Ice World, Part One...

Position: Underneath the Electric Jet, KJFK (Kennedy)...

Outside Air Temperature: None

Windspeed and direction: 290 degrees at 28 gusting to 42 knots

Precip: Blowing snow

I am underneath Fi-Fi's belly with flashlight in right hand; left hand in pocket of leather flying jacket. It is surrealistic out here tonight. It reminds me of a movie scene in Alien, where Dallas, Kane, and Lambert descended the Nostromo's crew elevator down to the surface of LV-426. Back to planet Earth, it is unbelievably cold, with howling winds from the northwest. My face is burning, soon to be numb. The snow is stinging my eyes as I try to keep them open, following my flashlight beam, searching for the hydraulic leak, missing piece of aluminum, or shredded tire. Whatever is wrong, if there is anything wrong, this would be the time to overlook it... Got to be careful, even if it freezes my face. Oh well, the pain will go away in a few more seconds.

The co-pilot is about half sick with a developing cold that he caught from one of his children. I am afraid he will really get sick if he has to deal with these temperatures, so he is loading the flight plan inside the warm flightdeck. The warm flightdeck... Only a few minutes away...

Honey, you better take your long underwear.

Nah, I am not going anywhere that cold. I'll be alright.

Do you want your gloves and shawl?

Nope, I won't need them.

What an idiot! During this time of the year, winter extras should be part of any pilot's standard combat load, but we tend to lighten our bags, especially as we pass into geezerdom.

The ramp, covered with old de-icing fluid and slush, is treacherous under my feet. One wrong move and it could be broken bones. Fi-Fi's deep, thunderous roar from the pressurization packs, brake fans and auxiliary power unit is comforting to me in more ways than one. Hobbling toward the left wing root area, I move into an area of sonic vibration (the kind that you can feel in your chest) and a little bit of heat from the brake fans. The roar is muffled through my ear plugs, but the sensation of an electro-mechanical life form is very strong. The heat feels wonderful. Do not think about the wife of my youth underneath the electric blanket! Stay focused... The fueler is standing underneath the fueling panel looking at the digital numbers increase as he pumps kerosene into Fi-Fi's arteries. I would like to go over there and talk to him about the fuel load, but it is useless. Too much cold, wind and noise.

Toward her tail section and facing the snowy winds, I can see the expected streaks of oil, hydraulic fluid, and blue juice. She needs a bath! My flashlight beam looks like it is full of fast moving white gnats. Through the cabin windows, I can see passengers stowing their bags in the overheads. We will have a full load tonight; passengers, bags, Christmas presents, and fuel.

A few lucky rampers are in the belly stacking bags; the unlucky ones are outside throwing bags onto the conveyor belts. They look like snowmen with safety vests. Their exhaled breath plumes are immediately whipped away with the wind.

A few minutes later, I am back in the jetway out of the wind. The passengers are shuffling toward the forward cabin door trying to hide extra bags from the flight attendants. Silly passengers... They don't have a chance hiding things from these senior sky babes. After a few happy holidays exchanged with passengers, I am back in the cockpit. My face and hands are starting to tingle in the warmth. The co-pilot looks at me and asks, "Is it cold out there?"

In my best imitation of Ash (Alien fans will understand), "Deep cold, well below the line."

The co-pilot: "What?"

Me: "Nevermind."

The email alert light is flashing... It is my dispatcher. The mini-printer spits out a message. I know what is coming. The snow is not in the forecast, so now we have fuel problems. It is always fuel...

Flying Above the Bravo Sierra Level

Position: 50 West of ICT (Wichita)
Altitude: 39,000 feet
Groundspeed: 609 mph (530 knots)
Destination: KJFK (New York City)
Pax on board: 150/2 pilot jumpseaters/1 flight attendant jumpseater

I cannot see the sun's orb behind the tail, but from the orange light on the instrument panel, it must be a spectacular sunset. The co-pilot says he can sort of see the sun if he presses his face firmly against his side Plexiglas. Our beautiful aluminum bird is a heavy chevy this evening; every seat of any description is mated to a warm body. It is snowing at JFK, but the forecast is OK... Marginal nighttime visual weather conditions. Our alternate airport is Newark, NJ.

