Flowers and Fish

After twenty-seven days of hot asphalt, finally I am back in Anchorage, where the outside air temperature is 52 degrees F., or 63 degrees cooler than home. That puts it into perspective! As we turned off the runway and began our taxi to the terminal, a four engine Douglas piston powered freighter touched down. I pointed at it and yelled, "Would you look at that!" I quickly grabbed my digital camera and pushed the shutter release without looking through the lens. It came out... Lucky shot. My young co-pilot asked, "What kind of plane is that?" I giggled a little and told him that was one of the last aircraft from the Golden Age of airline flying, when John Wayne and Dean Martin were Hollywood's senior airline Captains. He looked at me with a "What are you talking about?" expression. Never mind...

That was yesterday evening... This morning I hit the streets of Anchorage under a cool and partly cloudy Alaskan sky. It is beautiful here in the summer! The atmosphere has a strange odor of flowers and fish, not offensive at all, just odd. What a difference from January, when the temperature was far below zero. If there was an odor then, my nose was too cold to smell it.


FLOWERS and FISH



This evening, our course line will take us back to the lower forty-eight and points east. I will be back here twice in August, I hope.

The Stimulator

Crew scheduling sent me an invitation to fly the simulator, or as we 320/319 pilots call it... The Stimulator. I seem to get an invitation every six months, or so, just like clockwork. I reported to the school house one hour early, as usual, to get my mind into the stimulator mode of fire, explosions, catastrophic failures, and other nasty scenarios that are sure to stimulate one's mind.

I was well rested and had just spent one hour working out at the gym. Add a small Starbucks coffee of the day to the mix and I was ready for anything. I walked into the huge simulator bay and saw, at the assignment desk, that I was in #3 simulator. I walked past seven other simulators (110 paces) until I reached #3. Next to every simulator is a small briefing room where the instructor, Captain, and co-pilot meet, greet, and brief. The four hour session was divided into a pair of two hour tasks:

1. The first task was to fly 140 passengers from Seattle to Reno. I was to operate exactly as I would on the line, i.e., every little detail was to be included. The session was video taped for proof of any deviations. Everything went well until we reached cruise altitude of 33,000 feet. That was when a flight attendant called me and said, "Something weird is happening back here. The other two flight attendants are puking their guts out and 20 passengers are very sick."

I decided to divert to Portland... Sounded like food poisoning or possibly something worse. On the way down to Portland, the co-pilot contacted Mother for free advice and a medical service that gives us paid advice. Neither were any help, both being non-committal and namby-pamby. They said something like, "Gee Captain, we don't know what to tell you. It's your call."

Yeah, I know that.

The approach and landing to Portland went well; forty-one minutes (41) had elapsed from take-off at Seattle. End of task #1 (1 hour & 19 minutes early).

Another cup of coffee (airline) and 1/2 apple during the break... Task #2 begins:

2. Two hours allotted for maneuvers consisting of failures, fires, bad weather landings, etc. Every take-off is a prime breeding ground for catastrophic failures on the line and, especially, in the stimulator. Thankfully, on the line, they are few and far between; the stimulator is another story, though.

We lined up for take-off on a Philadelphia runway at maximum gross weight on a hot summer day. I can feel it coming... The little red "uh-oh" light in the back of my brain is burning bright. Before take-off, I fire up the MP3 player in my brain and select Ted Nugent's Wango Tango. We can see only 500 feet ahead because of fog... Thrust levers to forward stops and the fun begins. The co-pilot calls "80 knots, thrust OK"; not for long, I'm sure. I glanced at the engine temperatures... 635 degrees, the red-line.

Ted Nugent's guitar is wailing as he says, Come on boys... Time to wango.

The co-pilot stated, "Vee 1, rotate." I pulled the stick back forcing the nose gear to break contact with the asphalt. The wings loaded up for a few seconds, then the main gear tires left the asphalt. When there was 1 millimeter clearance between the bottom of the main gear tires and the runway, number two engine failed catastrophically. I mashed the left rudder to the stop and lowered the nose to maintain control of the beast. The fire alarm light began flashing in my face along with the obnoxious master warning bell clanging in my ear.

"Captain, we have an engine failure and fire!"

"Roger that..."

Ted Nugent continues:

My Baby, she like to rock
My Baby, she like to roll
My Baby, she can dance all night
My Baby, got no control
She do the Wango Tango.

Dawn's Early Light

We are taking turns stretching in the rear of the flight deck while the other guy sucks 100 % oxygen at his duty station. Simply put, we are trying to stay awake. Myself, the co-pilot, and flight attendants, have been on duty since before yesterday's sunset and now we are looking at dawn's early light... A rapidly expanding dome of blue, yellow, and orange light that is washing out the stars in the east. Our day is far from over... Due to weather problems in the west, we will not land at JFK until 10:00 A.M. local time. We are pushing our duty hours to the limit, as well as our physical selves.



And a few miles further east, the sun greets our bloodshot eyes. Even so, it is a beautiful sight. I glance at the oxygen quantity... 1800 p.s.i.; more than enough. My eyes wander to the miles remaining... Yikes! One thousand (1,000) miles before we sleep. Maybe I am seeing double zeros, so I look at it again... 999. OK, that is better; at least we are down to three digits.

We are staying in one of the neatest cities of our route structure, Manhattan. Hopefully, I will be able to get out and about before report time. I am trying to remember which pizza parlor has the best New York style pizza, when the co-pilot taps me on the right shoulder indicating he is ready to take over for awhile. My turn to stretch...

Altitude: 35,000 feet
Groundspeed: 519 m.p.h.
Fuel flow: 5,000 lbs. per hour

Radar Returns

I am flying away from the sun toward the dark curve of the night sky, as I do so often. Behind me are 150 passengers bound for Chicago's O'Hare airport, one of the busiest in the world. My co-pilot is a fine young man that I have flown with on many trips. My airplane is an older A320 with small thrust engines, but she has a good heart and I have flown her thousands of miles over the years. Life is good at 35,000 feet.

The radar returns are showing a big line of storms about 200 miles ahead. This brings back memories of one of our retired Captains, nick named Fast Freddy because of his legendary prowess with women, who helped us fly through a line of weather over Colorado on a night that our weather radar failed. We were at 35,000 feet, Fast was over us at 39,000 feet in a B757. He was leaving bright contrails in the moonlit sky, strobes firing as he went in and out of the clouds. I asked air traffic control if we could follow Fast through the storms, since his radar was functioning. That was approved, so we followed that beautiful bird until we were clear of the weather. I will never forget that sight as long as I live.

Fast will not be able to help us tonight... Too bad, I say.

Remnants of the Day

Ahead, a towering thunderstorm's top being blown west by the winds aloft. In the northern hemisphere, the winds aloft usually blow from the west, but this evening the atmosphere is nervous and upset. Turbulence has been dogging us for 1000 miles, no matter the altitude flown. Two thousand feet above us is another airliner flying the same direction and through the same gap in the line of storms... The scene is surrealistic.

At this altitude we are seeing the last remnants of the day... Far below, night has enveloped the Earth's surface. As soon as we fly through this hole in the weather, we will return to an easterly heading. Darkness will cover us in ten minutes.

Position: 25 miles north of Salina
Altitude: 35,000 feet (max altitude at current weight)
Destination: Boston