Steam Plume

Winging past Mount St. Helen at 33,000 feet yields a good view of the crater's steam plume.

Backside of the Clock

Position: 200 miles west of Pittsburgh at 39,000 feet.

Another summer sunrise in our faces after flying the backside of the clock.

The Pendulum Swings

I can go for months without a single major problem, either maintenance or operations. Then the pendulum swings the other way where, it seems, every flight has a bit of drama.

And, it all started with my terrible landing in Seattle.

We loaded 150 passengers, full fuel tanks, and enough freight/mail to bring our landing weight to maximum allowed. The east coast airport we departed from is one of the busiest in the world and the trip to the end of the runway is stressful, primarily because of narrow taxiways and English being the second language of many of the airline crews. The Air Traffic Control folks have their hands full. My hat is off to them!

After I flashed the nose gear light signaling the ramper we were ready to taxi, we started rolling, slowly, over the soft asphalt toward the runway. A few minutes later, the flight deck company comm system activated with a loud buzz and a flashing yellow light. It scared the crap out of me. I told the co-pilot to answer it and that I would take over the radios. A few seconds later:

Co-pilot: Hey Boss, you're going to love this one.

Me: I can hardly wait... what is it?

Co-pilot: The station manager says we have a low main gear tire. A maintenance supervisor from XXXXXX Airlines watched us taxi past and he says #1 tire is low.

Me: Please tell me that you checked the tires during pre-flight.

Co-pilot: Yep, they looked OK to me.

Me: Ask the company if it is possible the tires are squashed down because of our weight, and, you know... uh... he is not used to seeing heavy chevy tires.

A minute or so passes...

Co-pilot: They said he thinks it is definitely low.

You have got to be kidding me! I knew, instinctively, that our tires were fine. We were at maximum allowed taxi weight on warm asphalt with squashed tires. Here we go again... the Catch 22 Factor. If I decide to take-off and the tire is low, it will destroy itself, leaving rubber chunks all over the runway. The landing at the west coast airport would, then, be a minor emergency. If I decide to return to the gate for a tire check, the passengers will miss their connections on the west coast. During those long ago days as a co-pilot, most of my Captains would have departed. Nowadays, however, a Captain will be hung out to dry if he/she is wrong. Back to the gate we go...

We parked at the same gate we departed from, a minor miracle in itself. After smoozing the passengers a bit, I walked down to the main gear tires to have a look. As I suspected, not a darn thing wrong. The tires were simply mashed down from the maximum weight conditions. I immediately called maintenance control and reported my findings.

Sorry, Captain, but you are not qualified to make that observation.

Not qualified? I have been flying commercially longer than most of my co-pilots have been alive. I believe I can tell if a main gear tire is low, or not.

Two maintenance techs show up with their tire pressure gauge and confirm what I already knew. The tire pressure is fine. I apologize to the folks again, retrieve new paperwork, top the fuel tanks, and we are on the way to the west coast, ninety minutes behind schedule.

This was a no win situation. Our station manager is ticked off because the connections are blown on the west coast, the company is ticked off because the itty bitty profit margin for this flight is gone, the passengers are certainly upset, with good reason. The maintenance supervisor from XXXXXX Airlines is embarrassed. However, the Captain is relatively calm and in control.

The event report on this one will make the rounds in the company command hierarchy, I am sure.

"The forecast looks OK, Captain..."

That is what my dispatcher relayed to me about the weather in Las Vegas. My instinct told me to be careful, so I requested another ton of fuel for unforeseen contingencies. The itty bitty flashing red light in the back of my brain was right on the money. Our arrival at Sin City was timed perfectly with a large thunder/dirt/lightning storm moving over the field from the east. My co-pilot and I developed an escape plan for southern California after our 34 minutes of loitering fuel was gone. I asked tower for a close in left downwind, base and final to explore the possibility of landing in front of the rain curtain approaching the airport. The control tower cleared us to land behind a heavy freight wagon on short final (who had complained about a strong tailwind on final approach). The co-pilot gave me landing gear down and flaps, then I banked steeply left for the final approach path. We were too high, so I extended full wing spoilers to increase our descent rate. As the freight boys (maybe girls) said, there was a strong tailwind from the approaching storm. The co-pilot said the tailwind was decreasing as we descended so I continued the approach to a smooth landing. As we turned off the runway, heavy rain covered the airport.