The cabin altitude is steady at 8,000 feet above sea level; the ride is smooth and Air Traffic Control is quiet. The Electric Jet is happy and purring like a fat cat lying in my lap with all four paws up. I am scratching her metal belly... Easy baby, easy. Life is good high above Kansas. Two hours and forty minutes to go...

Recently, an aviation magazine editor told me that he flew his light aircraft to Houston to interview a couple of senior airline captains about life on the Line. Instead of stories of high altitude hijinks and politically incorrect behaviour, he got tales of woe; evil airline CEOs, pilot union warfare, and disappearing retirement funds.

At 39,000 feet, looking down at the fading orange light spilling across the snow covered fields, I am shaking my head, not in disbelief, but in bewilderment. Wait a minute... There is not enough oxygen up here to be thinking about such morose things. According to my Jepp High Altitude chart, we are flying above the Bravo Sierra (bs) level in this sector.

Well, that puts a different slant on these dark thoughts. I can wait until we descend into New York airspace to continue this line of semi-abstract reasoning, or something like that...

Life on the Line continues...

Mexican Airspace, briefly...

First Leg after Vacation...

Position: 4 mile fix, runway 28, MMGL (Guadalajara, Mexico)

Altitude: 6,200 feet and descending

Airspeed: 172 mph (150 knots)

PAX on board: 150

We are running ten minutes behind schedule. The culprit: extended taxiway delays departing Lost Wages. The turn time at Guadalajara is 41 minutes; that leaves 31 minutes to unload/reload/refuel and blast off. Can we do it? Absolutely, the ground personnel here are motivated. Daylight is fading fast and we have a long ways to go before our night is over.

The Electric Jet has the ability to download airport weather and spit it out via the mini-printer, but the Guadalajara weather report did not come through the magic electron tunnel, so the co-pilot had to do it the old fashioned way... Listen to the weather recording on the radio. Oh, the horror of it all! He is a young kid (who was reared on the Star Trek mode); I have been telling him about flying old 737-100 steamers in snow up to my butt, no shoes, and with geriatric captains. He is polite but I can see the oh please spare me look in his face.

The Guadalajara approach controller clears us for the instrument approach to runway 28; the visibility is about four miles with haze. We can see the runway, barely, but it is getting darker and there is high terrain in all quadrants. Fi-Fi is heavy, barely below maximum landing weight, as we pass over the center of the airport in our descent. I can hear the lead flight attendant hurrying in the forward galley, latching carts and closing aluminum galley doors. The center and aft flight attendants are doing the same plus talking on the PA; the never ending before landing drill.

I took some vacation between Thanksgiving and Christmas, but at this very moment in the time continuum, I feel as if I never left the flight deck. Funny how that happens...

I ask the co-pilot for some flaps and slats as we begin our turn back toward the airport and the radio beam that will lead us to the runway. Looking over my left shoulder, I can see the main hydraulics forcing the leading edge slats into the slip stream. That is so cool! As we turn final approach, the control tower clears us to land. The controller sounds like a young, female newbie and we have to ask her to repeat the clearance. Her ATC english is still a little thick for the Americano pilots. On the second attempt, though, we understand. Cleared to land runway 28, wind 240 at 9.

I turn Fi-Fi into the nearest ramp entrance and we can see our rampers waiting with lighted wands. They are identically dressed in blue coveralls with yellow safety vests, arms fully extended. Behind the tug are seven aircraft service personnel lined abreast; white shirts/black pants/ties/male and female. The fueler is standing beside his truck with clipboard in hand. On our left side are two air-stairs waiting to be pushed up to the front and rear doors. I remark to the co-pilot, "Looks like they are serious about this turn.

The air-stairs contact the fuselage, front and back. The main cabin doors open and within seconds I can see passengers walking toward the terminal building. A well dresed young man enters the flight deck and says, "Welcome to Guadalajara Cap-ee-tan. Here is your new flight plan. How can I help you?"

What a concept...

Life on the Line continues... Christmas in 12 days. Santa's dispatchers are taking a serious look at routing, or at least that is the rumor on the Line.