Alberta

The main landing gear touched the runway ten minutes ahead of schedule this morning in Edmonton, Alberta. The flight was nice and smooth until we were abeam Great Falls, Montana, then the turbulence began and lasted all the way to Edmonton. It was miserable for the 127 passengers. More than a few upchucked. Yikes! The turbulence was what we call moderate, i.e., we had control of the aircraft, but items were crashing in the galley and the Captain's coffee had heavy white caps. The instrument panel was hard to keep in focus because of the continues movement. Sharp, quick jolts that would not let up.

Canadian ATC gave us permission to altitude hunt, so we climbed as high as we dared, about 37,000 feet, until the wild airspeed fluctuations, caused by windshear, forced us to descend. The co-pilot, who was flying, started descending with the engines at idle thrust and the spoilers fully extended until we reached 21,ooo feet. We listened to an exchange between ATC and an airliner below us at 19,000 feet; they were getting hammered, too. We decided to stick it out at 21,000 feet... Only 300 miles to Edmonton. I picked up the P.A. microphone, and then with my best Captain's voice, assured the passengers that we were in no danger, but, unfortunately, we would have to take the beating until Edmonton.

As the engines spooled up to cruise power at 21,000 feet, the fuel flows went sky high. No problem, though... I put the Captain's "what if" fuel onboard before we departed.

Later...
Edmonton is one of my favorite places to overnight. Compared to the western deserts of the Empire, the atmosphere is light and crisp. The air temperature is about 62 degrees Fahrenheit. With a light breeze whipping through the downtown area, it is a bit uncomfortable for a desert dweller without a coat. My crew and I are walking to a famous aircrew hangout in downtown Edmonton; a pub named Sherlock Holmes. The fish and chips are excellent!

Tomorrow, southbound and home...

Cooler Weather

"Climb thrust..."

And so another four day trip begins. My co-pilot, the flying pilot on this leg, lowers the nose as I pull the thrust levers slowly toward climb power setting, and then watch the engine temperatures move south, away from red line. Behind me, 85 passengers enroute to San Francisco, one of my favorite cities on Earth. School is starting around the Empire, hence our loads have started to decrease from the summer's "pack 'em in and close the door" loads. That's OK; flight attendants need a break from the mayhem of the summer crowds. Airline management would probably disagree with that statement, though.

(6:00 P.M. local time)

We have 39 minutes on the ground and I am standing in line at Maxies sandwich shop. These are really good sandwiches, no scrimping on the tuna salad, and airline crew get a break from the normal $10.00 price. The co-pilot and I will split it... I asked the flight attendants if I could get them anything, but they turned me down. Probably because they do not have time to eat. Would not do to have tuna shrapnel on one's lip while asking Senator Firstclasski what he would like to drink.

(6:30 P.M. local time)

"Climb thrust..."

Leg number two, San Francisco to Sin City, begins with the co-pilot still flying. He's only 29 years old with two babies at home. He told me he was unable to sleep today for our all nighter. I hear that excuse more than any other... Oh, well... I remember those days. I have assigned him the flying duties until the last leg, which is through the night.

Our tuna sandwich from Maxies is good, but messy. The wife of my youth says she can tell what I have been eating by investigating my tie. Surely that is an exaggeration.

(8:00 P.M. local time)

Here we are... Sin City! I am sitting in the food court with a few of my compadres watching the non-stop flow of humanity. It is staggering how much cash aircraft bring to the casinos. I'll bet Orville and Wilbur would be amazed. We are also talking about the Lexington accident, as in how can an everyday normal little flight to Mylanta turn into a major catastrophe in less than five seconds? It's a head shaker...

Later, in the dispatch office underneath the terminal, I see more Captain buds, also picking up flight paperwork. As always, we insult each other, trying to come up with original lines. The standard:
1. "I heard the FAA is looking for you."
2. "Stacy told me to tell you that if you don't call her soon, she is calling your wife."
3. "Didn't they take your pilot license away last May?"
All these are getting long in the tooth, so to speak. We desperately need new material.

A quick stop at Starbucks for a small coffee is in order.

(9:45 P.M. local time)

"Climb thrust..."

Leg number three, Sin City to Chicago, with 150 passengers has begun on schedule. One of our four wheel brakes is inoperative; we had to leave the landing gear down for one minute after take-off to allow the tire to stop spinning before we raised the landing gear. A spinning tire in the gear well is not a good thing for obvious reasons. A modern airliner is a very complex entity, so much so, that it is not unusual to fly with some systems inoperative or only partially working. We use alternate procedures and promise the FAA that the problem will be fixed in a certain number of days.

