 2,800 fpm

Equipment: A319

Pax-on-Board: 123

Airborne...

It has been one of those weeks... Juggling a heavy flight schedule with family matters taking place away from the domicile. I am glad to be back in the cockpit where I am in control, more or less. The ascension feels good to these old bones! After clearing inbound SFO traffic, our 319 is climbing to the thin air like an elevator to heaven.

The right-seater is an experienced Electric Jet pilot. He is a sharp kid and does not mind babysitting a semi-crotchety captain. I flew with him a few times when he was a newbie and showed him some of my get out of jail free techniques for handling this electrical entity which we fly. He has always remembered those days and treats me with respect, which, naturally, I take advantage of in my pre-geezer state.

I know... It's bad, but I've got to keep my reputation intact. There seems to be no shortage of co-pilots who want to fly with me, so I must be doing something right. And this in spite of the wild stories my low-life buddies spread about me.

Such as:

1. The wife-of-my-youth is an ex-stripper. Totally false, but she thinks it is funny.
2. The Chief Pilot has my iPhone on his speed dial. Unlikely, but possible...
3. I have inside knowledge of the infamous three-crew 2003 Orlando Hooters Incident. Where? Who?
4. I am hard to get along with and "write up" co-pilots. I have never written up anyone in my life and certainly am not hard to get along with... Under any circumstances.

And on it goes... But, I must admit that I love it.

22,000 feet...

The winter sun is rising above the cloud deck giving light to a new day on the Line. This morning, underneath Fi-Fi, it was dark, wet, and cold as I pre-flighted her at the Oakland gate.

Yesterday, when I checked in for this trip, I saw two more pilots on the bulletin board... Yes, that bulletin board. The one we will all, one day, have our photo pinned in the upper right hand corner.

As I was shining my flashlight on Fi-Fi's smooth belly, I could not help but thinking about those two pilots. They were down here, where I am, not so long ago, and now they are gone... Flown west. Two photos, enlarged from their IDs, pinned to the bulletin board by an assistant Chief Pilot. We regret to announce...

28,000 feet...

The two V-2500 A5 IAE engines are in their element now as we soar high above the undercast. The fuel flows are falling as the altitude increases along with the groundspeed. Winds on our tail and sunlight in our faces... It is better up here. The early morning trepidations are gone.

39,000 feet...

The auto-pilot captures the altitude at 38,700 feet and begins to lower the nose and reduce the thrust to level at exactly 39,000 feet.

Mach number- .79

Groundspeed- 560 knots

Seat-belt sign- OFF

Starbucks Christmas Blend- Excellent

Cabin Altitude- 8,000 feet

Seven more days until Christmas Lift 2011 begins. I am working it, of course. Not complaining, just saying...

Life on the Line continues...

Thanksgiving Lift, 2011... Day 2

Position: Over KCMH (Columbus)

Altitude: 34,000 feet

Groundspeed: 414 knots (475 mph)

Equipment: A319

Pax-on-Board: 123 + 3 jumpers

Airborne...

Fi-Fi's nose is fifteen degrees into the quartering headwind of 120 knots to maintain the course line. In our six, the sun is barely above the horizon. Our cockpit is filling with early morning light... The kind of light that, along with Starbucks Christmas blend, pulls you out of an early morning circadian funk.

This is the biggest day of the year for the air carrier business... Wednesday before Thanksgiving. I was incredibly busy this morning dealing with captain's administrative work. That would be dispatch, maintenance control, operations, gate super, and flight attendants.

The co-pilot was busy with a last minute re-route, talking to clearance delivery, and trying to find the new airways on a hi-altitude chart.

A couple of kids wanted to see the flight deck, so we made time for them. Otherwise, I had an iPhone in my left ear, a pen in my right hand, and two large aircraft manuals open in my lap.

Every few minutes, a flight attendant would come into the flight deck with a pax seating problem, a broken thing-a-ma-jigee over row nine, overhead bins filling up and need to call the gate, coffee-maker forward galley not brewing yet, toilets not flushing yet, need more ice...

OK- yep- got it- yes- I just called- OK- yes mam- they know about it- OK- roger that- on the way...

Finally, the ducks lined up and quacked in the correct sequence three minutes before push; L-1 door closed and we pushed on-time with every seat full.

