Flight Level 390

It has been a long day, but the end is in sight. The fun began in Los Angeles with two round trips to Las Vegas; now we are enroute to Cleveland with 112 passengers. We had interesting landing conditions on the last flight to Lost Wages, in that the wind forced the tower to utilize runway 7 Right for arrivals, which is unusual. I have landed on 7 Right about a dozen times, maybe... My young co-pilot had never landed on 7 Right. Guess who was the flying pilot?

When we briefed the landing, I told him if he would fly the approach by the numbers and not let the rising terrain freak him out, he would do just fine. In other words, be configured with landing gear down, flaps extended and 1,500 feet above the airport five miles from the runway. If you have never landed on a runway before, those numbers will work everytime and everywhere. The trick is to be flexible with the lateral path leading to the runway. In other words, if the tower is using four mile final approach segments, then you have to use one mile of the base leg turn as part of your five mile configuration path. Sometimes the tower will clear you to fly direct to the runway from a point in space that will not yield a path lined up with the runway, i.e., a crooked final. We call these dog legs. No big deal if the flying pilot's brain will accept this as the path to the runway and get configured. The flying pilot can roll out on runway heading a few hundred feet above the ground. No problem for a 27 year old with cat like reflexes, that is, if his brain will quit thinking about flight attendants and concentrate on a simple geometry problem.

The tower cleared us for a visual approach to runway 7 Right ten miles from the airport and on a right base leg. I could tell by watching our movement over the ground that we had a strong tailwind... One look at the inertial navigation read out confirmed a 60 m.p.h. tailwind. The heavy 767 ahead of us blew through the final approach path and was now banking sharply right to regain the final path. Ooops! I decided to remind the co-pilot about the wind, then to quit coaching him. Being micro-managed while trying to fly a large aircraft on final approach is aggravating and counter productive. He rolled out on runway heading to the right of the actual path, then allowed the wind to blow him onto the path. Once on the final path, he banked gently right until he had a heading that would prevent the crosswind from blowing him off the final approach. In pilot land, this is known as crabbing.

The maximum recommended crosswind for an A320 is 43 mph, although in the hands of an experienced crosswind pilot, it can handle 45 mph. The tower was calling the winds 35 mph with gusts to 42 mph, and to make it interesting, a slight tailwind component. I had previously told the flight attendants and passengers that the landing would be less than smooth, so we were mentally prepared for a firm landing.

As the co-pilot flew the beast over the end of the runway, I could see fingers of sand blowing across the surface and the windsock was standing straight out, perpendicular to the runway. He began to slip, or cross control, the aircraft, trying to bring the fuselage parallel to the centerline, so as not to touchdown at an angle, which is really hard on the aircraft. As he slipped into the wind, the right main landing gear touched down first, then the aircraft bounced about a foot. At the top of the bounce, the co-pilot selected reverse thrust. Yikes! Here it comes... It was as if the aircraft asked, "You want to stop flying? OK, we can do that!" We fell back to the runway with much vigor. Behind me, I could hear stuff clanging in the forward galley. When my vision cleared, we were on the centerline and decelerating rapidly with sand, dirt, and loose paper blowing across the runway. Welcome to Sin City folks.

The co-pilot was mortified as we taxied to the gate. He kept apologizing, but I reminded him that I had warned everyone in the back to expect a rough landing. I then asked him if he would ever again select reverse thrust with the wheels off the ground. He said he would definitely not do that again. I told him not to worry about it.

When I opened the flight deck door, the flight attendants said, "Good job, Boys!" Several passengers complimented the crosswind landing.

That was a few hours ago... Cleveland is about 90 minutes away. Ten minutes ago, we circumnavigated a large storm that is casting a shadow ahead of us to the horizon. It resembles a dark blue road to the edge of the world. Actually, day's end is located there...

We watched the sun set enroute to Seattle... That was many hours and thousands of miles ago. Now, we are in the deepest, darkest part of the night; the part where circadian rhythm begins to work on the brain, telling you it is OK to fall asleep; after all, that is what night is all about, right? The moon is rising in the east; it looks like one-half of an orange. Really cool!