(2:00 A.M. local time)

The Great Plains of the Empire are stretched before us as far as the eye can see at 37,000 feet. The sky is clear tonight, not a cloud in sight. As August comes to a close and Orion the Hunter begins rising in the wee hours of the morning, cooler weather cannot be far behind.

(4:00 A.M. local time)

Chicago is less than one hour ahead... Orion is above the eastern horizon. We are into day number two of a four day trip.

Disaster at Lexington

This morning, a take-off accident killed all but one aboard a small regional jet bound for Atlanta. The news media was on the probable cause like a dog on a bone, despite pleas to refrain from speculation. The disaster at Lexington has directly affected 500 people (at a minimum), survivors of the lost passengers and crew... Unspeakable heartache for those left behind.

This is the kind of stuff that keeps me awake at night wondering if I am doing everything possible to deliver my passengers alive and healthy.

But by the Grace of God, there go I...

Six Legger

Day 2 of a 4 day...

Common parlance among aircrews leads to the question of, "Where you off to?" A typical reply might be, "Startin' a six legger." That translates to six flights in one duty period, usually between airports no more than 300 miles apart. Still, it is a busy, tiring day and quite common. We are in the middle of a six legger, trying to pick our way through the weather common this time of year in the western reaches of the Empire. Short flights do not allow high altitudes and big diversions to fly over or circumnavigate the weather.

So, with one eye on the fuel quantities and the other on the radar screen, we are weaving and dodging storms enroute to Lost Wages with 143 folks fantasizing about the big win and the end to all their financial problems. Our flight attendants have endured three bad landings, so far, today. One of mine and two co-pilot landings. The winds are howling across the runways in the west today, at least 45 degrees off centerline, which is creating problems for the co-pilot's crosswind technique. I landed hard at Orange County (4,813 feet of usable runway) because my bio-rhythms must be a little out of whack... It is bio-rhythms which allow the pilot to sense when the main tires are about to touch the runway far behind his/her seat. I have not made a bad landing in months, that is, until today. The co-pilot is having a hard time staying in the center of the runway when he is about to touch down. In other words, the wind is blowing him toward the edge.

With my Captain's hat in hand, I apologized to the flight attendants for the bad landings and promised that we would work on our technique. They were very kind and said, "We've seen worse."

Fuel Prediction

Position: 50 miles northwest of the Tatoosh VOR
Altitude: 36,000 feet
Groundspeed: 510 m.p.h.

Day one of a three day trip...

Anchorage is over the horizon, in fact, way over the horizon. Below is the west coast of British Columbia shrouded in a marine layer of clouds. My stubby #2 pencil and hand calculator says we will be arriving at Anchorage with 11,400 pounds of fuel, enough to try two approaches in the rain and fog, hold forty minutes, then on to the alternate airport, if needed. A glance at the navigation computer's fuel prediction indicates we will arrive with 11,600 pounds. Life is good; gray hair factor currently low.

My co-pilot is the son of a senior Captain (at this airline), a friend of mine. In fact, his Dad and I worked at a regional airline together. At that time, this kid was about seven (7) years old. Am I that old? I must be, because there he sits...

Crew Cut

The wife of my youth was perplexed this morning over the news about hair gel explosives and potential homicide bombers. Her question, "How am I going to keep your hair under control?" She takes a personal interest in my appearance. Near the top of the list is hair.

The little red "uh-oh" light is flashing... I have a funny feeling that a crew cut is in my future.

Fifty Miles Across

The Kansas pilot killer to the south is one of the biggest thunderstorms I have seen all summer; we are twenty miles north and upwind of it, yet it still looms ominously, and rises far above us. The hole we are flying through is about fifty miles across, between two large storms, over northern Kansas. As far as the eye can see, south and north, are storms... A mighty and impressive display of the atmosphere's power.

We are in the middle of a four day trip, flying coast to coast with a landings in Sin City to feed the casinos. This is the kind of trip that wears the crews to a frazzle with too little sleep and too many miles. If I think about Anchorage (ahhh!) or Cabo (double ahhh!) I get depressed, so I force myself to think only about the task at hand, flying this beautiful machine to the next stop and doing it with style.

My co-pilot, whom I have never seen before, is a young, single guy with one thing on his mind... Women. On his flight bag is a bumper sticker that reads "WWJBD". That is "What Would Jimmy Buffett Do?"

I don't have a clue...