Thanksgiving Lift 2008

Position: On the ramp, KIND (Indy)
Time: 0740 hrs. local time
PAX on board: 139
Outside Air Temperature: -3 C/27 F

I missed having Thanksgiving day off by a few seniority numbers. Oh well, in today's air carrier climate, I am lucky to have a job. It is not as bad as it seems, though. The wife of my youth is in the back and she is happy. I decided to take her on the Line for a few days along with her little overnight bag and a Tide-to-Go spot remover for my uniform. She claims she can tell what I have been eating by the spots on my tie. I ask her not to say that in front of the flight attendants, though.

On schedule, lead ramp asks, via hand signals, if the ground power cord can be unhooked. The co-pilot closes the main electrical relay for the auxiliary power unit, i.e., the little turbine powered generator in the tail. Fi-Fi switches to internal power; lead ramp pulls the ground power cord out of her belly. The number one flight attendant tells me everyone is seated and the overheads are closed. The flight deck door is locked, ground control issues push clearance and we are moving. Thanksgiving Lift 2008 is underway.

A de-icing truck blows the frost from the wings and tail before we start engines. A few minutes later, dripping glycol, we are taxiing toward the runway with 139 Thanksgiving Day passengers anxious to see their loved ones. As the engines warm to minimum operating temperature, we complete the before take-off checklist.

The sun is barely above the eastern horizon as the tower clears us for take-off. Everything that is important to me and 1,000 other people is in the back of this aluminum bird. I say a little prayer as I push the thrust levers forward... Oh, Lord, please do not let me screw this up.

Climbing through 10,000 feet, I retract the wing lights and let go of the reins. Fi-Fi shakes off the restrictive 250 knot speed limit like a dog shaking off water and starts accelerating rapidly.

Go Baby Go...

Indy departure control clears us to turn west as we climb through 15,000 feet. The vertical speed indicator needle is buried. I remark to the co-pilot,"Look at her climb. She must have new engines." Unreal...

We level at 36,000 feet with the sun behind us and the wind in front of us. Fi-Fi is anxious to keep climbing. Mother wants us to cruise at 36,000 feet for 600 miles, and then climb to 38,000 feet for the remainder of the flight. What Mother wants, Mother gets... Less than a minute later, the e-mail alert light begins flashing. Mother is calling; Flight 430 is ahead of schedule. Please slow down to arrive on schedule.

Even so, we should arrive before the turkey is out of the oven. The airline starts feeding us Thanksgiving meals in the hubs at 1100 hours local; just enough time to scarf down some turkey and dressing before we blast off on leg number two.

Life on the Line continues...

Almost Full Moon

Position: Fifty North of KMCI (Kansas City)
Destination: KJFK (New York City)
Pax on board: 137
Groundspeed: 645 mph (561 knots)
Altitude: 35,000 feet

She is an old bird with small engines. I have flown her hundreds of hours over the years and have a sweet spot in my heart for her. The company did not update her software to the latest and greatest ones and zeros. Her time flying the Line is coming to an end. She will be replaced with a factory new A321 with big engines and fast computers. I can remember at least three paint schemes on this bird. I wonder what will happen to her...

Her aged flight management computers are showing a maximum altitude of 35,500 feet at out current weight. My #2 pencil stub and hand calculator are showing 35, 300 feet. I am planning 37,000 feet somewhere over Ohio. And so it goes under the star dome. It is an awesome sight through the Plexiglas; a full moon (well, almost... technically, it is tomorrow night), a silver undercast, and a few twinkling strobe lights of other airliners, most of them higher.

The local time is 0230 hrs. It is the deepest, coldest part of the night. Outside, the winds are on our tail at 126 mph; air temperature is sixty below. My co-pilot, thirty-two years old and father of three small children, is looking at the stars, too. His head has not moved in thirty minutes and is resting against the heated Plexiglas for a better view. I guess he is really concentrating.

