Snow Clouds

Position: 30 west of KIND (Indianapolis)

Altitude: 18,000 feet and climbing

Indicated Airspeed: 356 mph (310 kts)

Compass Heading: 250 degrees

Equipment: A320

PAX on board: 148

Airborne...

Day number three of a four day trip is underway. It is one of those yeah baby moments as we punch through the snow clouds into the morning's white light. The Electric Jet is heavy with fuel, pax, mail, and freight, but you would not know it by the way she is climbing. This point in time, here and now, is the quintessential example of why I am a pilot.

Last night was a stand-up, aircrew lingo for a short, or reduced-rest stay in the hotel. By federal law, we must have compensatory rest tonight. I am looking forward to it... Stand-ups with time zone hopping can be tough on the body. In the bad old days, thankfully long gone, stand-ups were shorter and nastier... Bunk beds in empty rooms at the airport and such. It is funny, though, how miles in my six make those memories not so bad. Days gone by...

Fi-Fi was covered with snow and ice when we pushed back from the gate, but Ice Man made short work of it. He put a truck on each side of the aircraft blowing the snow cover away with hot de-icing fluid, and then applied a layer of high dollar anti-ice fluid. The company issued chart indicates 35 minutes of anti-ice fluid work time with the current amount of snow fall. Because I am mildly paranoid about ice on my wings, I cut five minutes from that figure. Timing starts when the anti-ice fluid is first applied to the fuselage, not when the job is finished. This is why a motivated ice crew is vitally important.

Ice Man did the job in six minutes... Capt. Dave's thirty minutes is now twenty-four.

Visibility is limited by blowing snow as we taxi slowly toward the runway. The snow flakes make it too distracting to use our nose wheel taxi lights, so I am following the embedded green taxi-way lights, very carefully. Eighteen minutes of fluid work time remains.

Indy tower clears us for take-off before we arrive at the end of the runway. The co-pilot completes the last items on the before take-off checklist, warns the cabin that take-off is eminent, and then states in his thirty-something jargon that it's snowing like a big dog. Roger that! Visibility is less than one third of the runway. We are getting airborne in the proverbial nick. A glance at my wing tip shows shiny green fluid still soaking up the snowfall. Perfect!

There is not much in aviation that gets your attention like a 184 mph (160 kts) take-off on a snow covered runway with a crosswind. As soon as the nose wheels break contact, the runway centerline lights disappear in the maelstrom of millions of candlepower and fast moving snowflakes. Eyeballs go to the instruments; pull the nose toward 18 degrees and watch the radar altimeter for a rapidly increasing distance from the ground. The vertical speed indicator lags behind the aircraft, but finally catches up and goes to the top of the case. Stress levels begin to decrease as altitude increases. In this business, altitude equals Life.

Darkness magically begins to lighten as we climb away from Indy. The tiny stand-by altimeter looks comical as it tries to keep up with Fi-Fi's ascension. We enter the sunglasses required zone at 12,000 feet; the clouds are beginning to be painfully bright to our eyes. Of course, because we were in darkness on the ground, neither of us positioned our sunglasses. Mine are buried deep in my flight bag. I relent and activate auto-pilot number one... Fi-Fi is much happier with the pesky pilots out of the loop, anyway.

At 16,000 feet, with sunglasses in place, we can see fleeting glimpses of blue sky overhead. As we near the cloud tops the turbulence changes from light to moderate and the sensation of velocity becomes strong as the last vestiges of clouds race past the aircraft.

Fi-Fi soars into the clear blue; a glance at the main altimeter shows 17,300 feet and increasing rapidly. The poor little stand-by altimeter is at 16,500, but hurrying to catch up with it's very expensive Air Data-Inertial computer-powered cousins. Bumps and clouds fall away at 2,500 feet per minute and 310 kts indicated airspeed. We are literally hauling the mail...

The sun is rising, warm and intensely bright, in our seven o'clock position. Before our day is over, we will see it setting in our seven as we descend into Chicago.

Life on the Line continues...

A Vision of Cancun

Position: Thirty miles east of Albuquerque, NM
Altitude: 31,000 feet

Groundspeed: 517 mph (450 knots)

Pax-on-Board: 123

Equipment: A319

Airborne...

My real mother told me, constantly, idle minds are the devil's workshop. Company mother tells me, constantly, the same thing, but in a different way... Busy pilots are happy pilots. Lately, I have been putting that axiom to the test.