The arrival at the gate was on schedule and in style, but before I could take kudos for an obvious display of superior airmanship, the aux power unit (a small jet engine in the tail) failed. Our air conditioning is powered by that little engine. No problem, I thought, I will have the ramp guys/girls hook up the yellow air conditioning hose to the belly. Sorry, Captain, the ground based air conditioning does not work at this gate. OK, do not fly off the handle, this is what you get paid for... now act like a Captain and deal with it!

I had an emergency meeting with the flight attendants, three of my favorites. They are battle hardened and tough. I offered my plan of opening all the exit doors for air flow, loading the 150 passengers as fast as possible, starting #2 engine at the gate with a huffer (high pressure air on a cart... turns the engines for starting, since the aux unit was broken), then starting #1 engine while taxiing to the runway, air conditioning to max cold, get back in the sky and we are happy campers bound for Pittsburgh. Although, the inside of the aircraft was getting warm and uncomfortable, they agreed to do it.

My plan worked perfectly. The passengers were happy that the flight had not cancelled, so they were OK with being warm for a few minutes. We started #2 engine at the gate, then began our pushback. When we were about 100 feet from the gate the towbar broke from the tug pushing us. You have got to be kidding me! I taxied the plane back to the gate and called maintenance to inspect the nose gear assembly. Meanwhile, the cabin temperature was getting miserably warm.

Let's try this again. We started #2 at the gate, pushed all the way back this time, and began our trip to the runway. The co-pilot started #1 with air from #2, adjusted the air conditioning units to full cold... then we blasted off for Pittsburgh with 150 warm passengers. Climbing through 30,000 feet, the senior sky goddess called saying icicles were forming in the back. Life was good!

At 5:51 A.M., EDT, about 200 miles west of Pittsburgh at 37,000 feet, the sun cracked the horizon. We arrived at the gate 14 minutes behind schedule. All in all, not too bad. We passed the outbound crew, all fresh and spiffy, as we walked to the hotel van. We must have looked like that yesterday in Seattle, to the inbound crew.

Cumulus Granitus

Barbarossa

Today, 64 years ago, at 3:31 A.M., the largest artillery barrage in history began Operation Barbarossa. Shortly after the barrage, three Wermacht Army Groups crossed the border into the Soviet Union kicking off the largest military operation ever seen, before or since. Three million Axis troops walked, flew, and drove toward the east. The carnage wrought by this operation over the following 40 months was and still is, staggering. We, in contemporary times, have a hard time even thinking about such numbers. Millions were killed... Generations of males on both sides wiped out.

My next door neighbor's father was in Barbarossa. He died in bed, aged 83, a few years ago. Only a handful involved in that operation were able to do that.

Hot Fuel

Opening my garage door was like opening the hatch to a blast furnace. Outside air temperature was already three digits at 10:20 A.M. and climbing rapidly. The sky was a hot, milky white with little cumulus clouds beginning to pop out of rising columns of heated air. Uh Oh... It was going to be one of those days... for sure.

Our beautiful, new aircraft had a large diameter, yellow air conditioning hose plugged into her belly. Inside the fuselage, the temperature was about 85 degrees which is acceptable when compared to the 120 degree ramp temperature. But, I was worried about the jet fuel in the wings, and with good reason. The fueler pumps the fuel into the tanks at a temperature of about 86 degrees. The max allowed fuel temperature is 122 degrees (we circulate fuel to cool several critical items). Those gorgeous wings are perpendicular to the sun at midday soaking up the heat, which, of course, causes the fuel temperature to soar. Not good...

