Balancing Fuel

Position: Under Cassiopeia
Altitude: 35,000 ft.
Winds aloft: From the southwest at 147 mph (128 kts)
Wind component: 8 kt headwind

Never fails... When you are the sleepiest and desperately need tailwinds to reach the sunrise, you can be assured the windstream will rotate away from the tail. It is the natural state of things up here in the moonlight.

My co-pilot and I have been star gazing and balancing fuel tanks between five minute sessions with sealed oxygen masks gripping our heads like the creepy crawly from Alien. Deep breathing cold aviator's oxygen, eating ice, and drinking cups of nasty, double-bagged aircraft coffee made with water from a tank deep inside her belly. I don't like to think about what might be growing inside that tank. I hope the coffee maker kills it... Anything to stay awake crossing the Black Pit.

The sunrise will kick in my daylight circadian rhythm and remove most of the overwhelming desire to fall asleep, but that is still 600 miles away. Falling asleep is dangerous to one's career track, and possibly the health and wealth of everyone aboard; not to mention the CNN factor.

Third Hour
I am writing notes for this blog and also keeping a fuel burn and mileage chart. It looks like this:

1st hour- 8200 pound burn/390 miles across the ground
2nd- 5500 pounds/450 miles
3rd - 5200 pounds/470 miles
4th-
5th-

Normal numbers for a small wind component.

Finally, after several hundred miles of twilight, the sun is peeking over the horizon. Time to break out the Revos.

We can do this...

Thrust to Idle

There it is... After six hours against the wind, a snowy Anchorage under blue skies. The view is stunning! We are descending to 8,000 feet, holding 287 mph (250 kts) until we clear the mountains; then I will raise the wing spoilers to hurriedly descend to 2,500 feet on downwind leg. The altitude over the runway's outer beacon is 1,600 feet. I will keep Fi-Fi's flaps up and engines at idle thrust until we line up with the runway. She will be carrying too much energy on downwind leg; I will dump that in a 30 degree right bank towards the final approach path. Gravity is my engine until we roll out on final. The name of the game, nowadays, is saving fuel. Approaching the beacon, the co-pilot will start lowering flaps and landing gear while I increase engine thrust to about 38% at exactly the moment we cross over the outer beacon and start a three degree virtual glideslope toward the touchdown zone. The plan is not to stop the descent until the mains touch the asphalt. A lot of fuel is required to maintain level flight, even for a brief horizontal distance.

I do love this job...

We will stay until tomorrow night; then it is back on the Line and heading southeast across the black pit.

Day number two of a four day.

Solar Winds

Position: 75 west of GAV radio beacon
Destination: PANC (Anchorage)
Altitude: 38,000 feet

Fifty miles behind our six, my dispatcher sent an email advising that I take a look at the ozone charts for this time of the year. Seasonal winds bring higher concentrations of ozone from the North Pole to latitudes and altitudes that could affect air carrier ops in this area. Sure enough, my chart suggests we should be no higher than 35,000 feet for a flight that exceeds four hours. That would be us... So, down we go to 34,000. The loss of 4,000 feet decreases fuel on board at PANC, but not by a significant amount. The winds are actually lighter down here...

Overhead, though, the solar winds are blowing hard enough to cause a spectacular aurora borealis display. In fact, it may be the best I have ever seen... Ever. The heavenly veil is moving as if the solar winds are whipping a gossamer like sheet of light. It is, in fact, indescribable. The cockpit is dark as we slide underneath this alien light. My geezer glasses are low on my nose; the wing tip strobes are reflecting off the inner surfaces. Words cannot describe the sight; the co-pilot and I remain mostly silent.

How does it get any better than this very moment? This is the leading edge of a time continuum riding the leading edge of a swept wing cutting through the night sky at eight miles per minute, or something like that.

Life on the Line continues...

High Altitude Wonders

Position: Eight miles above KOMA (Omaha)

Winds aloft: 250 degrees at 115 mph (100 knots)

Groundspeed: 632 mph (550 knots)

Altitude: 39,000 feet

Eastbound during daylight hours. What is wrong with this picture? OK, I realize that I cannot fly to Anchorage everytime I am in this seat, but still...

Three altimeters, two primary and one stand-by, indicate we are at 39,000 feet (plus or minus 50 feet). The GPS monitor is showing 40,340 feet. Now that is cool. The GPS shows altitude above an ellipsoid while the altimeters react to atmospheric pressure. It is common to see large differences between the two systems. The explanation for this is really interesting, but beyond the scope of this blog, so I will spare you.

A few miles north is the top of a small cumulonimbus cloud. It extends into our flight level and is slowly growing in height. In spite of the 115 mph wind, it retains it's typical cauliflower shape. There are a few lenticular type clouds forming over the tops. That, also, is cool. All this falls into the category of high altitude wonders.

Well, we will fly east until salt water is underneath Fi-Fi, then do a quick 180 (noise abatement procedure) and land in Boston for the overnight.

The days are getting longer... Summer is coming.