White Caps in the captain's Coffee

Position: 310 miles east-northeast of LIT VOR (Little Rock)
Altitude: 34,000 feet

Groundspeed: 468 mph (407 kts)

Equipment: A321

Pax-on-board: 173

Airborne...

Was that a flash in our eleven o'clock? I ask the co-pilot if he saw it... No, nothing. Ahh... I must be imagining things. Storms are not in the forecast tonight. My dispatcher, one of the best in this business, told me earlier that he ordered better than normal weather because of my questionable flying abilities. I, in turn, asked if he was still attending remedial math classes for better fuel calculations. The banter is brutal and never ending on the Line. In a few years, it will probably be considered inappropriate behaviour.

Our new A321 is in the Star Trek mode, i.e., the highest level of automation. Five flight management computers are talking to each other, comparing electron streams sent to various user units. Her latest and greatest digital weather radar is entwined with Fi-Fi's all encompassing grid. What an amazing difference from the early, monochromatic, non-stabilized units on which I learned the art and sorcery of high altitude weather detection.

It is a quiet night and I am looking forward to getting home to the wife-of-my-youth. Outside, the air mass is cold, dark, and smooth. Headwinds of 70 mph (62 kts) are light compared to what they could be this time of year. Two former U.S. Navy boys, flying a 737, are forty miles ahead (we can see them on our nav displays)... They are reporting a smooth ride.

Whoa! I am reasonably sure that was a flash in our eleven o'clock. The co-pilot says, "OK, I saw it that time." Before I can ask ATC about weather ahead, the email alert light begins to flash. The mini-printer starts spitting out a message from Mother, probably my dispatcher. It says: Hey cap/ trws 50 sw lit extendng to 100 ne stl/ south end line tops abv 40/north end abv 35/growing rapidly/hole north lit; short hand for... "Hey, captain, thunderstorms ahead extending from 50 southwest of Little Rock to 100 northeast of St. Louis. South end of the line tops over 40,000 feet, north end above 35,000 feet and growing rapidly. There is a hole in the line ahead; north of Littlerock."

This is the middle of the winter! Thunderstorms are rare, but not unheard of this time of year. The continuous mental fuel loop running in the back of my brain moves to the front and is replaced by my faithful little red "uh-oh" light... It is flashing. Instinctively, I know flying around the north end of the line would strain our fuel load. We would have to perform a ninety degree turn to the right, or north. The line is probably building from the south, so we are not going there either. We will fly toward the break in the line of storms and take a look.

100 miles northeast of Little Rock...

Oh yeah, it is a big line. The lightning flashes are continuous from our ten o'clock to our three o'clock. They are popping like rows of flash bulbs, throwing bursts of white light into the night sky. We do not have eyeballs on storm clouds yet, but the radar is painting a clear and accurate picture. There is a break in our twelve o'clock that is about fifty miles across. It is time to tell the cabin crew and the pax to batten down the hatches.

50 miles east of the gap...

We can now see the thunderstorms visually. The lightning inside the cells is impressive. I would guesstimate the cell tops at about 40,000 feet on both sides. Wispy cloud layers, conducting the lightning flashes like fiber optics, fills the area between the storms. The 737 crew is just entering the high altitude hole; they call moderate turbulence, as expected. Great! A quick call to the cabin confirms that everyone is seated with seat belts fastened.

Through the gap...

The Electric Jet punches the gap at turbulence penetration speed. The ride goes from smooth to moderate turbulence in a second. Rapid sequenced lightning flashes illuminate the area around the aircraft; they are miles away but seem to be underneath us. Night ops around storms are always scarier than daylight ops. There are white caps in my coffee cup. This make me chuckle as I remember one of the late, great Captains of my early days as a co-pilot admonish me for putting white caps in his coffee. He would really get a kick out of this A321... Well, maybe not. He had Boeing blood running through his veins.

The long fuselage of the 321 is twisting and flexing as she passes through the gap. In the cockpit, it feels like being on the end of a long stick. Mild paranoia causes me to take the weather radar out of Fi-Fi's grid and point the antenna down looking for fast rising columns of convection. Nothing down there except ground reflection.

