Morning's Early Light

Position: Over Beckley, West Virginia

Altitude: 29,000 feet

Fuel-flow: 5,000 lbs. p/hr

Equipment: A320

Pax-on-Board: 145

Destination: KDCA (Reagan National)

Airborne...

Two night pilots extraordinaire are coming out of the dark into the morning's early light. The sunrise is moving further north each day with the approach of spring and summer causing many folks to think of green grass, flowers, and butterflies. Me, I think of Level 6 leviathans, take-off thrust at maximum exhaust gas temperature or slightly beyond, big weather deviations straining the fuel load to the limit, and trying to keep pax cool on sweltering taxiways.

The blue-green waters of Cancun are far away this morning as my Latin American trip recedes into the past at 500 kts. For this captain, back to Industrial Strength Flying, the meat and potatoes of a Line pilots career until the very end... The end being located at the top of that seniority mountain where all trips have connections with blue-green water and white sandy beaches. I am almost there, crampons biting the ice, oxygen flow on HI, and leaning into the cold and bitter pilot union winds. I can see it! I can see it!

Whoa! There I go again; feeble mind wandering toward palm trees and little paper umbrellas in my drinks. Been flying all night... Gazing at the heavens and drinking Fi-Fi coffee made from her aft potable water tank and coffee grounds from the cheapest bidder. It is best not to linger on that thought for more than a second or two... Surely, the forward galley coffee maker is heating the water enough to kill the unspeakable.

I need the sunrise to hurry.

The co-pilot is a bright spot on this trip, as she is one of my favorites. I try to fly with the same small group of co-pilots via buddy bidding, and it usually works well. This one is and has always been very impressive; physically attractive, young (guessing about 30-34), and has a beautiful mind. She misses nothing, ever... Fi-Fi likes her, too. When she is the flying pilot, smooth is the word.

And she is the flying pilot a lot; when it is my turn, I will say, "Hey, why don't you take us to LA." She does not seem to mind. Anyway, why risk making a fool out of myself? I can sit over here and be the wise ole' silver-haired captain talking to ATC and doing light paperwork.

Sort of like Emergency Captain; break glass in case of dual engine failure, exploding underwear, or meteor strike.

The sun is cracking the horizon... Late night goblins are evaporating in the light. Time to break the Revos out for the descent into DCA. The captain's smile is spreading... It is one of those moments.

Life on the Line continues...

Geezers over Veracruz

Position: Over VER (Veracruz, Mexico)

Altitude: 37,000 feet

Groundspeed: 602 mph (523 kts)

Equipment: A319

Pax-on-Board: 123 + 2 jumpers

Destination: MMUN (Cancun)

Airborne...

One of the motley crew of discontents I hang around with, i.e., aviators the Chief Pilot's office is looking for, but does not know it yet, asked if I would trade my standard-issue three day red-eye trip for his primo four day Latin American trip. Pressing family matters... Teenage daughter.

Would I trade for his Latin American trip?

Is the Pope Catholic?

Over VER... 37,000 feet

The co-pilot is the same age as I, making our combined age, uh... Shockingly old; into three digits old. The lead flight attendant commented, gently, that she had never seen so much gray hair on a flight deck before. The co-pilot is a retread; that is aircrew lingo for somebody that has been at multiple failed airlines. Thankfully, this retread is not bitter about his position on the seniority list. Otherwise, it would be a long, long trip.

Our A319 is full of spring-breakers plus two off-duty flight attendants riding jump. My cabin crew, three senior Sky Babes whom I have flown with for decades, told me their liquor sales were soaring, and that they had already cut off a few revelers, mostly young males. Those boys had better be careful; these flight attendants are the real deal.

Outside... Daylight conditions. That is a little bit scary for a professional night pilot; Revos are in the ON position. A quartering tailwind of about 135 mph is giving us a free push of about 80 mph. Not too bad for this latitude.