I called for gear up nine minutes later... The houses got smaller very quickly as the Electric Jet buried the vertical speed indicator at the top of the instrument case. Moms, Dads, and many kids are on the way to Grandma's... Again. How many times have I done this? Not sure... Can't remember anymore. The years run together into a 450 knot neuron stream.

Tomorrow, (hopefully) I will pick up a 100 pound non-rever, the wife-of-my-youth, for the eastbound transcon. The company will feed us turkey and dressing along the way. They are very good about catering excellent food on Thanksgiving and Christmas. Food delivery teams make sure every crew is fed somewhere, somehow.

But, for now, Thanksgiving Lift 2011, day two, is underway.

Life on the Line continues... Compass heading 272 degrees.

Brainwash

Emergency brainwash post...

Crippen and Young... Two of the hottest fighter pilots ever. The kind of pilots who flew F-4 Phantoms into Vulcan gun range and traded heavy metal with comrades in Migs, then flipped them off, canopy to canopy, as they thundered past in afterburner.

Thirty years ago, these two Gods of Thunder did something so audacious it is hard to wrap our safety first before anything else minds around their amazing feat.

STS-1, Columbia, lifted off with these two guys in the cockpit. I remember listening to the launch on a car radio... One of them said, "It's a real barn burner." I almost cried... This was the first time any space shuttle had flown under its own power. It was the first time solid fuel boosters had ever been tried with pilots on the other end.

During the landing at Edwards two days later, one of the chase pilots flying formation with Columbia said, "Don't bounce it grandpa." Young had grandchildren... I almost cried.

They are old men now... Old Gods of Thunder forgotten by most but remembered by the few.

OK, I feel better... Emergency brainwash post after reading today's newspaper.

Where is YZP?

Position: Over TOU (Tatoosh)
Altitude: 36,000 feeet
Groundspeed: 441 knots
Equipment: A319
Pax-on-Board: 123

Airborne...

As TOU passes beneath, I note the compass heading leaving U.S. airspace is 295 degrees. The ETP (equatime; half-way point) is still in front of us... PANC (Anchorage) ahead and over the dark horizon. Local time is 2215 hrs.

The center-tanks are almost empty as we go feet wet. Fi-Fi will run the center-pumps an extra five minutes after the last of the fuel is sucked out, just to make sure.

My dispatcher and I agreed on a fuel load that gives us 15 minutes hold over PANC, 35 miles of fuel to reach Elmendorf AFB for an emergency alternate, 10 minutes of captain Dave's "uh-oh" fuel, and the required 45-minute reserve. The weather forecast is favorable for a visual approach and landing... Never forget it is Alaska, though.

I have the warm Jet-A fuzzies as the VOR needle rotates 180 degrees indicating TOU is receding in our six.

ETP sequenced...


The equatime point has been sequenced by Fi-Fi nav... Half-way to Anchorage folks. Outside, minus sixty-two centigrade with winds from the west-south-west at 120 knots. Polaris is in our two o'clock high. The sky above is lovely, clear, and full of heavenly beacons. Beneath us, nothing... A total lack of shape, form or light.

Position check...


The weather radar antenna is tilted down below the horizon and giving good returns on the southern most islands of the Queen Charlotte archipelago. I dial in the frequency for Sandspit VOR (YZP) and look at the RMI (radio magnetic indicator) needle and DME (distance measuring equipment) mileage readout.

Hmm... Looks like the 150 degree radial and about 65 miles (think about a wheel with 360 spokes, one for each degree of the compass; so, we are crossing the 150 degree spoke, i.e., south-east of the VOR). Remembering this raw data, I compare it to Fi-Fi Magic-Nav, a combination of laser-ring inertial and satellite. If she gets bored, she looks at VOR, NDB, localizer, and DME, combining everything for a super accurate fix.

Fi-Fi, where is YZP?

Dave, YZP is bearing 330.3 degrees at 64.6 miles.

She knows her position in time and space... Life is good. Ahead, the faint green glow of the aurora borealis.

Wife check...


I push the rear-galley button over my head and get the #3 flight attendant, a hot-reserve newbie. She was sitting hot-reserve at the airport waiting for the inevitable call from crew scheduling. She tells me the wife-of-my-youth is asleep in the last row, aisle seat, covered with my leather flight jacket.

When this new flight attendant showed up at the aircraft, I noticed she had no coat. I have seen that a thousand times... They are so nervous about the flight that they forget simple things like coats for Alaska. In fact, I have seen it so many times I carry a spare, lightweight jacket for new flight attendants to borrow.

