Christmas 2005

The e-mail alert light is flashing... Michelle, our dispatcher, is sending us a message. Michelle is a darn good dispatcher. Her Dad is a Captain for another airline and her boyfriend is a co-pilot for our airline. Well, let's see what is cookin' at headquarters...I rip the message out of the mini-printer and put my geezer glasses on...

'Santa has been sighted over Detroit by a freighter crew. He is heading west.'

Oh, man! This is fabulous... I hand the message to my British co-pilot and he giggles. We have a dilemma on our hands. On board the aircraft tonight are many small children enroute to the North Pole (Alaska) with their parents. If I tell the passengers that Santa Claus has been sighted over Detroit, will I get a call from the airline's PC police? Will I be on the front page of major newspapers, as in ' Airline pilot forces Christian holiday views on passengers at 36,000 feet...' ? The co-pilot points out that there will be a hundred airline crews at this very moment telling their passengers that Santa has been sighted, so we should have safety in numbers. He is correct... I make an announcement to the passengers that Santa has been sighted over Detroit.

We have no visual ground contact as Port Hardy passes off our right wing, only total darkness below. Above us, the Milky Way is bright and beautiful. The northern lights are active tonight with bright streamers of cosmic light shooting toward the heavens. It will be early Christmas morning when we land at Anchorage.

Except for being away from my lovely wife, this is not a bad way to spend Christmas.

Thirty Minute Turns

Tis the day before Christmas and I am on day #1 of a four day trip. We are flying a schedule that is very demanding on the entire five person crew. We started at noon and have been doing quick and dirty thirty minute turns, i.e., flying between cities that are less than 400 miles apart, quickly unloading the passengers and freight, then jamming new folks and bags in the still warm seats (all within a thirty minute target)... Positive rate; gear up and we are enroute to the next stop.

When I was a young pilot flying propeller driven airliners during the Stone Age, this was easy. We could 'shoot' an approach to low weather minimums seven times a day while eating a cheeseburger and fries, all with no auto-pilot or fancy navigation equipment. Yep, without a doubt, my airmanship skills were never better than those long ago days. We were hot instrument pilots. That was then, this is now.

The fun factor is high flying these large jet aircraft on a ballistic curve connecting close cities. We are at cruise altitude for a few minutes, then down we go. My co-pilot is a British subject, working in the Colonies on a green card. I flew with him four years ago when he was brand new and unsure of himself. Since then, he has found the groove and is an excellent aviator. He is an aggressive pilot, not being afraid of speed, altitude and power, which is the perfect combination for a line pilot.

We made it to our last stop of the night (San Jose, California) against a landing curfew with two minutes to spare. The whole crew, myself included, is worn out. Tomorrow is Christmas Day. None of us could bring our loved ones because of the full passenger loads. But, we are not talking about that today. We will deal with those feelings tomorrow on the way to the North Pole (Anchorage).

I am so tired my face is about to fall on the keyboard. Must sleep now...

Sandspit

We are 60 miles west of Sandspit at 37,000 feet with a quartering tailwind giving us a groundspeed of 552 m.p.h. The number one flight attendant reports that most of the 124 passengers are sound asleep. They should be... The local time is 2:30 A.M. Sky conditions are beautiful with a 3/4 moon illuminating the clouds far below our aircraft. I have the VOR (very high omni range) button pulled up and am listening to the Morse Code from Sandspit, or as we aviators call it... YZP. It sounds far away, cold, and windy.

Behind me, on the flight deck floor, a Captain from another airline is sound asleep. He has had a long day and is hitchhiking home on our aircraft. The co-pilot's head reminds me of a bobbing head doll in the back window of a car. He is fighting to stay awake. Circadian rhythm is tough!

Our destination is still two thousand miles in front of the nose. Or in other words, still a long night ahead of us...

