Precision

Position: In the descent; 60 miles west of Philly...

Altitude: 28,000 feet...
Vertical speed: 3800 feet p/min...
Indicated Air Speed: 326 knots...
Equipment: A319
Pax-on-Board: 123

Airborne...

OK, I am pushing it a bit. It is going to be tight at the crossing restriction. The tailwinds are increasing as we descend... That is unusual. At the moment, they are 60 knots stronger than at cruise altitude. On the plus side, we are arriving well before sunrise and 40 minutes ahead of schedule because of steady tailwinds at altitude.

The ATC controller told us speed your discretion. To me, that means one thing: Warp 9! The only thing I have to worry about at the crossing restriction is altitude. I should have started down a little sooner, though... I did not think the winds would increase this much. Actually, I did not think they would increase at all. The extra push is bending my descent profile toward the crossing point, i.e., shortening the time I have to lose altitude (energy).

Why is this happening?

It is the co-pilot's fault! She is in captain Dave's Top Ten list, an aviator of extraordinary talent. Every time we fly together, the trip ends up being a contest of who is the smoothest pilot, burns the least amount of fuel, gathers most compliments on landings from pax, and a separate category; compliments from flight attendants, which are few and far between.

The last category is most important because it gives me the opportunity to say, "What did you expect? I am the captain." This irritates the co-pilot to no end, and makes the flight attendants laugh. A form of psy-ops at Flight Level 390...

The first time I flew with the co-pilot, about eight years ago, she was a 26 year old new hire. Before that flight, I was told by a captain that had recently flown with her that she, and this is a quote, "Can't fly worth a damn, but who cares."

She was and still is exceptionally attractive. By the second day of that first trip eight years ago, it was readily apparent that captain did not know what he was talking about. I suspect he tried to put a "move" on her with negative results... So, to massage his bruised ego, he started spreading bravo sierra amongst the pilot group.

As I quickly discovered, her intellect and airmanship were more than equal to her physical attractiveness.

PPOS (present postion)...

I am a big believer in the proverb of old age and treachery will overcome youth and skill. I have about 30 miles to prove that or I am going to have to ask ATC for altitude relief... Oh, Lord, please do not let that happen.

The thought of the low-life gang of gray-haired captain buddies I hang with discovering I busted a crossing restriction while showing off to a young female co-pilot is truly frightening. They might even put me back on probationary status; another 90 days of buying adult beverages at post-flight safety meetings.

Fi-Fi's vertical nav calculations are showing us too high at the waypoint, but captain Dave's mental vertical nav loop, honed to a razor's edge in the B-737, shows us crossing in a high-energy state of perfection. I need to lose 20 knots of tailwind, though, which I am reasonably certain will happen.

The noise level in the flight deck is increasing, as it always does, below 28,000 feet, but especially so this morning as I nudge Fi-Fi up to the barber pole (max airspeed for a given altitude). I have half wing spoilers extended... Two-thirds might be better. The wings begin to rumble as more lift is shed into the darkness.

In my peripheral vision, I can see the co-pilot's lips moving as she silently calculates time, distance, and altitude. I am doing the same, except my lips are not moving. The Electric Jet is settling on the vertical path... The tailwind is decreasing. This is going to be good!

Yes, I believe it is time to stir the pot...

Wanting to say, "Hey, watch this...," but knowing better because that has been the preamble for several high-profile incidents in my business; instead, I ask, "They did say speed our discretion, correct?"

The waypoint is coming fast... Stow the spoilers as we re-merge with the v-nav path. Slowly, ever so slowly, I increase the speed command to the auto-pilot keeping Fi-Fi at max allowable airspeed, which increases as we descend.

The waypoint...

A fast moving 319 crosses the waypoint at zero altitude deviation and maximum airspeed: Warp 9, baby...

The co-pilot said, "I wasn't sure if you were going to make that one."

"What? Of course I was going to make it... I am the captain. I mean, really, come on... Have you ever seen such precision?"

A pale hue of green light from the flight instruments is enough to see her eyes roll back as she says something a little too quietly for my turbo-jet damaged ears to pick up. Surely, it was not rude...