The flight deck is noisy on these old birds. It sounds like a roaring wind; hard to carry on a conversation, where as a new flight deck is much quieter; a subdued hissing background noise... Very easy to converse, even for old guys with turbine ears. She has character, though. The roaring slipstream makes it easy to think about how much character. Several of my friends who pushed these same buttons have flown West. They are gone but she is still here. Deep thinking underneath the moon...

Time to KJFK: 125 minutes

Life on the Line continues...

Go Around

Position: West of KSAN; San Diego, feet wet

Altitude: 5,000 feet

True Airspeed: 230 mph (200 kts)

Passengers on board: 138

We were so close, so very close to the hotel van after eight flight hours, three airports, two oceans and thousands of miles. But it was not to be; an aircraft under tow was on the runway and failed to understand their instructions to vacate the runway. The end result was that we had to go around on short final. I could not believe it! It was like a simulator exercise. We are dog tired and this is the last thing we need.

The good news is:

1. We are tankering fuel, i.e., we have plenty of fuel to prevent the morning crew from buying high dollar California kerosene.

2. The co-pilot is one of the best at the airline, a young Canadian female whom I have flown with several times.

3. The weather is pretty good... A little bit of patchy ground fog.

Immediately past the infamous parking garage, the tower gave the "go around" command. The co-pilot raised the nose to 20 degrees and shoved the throttles to the forward stops. The engines, already spooled to 35%, responded immediately and with extreme vigor in the cool, sea level air. Struggling against the thrust, I reached over and raised the flaps to half. I glanced at the vertical speed indicator before I raised the gear... More than 4,000 feet per minute. I would say that is a positive rate.

The tower asked us if we could do a "tight right downwind for another try." I do not think that is a good idea. It is getting dark, we are tired, and this is a big airplane with a big noise footprint. I decline the offer. A few seconds later, at thrust reduction altitude, the co-pilot pushes the nose over and brings the thrust levers back to climb power. I raise the flaps/slats and contact departure control. We head out over the water on a vector to gain altitude and line up our quacking, flapping ducks for another try.

The co-pilot is an aggressive, intelligent pilot at the top of her game. Fi-Fi must obey her at all times. Even so, I ask if I can do anything for her. She asks for help with the nav computers. I go heads down and start pushing buttons on my Multi-purpose Control Display Unit, a high dollar word for a small keyboard and computer screen. In a few moments I have given Fi-Fi's electronic brain an idea or two about how to get back to the final approach fix. After a couple of checklists read and completed, I tell ATC that we are ready to return. They give us a heading that will merge with the downwind leg north of the runway. I take a few moments to do some administrative chores, as in emailing Mother and explaining why we are burning extra jet fuel. Also, on the PA, I give the folks a little pep talk. Abeam the airport, approach control clears us for the visual approach and to "Please keep it in tight for following traffic."

Fog is rolling in, but we will beat it. The co-pilot calls for landing gear, flaps and slats while still on the downwind. We are still at 4,000 feet. I tell her, "The controllers are taking bets whether or not you will make it down." Fi-Fi has very good vertical capabilities, especially descending, if the pilot knows how to use them. This young lady understands completely.

She makes two tight right banking turns merging with the final approach inside the final approach fix, stows the spoilers and calls for full flaps. Over the parking garage one more time, the runway lights are getting smudgy. The visibility is going down with the arrival of the fog. The Electric Jet settles onto the main gear tires at the thousand foot marker; reverse thrust cascade vanes open and we get with the stopping program. This has been a low stress go around because we were fat on fuel. Actually, it was kind of fun.

Clearing the runway in the fog and before we switched to ground control, the tower controller apologized for the go around. I replied with, "No problem." Behind and over us we hear the roar of jet engines climbing away. The airliner behind us missed the approach because of the fog. The co-pilot and I look at each other with huge grins. We made it in the proverbial nick.

Life on the Line continues...