Under the Northern Lights...


Six hundred nautical miles to PANC... The aurora borealis is very active tonight. Overhead, fast moving sheets of green light with interspersed red streaks. My amateurish syntax cannot adequately describe what we see. The night sky is discharging green and red light... Being underneath it in an Electric Jet is, well, simply amazing.

It would be nice to have a real wordsmith/editor like Gerard Van der Leun riding in the cockpit jump-seat to write an accurate description.

The glow of Anchorage...


South of Valdez... We can see the glow of PANC ahead like a little galaxy hanging beneath the electric skies. I take one more look at the terrain charts around Anchorage, even though I memorized them long ago.

The mini-printer spits out the ATIS (auto-terminal info service). Runway 7-Right is closed, so it will be 7-Left... Plenty of stopping distance available even with a bit of snow cover. Surface temperature is 25 F with light snow showers, winds light and variable. Variable always means a tailwind on a slick runway... You can count on it. Vis is five miles, clouds 2500 broken, 3500 overcast, i.e., good VFR conditions for Anchorage.

The math geeks at Performance Engineering have given us landing distance charts for slick runways. I guess 6400 feet before I look at the chart. Pretty close... 6650. That is calculated with full reverse thrust and moderate-to-heavy braking, touching down at the 1,000 foot marker. I am confident I can stop in 6,000 feet or less.

YESKA intersection...


Anchorage ATC Center assigned 11,000 feet at YESKA, speed our discretion. I level the Electric Jet at 11,000 feet/310 knots five miles east of YESKA and begin to slow. The lead flight attendant reports that everyone is strapped in and the cabin is secure for landing. We received reports of moderate turbulence below 10,000 feet descending into PANC.

The clouds beneath are full of ice... Time to raise the shields. Blue lights on the overhead panel indicate engine cowlings and wing leading edges are hot. Yeah baby! 


Fire Island...


I ask the co-pilot, "You got the runway yet?"

Looking out his heated right window, he snickers, "Yeah, sort of... It's in and out of the clouds."

The radar altimeter is bouncing off of Fire Island 2,000 feet below us while the  approach controller vectors us to a base leg for an intercept of the localizer beam, runway 7-Left.

The controller asks, "Can you guys see the airport... two o'clock and about 7 miles?"

"Ahh, we keep losing it in the clouds. We better stay on the approach."

"Roger... Fly heading zero-four-zero and intercept seven left localizer, maintain one thousand six hundred until established, cleared for the ILS seven left approach. Tower at webbi."

I extend two fingers while the co-pilot is reading back the approach clearance. He moves the flap lever to position TWO. The trailing edge flaps move back and down into the cold slipstream; it feels like an anchor has been thrown overboard as Fi-Fi starts slowing from the increased drag.

WEBBI intersection...


The landing gear is down and locked with three green lights, flaps are FULL, ice shields are UP, speed is under control with glide-slope and localizer centered. As a long gone Captain-of-my-youth was fond of saying, we are cooking on the front burner.

The snow flakes are rushing past at 140 knots in the multi-million candlepower landing lights. Ahead, we can see blurred runway lights. The co-pilot calls out "one thousand"... Runway 7-Left is white, covered with a layer of thin snow.

On the parallel taxiway to the runway waits a long line of snow plows and runway de-icing vehicles, amber lights flashing. They will be busy tonight. The tower controller tells snow-boss, "Remain clear of seven left, landing aircraft." Yes, please.... That would be us.

Airport boundary fence...


Auto-pilot OFF, flight directors OFF, bring the FPV (bird) on-line...

The nose is pointing about two degrees right of the runway centerline... Feels like a slight tail-wind. Of course it is; I look at the inertial-platform wind arrow and see a ten knot wind behind the right wing, or a quartering right tail-wind. Uh... That's about a four knot component; add another 500 feet of stopping effort on a slick runway.

At 100 feet, the runway threshold passes beneath at 140 knots... Auto-thrust OFF.

1,000 foot marker...


Nothing fancy tonight, as in get it on the ground like right now. I plop it firmly on the snow covered 1,000 foot marker... Before the nose gear touches down, I pull the reverse thrust triggers back to MAX. The spoilers rise and shear away the lift. It's not pretty, but we need to get wheel spin-up for the anti-skid to start working.