Something falls on the floor in the forward galley. It sounds like several plates crashing together. We can still see the Navy boys ahead on our nav displays. They are in the clear now and reporting smooth rides. The turbulence is of a higher frequency now, causing the engine fuel computers to start over controlling, hence causing bigger than necessary airspeed fluctuations. I can do better, so I take the engines away from Fi-Fi and hook them up to captain Dave's thrust control, via my right hand. She hisses at me and throws a red warning light my way... Calm down Fi-Fi, everything will be OK.

The forward windscreens are alive with static discharge looking like tiny bolts of lightning. We have temporarily lost communication with ATC as the static builds on the antennas.

And then, as suddenly as it started, the turbulence is gone. We are in the clear on the west side of the line of storms. Tiny towns stretch before us like so many little diamond broaches. Looking out my left side window, I can see the immense size of the storms as we leave them behind.

I return airspeed and thrust control to Fi-Fi, and then call the lead flight attendant for a damage report. Yep, a couple of plates fell out of the carts, but all pax are OK. That is exactly what I wanted to hear. The email alert light is flashing with another message from my dispatcher. He wants to know about the ride through the hole and if I was scared... Oh, this guy is good. I must think of a worthy reply as we continue underneath Orion the Hunter toward the west coast.

Life on the Line continues...

Starbucks Post: Slick Runways

This is a quick and dirty Starbucks post. There is something about the combination of a dangerous motorcycle, a day off the Line, hot Starbucks coffee, and a newspaper that makes me confrontational. Please excuse my rant...

Another "expert's" opinion on the 737 that ran off the runway in Jamaica has my blood hotter than the coolant in my JDM (Japanese Death Missile). I know a thing or two, maybe three, about landing a large jet on wet and/or ice covered runways and I do not consider myself an expert. I know better... This life of an airline pilot can bite you on the butt very, very quickly.

An airline like this airline, with more than 700 aircraft (think about what 700 aircraft parked wing-tip to wing-tip would look like; it is mind boggling) that flies thousands of flights per day is going to have a few accidents. It is amazing to me (amazing... I use that word a lot, I know, but it is a power word) that so many "experts" think a government agency can help this airline teach its pilots to land aircraft safely.

This will probably get me in trouble, but I stand by my earlier assertion that this airline is the premier airline of our great country. OK, I know they are having some management problems and losing a few bags, but that has nothing to do with the quality of pilots that fly their aircraft.

These boys and girls are the best in the world... Period. There is a good chance that both of the pilots in the Jamaica incident are former or current military pilots trained to the highest standards.

Any pilot that flies the Line knows what it is like to arrive at the destination with minimum fuel and unforecast bad weather. Now what? Do you try for an alternate that is not supported by fuel-in-tanks? If you hold a little bit, the weather may intensify. Decision time... This is where the captain earns his or her nickel, and also, where the talking heads are full of bravo sierra.

I would love to look over at one of these experts in the dark of the night, their incredulous faces illuminated by lightning flashes, and ask them, "OK, what do we do?"

Touchdown at 160 mph on a slick runway with a forty degree crosswind is not for the faint of heart. Trust me on this one. Most Line pilots fly their whole career without a Jamaica event happening. All Line pilots, I repeat, all Line pilots are this far away (hold fingers this far apart... [---]) from an event like this happening to them and their passengers on a few occasions during a 23,000 flight-hour career. Is pilot skill or airmanship the difference? More than a few arrogant left seaters would say "yes" to that, but I am here to tell you that is not the case. I would have to agree with E. Gann, one of my favorite aviation writers, and say that Fate is the Hunter. Indeed, it is...

Oh, Lord, please do not let it happen to me and my passengers.

OK, I feel better now.

Life on the Line continues...

The Quiet Time

Position: At the gate; KLAX
Pax-on-board: 0
Equipment: A320

The quiet time before boarding pax...

This is an opportunity to look over the bird. The aircraft cleaners have been here and gone; the flight attendants are en route from another hotel; not yet arrived.

The co-pilot, young and single, is in the terminal trying to get traction with a young and single gate agent and will be until minimum required report time. He burns the candle at both ends, but, admittedly, it is interesting watching him work the young ladies. All things considered, he is a good kid. I've got no complaints.

Earlier, I did a mini pre-flight looking for landing gear safety pins, torn tire tread, and new dents in the fuselage. She looks good for her age. Most of her skin imperfections are pilot caused (a few of mine are here), i.e., hard landings, mostly appearing on her belly. A new airliner will have absolutely smooth skin on the belly; an older one... Not so smooth.