Between four day trips, I reported to the School House for ground school and simulator training. To everyone's surprise, I made it through without remedial training. The new simulator was the latest and greatest available from that industry, costing about as much as a real aircraft and about as realistic. In fact, I was looking over my left shoulder for aileron movement during the control check.

Seven nights sleeping with the wife-of-my-youth came to an abrupt end this morning one hour before sunrise as we loaded an A319 with 123 sleepy pax. Ten minutes later and we are taxiing to the runway, starting number two engine, entering weight and balance data, running checklists; doing all of this while carefully following ATC instructions... Multi-tasking with the help of Starbucks.

The flight attendants are seated and tower has cleared us for take-off. I lost the coin flip this morning, so it is my leg. We cross the hold short line at ten knots groundspeed and turn left to line up with the center line. Mother wants rolling take-offs whenever possible; she says they use less fuel. That may be true, but I think it is like measuring with a micrometer and cutting with an axe. What I think does not matter, though.

Seven minutes and eighteen thousand feet into the early morning sky...

The co-pilot reminds me that we need to set the altimeters to 29.92 inches as we ascend into the flight levels. Oops! That was my call and I missed it. Once again, the perfect flight ruined by a vision of Cancun.

Our little A319 is climbing like a home sick angel, her belly painted orange by the sunrise. The lead flight attendant calls me and asks if we need anything before they get busy with the pax. I tell her we are good to go. It is time to break out the sunglasses... Only 2,030 miles to go.

Life on the Line continues...

451 miles to the alternate

Position: Over Idaho Falls

Altitude: 36,000 feet

Groundspeed: 484 mph (421 kts)

Compass Heading: 352 degrees

Equipment: A319

PAX-on-board: 123

Destination: CYEG (Edmonton)

Airborne...

The long day continues beneath the canopy of stars. World famous night pilot, Captain Dave, is at the controls. Well, OK, the wife-of-my-youth tells me that with a straight face. Funny thing, though, as no one else seems to know anything about it. I need to ask her about this...

Edmonton is low IFR, i.e., nasty Canadian winter weather. It is colder than a well digger's butt in the Yukon up there... 18 degrees F and snow. The CYEG rampers will get great pleasure with, "What's wrong with you wusses, this is nothing. You should have been here last week. It was minus forty-four." What is wrong is that we do not live in it.

The alternate airport, CYVR (Vancouver) is 451 miles away. As my British friend, Trevor, says: Hang about! In the King's English, that translates roughly to say again, please.

My dispatcher is experienced and knows what she is doing. A decade ago, she and one of our co-pilots used to send each other love notes in the middle of the night via Fi-Fi email. I told him, more than once,"You better watch it. The company would probably frown on flirting with dispatchers in-flight." As predicted, the Chief Pilot's office found out and told Romeo to knock it off, or else. So, they got married and have two children, four and eight years old.

Good Lord, I am getting old... Wanting to stop that line of thinking, I called dispatch to discuss the alternate airport.

After I asked about her kids and husband, she told me that CYVR was the closest alternate available and that it was marginal. She gave me an extra ton of captain's fuel, to do with as I wish. I inquired about her gut instinct; dispatchers have the big picture and typically work ten or more flights at the same time. She thought we would probably make it in to CYEG, barely. Good enough... I am adept at barely.

In the right seat is one of tonight's most valuable assets. He is a 48 year old ex-Lear pilot, mostly night freight. He has a lot of experience in the early Lears: 23s, 24s, and 25s. They were fuel critical beasts. As a result, his ability to mentally calculate fuel-in-tanks versus distance is uncanny. Before take-off, I told him I wanted his mental fuel loop to be "up and running."

Ninety miles south of CYEG...

Canadian ATC has given us the descent clearance, our discretion. I am staying at altitude as long as possible. A steep, idle thrust descent will burn the least amount of fuel over a fixed distance. The Electric Jet is still above max landing weight, but the co-pilot advises we will be 300 pounds under at touchdown. Ahead, the soft glow of Edmonton is visible through the ice laden cloud layer.

The 15 mile arc...

The approach controller has cleared us for the instrument approach to runway 12, which is lying underneath the clouds to our right. In a few miles, we will turn about 90 degrees right to intercept the radio beam that leads to the runway. Before that happens, I have to shed airspeed and altitude to be stable for the approach.

Soon, we are enveloped in clouds that have reportedly put a lot of rime ice on two airliners that landed ahead of us; engine and wing heat ON. The clouds are so thick that we can barely see the nav lights on the wing tips. I stop the descent at 5500 feet on the arc, but leave the spoilers raised to quickly bleed airspeed.

