Flight Level 390

I have been dealing with snow and ice for a couple of months, more so than a usual winter. Tonight, in Anchorage, the snow is falling heavily with visibility 1 mile, temperature 5 degrees, and light winds from the northwest. The inbound crew brought our bird in no more than ten minutes ago. Even in that short time, there is a lot of snow piling up on the air frame. They were forced to stop for fuel because of unforecast strength of the winds aloft; that is good for us, since their headwinds will be our tailwinds. We are two hours behind schedule...

A couple of children wanted to see the flight deck, which is unusual nowadays, so I took the time to show them around, even though I was very busy plotting our escape to warmer climes. Finally, with no seat empty, we pushed our snow covered bird back and prepared it for de-icing, then anti-icing. After the co-pilot ran that checklist, I told the de-icing crew to begin. Two trucks, one on each side blew the snow and ice away from the aluminum skin with heated water and glycol coming from a high pressure hose. Then the anti-icing trucks started to work, again one on each side, spraying a layer of very expensive anti-icing fluid onto the aircraft. From the moment they start the application of anti-icing fluid, the take-off clock is ticking away relentlessly. The fluid can absorb a lot of snow before it times out, but tonight a lot of snow is falling, so our time is short.

We cranked the V-2500 engines as fast as we could, received taxi clearance, and then began plowing snow with our landing gear. The co-pilot read the checklists as I responded to each item... Six minutes remaining... The taxiways are slick; ice covered with snow so I have to take it easy with the thrust levers... Four minutes remaining... The flight attendants are seated... The co-pilot calls for take-off clearance before we approach the end of the runway... Three minutes to go... We are cleared for take-off... I look at the tip of the wing on my side and can see the protective fluid is still OK; it looks like slick rubber with a layer of half melted snow flakes clinging... Two minutes before the fluid is timed out.

I turn the big jet 90 degrees to the right and line up on the snow covered runway. The centerline lights are about covered; they are mini-towers of white light because of snow refraction. It looks surrealistic... Thrust levers forward a bit to let the engines spool up and stabilize. Visibility is less than one mile now, winds are still light. The engines are stabilized at 30%... Then, thrust levers forward to the stops. The engines roar to full thrust shoving us down the white runway. I reach over my head and turn on my wind screen wipers; the electrically heated Plexiglas is melting the snow flakes as they strike.

92 mph... All systems good. The engines love the snow and cold air... The landing gear is transmitting some vibration from the mini snow drifts. The snow plows are on the taxiways watching our take-off, amber lights flashing, ready to make another run.

115 mph... The anti-icing fluid peels away from the wings and tail, as designed, and takes all the contamination with it, leaving a clean surface. The wings load up; I can feel it in the seat of my pants.

161 mph... The co-pilot calls out "V-1"; no turning back now...

178 mph... "Rotate"... Pull back on the stick and...

The nose lifts and all visual reference is gone, only twin spears of light shining into the white- out. I tell the co-pilot to leave the landing gear down for a few seconds to blow the snow away from the brakes and wheel assemblies.

"Positive climb rate; landing gear up." The gear unlocks and raises into the gear wells with a strong clunk. I am on the instruments; nothing outside except a fast moving tunnel of snow. I am holding 18 degrees nose up (the recommended normal climb angle), still, the aircraft is accelerating rapidly. At 1,000 feet, I lower the nose, pull the thrust levers back to climb power, and call for "flaps up" before we overspeed the flaps. The aircraft accelerates to best rate of climb speed in three heart beats, 270 mph... I raise the nose to keep this speed until 3,000 feet above the ground. Then, I lower the nose to pick up more speed, 287 mph (max allowed below 10,000 feet) until we blast through 10,000 feet above the ground.

I turn on the magic smoke and mirrors (auto-pilot system) above 10,000 feet, and then activate the flight management computers for lateral and vertical navigation, let go of the reins and let her run. At 15,000 feet, we fly out of the snow clouds into the moonlight. Clear and starry skies ahead... Forward icing shields "off". The winds, on our tail, are above 120 mph before we reach 20,000 feet. To our left, a green donut of heavenly light around the north pole.

Passing 30,000 feet, the tailwinds are 200 mph, giving us a ground speed 715 mph. When we reach our first cruise altitude of 34,000 feet in 19 minutes, we are 205 miles down the airway. That is incredible! It's no wonder our compadres had to stop for fuel.

Even though I had to work the Christmas and New Year's holidays, the Anchorage runs keep it interesting. Since we are running two hours behind schedule, the sun will be rising in 1,000 miles.