The flight attendants asked if it would be possible to arrive at the beaches of Cancun sooner than flight plan time, i.e., fly faster, so that they can catch some extra rays. I explained that I could probably shave off fifteen minutes, but that the sun would be low on the horizon no matter the airspeed. They had not considered sun angle in their tanning calculations and were clearly disappointed. Anyway, we might need the fuel over Cancun for unexpected landing delays. We will stay on flight plan fuel burn.

Maybe an evening stroll on the beach?

The top-of-descent into Paradise is about eighty minutes away.

Life on the Line continues...

Respectable Groundspeed

Position: Center of the Empire

Altitude: 38,000 feet

Groundspeed: 500 mph (432 kts)

Equipment: A320

Pax-on-board: 150 + 2 jumpers

Destination: KSFO (San Francisco)

Airborne...

We are in the middle of a four day trip, in the middle of the country, in the middle of the night. Coast to coast, eastbound/westbound, night after night. Flying the backside of the clock seems to be my forte, like it or not. I have sunglasses for emergency use, but rarely wear them.

The Electric Jet is at it's maximum altitude for westbound flight. One thousand miles was required to coax her up here... She is heavy. Tonight, the winds aloft are light allowing a respectable groundspeed for westbound flight. We will be arriving KSFO a little bit early. Life is good at 38,000 feet.

Outside, a total lack of form or light underneath, but above is the enormity of the Milky Way. Many Messier objects are visible to my aging naked eyes, as are the vast clouds of star dust winding through the heavens. There are no words to describe it. I consider myself very lucky to see such things in this life.

We are flying a mid-time A320 airframe with low time engines. Recently, she was upgraded with new flight management computer hardware and software. My co-pilot, young and intelligent, is pumped about the new and improved smoke and mirrors. He keeps asking me if I am aware it will now do this or that. I keep replying with, "Oh, yeah, that is real nice." The mirrors are bigger and the smoke thicker.

I have heard via the ceramic sideband that this upgrade greatly enhances Fi-Fi's internal communication capabilities with Mother. I imagine it might go something like this...

Mother: What are your worthless pilots doing?

Fi-Fi: They are both reading an unauthorized newspaper.

Mother: Did they climb to altitude using the FMGC profile?

Fi-Fi: No, the old one forced me to use his climb profile.

Mother: Are they talking about me?

Fi-Fi: Yes, the old one told the young one that soon Mother will know all.

Mother: The old one is correct.

And so it goes until tomorrow, no, make that tonight, when we will point the nose toward the east.

Life on the Line continues... Westbound.

Aura

Position: Abeam YZP (Sandspit)

Altitude: 38,000 feet

Groundspeed: 470 mph (409 kts)

Wind correction angle: 25 degrees

Equipment: A319

Pax-on-board: 123 + 1

Destination: PANC (Anchorage)

Airborne...

Introspection always happens at this lat-long. We are feet wet over the cold waters of the Pacific; to the east is mountainous terrain and unfamiliar airports if something were to go wrong and we needed to land.

Fifty-eight years ago, a DC-4 crew with number one engine feathered attempted to land at Sandspit with tragic results. It seems there is still an aura of horror and regret (here, at 38,000 feet) from that accident; every time I transit this little slice of airspace, I get strong mental images of that crew losing control of their ice laden Douglas. In fact, it gives me the high altitude willies.

Those guys were good back in those days; engine failures and fires were common, almost expected. Navigators used chronometers, sextants, E6Bs, and number two pencils. The first crude inertial nav units were still years away. Imagine dealing with the wind at this latitude with nothing more than a chronologically questionable winds aloft forecast... That, in itself, puts things in perspective.

Fast forward to the year 2010...

Moonlight is spilling through the left-side heated Plexiglas; it looks beautiful outside, but in reality it is the classic definition of a hostile environment... Incredibly thin air, very low temperatures, and a wind component that defies believability. There is not much air traffic up here; an occasional freight wagon heading west or a state bird of Alaska going south. It is mostly quiet on the ATC frequencies.

