Rigel Rising

Position: 230 miles south of KMSP (Minneapolis)

Altitude: 35,000 feet

Mach number: Point seven niner (.79)

Compass heading: 095 degrees

Equipment: A320

Pax-on-Board: 150

Airborne...

The summer is slowly releasing it's heated grip on flight operations. Ahead, barely visible in the moonlight... Rigel rising in the east. The bright-blue super-giant star of Orion the Hunter, a beautiful constellation of winter night skies, is a welcome sight to these middle-aged eyes. When it is first visible in the waning days of summer, you can count on a few weeks of better flying weather along the jet airways.

This was a summer of storms, one of those summers that every pilot dreads, but one that comes, regardless. Your continuum clock through time and space somehow matches the radar signatures ahead. It is one of the inexplicable mysteries of this airborne life.

The realities of this airborne life are on the other side of one inch of heated Plexiglas. Outside, deep cold and a high velocity ethereal atmosphere. Thankfully, the air mass is smooth; not even a ripple this morning... Seat belt signs have been OFF for hours.

Inside, not toasty, but not too cool either. It is that time of the morning where talking is suppressed by the human circadian rhythm. The rushing of the slip stream and radio chatter dominate the aural spectrum. The co-pilot is working a crossword puzzle from a two day old newspaper. Yeah, that is in the gray area of legality, but I would rather have him awake. Being awake is directly related to the safe operation of the aircraft.

Fi-Fi is twitchy about one of the pressurization packs, trying to decide whether or not a zone controller is about to fault. She is sending little caution notes via the electronic monitoring software, but withdraws them after a few seconds and reports everything is OK. This behavior is not unusual in the Electric Jet, in fact in an aircraft of this complexity, it is, more or less, normal.

I am not stressed about it. I have seen it before and have already reviewed the on-board system manual about zone controllers. When she decides whether to fault or not, I will be ready.

The lead flight attendant reports the cabin is dark and cool with almost all pax sleeping the torturous sleep of high density seating.

Fuel-in-tanks: Good

Hydraulics: In the green

Electrics: Generators less than 40% capacity

Crew Oxygen: 1600 psi

Engines: Smooth, cool, and strong

Life on the Line continues...

The Wheel in the Sky keeps turning...

-Journey-

Checklist

Position: At the gate; KSNA (Orange County)

Equipment: A320

Pax-on-Board: Boarding 150... Oversold by four

My co-pilot, just returning from Starbucks with two cups of strong coffee, says, "Hey boss, there is a check pilot at the counter and I think he is getting the jump seat."

"What's he look like?"

"Uhh... You know, the Air Force guy with white hair."

"That's not good."

I thought briefly about cursing, but then remembered I went to church with the wife-of-my-youth last Sunday and one of the topics was foul language. She was poking me in the side during the sermon. I promised her I would work on the cursing threshold, again.

The day had been going so well, flying the Las Vegas-SoCal shuttle three times or six legs. The co-pilot, an ex-MU2 freight dog, is an undoubtedly great pilot to have survived flying the MU2 in night freight service. I was looking forward to hearing a few more of his one engine feathered with a load of ice somewhere over Iowa stories.

27,000 feet... 320 kts IAS (indicated air speed)

No MU2 stories being told... There is a very serious check pilot sitting behind me. My left ear has lost some high frequency hearing from turbine engines, but my right ear is still able to hear the pencil lead scratching on the clipboard, the check pilot's clipboard. This guy has no sense of humor at all. Sort of like the Terminator... No remorse, no pity, can't be reasoned with, that's all he does. He is watching everything, all the while putting check marks in little boxes and writing notes in the margins. Yikes!

Thankfully, the flight between KSNA and KLAS is a ballistic curve: up, down, short, sweet and usually a lot of fun flying a big jet at low altitude/high speed between close cities. A few more miles, and this pilot inspector will move on to the next crew.

Over the outer marker, runway 25 Left, KLAS...

The wind is howling across the runway approaching or equal to the maximum crosswind component allowed by the aircraft limitations. Of course it is, there is a check pilot looking over my shoulder. It could always be worse, though. Number one engine could be on fire with a check pilot looking over my shoulder. I'll take the crosswind...

