Flight Level 390

The wife of my youth and I have returned from four days on the frontier. We traveled eleven hours, each way, by car to my Father's ranch to assist in working cattle. My youth was spent on a horse; keyword youth. Now, in my middle age years, I am too soft to spend extended periods riding horseback.

Even the horses snicker...and most every muscle in my body is crying.

The aircraft type that I fly is very complex and, can be, frustrating to a new pilot. My surfer dude co-pilot is new to the aircraft, having been checked out in March. Last night, as we were re-entering the lower atmosphere preparing to land at Philly, the aircraft did something the co-pilot had not seen before, so he asked "What's it doing now?" I had to giggle outloud, because that is, without a doubt, the most common question asked by new pilots in this aircraft.

2nd most common question- "Have you ever see it do that before?" (asked by pilots who have about a year of flying time in the aircraft.)

3rd most common statement- "Oh yeah, it does that sometimes." (seasoned pilots in this aircraft)

The aircraft had three operating modes. They are:

1. Flight management computers that operate the autopilot. This is the mode used most of the time since it is the most economical (usually). The company requests this mode because of cost savings over the long run. The dispatcher gives us a cost index to enter in the computers for each and every leg. That determines our performance, i.e., climb-cruise-descend.

2. Pilot inputting commands to the autopilot. Self explanatory.

3. Manual flight via the flight controls and thrust levers. Self explanatory.

Sometimes, the flight management computers exhibit unexpected behavior at the most inopportune time. New pilots tend to troubleshoot during this time... all the while covering 8 miles per minute or more. In short order, they are way behind the aircraft. That is when I usually say something like, "Let me show you the way I would handle this problem." I learned that statement in CRM (cockpit resource management) training. Then, the word cockpit became politically incorrect, so now it is crew resource management. I review with new pilots how to turn off the flight management computers, fly the aircraft with the autopilot or manual controls to get back to their profile, then re-engage the flight management computers, or continue to fly themselves.

Crusty old Captains of yesteryear would say something like, "What the $%#& are you doing?" Another one I heard quite often was, "What the ^&*% are they teaching you guys in the schoolhouse?" Oh yes, those and many other little jewels. They used to call the new autopilot systems (flight management computers were still on the drawing board) whiz bang crap and they would say, "*&^%$#, turn that magic &^%$# off and fly this &*^$# thing!"

Of course, I was scared of those guys when I was a new co-pilot. Heck, they were and still are aviation gods of the highest caliber. Now, in 2005, I think of them fondly and miss their council. One of my favorite statements from a Senior Captain, now long dead, was, "Hell, I have more time hanging upside down in the wreckage of a C-47 than you do total flying time." (He had flown for Air America and had been shotdown twice) I had to think about that statement for awhile.

Yep, I can only imagine those old guys being forced to sit through a CRM class.

One of my favorite movies, Aliens, has a scene where Flight Officer Ripley and a contingent of Marines are waiting to be extracted off the planet's surface by a combat insertion vehicle. Just as the flying troop carrier is approaching the landing site, an alien kills the pilot and the vehicle crashes in a ball of fire and clanging pieces of metal. One of the Marines, in shock, says, "This can't be happening, man." It is a classic scene.

This morning, at 0010 hrs, Pacific time, I was in a remote dispatch with other Captains picking up paperwork and begging for more fuel. The mood was dark, as always nowadays. Three Captains were lamenting about the recent airline industry news, all bad. One of them said, "This can't be happening, man." I immediately thought of the movie scene. I left with my paperwork, telling one of my buds still waiting, to keep the greasy side down.

Walking across the dark, windy ramp to my aircraft, holding onto my tie and I.D. with one hand and my hat with the other, I begin thinking about the huge scope of events in the airline world. One of the legacy carriers dumped their pension plan last week. You know, the one that was promised to it's employees. Two more legacy carriers are in the wings with plans to dump their pension plans; just a matter of days or weeks away. Another legacy carrier, in bankruptcy and weeks away from ceasing operations, is merging with a smaller major airline with a weak financial future. The pilot groups of those two carriers are already trading nasty verbal blows in the press and over the internet. No band of brothers, for sure. Yet, another legacy carrier is laying off thousands of employees trying to keep it's head above water.

I have to lean into the wind to steady myself against the hot breath of a V2500A5 engine as the crew taxis by on their way to the runway filled with $50 tickets, but burning $51 barrels of oil. I wave at the cockpit, just in case I know them. Their tires are squashed down by the heavy load of fuel and cargo. The sound of the engines, even through my earplugs, makes my adrenalin gland fire. Finally, I reach the jetway stairs and after entering a super secret code (the same one the undocumented aircraft cleaners use... how about that, my PC training kicking in again) I enter the crowded jetway. I greet the passengers with polite hellos but receive few acknowledgements that I am present. When I was a kid, if an airline pilot had said hello to me, I would have peed my pants in excitement.