I learned in this very aircraft, and a few of her sisters, how to fly 320s. It was in the days before 319s and 321s came on the scene. I have dropped this old girl on the runway (hard) more than once. So, before I climbed the jetway stairs, I rubbed her belly a little bit and told her once again that I was sorry for mistreating her. She has small engines and first gen nav hardware, but there is something about her... Sort of like walking up to a good, old horse that is looking for that slice of apple behind your back.

On the instrument panel, she has a label that says, "NON-GPS." This causes a lot of whining amongst the younger generation of pilots. Some of these older 320s cannot be economically upgraded with GPS, and, no, you cannot bring your GPS from home, although some of us, ahem..., used to do that until the airline found out and put the word out to knock it off, and that would be immediately.

Allegedly, 737-100 steam jet crews, instead of asking for a radar vector, would ask (for example) Albuquerque Center controllers for a heading of, say, 087 degrees until receiving Kansas City VOR. Of course ATC knew what was going on, but remained silent.

I only know this because one of the bad elements in my circle of old, grumpy captains told me he used to do that very thing. That guy is nothing but trouble and we should think about kicking him out of our silver-haired syndicate. I'll bring it up at the next meeting.

Back in the aircraft, the flight attendants have arrived and are stowing their bags. The lead flight attendant is young and good looking. I chuckle to myself because the co-pilot will be further delayed when he sees her... I might as well start loading the nav computers.

As forecast, the co-pilot arrives at minimum report time, but instead of turning left into the flight deck, stops at the forward galley. He and the young flight attendant are just beginning to flirt, when the senior Sky Babe from the rear galley comes up and shoos him away with, "Hey, she is busy. You need to get up there," pointing at the flight deck door.

I almost spit Starbucks coffee on the instrument panel.

The co-pilot comes into the cockpit with a red face and tail tucked low. I cannot tell if he is angry or just embarrassed.

Feeling sorry for him, I say, "Look, one hundred fifty pax are boarding in five minutes. They are busy back there... You can talk to that girl later. Have you pre-flighted yet?"

"No."

"Now might be a good time."

Life on the Line continues...

Stable and Warm

Position: Threshold, Runway 16 Left, KSEA (Sea-Tac)

Groundspeed: 0

Equipment: A319

Pax-on-board: 122

I am the guy in the Corona beer commercial. The wife-of-my-youth, looking hot, is wearing the tiniest bikini I have ever seen. The sun is setting over the Pacific... Ice cold Corona beers with slices of lime in the neck are glistening in the fading light of the Acapulco beach. Can it get any better?

The mighty iphone sounds reveille at 0245 hrs local time. Where am I? This isn't the beach! My beautiful wife is not here... Another cold and dark hotel room. The front desk wake-up call comes a few seconds later; it is a recording, but when I pick up the receiver, I say thank you, anyway. It is a habit... Not so long ago, the desk clerk made the calls personally. My feet are on deck and I am shaking the cobwebs out of my head, when the bed side alarm goes off. OK, OK, give me a break; I am up...

0400 hrs local...

The hotel van is pulling away after dropping us at the departure area. A bit late, I slap my pockets checking for wallet and iphone. Whew! I still have them. As we rebuild our crew bags into rolling eighty pound slices of home, I give my standard early morning, "OK everybody, smiles on... It's time to make donuts."

I can hear a few groans and muted obscenities as we trip the automatic terminal doors and walk into our world of air commerce, with smiles forward.

0501 hrs local...

Captain, you are cleared to start number one. The aircraft's twin red beacons are blasting the jetway every two seconds with bursts of red light as our tug begins the push. I tell the co-pilot to turn number one. She opens the pneumatic start valve and the APU starts pumping air to the starter motor. I used to love keeping my side window open and listen to the rushing air turning the mighty V2500 engine until the ignitors threw a match into the burner cans; a loud WHOOMF would follow ignition... Only a couple of seconds to get the side window closed before the noise level would hammer your left ear drum. And that is why my high frequency hearing is going away... Was it worth it? Absolutely!

No matter, that kind of silliness is strictly forbidden nowadays.

0515 hrs local...