MAX reverse thrust is impressive at sea-level on a cold, snowy night. The roaring, flower shaped plumes of hot gas are shaking the aircraft and blasting the loose snow into a brilliant white canopy which covers the aft fuselage. My feet slowly mash the tops of the rudder pedals to max deflection yielding massive braking power... The anti-skid is working beautifully, releasing the brakes when either wheel starts to skid, then reapplying in a micro-second, over and over. It is amazing how effective anti-skid technology has become.

When I was a young co-pilot, the Captains called the new technology anti-stop. They would love this stuff.

Fi-Fi tracks straight and true while shedding energy... As we slow, the reverse thrust blizzard starts to move forward into our landing lights. When we are about to lose forward vis, the co-pilot calls out "eighty knots." I reduce reverse thrust, but keep the brake pedals at full deflection. The anti-skid continues to release/reapply the brakes... It is enough to bring tears to an old pilot's eyes. Sorry, this aircraft makes me all emotional.

At 60 knots the reverse thrust is useless... I stow the reverse sleeves with hydraulic power and look at the engine gauges to confirm that they are closed. The brake pedals stay at full deflection until groundspeed is three knots. In front of the cockpit, about 5,000 feet of runway remains... It's a beautiful thing as we turn left at the next available exit. Oh no, I think I am going to cry again... Pass the Kleenex, would you?

I call for "flaps UP", but the co-pilot reminds me about the reverse thrust snowstorm and the icing conditions in general. Yep, he is absolutely correct... We need to inspect the flaps at the gate for icing.

Frozen ramp...


The ramp is slippery... There is about four inches of loose snow. Taxiing the aircraft is an exercise in patience; slow, ever so slow and please take it easy on the thrust captain.

Three rampers wearing bright orange polar suits and holding lighted wands are waiting... We can see their exhaled breath being wicked away by the wind.

I increase the thrust slightly on the left engine to help the nosewheels plow snow in a right turn toward the lead in line. Finally, approaching the gate at crawling speed, lead ramp crosses the batons. Parking brake ON... I forgot to ask for the auxiliary power unit to be started, but the co-pilot started it anyway.

He is cleaning up after me... Need to thank him for that later. I used to do the same thing for Captains that I respected. I guess that is a good sign.

Both engine master switches to OFF. Behind us, several electrical relays clack shut as the APU takes the load from the engine generators.

We have arrived ahead of schedule... Early enough that this crew (and one non-revenue dependent) can make F-Street Station before closing time. And, oh by the way.... The captain is buying.

Life on the Line continues...

Aluminum and Carbon Fiber

Position: On the ramp, KLAS

Equipment: A320 V2500 A-5 engines

The first hints of twilight in the east... Above my head, a magnificent aluminum and carbon-fiber aircraft tail arching high into the lightening sky. Looking straight up, Orion the Hunter is still visible. To me, that translates to snow and ice, i.e., wintertime operations just around the corner.

The wind is whipping my tie uncontrollably. I have tried to stop it, but it is useless. I let it whip. I am holding my hat in place with one hand and shining a flashlight on Fi-Fi with the other looking for dents, ripped tires, leaks, gear-pins still installed, oxygen discs in place, fire extinguisher discs in place, static wicks, clear static ports, open pitot tubes, and on the list goes...

I won the early morning Starbucks coin flip. I would much rather pre-flight than stand in-line waiting for coffee and trying to remember the New Age drink orders from the flight attendants... Green tea light with two pumps, white cinnamon, two sweeteners, and skim, or something like that, and that is for the lead flight attendant. The remaining two are even more complicated. The co-pilot can handle it... He's a sharp young man two weeks out of the Electric Jet training machine.

The sound of large jet engines at take-off thrust... A company A320 is lifting its nose gear clear of runway 1-Right. I can see the heat plumes blasting out of the engines along with feeling the roaring thrust in my chest... It is a good feeling.

The beautiful aircraft rises into the sky, nose rising to a steep angle while briefly outlined by the lights of the casinos. In a few seconds it is banking 30 degrees toward the east, heading for the sunrise. The climb rate is fantastic... I can see the vertical speed indicator in my mind's eye. It is, more or less, awesome.

Underneath our right wing, a fuel truck is hooked up and pumping Jet-A. The fueler is standing by the open fuel panel in the right wing root watching the green digits increase. A familiar female ramp-lead and four rampers are throwing bags onto two conveyor belts aimed at the open cargo bays. Two long baggage trains are being emptied.