That was then, this is now.

Entering the cockpit, er, flightdeck, I am greeted by a smile from my young surfer dude co-pilot. He says something like, "Hey, Boss dude, whats happening man?" He doesn't have a care in the world except getting back to the beach.

Good for him!

My surfer dude co-pilot said, "Hey Boss, the clearance chick wants to chat with me about a reroute." I told him to go ahead and that I would take care of the tower frequency. Great! We had been taxiing for about 45 minutes and were, finally, about five minutes from takeoff and about seven minutes from bingo fuel, i.e., go back to the gate for more fuel fiasco. No small feat in itself at this mega airport. The co-pilot retrieved the new route (kicked in by the activation of the National Severe Weather plan), then we both, hurriedly, entered the new nav fixes into the nav computers. By this time, we are next in-line for take-off. I had to do some quick mental math concerning the fuel situation. Even though the new route was longer mileage wise, I was reasonably sure the winds were more favorable. If there is adequate time, which there was not, the pilots can enter the forecast winds into the nav computers and get a fairly accurate fuel burn. Also, the pilots can have dispatch figure a fuel burn, but we did not have time for that, either.

So, this is a classic example of an airline Catch-22 situation. If the Captain elects to go back to the gate for more fuel, the passengers are late at the other end and possibly miss their connections. If the Captain figures the fuel burn and he is wrong, then a fuel stop enroute is required and again the passengers are late, and the company is upset. If the Captain elects to give up his take-off slot for a call to dispatch, then once again, the passengers are late. Anyway you look at it, the passengers are ticked off.

The green hydraulic system raised the landing gear against the 160 m.p.h. slipstream. I felt the gear crunch into the uplock latches, then the landing gear doors followed to their closed position. At 1,000 feet above the ground, the co-pilot brought the thrust back to climb power and the engine temps lowered. The departure air traffic controller told us to turn south and fly to our first nav fix, which was in South Carolina. Our original routing was west bound across Pennsylvania. The line of thunderstorms was massive, stretching from Canada to Atlanta. I had made the decision to go with our fuel onboard. Now it was time to see if the company agreed with that decision. I asked the co-pilot to call our dispatcher and give her the new route. He tried several times but could not get through and reported that our company comm net was "screwed, man." I told him to send her an email, since she was probably overwhelmed with fuel burn requests at the moment.

Five minutes later the message light flashed and our itty-bitty cockpit printer spit out a reply, "Roger, standby for new fuel burn." I spent the wait time mentally going over a list of excuses (the upcoming carpet dance in the Chief Pilot's office) for stopping in Albuquerque to upload more fuel. The message light flashed again and there it was, a little two inch by three inch piece of paper with a $10,000 message. I ripped it off the printer, put my reading glasses on and looked at the message from mother.

"Fuel burn is 28.1/weather looks good on new route."

Relief! Our original burn was 27,800 pounds- a difference of 300 pounds. I had roughed out the new burn at 28,500 pounds with my feeble brain, a pencil, and a WAG on the winds aloft. I told the co-pilot we would not have to stop enroute. He said, "That's cool."

No carpet dance today.

The shadows are getting longer as we fly into the night.

I am enjoying some quality airport appreciation time at one of our western hub cities after flying a southern California turn this morning. Thankfully, there is wireless internet available and I have a fully charged laptop battery, so the time is well spent.

My co-pilot is a young man from the San Diego area. He is a surfer dude to the max and speaks a language only surfer dudes completely understand ( for instance: turbulence is dorked up air ). His flying skills are very good, even though he has been in the aircraft only a few months. This morning we flew a southern California turn to a short runway in a rich neighborhood, i.e., Orange County. Landing on an abbreviated piece of asphalt will get your attention, but the take-off over the wealthy neighborhood is really interesting. We are required, by law, to climb to one thousand feet above ground level, then briskly reduce power to a setting that barely allows a positive rate of climb. This noise abatement procedure continues until over the water; then and only then- flaps up, climb power and reconfigure for normal climb.

Compare this to our take-off, yesterday, in Cleveland over a working class neighborhood at full thrust. We had to be shaking their shingles loose.

Amazing what money will buy nowadays.

When I was a young co-pilot, a silver haired Captain told me three Rules of the Airway to keep in mind during my career. One of my fellow Captains is having some personal problems directly related to breaking rule #3. These rules are, as related to me years ago:

1. Never, ever drink at the hotel in which you and the crew are overnighting.
The reasons are obvious...

2. Never, ever turn down an upgrade opportunity.
Your airline might be bought by a competitor, then the seniority fences keep you from
upgrading to Captain.

