The Turn Point

Position: Ten miles northeast of KATL (Atlanta)

Altitude: 15,000 feet... Climbing

Equipment: A321 "stretch" Fi-Fi

Pax-on-board: 183

Airborne...

On the first leg of the day, about ten hours ago, I checked the KATL weather. Between then and our actual departure for KATL, three hours ago, I checked the weather, probably obsessively, at least a dozen times. Three different sources, all huge commercial weather disseminators, agreed that thunderstorms were not in the forecast for Mylanta.

I guess I am imagining those flashes on the horizon. Or, maybe they are swamp gas bubbles popping in the night sky.

My cursing trigger is twitching, still in the OFF position, but loading up the release sear. I resist the urge to look at the fuel gauges. That can wait... I already know we do not have thunderstorm fuel, because I did not upload it, although I knew better.

The email alert flashes; gotta be my dispatcher. I push the print button and the little mini-printer spits out bad news. I ask the co-pilot, a 29 year old kid with not a single grey hair and eyes that can read in the dark without geezer glasses, to read it to me.

Storms building rapidly northwest and southwest of ATL. How much fob?

OK, this is what I get paid for... Don't swell up like a toad and blow a fuse, captain. After a second or two, I chuckle to myself. Of course there are storms at the destination... Every seat full, new aircraft, forecast for clear skies (in the springtime) at Atlanta, and a visual fuel load of which the company flight manual states, "Shows good fuel awareness from the captain." That is new age speak for please do not carry extra fuel unless you deem it absolutely necessary.

Some of the pressure on the cursing trigger relaxes. These new Electric Jets are fabulous aircraft with multiple resources to assist the pilots with this very problem. One of my favorites is a list of airports within fuel range of the missed approach point. A quick look shows at least four airports in range with long runways and big quantities of Jet-A for sale. After considering the wind factor, and geographic location, I select one of the airports for an on-the-fly alternate.

I ask the kid to take a look at it and at the same time shoot an email to my dispatcher requesting him to back me up on the quick-and-dirty alternate.

The plan is to approach KATL from the south, get as close as possible and realistically assess whether we can make a successful approach and landing. We are not going to waste fuel trying an approach with less than a good chance of completion. Missed approaches burn a lot of fuel that can be used getting to the alternate.

The email alert light flashes with a response from dispatch: CAE looks good; if unable to land ATL fob 10.6 proceed to alt of KCAE

Eighty miles south, Atlanta Center says the dreaded words: standby for holding instructions. The fuel loop running in my head computes no more than three turns in holding, but center assures us it should not be a long hold; traffic saturation caused by the storm closed gate to the west. Center allows us to hold at 20,000 feet using 10 mile legs which is a very fuel efficient combo for our current weight. The storms are now clearly visible and they are active with lightning popping in a chain reaction down the line. The worrisome storm is west of the airport; it is a big one allegedly moving northeast. Unfortunately, storm movement depends on fuel-in-tanks. This one will certainly be moving east.

At the sixty mile holding fix, Fi-Fi enters the hold via a direct entry, banking to the right. The co-pilot reports to ATC that we have entered the hold at 20,000 feet. The lightning flashes are getting brighter and more frequent giving the pax a good look at the electric storm as we turn in holding. I brief the flight attendants first, then the pax of my intentions shortly after we enter holding.

The first turn in hold is complete as we cross the fix for the second turn. ATC issues a clearance to the first fix on the downwind leg... Descend to and maintain 8,000 feet. Roger that... Fi-Fi flies a right 360 degree turn back to the fix and departs for the downwind leg. On the intercom, I tell the flight attendants to batten down the hatches and take their seats.

The 321's remarkable multi-scan digital wx radar is another available asset tonight. It does a good job of eliminating ground clutter (radar returns from ground objects) and shows a (mostly) true image of the threat ahead. It is ugly... I am starting to get that re-fueling feeling.

At 15,000 feet, in the descent, we say good-bye to the stars and enter the first of several thin cloud layers prevalent around convection. The clouds transmit the lightning flashes like fiber optics, creating a surrealistic strobe effect in the cockpit. We are in and out of wispy layers until we break out at 10,000 feet with the lights of Atlanta stretching before us as far as we can see. There is a line of storms in our nine o'clock extending towards the airport. West of the airport is the big level 6 storm. The lightning is continuous and spider webbing throughout the interior and exterior of the storm cloud. The belly of that beast is stroking the ground with large bolts, illuminating a large shelf cloud (leading edge of big storms) between the storm and the airport.

This is not good... Shelf clouds are dangerous; on a scale of one to ten, ten being disastrous, shelf clouds are a seven. When I was a green co-pilot on a 737-100 steam jet, one of our most experienced Captains inadvertently flew us into a shelf cloud going into DFW. Our radar was a crude mono-chromatic, barely stabilized unit which was attenuated (overwhelmed by rain) at the time. We could (kind of) see the runway on base leg in heavy rain, lightning, and moderate turbulence. Without warning, we hit a green tinted storm wall, i.e., the lower leading edge of a fast moving thunderstorm. The Captain, to his credit, got us out of there, but I will never forget that incident. It was scary for me and was surely terrifying for the pax/flight attendants.

With Fi-Fi leveling at 8,000 feet a few miles south of the airport, the little red warning light in the back of my head is flashing. The desire to shoot the approach is very, very strong, but I have a creepy feeling of trouble.

I ask the co-pilot, "Whadda you think?" He says, without hesitation, "It doesn't look good." Yeah, he is right. A lot of pax lives are on the line, not to mention a $60,000,000 company asset.

"Tell approach we want to go to Columbia."

The Turn Point...

Against an electrified background of storm clouds, the Electric Jet is ascending back into the safety of the night sky. When I advanced the thrust levers to climb power, Fi-Fi dropped a virtual beacon in her six o'clock, i.e., the turn point. Her nav computers like to see where they have been as they are computing where they are going. It falls into the super-cool category and is one of the many things I love about this aircraft.

I ask the co-pilot to take over the flying duties... I've had enough. He can fly the two re-fueling legs. I notify dispatch that we are on our way to South Carolina. Our long day just got longer.

Life on the Line continues...