The roar of the thickening atmosphere is getting to be obnoxious... I roll Fi-Fi's speed selector back 100 knots and crack the spoilers just as our ATC controller asks us to slow down... Maintain 250 knots, please.

Whew-wee! Made it without embarrassing myself...

Life on the Line continues... At 330 knots and slowing rapidly...

Starbucks Bold

Position: Over Lansing, MI

Mach Number: Point Seven Niner

Fuel Flow: 6,800 lbs/p/hr

Altitude: 32,000 feet

Equipment: A321

Pax-on-Board: 183

Airborne...

An aroma of mystery meat is wafting through the flight deck... Breakfast, prepared by the lowest bidder and just delivered by the lead flight attendant, is on the floor behind my seat. It has been the same two meals for almost a year. A few hundred miles is required to work up the nerve to peel the foil back, or maybe not... I have emergency rations, packed by the wife-of-my-youth, in my overnight bag.

Anyway, the smell has made my stomach queasy... Save it for later.

Eighty minutes earlier...

I count five vertical stabs ahead in the darkness. I ask the co-pilot, "Whadda you think?"

He says, "Yeah, we probably oughtta."

"OK, throw a match in number two."

An Instructor Pilot would hit the cockpit ceiling listening to this discourse. I could argue the point that exact verbiage for engine start is not in the Pilot Manual, but I would probably lose.

The engines are too far back to hear the start sequence, but we see the digital report from the engine management computers. Sixty seconds and number two is stable and warming at idle thrust. After start checklist, please.

One hour until sunrise and not a hint of twilight yet. What is circadian body time? Must be about 0245 hrs. This morning's weather is good VFR conditions and light surface winds. We are next...

JFK tower clears us for take-off, last checklist is complete, flight attendants warned and all outside aircraft lights ON. Just to be sure I am not suffering from brain lock, I ask the co-pilot, "We are cleared for take-off, correct?" There are 183 souls behind me... Cannot be too careful at 0245 body time.

The A321 is long enough that you have to over steer a bit to line up with the runway centerline. The clock is running as I advance the thrust levers... Eyes on the digital engine instruments tell us the two V2500 engines are coming out of idle... Soon, the invisible hand of thrust is pressing our backs.

Did I give my Starbucks Bold one last push to seat it in the cup holder? I hope so, because it is a huge mess when it falls in my flight-bag during take-off. Oh well, too late now...

The runway lights are falling away as Fi-Fi's gorgeous legs unlock and pull up into her belly, followed by landing gear doors click-clacking shut. At 1,000 feet above the ground, thrust levers back to climb power and watch the fuel flows roll back out of five digits, barely, into the upper four digit range. The 321 settles into a slow climb as it accelerates... JFK departure clears us to turn toward the west. Before we bank left, I glance at the eastern horizon. Ah, a little sliver of twilight...

PPOS (present position)...

I pass my crew meal to the kid in the right seat with, "Here, I can't eat this... It's all yours." After a few very minor protests, he takes it. He is an eating machine. Speaking of the co-pilot... I knew his Dad back in the day, before this kid was a glint in his eye.

And now, there he sits in the pale orange light, a chip off the old block. He looks exactly like his Dad at the same age. Yikes! Don't think about it! No need to worry about how old I am for five hundred miles.

Shake it off, captain... How is that cup of Starbucks doing? Not too bad, actually. It is flight deck temperature now, but still tasty at 32,000 feet. Even cool, it is much better than Fi-Fi coffee.

The sun is rising over my left shoulder, spilling bright orange light across my side of the flight deck. KMKE (Milwaukee) is the next step-climb point to 34,000 feet. Our day is off to a good start.

Life on the Line continues...

Excess Fuel

Position: 100 mi. west of Littlerock
Altitude: 34,000 feet
Groundspeed: 483 mph (420 kts)
Equipment: A320
Pax-on-Board: 150
Destination: KLAS (Las Vegas)

Airborne...