3. Never, ever have an affair with a flight attendant if you are married.
The reasons are obvious...

My Captain friend had an affair with a hot flight attendant. Now she is pregnant and wanting some answers about her future. Big time trouble! I am trying to imagine how I would break the news to my wife. The consequences would be unimaginable.

Wow! I have been blogging for one year and two days. I have flown a lot of miles in that year since the first post in Chicago, when I was wondering how the heck does this blog thing work, anyway. I almost quit blogging when I discovered what a poor writer I really am compared to excellent alphabloggers that I read on a continual basis. Also, since I work in a highly regulated industry, I have to be very careful with posts.

Well, it is fun and I continue on...

I am flying the same trip three times in a row this month. That is a first for me in all my years of airline flying. Also, I have the same co-pilot on all three trips. Very unusual, to say the least. I am on the second installment of this three trip string, arriving in northern Ohio (Cleveland), again, on schedule with 135 passengers. Yesterday, at my home in Arizona, the outside air temperature was 104 degrees Fahrenheit. The temperature in northern Ohio, this morning, is 43 degrees Fahrenheit. Amazing!

I must have gotten up on the wrong side of the bed this morning in Sin City. When the co-pilot and I arrived at the gate to start our day... no aircraft. It was still in Los Angeles with a maintenance problem. The airline decided to grab another aircraft arriving from the east coast for our flight to southern California. One of my buds that I have known for years was the Captain. After we traded insults and accusations, I took over the aircraft. I looked at the logbook and discovered the airworthiness release had been signed yesterday, but instead of writing May 11, the mechanic wrote Mar 11. This may not sound like a big deal, but the Federal Aviation Administration has folks that do nothing but look at paperwork for errors. This would be considered a big error, especially if the aircraft had been flown, which it had. I had to call maintenance control and report the mistake. Then I called my bud and left him a message suggesting he try to cover his tracks.

When I returned from the dispatch office with the release and weather package, I discovered the fueler was pumping massive quantities of fuel into our plane for an east coast flight. He had not been alerted by his company of the aircraft swap. We only needed 10,000 pounds for a short flight to California. I ran down the jetway stairs and halted the fueling operation. Then, I did some quick calculations and determined that we could carry all the fuel in the aircraft to California and back with our projected loads. However, the weight and balance called for some of the fuel to be moved from the center tank to each of the wing tanks. This is a process done with onboard fuel pumps at 150 pounds per minute. I had to move 4,800 pounds. The late get later...

Later, after flying a so-cal (airline speak for southern California, i.e., LAX, ONT, LGB, SNA, SAN, PSP,etc.) turn, we taxied out for take-off to Philly at maximum gross weight. The route to the runway is a downhill grade of about 2%, requiring riding the brakes. The tailwind component required even more brake usage, so by the time we got to the end of the runway the brakes were too hot for take-off. The control tower allowed us to sit at the end of the runway waiting for our brake fans to cool the brakes below the limit, which took five minutes. Finally, after a four hour flight, half of it rougher than a stucco covered bathtub, we landed on runway 27 Left, city of brotherly love, in VFR weather conditions at exactly midnight.

Tomorrow, we fly westbound for home and three days off.

Today, in Sin City, I had lunch with a friend who is a 737 Captain. He flew Air Cav helicopters in Vietnam circa 1970-71. I was amazed to learn that one of his Vietnam pilot buddies is still flying helicopters for the Army, in a round about way via the South Carolina National Guard. This guy is in Iraq flying Blackhawks at age 57.

Buddy, my hat is off to you!

I have been in my hotel room for a few minutes. It has been one of those nights only experienced in the spring when the thunderstorms grow to enormous heights in the midwest. Yikes! We had to fly a northerly route to clear the worst of the weather enroute to Sin City. Even so, we had to penetrate the storm line north of Cheyenne. The lightning was incredibly bright and was bathing the interior of the aircraft in bluish white light. The turbulence was not too bad, though. We found a hole between two massive storms at 36,000 feet. Once on the west side of the weather, we were back under the stars with the lightning flashes fading in our six.

Tomorrow night, after a southern California turn, we get to do it again flying eastbound. I can hardly wait.

Static discharge on windscreen at 36,000 feet. We are in the clouds between two storms.

It is going to be a busy night!

Once or twice a year something really interesting waits behind the black screen of the hotel room TV. When I get up, typically I turn on the news channels to catch up on world events (important to an airline pilot), or rather, the news editor's opinion of world events. This afternoon's story was the private pilot blundering into hot airspace over the Empire's castle city. I feel sorry for that kid, for the Secret Service is going to put a hot poker up his rear. Not to mention what the Federal Aviation Administration will do to his license. I would imagine he was within seconds of being shot down.

The talking heads, experts of the highest order (or so they believe), were pontificating on the event. The loudest talking expert of them all suggested that the security apparatus had failed because the Cessna had not been shot down. This will show the terrorists that they can, indeed, get close to the Throne Room with a homemade weapon of mass destruction.