At 1,000 feet with partial flaps set, gear down and locked, engines spooled to 39%, I call for, "auto-thrust OFF, flight directors OFF, bring up the FPV (flight path vector: it is major cool, basically a digital representation of the energy state of the airframe.)"

I said all of that with one breath; check pilots love this stuff. They are sticklers on proper verbiage per the Pilot Manual.

Surface temperature is around 110 degrees F. with a 31 knot wind out of 300 variable 330 degrees, gusting to 40 kts. A little slice of heaven waiting for us.

Over the fence...

The wind sock is parallel to the ground with sand plumes blowing across the runway giving a perfect visualization of the crosswind angle. Fi-Fi's wings are rocking and rolling as she glides over the threshold at about 50 feet. My right hand is making small thrust lever movements as the indicated airspeed varies by plus or minus ten knots in the wind.

Twenty feet... Thrust levers slowly to idle; left rudder to remove the wind angle from the airframe; right aileron up to lower the right wing slightly.

Hold it... Hold it... Easy baby...

Touchdown on a windswept runway at 140 kts (161 mph), and it is not pretty. The main gear tires deform into an oval shape, then the landing gear rolls over that deformation giving the whole pax cabin a big jolt. A wind gust tries to lift the right wing, but the spoilers rise forcing the wing down. Reverse triggers pulled up and over... #1 MAX REV/ #2 MAX REV. Hold the stick into the wind and nose down, but not too much.

Engines out of reverse at 60 knots, continue to brake to less than 30 knots and take the first high speed turn-off.

At this moment, the only thing that matters in my life and 150 pax lives on my aircraft is following the control tower's last instruction of hold short runway 25 Right.

No talking, joking, bragging, or horse play allowed. For that matter, no thinking about anything other than holding short of the runway. I am like a dog with a bone balanced on it's nose, and that bone is the approaching hold short line.

An MD-88 roars past our intersection, nose gear in the air, but mains still rolling on the runway.

At the gate: KLAS...

Both engine fuel cut-off switches to OFF. Run the shut-down checklist and get ready for a butt chewing.

The check pilot is putting his clipboard and head set into his attache case. He says, "Good flight captain. Ah, there are a couple of things I want to cover."

Uh-oh, here it comes...

"Max taxi speed is 30 kts in a straight line. I saw you exceeding that a couple of times. There is a reason for 30 kts, so slow down."

"OK."

"When you call for a checklist, you are leaving the list off. It is checklist, not check. Taxi checklist, not taxi check. Before take-off checklist, not before take-off check. Got it?"

"Got it."

"I like the way you fly your crosswind landings. Good job. Get this thing on the ground and get with the stopping program."

"Thank you."

"And you," (looking at the co-pilot) "When the captain gives you the controls you are supposed to say, 'my airplane', not 'I got her' or whatever you were saying."

"OK."

"Mmm, I guess that is about it. Good job. I would let my wife fly on your airplane."

Whoa! That is a compliment coming from this guy.

"Thanks."

And just like that, the Line check is over... We did OK.

Neither of us drank much of our KSNA coffee. Too nervous, I guess. I told the co-pilot to get Fi-Fi ready while I make another Starbucks run.

Life on the Line continues...

Ascension

The Cessna 150 was struggling to make 10,500 feet; I was the only pax on-board. The little four-cylinder, normally aspirated, 100 horse engine (at sea level on a cool day), was breathing hard at 9,900 feet.

I was flying my second solo cross country, being fifteen years old and utterly convinced of my immortality.

A VFR flight plan was filed, which my instructor approved, with an initial cruise altitude of 6,500 feet. No matter (as soon I was out of his sight), I wanted to see if I could climb the C-150 to 10,500 feet. The cylinder head temperatures were rising as I sweet-talked the little Cessna through 10,000 feet with an indicated airspeed of 70 mph and a climb rate north of 50 feet per minute. I was living large over the vast prairies of southeastern Colorado on that long past summer day.

