Waves

Position: Abeam KPIT (Pittsburgh)

Altitude: 28,000 feet

Groundspeed: 380 mph (330 kts)

Pax on board: 146

Destination: KSFO (San Francisco)

The mighty I-Phone alarm tripped at 00:50 hrs circadian time on the east coast of the Empire. My first conscious thought was no way. Yes, way... Uh, where am I? Does it matter? It is the same drill everywhere. Coffee maker started, shower started, double check report time, and then check it again.

03:50 hrs circadian time...
The lead flight attendant made a fresh pot of coffee a few minutes ago. Fi-Fi's coffee can be nasty as she uses water from her 200 gallon potable water tank in the tail. This morning's is particularly foul. It is so bad that the co-pilot and I are wondering if it could be used as jet fuel.

At 28,000 feet, the winds are on our nose at 140 mph, but are even stronger at higher altitudes. Rumor has it (my dispatcher) that abeam KORD (Chicago), the winds begin to lose strength at the higher flight levels. We will stay down here for awhile and live with the big fuel burns. The good news: The ride is smooth as glass... Not a single ripple in the captain's fetid cup of coffee.

04:50 hrs circadian time...

The sun is about ten degrees above the horizon in our six o'clock. Below us are clouds that look like ocean waves. The troughs are in deep shadow, yet the peaks are illuminated by the sun's rays. What a sight! They cover the Earth as far as I can see in all directions. Not long ago, the night sky disappeared over the western horizon... Simply amazing!

05:00 hrs circadian time...

ATC cleared us to climb to 34,000 feet, where the winds are on the nose at 90 mph. KORD, covered by the ocean of clouds, is off our right wing tip. My dispatcher was absolutely correct. Fi-Fi's powerful nav computers think we are going to be OK on the KSFO arrival fuel. I entered the forecast winds aloft (before we pushed from the gate) to give them something to chew on enroute. My No.2 pencil, hand calculator, and paper estimate is within 1,000 pounds of the nav-bots. Actually, my WAG is probably a little more accurate than Fi-Fi's because she can not possibly know the ground track around KSFO. We shall see...

06:00 hrs circadian time...

A sealed O2 mask is gripping my face and delivering 100% aviator's oxygen. It is cold and invigorating, yet dries out the throat. A combination of oxygen and replicated coffee will keep me awake for another two hours and fifty minutes. Below, we have reached the west coast of the cloud sea. I can see the fields of Nebraska.

The lead flight attendant told me that almost all the pax are asleep. The window shades are pulled down and the pressurized aluminum tube is dark and cool.

06:50 hrs circadian time...

The co-pilot is lip-syncing a song, apparently from memory. I do not see an I-Pod, and his right ear has the aircraft radios plugged in to it. Hmmm... Not a bad idea, actually. I always play tunes in my head during simulator training. Nothing like Ted Nugent to help with a V-1 cut at max weight. Maybe a little Journey would help me wake up this morning... How about Wheel in the Sky:

Winter is here again Oh Lord

Haven't been home in a year or more

I hope she holds on a little longer

Sent a letter on a long summer day

Made of silver, not of clay

I've been runnin' down this dusty road

Wheel in the sky keeps on turnin'

I don't know where I'll be tomorrow

Wheel in the sky keeps on turnin'

Yep, that will do...

Life on the Line continues... Somewhere over western Nebraska.

A Reminder...

Once again, a reminder of how fast things can go from "stable" to disaster. These two guys, probably Air Force Academy graduates and at the top of their game, lost control in the last few seconds of a crosswind landing.

This is the stuff of my nightmares.

Oh, Lord, please do not let this happen to my passengers...

Thankfully, Life on the Line continues...

Hoth

Position: Seven Miles above Montana
Magnetic Compass Heading: 183 degrees
Pax on Board: 116
Fuel Burn: 5200 pounds per hour


I am in the trip stream, fast moving and wide. The next vacation is in July. Do not think about it, just fly the airplane.

It is one of those mornings... Outside, the atmosphere is smooth and moving toward the east at 100 mph. Our headwind component is only 5 mph. Fi-Fi is happy; all systems are in the green. I am feeling good today, as in really good. It must be the perfect combination of sleep, exercise, and caffeine. We just departed Canadian airspace...