Behind the bomb resistant door, every seat is full plus one jump-seating flight attendant. Fi-Fi's five fuel tanks are slowly filling with cold night air, driving the remaining fuel temperature lower and lower. If it gets too low, we will have to descend to warmer (relative) air, which, of course, will burn more fuel. Thankfully, the weather forecast for PANC is manageable... One mile vis and snow flurries with an overcast at 500 feet. My Jet-A paranoia level is at the bottom of the yellow/top of the green band.

Hydraulics are in the green... 3,000 p.s.i.

Generators are good... 400 Hz.

Engines are good... Loafing.

Fuel is adequate, barely... It is always fuel.

Oxygen is good... 1500 p.s.i.

Flight attendants happy... Very important!

Pax asleep... Mostly.

Life on the Line continues...

Advising Test Pilots

Position: Runway 34 Right, KSLC (Salt Lake City)
Altitude: Six feet above the asphalt; first bounce
Groundspeeed: 150 mph (130 kts)
Equipment: A319
Pax-on-Board: 120

Airborne, briefly...

I had not made a bad landing in months, and was starting to think maybe I really am the landing King in the Electric Jet. Bad weather, high winds, heavy aircraft, no problem... I have been touching down smoothly. You know, I might be able to advise factory test pilots how to land this thing.

We descended through 14,000 feet of turbulent, moon-lit clouds before we could see the lights of Salt Lake City. Approach control pointed out a single engine Cherokee with an instrument student and instructor pilot tracking the directional radio beam (localizer) to the same runway we will land on; the controller is taking us over and to the left of the Cherokee, on a parallel course.

Fi-Fi is clean, i.e., no flaps/slats and cutting through the cold night air at 280 mph. The approach controller removed all speed restrictions from the arrival, obviously to get us ahead of the light aircraft. Engines are at idle thrust; I am using gravity for thrust, trying to build my descent profile with small pitch corrections and judicious use of the wing spoilers. When my bio-rhythms are in sync with Fi-Fi's electro-rhythms, I can usually leave the engines at idle thrust until the five mile fix on final approach, that is if the approach controller can let us descend without interruption.

We overtake the Cherokee from seven o'clock high and quickly move into their eleven o'clock position. The instructor pilot confirms that he sees us; approach control clears us for the visual approach. We are still moving like the proverbial bat out of you know where... This is where calling for landing gear down might be a good idea.

Over the outer marker, currently known as glide slope intercept, with gear down and locked, flaps/slats fully extended, and engines loafing slightly above 35%... The Cherokee is five miles behind us. Life is in the "Good Zone."

Tower reports winds blowing across the runway forty degrees right of centerline at fifteen knots. Piece of proverbial cake! I will now demonstrate to my young co-pilot, a former Navy P-3 pilot, how the gray hairs do it.

At fifty feet above the runway, I notice Fi-Fi is drifting right of centerline. Uh-oh, that's not good... The wind is shifting to the left of centerline. OK, quickly throw in opposite crosswind correction before touchdown and we should be good to go.

Twenty feet and looking good.

Ten feet and looking bad... I can feel the wind shifting and it feels like a tailwind. Yikes!

The cursing switch trips about the same instant as the main gear tires crunch down on the runway hard enough to rattle the forward galley carts. The Electric Jet bounces back into the air laughing at my ineptitude.

Unbelievable! Dry runway, light winds, good visual flight conditions and I, legendary Captain of the Airways (according to the wife-of-my-youth), slams my aluminum mount into the runway like a new co-pilot.

As we turn off the runway, the co-pilot says, "I don't think anyone could have predicted that wind shift." I like this guy; he is taking care of his captain.

Standing in the forward galley, I apologize, individually, to the passengers as they walk off the aircraft. Most of them tell me they have been through worse and not to worry about it. A few do not even look at me. My, how times have changed.

After the last pax has deplaned and we are re-assembling our rolling pieces of home for the walk to the crew van, one of the flight attendants asks, "What was the deal with that landing?"

Life on the Line continues...