At 10,300 feet, the vertical speed no longer showed a positive rate. Nothing could persuade the small red and white trainer to climb another foot.

Denied glory and with cylinder head temps almost in the yellow, I eased the throttle back and began the descent to my flight planned altitude. Someday, I thought...




Position: 25 miles southwest of KMCI (Kansas City)
Altitude: 10,300 feet and climbing... The mystical place burned into my psyche by a little Cessna
Indicated Airspeed: 280 knots (322 mph) and increasing...
Equipment: A319
Pax-on-board: 123 plus 3 jumpers (full boat)

Airborne...

"That's enough of that," I announce to the co-pilot. "You can stop worrying... Gimme auto-pilot number one."

Mother wants the non-flying pilot to push all buttons while the flying pilot is in stick and rudder mode. This decree from headquarters falls into the category of who signs the paychecks, I guess. It is, also, in the Pilot Manual, which makes it regulatory in nature. What (c)aptain Dave thinks of it matters not...

The co-pilot engages my auto-pilot with A/P #1 button and a clack as Fi-Fi takes the controls. Happy to get rid of the two arrogant pilots, she slows the climb rate to 1,000 feet per minute while the airspeed indicator winds up shrugging off the speed limit below 10,000 feet. At 300 knots indicated, she raises the nose a few degrees to begin the ascension into the flight levels.

We punch through a gilded cloud layer into a scene of incredible beauty. Both of us are scrambling for our flight bag cameras... Hurry! The Electric Jet is climbing like a home sick angel. No time to compose; just point and shoot. My battered Nikon Coolpix S630 powers up quickly and I get one shot immediately before Fi-Fi punches the second, thin cloud layer into the cold and clear blue above.

Oh, Lord, it was magnificent! As with so many lovely things in life, though, it is falling away with the vertical speed indicator buried at the top of the instrument case, never to be seen again, except for my pitiful little digital record.

Ascension... Two mighty V2500 engines powering a little A319 full of souls from KMCI. Does it get any better?

Probably not...

Life on the Line continues...

Miles in Her Six O'clock

Position: 55 miles west of KIAD (Dulles)

Altitude: 18,000 feet and climbing...

Groundspeed: 391 mph (340 kts)

Equipment: A321

Pax-on-Board: 183

Airborne...

The Electric Jet is doing what she does most excellently... Putting nautical miles in her six o'clock. Our main sequence star is setting as we ascend into the afternoon skies west of IAD. Fi-Fi is operating in the highest level of automation, affectionately known as (aka) the Star Trek Mode in my world.

That terminology is not to be found in the Pilot Manual, the Company Ops Manual, or the Electric Jet Limitations... But it darn well should be.

What day is it? Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday... Does it matter? No, but what does matter is that it is day three of a four day. Where have we been on this trip? Uh, maybe Florida, Oregon, Michigan... I think. Is that important? Nope, miles in her six...

My co-pilot is a forty year old father of three; when I first flew with him he was a twenty-six year old unmarried new-hire on the road to air carrier super stardom. That was the plan, but as so often happens in this industry, life got in the way. Furloughs, shrinking airlines, pilot-union combat ops, and the list goes on and on... A forty year old co-pilot is not uncommon nowadays.

During the Golden Era of airline flying that everyone in the industry grieves over, a forty year old co-pilot was the norm. Better be careful what you wish for....

Fourteen years have passed since we last flew together, but it (only) seems like one or two. Is this time dilation from years of velocity? What is going on here? Put that thought on hold for later... 183 folks are counting on us to fly them to KSFO safely.

32,000 feet... Cruising...

We have reached a comfortable altitude for our current weight. More fuel weight needs to burn off before further climb. The sun is intense, even at it's low angle. A Jeppesen High Altitude chart, two clips, and a little bit of paper folding creates a small shady refuge. That ought to be good until sunset; about 400 miles from ppos (present position).

The estimated flight time from the flight plan added to the take-off time yields a landing time within eight minutes of Fi-Fi nav. That will tighten as we get closer to the destination.

Remaining fuel in tanks is good, electrics are good, hydraulics are good, engines are good, oxygen is good.

Life on the Line continues...