The localizer...

We are in level flight tracking the localizer (a directional radio beam) toward the glide path that is still ahead of us. I stow the wing spoilers and start calling for flaps and slats to be lowered as airspeed continues to bleed off. The rime ice is building on the little ice detector outside the forward windscreens. The tower has cleared us to land on runway 12; winds 160 degrees at 15 knots. The visibility is holding steady at one mile with light snow showers and fog.

The glidepath...

Landing gear is down and locked, flaps/slats are full, engines are spooled to 40%, checklists are complete, and flight attendants are hurriedly slamming carts in the galleys. The Electric Jet is descending on the glidepath at 800 feet per minute. Our radar altimeter is counting down from 2500 feet. The co-pilot is making required call outs and I am responding. Rime ice continues to build... I am going to report it as moderate.

The runway...

Runway in sight! Thoughts of 451 miles to the alternate begin to dissipate. The runway looks good, about half of the surface covered with a packed layer of snow, reported as .12 inches thick. There is a crosswind from the right to make it interesting. Over the threshold; the massive candlepower of our landing lights illuminate the touchdown zone. At 50 feet, raise the nose a smidge, maybe two; bring the thrust levers slowly back to idle. At 10 feet, kick out the crosswind and... Touchdown!

The reversers open and we get with the stopping program. They literally create their own snow storm as they churn the runway.

The apron...

Is mostly ice and snow covered. I am taxiing at a slow walking speed. The co-pilot and I have been concentrating so hard on the approach and landing that we failed to remember where we are; that would be Ice World. He remarked that it sure looks cold out there. Roger that!

The rampers are dressed for polar bear hunting, breath plumes being carried away by the wind. Brakes are set, engine fuel cut-offs to OFF.

The co-pilot takes the right side of the aircraft; I take the left side for the post-flight inspection. The temperature is minus ten C and the wind is blowing snow flakes up my pant legs. It is really, really cold and, not surprisingly, Fi-Fi is covered with rime ice. The wusses from the south have arrived.

Life on the Line continues...

Zeus in a 737

My first landing as a young and green co-pilot candidate was a disaster. The 737-100 Steam Jet bounced ten feet before falling back to the concrete with a thud. The training Captain looked at me across the dark cockpit and asked, "You have a pilot's license, correct?" Total humiliation! Thoughts of explaining to my wife how I was unfit to be an air carrier pilot were running through my head.

Over in the left seat sat the Captain who controlled my immediate future. Before I could drag myself further into the dark pit of self-deprecation, he said, "Let's try that again."

The training Captain and we nine co-pilot candidates checked out a 737-100 from the flight line at midnight and set course for southern Arizona where the company paid a small community big bucks for allowing us to use their runway in the wee hours.

As the Captain rolled the large trim wheel forward and set the flaps to 20%, he said, "What are you waiting for? Stand 'em up!" That translates to: Push the thrust levers forward, now. So, with eight of my nervous comrades watching from the cabin, I shoved the thrust levers forward bringing the JT-8Ds back to life. Airborne in short order, the oh-so-sweet turbo-jet engines blasted us through the 1,500 foot pattern altitude while I was still at 700 feet. I was hanging on to the tail.

I remember thinking, "This cannot be happening." Shooting touch and goes in a 737 was really out there on the edge. But it was happening and it kept happening until dawns early light. The training Captain changed out co-pilot candidates on the downwind leg at 1,500 feet and 180 knots... We never stopped on the runway. That 737-100 was one tough airplane! We abused it that night and it kept flying with no complaints.

A few years later I was privileged enough to fly as co-pilot for that Captain. He did not talk much, but I was able to pry the lid open a little bit. In his youth, he was a warrior over Southeast Asia flying the mighty F-4. We had several of those guys around for a number of years, but they are all long retired and most of them have flown west for the last check ride.

Last week, as the elevator door opened to the pilot locker room... His photo on the Chief Pilot's announcement board. We regret to announce...

At the memorial service, many of us who had flown with him as co-pilots were in attendance. Later, at his favorite sports bar, we tried to figure out who had bounced a 737-100 the highest. There were two who admitted he took the aircraft away from them. I breathed a sigh of relief. At least he let me fall back to the runway in disgrace.

Someone opined that he was like Zeus in a 737... Yeah, that is perfect.

My friends and mentors are dropping like flies around here. I only hope I can make it to retirement before I see my photo on the Chief Pilot's board.

Life on the Line continues...