Continental Divide

Position: Six miles above KASE (Aspen)
Groundspeed: 450 mph (393 kts)
Magnetic heading: 270 degrees
Destination: KSFO
Passengers on board: 147

Day two of a four day...

It looks cold down there, even with the warm rays of the low winter sun illuminating the peaks of the Continental Divide. Below, in the shadow of those peaks, lies Aspen. It is a beautiful evening aloft as we proceed at, seemingly, a snail's pace toward the west coast. Our nose is in the wind...

Yesterday, our groundspeed was so high eastbound that our wrist watches started running backwards, or as my co-pilot said, "We almost landed before we took off." It was scary fast; we arrived 75 minutes ahead of schedule in Boston.

We are paying for it this evening, though. My dispatcher figured we would be better off staying low, trying to slip underneath some of the wind. The fuel flows are obnoxious, but the ground speed is almost 400 knots, which is acceptable against the wind. This route, with the weather requiring a landing alternate, is about the limit of Fi-Fi's fuel range. The co-pilot is flying this leg, so during the pre-departure briefing I impressed upon him the need to pay attention to the flight plan like a dog looking at a milk bone, or else we would be landing in KSLC (Salt Lake City) for more fuel, i.e., we can not go in a straight line at Warp 6, although I understand his need for speed... He is young, single, and in a hurry to meet a girlfriend at SFO.

We just passed over DBL (Red Table VOR) on time and on fuel burn. I need to call my dispatcher when we land and tell him he is a veritable genius.

Life on the line continues...

Trading Airspeed for Distance

I am a student of aircraft accidents, because, as my British friend Trevor says, "That's what I do." Air carrier accidents are few and far between when compared to the Gilded Age of the airline pilot. Avionics and auto-flight systems are, today, much better. Still, they do happen...

Occasionally, I dream about scenarios similar to what happened to two of the Queen's finest pilots. Imagine being on final approach and for some inexplicable reason, both engines (the best engines in the business) begin to spool down. There is no time to warn anybody as the captain scrambles to contain the situation. The seconds are so precious that the crew can only speed read the emergency checklists and hope that something pops out that is obvious. Reverting to basic airmanship skills is the only thing left to do... Trading airspeed for distance, releasing the ram air turbine for hydraulics, starting the APU in a desperate attempt to re-start at least one engine.

Your thoughts are razor sharp at this moment in time and the primeval section of your mind confirms the greatest fear of any airline pilot; it is not going to work. The runway is too far away and the airspeed is slipping away as the nose gets higher and higher.

I usually wake up immediately before impact with a racing heart, clammy skin and a few curse words.

I am quite sure that the British crew must have wondered, "Is this really happening? How can this be? Can both engines quit on a triple seven?"

Apparently so...

Deep Freeze

Position: KMSP (Minneapolis)
Route: KLAS->KMSP->KLAX

Winter ops continue, whether I like it or not. The outside air temperature is 10 F. with a north wind of 20 m.p.h., i.e., colder than a well digger's (you know what) in the Yukon. The snow is whirling around the fuselage, almost as if we are in a larger than life snow globe. I saw this up close and personal when I did the post-flight inspection. My co-pilot did not bring any winter clothes, which is not unusual for young co-pilots. They are (mostly) interested in only one thing, which is totally unrelated to snow and ice. To prevent the co-pilot from turning into an icicle, and because I am a New Age kinder and gentler captain, I donned my Alaskan gear before opening the jetway door to the Minnesota deep freeze. The chill factor is somewhere below zero, but not cold enough to freeze my flashlight beam.

The fuel truck guy is huddled beside the right main gear tires, taking advantage of the free heat from the howling brake fans. The shadows are sharp and black from the terminal's sodium-vapor lights. Fi-Fi looms overhead in the dark, snowy night. Her belly is open and the rampers are slinging bags, boxes of mail, and freight as fast as possible. I walk underneath her beautiful tail section checking the stab trim and listening to the screaming APU. Truly, she is stunning.

Back in the warm flight-deck, I am flipping switches and pushing buttons preparing Fi-Fi for departure. We will de-ice/anti-ice before take-off, and then, hopefully, on to Redondo Beach.

Oh, please let it be so...

New Year

Position: Seven miles above Wichita
Destination: KIND (Indy)
Alternate: KSTL (St. Louis)
Groundspeed: 590 mph (513 kts)
Altitude: 37,000 ft


It is a new year up here on the airways. The old year is behind the tail and receding quickly into the night, as they always do. Overhead, a mad dog 88 is sliding across our path and through the handle of the Big Dipper. Mars is directly over the flight deck, embedded in the Milky Way. The night is indescribably beautiful.

The weather at Indy: low visibility, low clouds, low temperatures, and wind blown snow. It will be one of those arrivals on a slippery runway with a cross wind carrying snow horizontally through the landing lights at touchdown, or as the Pilot Ops Manual states, a unique challenge.

Two of my fellow line pilots flew west last year for the final check-ride. They both succumbed to cancer which struck them down quickly and viciously. One of them was larger than life, a warrior over the skies of Southeast Asia in his youth. He was the last F-4 Phantom combat pilot at the airline. We had a dozen or so when I started flying here. The end of an era...I wrote about him in this blog two years ago. The other was a kind and gentle soul that I first met in orientation class when we started at this airline together. His practical jokes involving flight attendants were legendary at this airline and at others, too.

I wonder if they are embedded in the stars, tonight, looking down at us. I hope so...

For the rest of us, life on the line continues...