OK, let's look at this opinion in detail. The F-16 fighter jet is armed with an airborne gun and air-to-air missiles. These weapon systems are accurate to the nth degree and the Cessna would have been reduced to aluminum toothpicks in short order. The problem, and it is a big problem, is the number of airliners in the ballistic range circle, i.e., if one of the gun's projectiles or a missile missed the target... uh oh! They do not miss, you say... actually, they do. Not very often, but that one miss in a thousand would be the one that hits the airliner on approach to DCA. Imagine the nightmare scenario of an accidental airline shoot down. It would be a world shaking event of the highest magnitude. ( Do you remember KAL 007? )The authorities in charge of air defense around the Castle moat would say, like a teenager who wrecks the family car, "Well, we didn't know..."

What is the answer for defense of the sky around the King and his minions? Goosebumps pop up considering the possibilities.

Holy Moly! Tonight, in one of our hub cities, I was picking up the release and weather package, along with seven of my fellow Captains. The topic of conversation was the sad state of affairs of the airline business. I felt as if I should be handing out razor blades. The mood was dark and deeply depressing. Yes, the four horsemen of the apocalypse are riding, as forecast. The airline business is undergoing fundamental changes and it will never, ever go back to how it was in the glory days. Get over it!!

After leaving that pit of sorrow, I was eager to get in my bird and blast off for Cleveland. We left Sin City with 115 passengers five minutes ahead of schedule. Passing Kansas City, we witnessed a beautiful line of thunderstorms to the north. That brought back memories of dry mouth and fear filled nights of yesteryear when I flew small freight planes through lines of storms on a routine basis.

The approach and landing at Cleveland was done in VFR (good) weather conditions with the eastern sky turning pink. The new co-pilot did a pretty good job, all things considering. He is still flying mechanically and is a bit rough on the controls. Not to worry, though. I can tell he is going to be a smooth operator in the near future.

Time for a nap... more later.

I took the wife of my youth to Prescott, Arizona, for a lost weekend. The elevation is 5,000 feet above sea level, plus or minus 300 feet, which yields much cooler temperatures. Not that it is hot in the Valley of the Sun at this time of the year, but it is coming. So, this was a practice run. We try to go to Prescott about once a month in the summer and have been doing so for a number of years. We have noticed a remarkable increase in motorcycles and sport cars traveling the highways and byways on the weekends. Personal disposable income must be rising, contrary to what the mass media tells us, or maybe personal debt load is on the rise. Whatever the reason, seeing all these cool roadsters roaring past us with their tops down made my wallet itch. I once owned a beautiful Corvette for a number of years, but never could make peace with the idea of thousands of dollars sitting in my garage only rarely driven. I hated driving it on the freeways because of rocks nicking the paint and glass; I hated parking lots because of jealous idiots scraping her lovely fuselage with their keys. The insurance was high, the fuel was high, and the oil was $5 per quart. Alas, I sold it and have been sorry ever since.

Man is such a strange creature. When I brought my Corvette home for the very first time, I suffered buyer's remorse within 10 minutes. When I sold it, I suffered seller's remorse.

Let's not mention the visual of a middle aged man driving a fiberglass supercar. It must be the middle age crisis thing.

Yep, that has to be it.

Freedom Seven

On this date, forty-four years ago, Alan Shepard rode his Mercury capsule (Freedom 7) to a height of 115 miles (607,200 feet) and a velocity of 5,100 miles per hour. The Mercury capsule weighed two tons and the ballistic trajectory took it 300 miles downrange in 15 minutes for a splashdown in the Atlantic.

I remember it well. School was dismissed for a few hours to watch the launch.

The airline continues to sell cheap tickets on the internet, therefore, our passenger loads are huge. This is OK when the weather is clear and a million miles visibility at the destinantion, i.e., no alternate airport required. Yesterday's forecast included thunderstorms in the southern Florida area. That translated to an alternate requirement located outside of the storm area, which means any extra fuel I had hoped to apply to the destination route was non-existent. Another gotcha is the potential to be overweight at the destination, so one must keep a very close eye on the fuel remaining. Since this is in my job description, we lifted off for southern Florida with every seat full and carrying the maximum fuel load permitted by max landing weight at the destination. We climbed into the westerly winds at altitude and had a smooth ride at Warp 9 all the way to southern Florida. Thankfully, the storms south of Miami were no problem for our landing at Ft. Lauderdale.

Florida is one beautiful place in the springtime. The atmosphere is sweet with floral smells while being warm enough to swim in sparkling pools or the Atlantic. Oh yes, life is good on this day as I hack away on the keyboard beside the pool and post via wireless internet. It may not be good tomorrow, but it is good today!

Mega Airport- DFW