Thin Sheets of Ice

The landing in Anchorage this morning, at 2:00 A.M., was on a de-iced runway, but the taxiways and ramp surfaces were covered with thin sheets of ice. It looked surrealistic moving across such a surface. Nature had created a huge icy mirror. Of course, the aircraft was slipping and sliding on the taxiway. I made all turns at a crawl, while dragging the brakes against the engine thrust. Approaching the gate was even more of a challenge. The ice coating covered the painted lead in line to the gate, so it was kind of a guess as to the angle of approach. The ramper (with the light sticks) did an excellent job of keeping my situational awareness intact, by giving me slight left and right commands as I approached the danger area. I breathed a sigh of relief as I set the brakes and shut the fuel flow off to the engines. The $40,000,000 aircraft is safe, undented and on-time. My paycheck is intact for another day.

The outbound crewmembers, silhouetted against the terminal glass, are waiting in the passenger loading area. The Captain and I communicate with hand signals across the 100 feet of polar air. I tell him that the aircraft has no maintenance problems and the aux power unit is up and running. He signals back, via hand talk, that he wants to talk to me. I know this Captain from the old days. He is one of the last Vietnam era pilots remaining at the airline. He flew F-4 Phantoms in fierce aerial combat over North Vietnam and is lucky to have survived. He is not a particularly friendly individual, but still, I feel privileged to work with such men. In my book, they are graying eagles.

As I approach the outbound Captain, I glance at the gold F-4 Phantom Jet tie tack precisely in the middle of the regulation (dark blue) airline tie and the miniature Air Force pilot wings on the right lapel. Perfect! We shake hands in a non-committal sort of way as I tell him I am glad to see him again. I would never kid around with this guy... As in insulting his flying ability, or telling him a certain flight attendant told me she was pregnant, etc. I can see the tell tale signs of high G loads in his face. A mental picture of a desperate aerial fight against the nimble Mig fighter flashes across my mind's eye.

He asks me, "What's the airport surface like?"

I reply, "It's slick as greased glass." I thought (only briefly) about saying "Slick as my wife's tiny hiney."

An itty bitty smile appeared underneath that Captain's hat. He said, "That's not what I wanted to hear." I told him that we taxied at a walking pace and had managed not to dent the bird. He thought about that for a second, then grabbed his bags and walked toward the jetway. Conversation over... I nodded at his young co-pilot as I walked toward my waiting crew.

As the crew van bumped and slid toward the hotel, I was thinking about how fast life passes when you are having fun...

Drinking Blood Wine with the Klingons

I am enjoying a few days off in Lost Wages with the wife of my youth. She is looking mighty fine in her tight jeans and boots. Tonight, we attended the world championship rodeo that is held every year in Las Vegas. It is a hoot! I very much enjoyed watching the best rodeo cowboys in the world trying to ride thousands of pounds of bucking beast for eight (8) seconds. Talk about severe turbulence!

A few hours later, I am in Quark's Bar and Grill drinking blood wine with the Klingons. Overhead are large model starships underneath an accurate rendition of the night sky in some far away quadrant of the galaxy. Too bad it is only fantasy...

As I look at the starship models, it strikes me that the airliners that I am privileged to Captain must look something like these models from an underneath vantage point against the star dome. Hey, that is cool! As for Klingons... Well, I guess some of the passengers we deal with could pass for Klingons.

Now we are getting somewhere! If I could just get that Romulan bartender's attention... .

Off the End

This event is another nightmare of every Captain. Years ago, I flew the B-737 into this very airport and landed on this same runway in snow and ice conditions many times every winter. Holy Moly! I feel much empathy for this Captain and co-pilot. The experts are going to come out of the woodwork and all fingers will be pointing at the left seat.

Oh, Lord, please let this never happen to me...

North 36

Last week, I froze my rear off in cold weather cities. This week, thankfully, I am flying south of North 36 latitude, except for a few stops in Lost Wages dropping off fresh meat for the pit bosses. Lost Wages is only a bit north of 36 degrees, though. Tonight, I am in beautiful Ft. Lauderdale... Last night was spent in San Diego, one of my personal top ten overnights.

My co-pilot is a young female new hire who has been in her seat for about one year. She is petite, very good looking, and wickedly intelligent. She was born to be a pilot and her family supported her from the get go. She graduated from an aviation college, then landed a job flying single pilot freighters. After that stint, she managed to secure a co-pilot's job at a commuter airline on the east coast. Now, a few years later, she is at a major airline flying co-pilot on a big jet. I have to say, that is impressive.

I am reminded of a past post.