Ascent from Paradise

Position: West of MZT (Mazatlan)

Altitude: 32,000 feet

Groundspeed: 503 mph (440 kts)

Equipment: A319

Pax-on-board: 62

Airborne...

Fi-Fi's nose gear broke free of the asphalt very quickly this morning. She is light, carrying only a half-load of pax with a fair weather fuel load, and all of this at sea level on a cool morning. The Puerto Vallarta runway is over 9,000 feet in length, but we were airborne in the first third with the pitch angle going through eighteen degrees (company max for normal ops) shortly thereafter. At the end of the runway we are 1,500 feet above the beach hotels and accelerating rapidly while raising the flaps and slats. Watch out! There is a 200 kt speed limit close to most Mexican airports beneath 3,000 feet. Not a problem this morning, though. The vertical speed is increasing as fast as the airspeed. Before I worry too much about busting the 200 kt speed limit we are blowing through 3,000 feet with the VSI needle buried at the top of the case. Go, baby, go!

Twelve miles west of the beach and climbing through 10,000 feet, we make a steep right bank to intercept the departure arc toward MZT. Looking down through the co-pilot's side window, I can see paradise falling away. On the overhead panel, I flip a couple of switches that raise the landing lights. In a few seconds, the low frequency rumble that they cause is gone. She is a clean machine now.

Auto-pilot ON and watch the thrust and nav modes interface with the flight management computers. She thinks about fuel burn versus altitude gain for a Fi-Fi second; the speed bug magically adjusts to ECON climb, and then the nose lowers to wind up the airspeed indicator... Early morning Smoke and Mirrors.

Day number two begins as the sun peeks over the eastern horizon.

Three hours earlier...

The mighty iPhone sounds the alarm. It is still pitch black outside, but I slept deep and dreamless; I feel great this morning. In less than a minute the coffee machine is ON... Open the sliding glass door and slip out onto the balcony. I cannot see it, but I hear the surf crashing on the beach beneath my balcony. The smells and sounds are invigorating. The coffee machine beeps at me... Fifteen minutes on the balcony with a hot cup of coffee is number one item on the pre-flight checklist.

Two hours earlier...

We meet in the darkness behind the crew van, everyone smiling like a Cheshire cat. It is amazing what one good overnight can do for a crew's morale. We compare notes from the afternoon and evening before and rave about the resort hotel the airline has selected for us, then swear that we will keep it secret from other crew members. We agree that we will tell everyone that it is ghastly down here. Oh yeah, the bravo sierra is flowing this morning. That is a good thing, because we have a long day ahead of us.

One hour earlier...

The co-pilot and I are walking underneath the Electric Jet. He says, "Boss, listen!" I cannot hear anything except turbo-jet tinnitus in my ears.

"Listen to what?"

He replies, "Nothing. It is quiet." He is right... No sounds except for a few birds. It is dark, humid, and quiet on the ramp. Fi-Fi is still sound asleep dreaming about whatever airplanes dream about. The wow factor hits me with a little thud and a tiny squirt of adrenalin. This is very different! Compared with, oh... how about JFK at this time of the morning. There, the decibel level on the ramp would be painful, requiring ear plugs.

In the dark cockpit, I check the battery voltage on the overhead panel; both BATT switches to ON. There is no ground power plugged in, so I will attempt a BATT start of the APU (little jet engine in the tail that supplies enormous amounts of electricity and pneumatics when it is running). The APU requires big amperage to start; sometimes the batteries are not up to the job. I, captain Dave, have a few incantations that seem to help, though.

After a secret invocation of love talk to the batteries, I push the APU start button, and then slide my side window open to listen for the tell-tale whine from the rear of the airframe. Come on... Start! Please, oh, please... I can hear a few relays opening and closing in the DC electrical busses. That is a good sign!