I started my taxi to the runway with the fuel temp at 110 degrees. Immediately prior to take-off, the fuel temp was at 120 degrees. I was amazed at how fast the temperature was increasing and told the co-pilot that we needed to get airborne quickly or we would be going back to the gate to de-fuel and re-fuel with cooler kerosene. I am quite sure the passengers would not understand hot fuel.

Providence was with us and we were airborne before the 122 degree limitation was reached. The cool airflow over the wings wicked the excess heat away rapidly. We temporarily climbed above the Arizona frying pan, but we would be back soon...

The mighty Saturn 5

Thoughts from Quark's

Today, while sitting in Quark's at the Las Vegas Hilton, surrounded by millions of dollars worth of Star Trek memorabilia, I began to think about our struggling spaceprogram, again. To me, and a few others, it is depressing that our need to explore the unknown is limited to watching the swill that Hollywood churns out. Why has man not landed on Mars and beyond? When I was a kid, we were going to land on Mars about 1985. The booster was already being designed. It was known as the Nova.

As a middle aged man might ask about life, "Is this it?" Do these folks taking pictures of some guy in a rubber Klingon outfit know that America put six (6) manned missions on the surface of the moon? Has our need to explore the unknown been stifled by the fear of failure and/or lawsuits? Recently, I saw the commander of the next space shuttle mission claim no launch will happen until it is safe. Quite a change from Alan Shepard's "Light this candle."

As Carl Sagan wrote, "the first Ionian starship could have returned to Earth centuries ago."

Oh well, I guess I 'll try the Romulan Ale.

Sound of the Slipstream

Position: N 34' 12" W 103' 43"
Altitude: 37,000 feet/ Groundspeed: 565 mph/ True Airspeed: 522 mph
Weight: 134,000 lbs.

It has been a long night. We left southern California at 5:30 P.M. to fly the Las Vegas shuffle until 11:30 P.M. (that is, back and forth between southern California and Las Vegas). Then, we departed Las Vegas for Louisiana, our last leg of the day. We are about 1 hour and 27 minutes from landing.

Outside is extreme cold and blackness. The star dome above us is beautiful. North of our position, just over the horizon, lies a big line of thunderstorms. Their flashes appear to be small inverted domes of white light. My buddies flying to the mid west have to deal with those monsters. Luckily, our route is free of weather.

The rushing sound of the slipstream and the faint moan of the engines are mesmerizing at 3:30 A.M. To stay awake against the circadian rhythm of my body, I must drink coffee and keep busy. Most of the passengers are asleep. I dare not think of how comfortable the bed will be at the hotel. The co-pilot is fighting sleep, too. Some pilots take turns cat napping, but in my opinion, that is dangerous. There have been many instances in the past where both pilots have fallen asleep. Yikes! In the 1950's, a DC-7 crew fell asleep (two pilots & flight engineer) and overflew LAX out over the Pacific. They woke up to find themselves hundreds of miles offshore with barely enough fuel to return to LAX.

So, once more... hydraulics- looking good, electric power- looking good, fuel- 18,200 lbs.
oxygen- 1750 p.s.i., engines- all parameters in the green, co-pilot- awake.

Are you new?

At 2:30 A.M. this morning, I made a terrible landing on a long runway with beautiful weather conditions. It was the worst landing I have made in a year, or so. After I parked what remained of the aircraft at the gate, and the flight deck door was opened, the senior flight attendant looked at the co-pilot and asked him, "Are you new?" The co-pilot looked at me and said, "Uh... Mmmm... Well... Uh..."

I did the right thing and claimed the "landing" as my own. The three flight attendants were unmerciful to me all the way to the hotel, which, thankfully was a short distance. It had been a long day with multiple legs in the heat and bad weather.

That's my excuse and I am sticking to it...