My cup of Starbucks is between warm and lukewarm now. Nevertheless, it is still excellent coffee. I can smell our morning crewmeal coming out of the ship's food replicator in the forward galley... Sort of a sulfurous odor. No way will I eat it. Real food is only a couple of hours south of here. I will give my crewmeal to the co-pilot, a young kid who will (I have noticed) eat anything that does not eat him first.

Out my left side window is a scene from a Star Wars movie (The Empire Strikes Back)... Ice Planet Hoth. It is snow covered and desolate as far as the eye can see... Big country up here. It takes a jet aircraft to cross it in a timely manner.

Life on the Line continues...

Snow Storm

Position: De-icing Pad; KJFK (New York)

Pax on board: 150



Why me? What have I done to tick off Zeus? Another major snow storm and I am in the geometric center of it. Everything in my world is at the edge of the envelope... Right side, left side, upside, downside.

Minimum fuel, maximum gross weight, minimum icing fluid hold over time, maximum snow accumulation, minimum braking action, maximum crosswind component for an icy runway, and on it goes... The thing that really worries me is the big-eyed children that look into the flight deck when their parents tell them, "Look, that's where the pilots are..."

I decided to be pro-active before we pushed from the gate, i.e., I called my dispatcher via cellphone. I asked him if he remembered a certain incident involving another airline in these exact circumstances. After a mini-review of the bad press that airline received, I told him that there is a strong possibility of that very thing happening on our watch. Outside, the snow flakes are as big as quarters and the visibility is less than 1/4 mile. According to my Pilot Ops Manual, that is heavy snow.... No, wait a minute; a little foot note at the bottom of the page. If there is fog with the snow (there is) then the snow gradient chart does not apply. It becomes captain's judgement... Oh, that is just great.

I will make it semi-official on the recorded line. I tell my dispatcher that I will be more than happy to try to get airborne (that is what I get paid for...), but in my opinion, we should think about canceling the flight. He puts me on hold for a few minutes...

"We want you to try."

"OK."

Twenty minutes later, Ice Man (two trucks) is blowing away the snow drifts (on top of the wings) with hot de-icing fluid. The snowfall is heavy; I don't care about the foot note. I tell the co-pilot, "This is not going to work."

Ice Man is starting to apply hot anti-icing fluid on top of the de-icing fluid. Fi-Fi's engines are idling, burning 33 pounds per minute. We are eleven minutes away from bingo fuel. I am thinking about the possibility of getting our same hotel rooms back. There is no way we are going to get airborne. We will be lucky to get a gate to unload the passengers.

Ice Man is finished and tells me we are clear to check the flight controls and taxi. The co-pilot says, "Boss, I think it is letting up a bit." He is right... The snow fall is less than heavy now. Instinctively, I look toward the runway. There is no one down there! This might work...

The tower clears us to taxi... The snow flakes are swirling in Fi-Fi's powerful lights. The co-pilot is reading the taxi checklist and I am responding as fast as I can while actually checking the switch, button, lever, or magic knob. I figure we have about three more minutes before the very expensive Type 4 anti-icing fluid becomes ineffective.

We are cleared for take-off; I look out my left side Plexiglas at the outer wing surface. It is shiny and green from the anti-icing fluid. Perfect! The runway forward visibility is 1/2 mile. It is the co-pilot's turn to fly... Yep, he is 25 years younger and has much faster reflexes. I give up the controls after we are lined up and remind him to clear the engines for at least ten seconds. This is to suck any de-icing fluid or snow through the engine that might be in front of the compressor fans. He brings the engines out of idle and holds the brakes by mashing on the top of the rudder pedals. Fi-Fi is not cooperating, though. She is sliding forward on the icy runway in spite of locked main gear wheels.

"I can't hold it."

"Let her go."

Brakes released and thrust levers to the forward stops. Holy Moly! The engines increase to maximum thrust in a few seconds and shove us back into our seats. The exhaust temperatures are amazingly cool. The noise level is higher than normal because of the cold air and snowflakes being ingested into the compressor section. Happy engines... happy captain. Go baby, Go!

I can feel the wings load up in the seat of my pants, always a welcome sensation in weather like this... Vee One Rotate. The co-pilot breaks the nose gear free and the mains follow. Before I can call out "positive rate" we are climbing in excess of 1500 feet per minute through a snow tunnel illuminated by millions of candle power. It is, well, simply amazing.

In a few minutes we are in the clear, underneath the star canopy, with the snow clouds falling away rapidly. Four hours, eleven minutes to the next runway as The Electric Jet continues to climb into the flight levels.

Life on the Line continues...