Finally, a faint whine wafting in through my open window. It intensifies quickly, sounding like a little turbine winding up. Then, and in an extremely rude manner, the main AC buss relay closes with a CLACK causing Fi-Fi to wake-up as electricity floods her arteries and veins. Initially, she is not happy and pitches a fit of alarms and flashing fault lights. In a few minutes, she calms herself and settles into an electron-heavy purring.

The quiet morning is no more...

While we load pax, I decide to stir the pot in dispatch and compose a "good morning message from Paradise/too bad you can't be here/you should have seen what we saw on the beach/etc." Should I send it? The co-pilot asks me, "What are you writing?" I tell him not to read it because he needs plausible deniability. I push the SEND button... I may regret it later, but I can't help pulling this dispatcher's chain. We have a long history.

Cruise altitude...

The sunrise is flooding the flight deck with orange light. Our 319 climbed to altitude like a homesick angel and now we are loafing along at 32,000 feet. There is turbulence above us, so we will stay low this morning. The co-pilot and I are talking about yesterday's beach time. The mood in the cockpit is one of exuberance.

Three hours later...Number 28 for departure...

The party is over... The mood in the cockpit is all business. We are in a fully loaded 321 and are number 28 (approx.) for departure, with every seat full plus company pilots on the jump seats. We are carrying full fuel in the wing tanks, center fuselage tanks, and another 4,000 pounds in the aft fuselage tanks. Landing weight is critical, i.e., we need to stay on the flight plan route. A short cut will decrease burn, which will increase landing weight.

Sterile cockpit procedures are in effect as I mentally review the engine failure tactics for a max loaded A321 on a warm day. For the tenth time, I pick up the weight and balance form and re-read it asking myself if it looks correct. Does it make sense? Yeah, it looks good. When we are number five, I ask the co-pilot to light-off number two. The APU will stay ON for this take-off providing cooling air for the passengers, so that we may use all of the engine bleed air for thrust.

Both engines turning, checklists done, flight attendants and pax are alerted that we are next for the runway. I remind the co-pilot that he is flying a 321 with a very long fuselage... Watch the rotation rate. It sounds ridiculous, but when the crew is liable to fly a 319, 320, and 321 on the same trip, it helps to vocalize the type of aircraft at the end of the runway.

The tower controller clears us for take-off.

On the centerline and rolling slowly I relinquish the controls and tell the co-pilot it is his aircraft. He sets the thrust levers ahead two inches and lets the engines come out of idle and stabilize before setting take-off thrust. When he sets take-off thrust, he removes his hand from the thrust levers to be replaced by my hand. The captain makes all decisions on the runway concerning rejected take-offs.

The engines are producing rated take-off thrust and are below max temperature as the 321 slowly accelerates toward the far end of the runway. At 80 knots the co-pilot and I do an airspeed indicator crosscheck. At 100 knots the long fuselage starts a weird undulating thumping as we roll down the runway. I have only felt this in a 321 and I attribute it to the length of the tube. At 120 knots the feeling of acceleration is increasing as the wings load up. At 140 knots I call out, "Vee one (the point that the take-off must be continued)." At 160 knots, "Rotate."

The co-pilot slowly lifts the nose gear being very careful about the tail. The undulating motion of the cockpit is noticeable as the nose gear levitates. We roll along on the main landing gear for a few seconds until the Electric (stretch) Jet decides to fly. I watch the vertical speed indicator increase... Positive rate.

Gear up... Easy does it.

Thrust reduction altitude...

My heart rate slows with the decreasing engine temperature as the co-pilot pulls the thrust back to climb power and lowers the nose. She slowly builds airspeed toward flap/slat retract. As the flaps are raised, she settles into a zero climb rate for a few seconds. The airspeed continues to build and she starts slowly climbing again.

The initial cruise altitude is 33,000 feet, but it will take us a while to get there. A major difference here between this morning's outrageous performance in the 319 and this fully loaded 321.

Time is one thing that we have plenty of as we wing our way toward the east coast. Yesterday on the beach seems like a dream now.

Life on the Line continues...