Greener Pastures?

An acquaintance of mine, a mid-list seniority Captain, fed up with the airline, decided several years ago to go to work for another airline as a new hire co-pilot. He had been in a peeing contest with management for years over duty & rest rules concerning night flying. Eventually, he would start a trip, then call in fatigued at an outstation, stranding the aircraft until another Captain could be flown to the aircraft. The company finally had enough and fired him. One year later, after expensive legal action and union maneuvering, he was reinstated as a Captain, but had lost one year of pay, benefits, and seniority. He was a bitter man. Greener pastures beckoned him and he was gone...

Guess who I ran into recently? He is still a co-pilot and he hates his job. Now, he is blaming the industry as a whole for his woes. The dozen or so major airline chiefs are all conspiring against him. The CEOs are evil capitalists, blah, blah, blah...

It must have been the way the light was shining on that grass...

127 knots (146 mph) of wind on the nose. Are we ever going to get there?

I had no idea...

My co-pilot is a sharp kid who came over to the pilot ranks from the school house. He is a graduate of the University of North Dakota's aviation school, which I have found to be an excellent source of pilots for the airlines. This kid is a very lowtime pilot, i.e., he does not have much experience, but he is very intelligent and learns fast. I call them young guns. Being a prior pilot instructor helped him make the right contacts to move over to the flight department. I flew with him when he was a spanking brand new co-pilot about six months ago and he has been my instructor several times during training events... no doubt about it, he is a nice young man.

Last night, I asked him if he would like to try the Burbank landing. Most Captains, including myself, would rather not let a co-pilot land at Burbank, unless they are exceptionally sharp and act like they are interested in doing so. The runway is short and there is terrain on two sides of the airport. His airmanship skills were excellent and he had been quizzing me about why there are so many horror stories about runway 8 at Burbank, since he had not yet been to Burbank, but had familiarized himself with the airport, as required.

I impressed upon him the importance of landing in the touchdown zone and if not, get the heck out of Dodge for another try. No floating allowed! So, with his natural youth inspired confidence leading the way, we turned onto the approach for the pseudo runway, carrying 150 passengers and 3,488 pounds of freight.

He crunched the main gear tires down on the touchdown zone markers, then opened the cascade vanes for reverse thrust. The engines spooled up to max reverse thrust, throwing me forward into the five point harness. He started applying wheel brakes, but not enough, so I verbally prodded him. He responded quickly with heavier braking. Something in the galley slammed into the flightdeck bulkhead. We came to a stop with the end of the runway clearly in sight, a normal occurrence here.

The young gun said, "I had no idea..."

Yep, you can read all the accident/incident reports in the world, but until you experience it in realtime, you literally have no idea.

Not Tankering

The last leg tonight was to Philadelphia with a full load of passengers. My dispatcher assured me that the weather would be OK along my route through the middle of the Empire, even though I was looking at a solid line of severe weather boxes from the Gulf of Mexico to Canada, all overlapping, on the weather radar located in the remote dispatch. I had 2,000 pounds of extra fuel and I wanted more. However, being a good company pilot, I decided to go with flight plan fuel and the assurances of the dispatcher that the National Weather Service was over reacting.

Two hours later, at 39,000 feet and 750 miles downrange, I was looking at a solid line of huge thunderstorms as far as I could see north and south. Air Traffic Control suggested a south Texas routing, or a small hole around Lincoln, NE. I considered the hole option for about ten seconds, then told the co-pilot to take up a southeasterly heading for the south end of the storm line, somewhere over Texas.

I could not believe that I, an experienced weather pilot, had fallen into this potential trap. I had ample opportunity to tanker extra thunderstorm fuel, but chose to leave it behind for econ reasons. I knew better, too. The little alarm in the back of my head was sounding before take-off. Now, I was looking at a fuel burn way over the flight plan and maybe stopping enroute for more fuel. Unbelievable!

