Hurry Up and Wait

There are several airports in Mexico that have interesting runway configurations. That would be no taxiways, just the runway and the ramp. So, one airplane lands-stops-turns 180 degrees on the runway and taxis back to the ramp/terminal area. Most of these airports are scrambling to build taxiways, though. The demand for air travel to Mexican resort areas is soaring, which of course, is good for me. I'll take all the Mexican flying I can get... I love it.

This afternoon, we are leaving Los Cabos with 124 passengers (fully loaded A319), most of them sun-burned and hung over, but looking stress free and happy. We have been waiting our turn for over 40 minutes, with one engine turning, and are now number two for departure. However, looking out my left side window, I can see a 757 on the instrument approach about to turn toward the airport. That translates to: We will have to wait for it to land after this A319 clears the runway. Before we landed, though, I emailed my dispatcher and requested an extra ton of fuel for this very possibility.

Just like the military... Hurry up and wait.

33 Pounds per Minute

The little red "uh-oh" light has not yet begun to flash, but I can feel the current in the wires leading to the socket. We are holding short of the runway in Lost Wages, with 148 passengers en route to Edmonton, Alberta. I agreed to push back with minimum fuel to accommodate all the passengers, bags and freight. Of course, now there is a delay caused by who knows what, but the V2500 engines could care less. They are burning 33 pounds per minute at idle thrust while we wait at the end of the runway. My feeble brain can do simple calculations like this, no problem: If I have 550 pounds of taxi fuel and I am burning 33 pounds per minute.... Hmmm, let's see... that would be about 16 minutes. OK, it took 8 minutes to taxi to the end of the runway, so that leaves (Yikes!) 8 minutes before "bingo fuel" and back to the gate we go for more fuel.

The only thing left to do: Have the co-pilot start whining to the tower. Sometimes that works...

Day one of a four day
Last leg of the day

Miracle of Flight

The atmosphere was sweet and cool in Orange County as I pulled my basic combat load, 52 pounds of aircrew baggage, behind me bouncing over the bumps and cracks in the sidewalk. I walked past a beautifully maintained pool, sparkling and clear. Worthy of a photo, I think...
And, several thousand miles later (Anchorage), snow and ice crunching under my feet as I walk toward Starbucks. On the way, I pass one of my favorite little sidewalk cafes, closed for the winter, patiently waiting for the warmth of the short summer. Also, worthy of a photo...

All made possible by the miracle of flight.

Illumination Pod

I have been getting a lot of mail about the unidentified lights over Chicago's O'hare Airport. This post will give my opinion on that subject, but you know what opinions are like, right?

Over the years, I have seen and heard a few UFO reports pertaining to flight ops, but have seen no hard evidence other than out of focus photos, or eyewitness reports. Several years ago, in Arizona, UFO sightings were all the rage, complete with in focus photos and news camera footage. These sightings were, in fact, battlefield illumination flares dropped from aircraft over the military practice areas south of Phoenix, AZ. These magnesium flares hang on parachutes for long periods of time, moving down thru the winds aloft, changing directions and velocities on their trip to the ground. How do I know this? Well, some of my buds dropped them while serving in military aircraft on maneuvers. A few hours later, at home, they would watch the news reports on the strange lights in the sky. Personally, I have seen hundreds of battlefield flares, while flying past military ops areas. When asked about these "Phoenix lights", I would tell the person or persons what they were and the reply was, usually, "Nope, can't be flares. The reporter said they turned 90 degrees at incredible speeds."

OK...

Being an amateur astronomer, (the key word here is "amateur"), I have some knowledge of galactic distances, which are for the most part unimaginable. We use friendly terms such as light years, parsecs, and astronomical units to quantify these distances. The unimaginable distances are in our galaxy; moving beyond our galaxy, the distances are unspeakable, in fact, unthinkable. The Hubble has shown us distances even beyond the unthinkable. Television shows and movies featuring large breasted alien babes moving about the galaxy in neat little starships in a few hours or days are, as one of my British pilot buds says, "Missing the plot."