The co-pilot is a commuter (he lives in a city other than his assigned base and must commute to work... About 1/2 of all airline pilots practice commuting) which means he did not get good rest yesterday afternoon. Now he is paying the price as he struggles to stay awake. I am staring out my side window at the heavenly blanket of stars over the aircraft. The left navigation light looks like a red comet every time the strobe flashes. How cool would it be to ride on the back of the beast, leaning against the leading edge of the vertical tail fin? What a visual overload that would be, especially tonight. That thought leads my mind to the goblin riding the wing of the aircraft in the movie Twilight Zone. Yikes! Maybe I should turn on the wing ice light and take a look...

Obviously, I need more coffee. Behind me are 150 passengers, all trying to sleep; and three flight attendants trying not to... Philly is still 1,000 miles east. We will get to watch the sun rise before we arrive.

Position: Underneath Cygnus
Altitude: 35,000 feet
Groundspeed: 560 m.p.h.
Magnetic course: 102 degrees

We are level at 34,000 feet... A heavy Chevy. The flight management computer gives a maximum "recommended" altitude of 35,300 feet at our current weight. Being a natural born skeptic when it comes to flight management computers, I whipped out my stubby #2 pencil, hand calculator, and performance book... OK, Mr. Flight Management Computer is darn close. We can reach 35,500 feet, but the fuel burn would be 600 pounds per hour higher. Anyway, it is a moot point... (Heck, I am just killing time.) During daylight hours, air traffic control will not give us 35,000 feet. That is an eastbound altitude and we are westbound against the sun. In a few more hours and a few tons less fuel, we can make 36,000 feet.

Today, our weather avoidance route spans the southern reaches of the Empire. We followed the east coast to Savannah, then banked toward the west and the City of Angels. Five more hours and we will be there.

Yesterday, a new Directive came from The Management Bastion addressed to all line pilots. It concerned unauthorized reading material in the flight deck, such as newspapers, books, magazines, and the Big One... Laptop computers. The next crew who is caught reading or using any of the afore-mentioned items (in flight) will be in trouble, or so the Directive threatened.

So, that leaves performance manuals, flight operation manuals, and my favorite... The A-320/319 aircraft manual. I think I will calculate the cruise altitude again.

There it is... 3,000 feet below the aircraft. We have a good view of the ridge line that a 727 struck at 270 m.p.h. thirty two years ago while attempting an instrument approach into Dulles International. One can look down at the ridge, then toward the southeast and see the runway; the minds eye will draw the approach path they were following. If you are an airline pilot seeing this, it will make your gut churn. I can imagine the scene in the cockpit as the two pilots and flight engineer prepared the 727 for approach, slowly descending toward the terrain, oblivious to the fact that 92 lives were seconds away from eternity.

The accident was one of those that , every 20 years or so, causes a lot of changes in my industry. New air traffic control procedures and aircraft instrumentation advances were a direct result.

Today, the Virginia weather is beautiful and we have a clear view of the airport. The air mass over the Virginia hills is stable and smooth... Control inputs, from me, are instantly obeyed by the aircraft as it merges with the radio beam delineating the assigned runway. It sounds silly, but I ask the co-pilot, "We are cleared to land on one-nine-right, correct?" He thinks a second,"Yep, one-nine-right" and then points at the runway with his right hand.

I call for landing gear down, flaps to 75% extension, and the landing checklist. Thirty two years ago, the 727 Captain would have made the same request... If only they had made it this far.

As usual, we are at maximum gross weight leaving New York's JFK airport. Ground control instructed us to follow the Queen's finest to the runway. Apparently, we are approximately number 35 for take-off. I up loaded one ton of extra taxi fuel for this very scenario... My longest delays have always been at JFK, Boston, and Philly. Today, the weather is cooking in the Midwest causing outbound flight chaos. We are filed on the severe weather plan northern route, which goes up into Toronto Center's airspace, then back into US airspace over Wisconsin.

Single engine taxi is difficult at this weight, but necessary for fuel conservation before take-off. We have the fuel capability to wait three hours, if necessary.

Many times, at JFK, I have seen crews burn all their taxi fuel, forcing them to return to the gate for refueling. Definitely not a good thing... One hour to return to the gate is not uncommon. That is when the passengers begin to get angry, demanding to get off the aircraft which causes the gate agents to become angry which causes the loadmaster to get angry and so forth.

I have heard stories about Captains going off the deep end during these extended ground delays. In fact, I remember a report about a DC-9 Captain in Miami (about 1980) that turned the aircraft around, taxied back to the gate, then said, "I quit!" The airline fired him five minutes later. Eventually, that Captain was able to secure a medical retirement.