I emailed the dispatcher with my new plan to reach Philadelphia and a rough estimate on the landing fuel. The co-pilot slowed to best econ cruising speed at 39,000 feet. Our tailwind was now gone, having turned into a crosswind. I figured, with my stubby pencil and a hand calculator, that we would be landing with 45 minutes of fuel. I was guessing about the south end of the weather and the winds east of the cold front. The on board navigation computers figured that we would have 60 minutes. My estimate would allow for no delays in the approach and landing into Philly. The nav computer's estimate allowed for one or two turns in the holding pattern, or one go around, if the landing fell apart, for some unknown reason.

The dispatcher emailed a reply... the weather was forming quicker than he expected. No kidding... His nav software figured we would make Philly without stopping and land with 50 minutes of fuel. OK... 45 to 60 minutes of fuel is acceptable and legal.

Finally, over Waco, Texas, we rounded the south end of the storm line and brought her around to a heading of 60 degrees for the northeast coast. I emailed the dispatcher and asked for winds aloft at my position, Little Rock, and Memphis. Thirty minutes later, I received a reply. Shift change, you know. To be fair, I am sure the dispatchers were very busy with re-routes and demanding Captains. I was hoping for tailwinds further east of the front, but no... Now, my pencil and paper calculations were falling apart. I had used WAG winds that were not present. The nav computer's guess was worthless, too. I had to come up with Plan "C" or we would be landing for more fuel. We were down to less than 30 minutes fuel at Philly. Not enough...

Plan "C" was now in effect. Mostly, it involved begging the ATC guys for direct routing. At first, they refused. After a few hundred miles and three frequency changes we got direct routing to Philly. We were back to 45- 50 minutes of landing fuel.

The big problem landing with minimum legal fuel load is this: Technically, you do not have to land with the minimum fuel load, i.e., if you must dip into the reserve, it is OK with the FAA and company, kinda... sorta... maybe. Here is a scenario that gives me pause... The Captain elects to continue to the destination with min fuel forecast at landing. When they arrive, the runway has closed or the fog has moved in or the approach is blown and they go around. Do you know how much fuel big jet engines use on a go around? Let me tell you, it is scary! Now they are down to a lot less than minimum. How accurate are the fuel sensors in the tanks? The Captain is now in a corner and he is losing control of the situation. Something has to be done, quickly, before the engines start surging from starvation.

Plan "C" was working... we would arrive at Philly with legal fuel. I formulated plan "D" for the arrival. The initial approach fix would be between Dulles and Philly. At the IAP, both runways must still be open at Philly and no sign of fog or any unexpected ATC delays. If any one of the three was likely to happen, we would divert to Dulles for more fuel. The co-pilot signed off on the idea and we continued to Philly.

All the ducks stayed in a row and we landed with 50 minutes of fuel (slightly more than legal minimum and exactly what my dispatcher forecast).

Tonight was a perfect example of a Catch-22 situation you find so very often in the airline business. The company wants the crew to land with minimum fuel, which varies with field conditions, all the time. But, if things start to go south, guess who is to blame?

All for the want of a little fuel...

Crossing the south end of a line of thunderstorms over Waco, Tx. The small cells are feeder cells, i.e., feeding airflow to the meso storms farther to the north. We are at 39,000 feet (FL390).

Tankering

Jet fuel is ridiculously high in California, so we carry our return fuel with us. The penalty is a ten percent burn on the extra weight, i.e., 500 pound burn to carry an extra 5,000 pounds of fuel. Even so, it is cheaper to tanker than to pay the King's Ransom. Tonight, our last leg was into Burbank with 131 passengers and 5,000 pounds tanker fuel for the crew leaving in the morning. Tankering fuel gives the Captain the warm fuzzies. It is good to know that fuel is an ace in the hole if the arrival airport closes.

I remember a flight instructor who once told me that the only time you have too much fuel is if you are on fire. Well, that may not be totally accurate... but it is close.