So, what kind of engine technology would be required to cross an unimaginable unit of distance? And if a civilization had such technology, would they hover over O'hare airport? I doubt it (OK, maybe if ATC issued a hold for traffic separation). When you are thinking about the possibility of UFOs, keep in mind the distances involved. Try to wrap your mind around 1,000 light years (one light year is about 5.8 trillion miles or 9.4 trillion kilometers), which is the local galactic neighborhood. When you say light year, stop and think about it... 9.4 trillion (with a "t") kilometers. If there was advanced life, the beings with engine technology to cross light years of distance, in our neighborhood, we would have probably been aware of it, by now.

Or, as Enrico Fermi famously said, "Where are they?"

The question is: What were the lights over O'hare? I don't know, but I'll bet the TSA and FAA are looking for an answer. The guy who built the radio controlled airplane with the illumination pod hung on the belly must be sweating bullets.

Conclusion: Professional astronomers are under-paid and under-appreciated.

Red Sky at Morning

Another long night is about over... The sun is rising in our 9 o'clock. Anchorage is 1,840 miles behind us; ahead, another 805 miles to the gate. The good news is that the sun will chase the sleep fairies back into the cage. In the back, 115 passengers, most of them dreaming about their beds at home. Crossing the black pit between Anchorage and Sandspit was exceptionally smooth this morning. Turbulence associated with high altitude, high velocity winds can make that crossing interesting. The highest windspeed was about 75 mph (65 kts), which is only a breeze for that part of the sky.

Number one engine is burning more fuel and has a higher exhaust gas temperature than number two; it has more flight hours on it. Maintenance will be changing it soon. In about one hour, I will re-balance the fuel load prior to landing by feeding both engines from the heavier tank. Until then, though, we watch the black night change to a red sky at morning. The quarter moon is about 30 degrees above the horizon; Jupiter and Mars are fading away in the ruddy light.

It is a beautiful sight... A sight that only pilots are privileged to see. The following statement causes much gnashing of teeth amongst some of my fellow aviators, but here it is anyway:

I get paid to be here.

War Lords

The holidays are receding at 10 miles per minute in my six. Good will toward men and all that stuff is back in the lock box until December 2007. One hour ago, in a small remote dispatch office on the east coast, where I was retrieving flight paperwork, I listened to fellow pilots verbally stab other fellow pilots in the back over union issues. Deep stab wounds with razor sharp combat knives. Divide and conquer; the oldest tactic in the book...

Six major airlines are jockeying for position... Everything is on the line. As forecast, the airline landscape will appear vastly different within one year. Instead of creating strong, in-depth defenses as one pilot union, we are acting like war lords. Carving out little territories, then burning the bridge. Laughably easy pickings for Wall Street financiers...

Well, that was five hundred miles ago. Up here, at the top of the troposphere, things look and feel vastly different. In my nine (left) and high, Orion is chasing the Seven Sisters toward the west. Our nose is pushing against a 125 mph (108 kts) wind as we wing our way toward California with a full load (150 passengers), including four jumpseaters, and five crew members. Every seat of any description is full.

My co-pilot, a young kid with young children, is easy to get along with and respects the old guy in the left seat. I have flown with him before, when he was a new hire fresh from the co-pilot machine. That was three years ago, or so he says... He also said that I made a hard landing at Tampa, then when the flight deck door was opened and the flight attendants came to see if we were OK, I said, "OK, next time flare a little bit higher and you'll do better." That is a little trick I learned from some long gone Captain and it works well. I do not remember doing it to this kid, though.

He must have me confused with another Captain...

Day #2 of a 4 day continues

Snow and Ice, 2

We are flying at 36,000 feet, our second cruising altitude. In a few hundred miles, we will be able to climb to 38,000 feet, our final altitude. The air mass is smooth and fast moving, luckily in our direction of flight. The ground speed has been averaging 650 mph since we climbed out of Anchorage.

The bad news... The sun is cracking the horizon about 900 miles early, because we are late. It will be in our faces until touchdown. It is time to get the sunglasses out and maps clipped to flightdeck visors, giving us a little protection from the solar radiation.

More than 1,400 miles before we sleep...

Snow and Ice

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.