Both engines are stable and warm; all check lists are completed. We are on runway 16 Left and waiting for take-off clearance. A heavy freight wagon departed before us and we are waiting for five miles of spacing... Wake turbulence delay.

0517 hrs local...

"Fly heading 168, cleared for take-off, runway 16 Left."

My co-pilot, a young female with an agile mind and quick reflexes, releases the brakes and advances the thrust levers a bit to bring the engines out of idle. A few seconds later, we are mashed into our seats with ever increasing acceleration. Our A319 is like a sports car compared to it's larger sisters, the A320/321. The airspeed indicator winds up rapidly.

0517:34 hrs local...

The nose gear tires break free from the runway followed, immediately, by the mains. There is no rolling along on the main gear tires in an A319. The co-pilot raises the nose to exactly eighteen (18) degrees and nails it. Darn kids... A pre-geezer (like me) will overshoot eighteen degrees to twenty for a second or two, and then drop it to sixteen, before finally settling on eighteen.

0520 hrs local...

Our landing gear is up and locked, flaps and slats retracted, and we are climbing at 230 mph (200 kts). The vertical speed indicator is north of 4,000 feet per minute. In a few seconds we are at acceleration altitude of 3,000 feet above the ground. The co-pilot lowers the nose to let Fi-Fi accelerate to 287 mph (250 kts).

0538 hrs local...

Looking toward the east from on high... Nothing, as in not a hint of twilight. At 37,000 feet, the dark air mass is glassy smooth. The ATC controller has no ride reports for us, because it is too early. My dispatcher thinks the ride will be smooth, so I turn the seat belt sign OFF and give a very short talk to the sleeping pax.

It is going to be a long day, ending in Philly after following a crooked 2,900 mile route across the Empire, stopping three times en route.

Life on the Line continues... Thirty minutes before twilight.

Climbing

Position: Climbing out of KRDU (Raleigh-Durham) airspace
Altitude: 12,400 feet
True Airspeed: 428 mph (373 kts)
Equipment: Stretch Fi-Fi
PAX: 183

At 11,000 feet and after the turn toward the west coast, I dropped the reins and turned Fi-Fi over to the flight management computers. We are in another new A321 with an upgraded navigation package. The equipment gods are smiling down on me as this is the second new A321 I have flown in short order. No complaints from this captain...

The grin on my face hurts as I watch the new V2500 engines push us toward the warp gate. I recently finished my last day of indentured service to Crew Scheduling and turned in my dog collar. I wore it for a month in exchange for Christmas off-duty. Whew! I am glad that is over with... The air smells better on top of the deck. I am a free pilot again!

This is officially the last night of Christmas Lift 2009. The kids start school tomorrow and everyone is trying to get back home. Our loads have been at 100% for the last few days. The next few weeks will be a breather for us until spring breaks begin. The flight attendants are getting a frazzled look about them; it has been non-stop for a couple of weeks. Thankfully, two of my four flight attendants are combat hardened Sky Goddesses that have been here as long as I... They are in complete control of the cabin.

200 miles down the airway...
We are level at 26,000 feet for a few hundred miles. My dispatcher warned me about a windshear zone above us; in fact the winds up there are howling from the north at 130 kts. Down here, from the west at 40 kts. The V2500 engines are loafing, nevertheless Fi-Fi is nervous about the lack of altitude; she is worried about the fuel burn. Relax, Fi-Fi, I know a thing or two about Jet-A and the lack there of... Oh, yes.

500 miles down the airway...

After a few emails back and forth with my dispatcher, we (me/co-pilot/dispatcher) decided to climb to 32,000 feet. The windshear zone is behind us, but the winds are now 75 kts. on the nose. It is a trade-off for fuel remaining and miles to go. Anyway, we are at the altitude limit of what the wings will carry. We will have to burn kerosene weight off before we can climb higher. The A321 was built for high density, short routes at lower altitudes. It is a little bit out of it's game crossing the Empire at max gross weight... Even so, I still love this aircraft. She is long, lean, and gorgeous.

1,000 miles down the airway...

The Electric Jet is now happy at 34,000 feet. That is as high as we will get on this leg. One thousand miles from the departure runway and we are still above maximum landing weight. Gotta love it! The beautiful northern cross, Cygnus, is twelve o'clock high and sliding toward the western horizon. We have a short overnight on the west coast, and then it is back to the east coast.

Life on the Line continues...