On the other side of the tail, a catering truck is re-stocking the galleys through cabin door 2-L. I glance at my pilot chronometer that I can't read anymore without geezer glasses, but can still see the hand position... The ducks are lining up on schedule. Captain Dave's world is reasonably stable thirty minutes before sunrise.

"Brakes released... Cleared to push."

The large diesel powered tug begins to shove on the Electric Jet; I salute the gate supervisor in the jetway and she gives me a thumbs up. Ramp-lead, pushing on my nose gear, says, "Cap, cleared to turn number one."

I ask the co-pilot to throw a match into number one, and then open my side Plexiglas sliding window about an inch. A rushing sound of high pressure air fills the cockpit. The pneumatic starter motor of the left (#1) IAE V-2500 A-5 engine starts turning the N2 section. It is one of the most satisfying sounds to my soul... Hard to explain; it's a pilot thing.

The rushing sound grows in intensity as the starter motor spins the mighty A-5 engine faster and faster... I watch the engine instruments.

Igniters, fuel flow, and temperature rise happen about the same moment with a muffled whoof and then a guttural low-pitched whine quickly rising in intensity... Light off, baby!

I close the side window and lock it... I have received my morning fix of turbine ecstasy. Yeah!

Windsock...

KLAS tower has cleared us for take-off, runway 1-Right. The sun, streaming orange light through the co-pilot's side window, is about five degrees above the horizon. I am looking for a windsock but cannot find one. Oh well... The tower controller told us the wind direction and velocity with the take-off clearance. Good enough...

A quick glance at the handwritten note I made myself for engine failure... Reaching 4.3 miles from the Las Vegas VOR, bank right back to the VOR and enter holding with a direct entry; retract flaps at 3,181 feet. I add that to my bucket of paranoia before the thrust levers are moved.

On this lovely Sunday morning, 150 souls are counting on two pilots in the pointy-end to deliver them safely to KBOS.

150 miles down the airway...

The Electric Jet levels at 35,000 feet 150 miles east of KLAS. The flight plan TOC (top-of-climb) fuel load is within 200 pounds of the actual fuel-in-tanks. That is a good thing... Calls for a TOC sip of Starbucks French roast (bold).

The flight-plan time enroute does not agree with Fi-Fi nav calculations. I push the AIRPORT button on the left nav computer and look at the arrival into KBOS. I can see 60 miles of course line that we will not be flying. I know this from KBOS experience. I will have the co-pilot take the excess mileage out later.

Training...

The airline is currently training a lot of new Electric Jet pilots, both seats. I can fly for years without seeing an inexperienced co-pilot, and then the worm turns. This kid is the fourth newbie I have had in a short time. It forces me to be on my game... No slacking or whining as I tend to do with an experienced co-pilot.

The first few months out of training is critical to understanding the ways of this remarkable electronic entity. It is not fair to burden them with extraneous nonsense of the Line. Instead, I have been showing him a few of my smoke and mirror management techniques that new Fi-Fi pilots can use to ease themselves into the matrix without too much embarrassment.

Fi-Fi can be very frustrating to a new pilot when the expected reaction goes off on a wild tangent or does not happen at all. There are work arounds to such problematic areas... Isolate it and apply manual flight techniques until you understand what the automation is trying to do.

Then and only then, start applying digital magic to the procedure until you have mastered it. Never, ever let automation overwhelm your airmanship. I see it again and again... Automation is your friend, not your master.

Speed...

Outside, a micro-thin layer of cirrus clouds a few feet above us... The top of the tail is probably slicing it like a 450 knot knife blade. The sensation of speed is amazing as the super thin cloud layer rushes past the top of the aircraft. Whoa! Look at that! We are packin' the mail... Literally.

Calls for another sip of Starbucks French roast (bold). I would estimate the in-cup temperature at about 110 degrees. Maybe another 30 minutes of drink time before it is too cool.

Auto-pilot #2...

What was I thinking earlier? If I get overheated I might pop a circuit breaker. I reach up to the a/p selector and push auto-pilot #2.

Fi-Fi accepts the command... Auto-pilot #1 turns OFF with a clack and auto-pilot #2 takes over the aircraft. I look at the co-pilot... "Your aircraft."

I feel better... Life on the Line continues...