Not this Captain, though... I get paid to be gone from home for two, three, and four days at a time. It does not matter if I am sitting on the taxiway or turning and burning... It all pays the same.

The co-pilot and I, in the course of this trip, have covered about every subject... Wives, girlfriends, kids, airline politics, union politics, Washington D.C. politics, and so forth. Now, with the sun behind us and lengthening shadows in front of us, we are quiet while waiting for our turn on the runway. Ahead of us are thousands of miles and a big line of thunderstorms. I am thinking about time, distance, wind, and fuel burn... Northern route versus southern route, turbulence forecasts versus pilot reports, aircraft weight versus altitude capability, and on the mental gymnastics go, until I start over with time, distance, wind, and fuel burn.

One more overnight... Then home to the wife of my youth. My mind starts to drift toward her on the last night of the trip... Always.

Day two of a four day trip...

Position: Northern California hotel room watching the rain fall.

It is the quiet time before the treadmill, shower, and pre-takeoff ritual for day number two. The coffee maker is gurgling in the background as I hack away on my excellent Dell laptop. Yesterday, as I checked in for this trip, I ran into one of my Captain buds who told me about an incident in which he was involved. It is interesting...And mildly frustrating.

The Captain's version:

This Captain and crew departed a west coast airport under IFR conditions (pilot talk for bad weather) and experienced a normal climb away from the runway, until 1500 feet above the ground. At that point the forward cargo door sensors sent a warning to the flightdeck that it was not latched and locked. (A bit of explanation is required...The A320 and A319 have a protocol that inhibits all but the most serious warnings from the runway surface up to 1500 feet above the ground. The most serious are engine fire, engine failure and flight control malfunction; everything else can wait. Why is this, you ask? Well, in the past there have been many accidents caused by aborted take-offs for reasons that could have waited for corrective action until the aircraft was safely airborne. This, in my opinion as a lowly line pilot, is brilliant engineering.

OK, the aircraft is airborne and climbing away with a forward cargo door that may or may not be safely closed. The Captain decided to return to the departure airport, where we have maintenance personnel on duty. His reasoning:

1. The cargo door may not have been closed properly and the increasing differential pressure (as they climb) on the door may cause it to blow open.

2. There was a possibility that the cargo door is broken and the aircraft will be grounded at the landing airport. Then, the outbound flight is a no go. To this Captain, it seemed a no brainer to return for maintenance action.

The instrument approach and landing were routine. When the mechanics arrived at the aircraft, they found the forward cargo door handle slightly out of position, which caused the sensor for the handle to send a warning to the flight deck. Once again, the aircraft departed for the east coast... No surprises on the second attempt.

Three days later, the Chief Pilot's office called this Captain at home... Not a good thing.

The Company's version:

The forward cargo door warning requires careful troubleshooting. Even if the handle is slightly out of position, the cargo door can still be latched and locked. The aircraft operating manual gives a very detailed explanation of the procedure to follow to determine if the cargo door is, in fact, safely closed. One of those steps is calling maintenance control for advice and history of problems with that cargo door. And the scary thing is... Maintenance control can actually interrogate the cargo door's sensors and sometimes determine the problem for the crew.

You can see where this is going, right?

The return to the departure airport was probably unnecessary and cost thousands of dollars. The company is very unhappy about this incident and is considering disciplinary action against the Captain.

Armchair quarterbacking:

In days gone by, this decision would never have been questioned by the company, but as I am fond of saying... That was then, this is now. Today, the Captain had better be well versed in the manuals and publications of the airline. Crews can whine about the old days to no avail. The energy would be better spent reading the manuals.

This brings us to the Swiss Air 111 crash. A lot of experts claim that Captain was so engrossed with going by the book that they ran out of time and lost the aircraft. They had a fire in the air frame insulation over the flight deck. The Captain insisted on completing emergency checklists and procedures, all the while burning up (literally) valuable time and distance. Other experts claim that they would not have made it to the runway under any circumstances... They were just too far away. Regardless, it was a tragedy of immense proportions for the passengers and crew. I sweat bullets thinking about it.

Back to my Captain Bud... I can tell you this with certainty; if they had continued the trip after the first take-off and the cargo door had come open later and required an emergency descent/landing or worse, the crew (especially the Captain) would have been sacrificed to the gods of the New World Order. It matters not what Mother told or advised the Captain to do... The Federal Aviation folks would fall back on the "Captain should have known since he/she is the final authority."

Yikes! It's a minefield...