What a trip! It is day three of four, most of it a blur of miles on the jet airways. We have been hubbing out of KATL (Atlanta), the busiest airport in the world, for two days. Finally, today, we broke free like Captain Kirk from a Klingon tractor beam and are heading for Lost Wages with 150 folks.

This captain's stress levels have re-entered the green arc and are slowly falling. That grin of a Cheshire cat underneath the bird cage is back.

We are in the sweet spot of aviation weather for the year; the first three weeks of October. The sky is relaxing from the summer turmoil, taking a breather before the polar air masses begin their southern migration. Ahead of us, as far as these middle-aged eyes can see, nothing but cold blue.

Atlanta ATC asked us if we could depart on a different runway than advertised on the automated information, which we agreed to immediately. Airborne in seven minutes from engine start, instead of the forecast 44 minute taxi time was a wonderful thing, except for the excess fuel we are now carrying.

Excess fuel? What is that? Never heard of it...

Our flight is landing weight limited on this leg. That means that we will be at landing weight on final approach at KLAS; anymore fuel, even a small amount, will make us too heavy to land. My dispatcher figured the fuel load to the nth degree and it is a beautiful fuel column, literally a work of art.

Stay with me here... I promise to keep it short and simple.

The weather at KLAS is marginal, so we have fuel for an alternate 30 minutes away, three turns in holding, and the legally required 45 minute reserve. The fuel planning has to be exact, with no room to wiggle, except, maybe, the holding fuel. Yes, we can burn into the reserve, but that is another area altogether requiring a paperwork exercise that can be unpleasant.

In case of a delayed approach and landing, a few turns in holding allows both pilots to mentally re-group, recalculate fuel to the alternate, and send a Fi-Fi message to Mother. Sometimes it takes two turns before talking to dispatch... A dispatcher will typically handle 20 to 40 flights. If six of them are holding at the same fix you are... Well, you can see the problem.

Under normal circumstances, the captain and dispatcher need to confer about the best course of action. I have had a few occasions when I did not have the fuel to wait, so I made the decision and told dispatch later... The captain must be very careful doing this course of action, though. How strong is that tree limb?

Back to ppos (present position)...

High-altitude sunlight is flooding my side of the flightdeck with warm, white light. I have raised the gold colored cellophane sun shields to cover most of the Plexiglas on the left side. Recent warnings about the effects of high-altitude solar radiation on flight crews have convinced me to carry sun block in my flight bag; I am not sure if it helps, but I apply it to my left arm and face, anyway.

What I am about to do next is almost unforgivable... Descend to thicker air and burn more fuel.

ATC clears us to 30,000 feet and I set a vertical speed of 1500 feet per minute in the auto-pilot... Down we go as the fuel burn goes up. This will not take too long as we are not that much overweight. When the fuel load is correct, confirmed by the flight plan check points, we will climb back to cruise altitude.

Over Peaches (PGS- Peach Springs)...

Through the approach gate for Lost Wages at 25,000 feet and 300 knots indicated. We are still about 300 pounds too heavy... This fits into the category of measuring with a micrometer and cutting with an axe. No one knows the exact weight of the aircraft; it can be several thousand pounds either side of the final weight from Mother. However, there must be hard limitations to which we strictly adhere.

Prino intersection...

Crossing Prino at 8,000 feet and 210 knots indicated... Time to throw the landing gear out and burn some more fuel. The big gear doors open into the slip stream and the mains and nose lock in position. That will do it...

Runway 25 Left... The Stopping Program...

Touchdown at maximum landing weight and, allegedly, not one pound over. Reverse thrust triggers are pulled up and over opening the cascade vanes for maximum reverse thrust. The spoilers on top of the wings rise to maximum extension destroying the lift. The Electric Jet transfers her weight to the landing gear and after three seconds begins to apply brakes via the braking computers. Lord, I do love this aircraft!

Clearing both parallel runways, we raise flaps, stow spoilers, turn off lights and call operations with a, "We're here!" We can see day-glo orange vests scrambling for our arrival at the gate.

We have 42 minutes to turn this baby for KLAX. More than enough time... Heck, that is enough for a crew frappuccino run to Starbucks; captain is buying, of course.

Life on the Line continues...