Christmas Lift 2010... Day 2

Position: Approaching JOH (Johnstone Point)

Altitude: 36,000 feet

Groundspeed: 465 mph (405 knots)

Equipment: A319 V2500-A-5 engines

Pax-on-Board: 124 plus 2 jumpers

Airborne... Christmas Eve.

Against the advice of the Company, I made the Santa has been sighted crossing the Canadian border at 50,000 feet announcement. I'll probably get a call from the Chief Pilot's office wanting to know if I read the memo, and if I did, did I not understand the spirit of the message?

There is a bunch of kids in the cabin tonight... I would have been thrilled at their age to hear an airline captain say Santa had been sighted. I figure that is spirit enough...

Nevertheless, I can see the headlines:

Insensitive, middle-aged, conservative airline pilot frightens children with claim of seeing Christian holiday figurehead. Authorities are investigating. Airline representatives have no comment on the matter.

Last year, I chickened out. This year I decided to go for it. So far, the flight attendants report no one has complained or is crying... Maybe I will get away with it.

JOH (Johnstone Point)...

The Electric Jet has crossed a black pit of nothingness en route to PANC (Anchorage); not much longer until TOD (top of descent). We must have been flying between thin cloud layers for over 1200 miles. Finally, ahead of us are bright and beautiful stars.

We took-off with a maximum fuel load and with that, the 319 can make PANC with moderate headwinds most of the way, but then the alternate airport has to be close-by. How close? Really close, like only a few minutes. Tonight we are using PAED (Elmendorf AFB), a few miles north of Anchorage. A fully loaded 320 or 321 cannot make PANC without a fuel stop, unless there are unusual winds.

I have been obsessively monitoring the fuel load for the past five hours. It is not uncommon for the forecast winds to be less than accurate northwest of SEA-TAC. When this happens, the fuel load starts sliding toward the negative at each flight-plan check point. It makes me extremely nervous to arrive at PANC with minimum fuel, especially in the dark.

Tonight, no fuel problems. At JOH, we are 600 pounds above the flight plan. That is about 48 nautical miles at this altitude. And we still have 1500 pounds contingency fuel in our back pocket. Life is good at 61 North.

Fire Island...

is below the right wing-tip as we bank in towards the localizer radio beam for runway 7 Right. The co-pilot points out the sea ice below us... Yeah, it is cold down there.

"Course alive..."

"Flaps one, please.."

"Glideslope alive..."

"Flaps two, please..."

Fi-Fi captures the localizer and glideslope over the marker at 160 knots. I can see the runway approach lights ahead... I love this place. The grin on my face hurts.

At 500 feet, auto-pilot OFF... The runway looks clear of snow and ice. At 100 feet, paranoia makes me look at the three green gear lights for the twentieth time. They are still GREEN.

Touchdown at 140 knots on a cold and dry runway not too far from Santa's main sled hanger. It is empty at the moment... Santa was sighted earlier heading south.

Downtown Anchorage...

It is -16 C... That is cold for us lowlanders. Three crew members plus one wife-of-my-youth are walking with me to my favorite bush pilot joint. We will give the place a little class on this Christmas Eve. Well, my wife will give it a little class... For sure.

Life on the Line continues...

Christmas Lift 2010... Day 1

Position: Approaching CAMRN intersection ( south of KJFK)

Altitude: 15,000 feet and descending...

Indicated Airspeed: 210 knots

Equipment: A320 V2500-A-5 engines

Pax-on-Board: 150 plus 3 jumpers

Airborne...

"There's no crying in baseball..." One of my favorite Hollywood lines of all times. The Chief Pilot's version would be "There's no whining at Christmas... You pesky pilots need to buck it up!"

Let me count the number of Christmas holidays away from home while flying the Line... One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two... Ahh! I can't remember anymore. It's not important... This is part of life on the Line.

Approaching CAMRN...

As usual, I am one of the heavy lift captains for the holiday. The Christmas 2010 flight schedule is industrial in magnitude and scope... Lots of kids going to Grandma's house.

Surface winds are blowing hard at KJFK with 1,000 foot cloud ceilings. We have been taking large radar vectors, east and west, for traffic seperation into KJFK, but will still have to hold a bit over CAMRN.

The approach in use is the VOR 13 R/L, a non-precision type to runway 13 Left. The flying pilot must be aggressive with this approach, especially with today's conditions. I asked the co-pilot earlier if he wanted me to fly the VOR approach, and, thankfully, he said "I would feel more comfortable if you did." Going around for another attempt at JFK is not pretty, especially on minimum arrival fuel.

This particular VOR approach is really a hybrid-visual using a curved final which is marked on the ground, literally, with strobe lights. A crosswind makes the curved final segment difficult when the descent must be underway at the same time. I have seen more than a few co-pilots struggle with the approach.

CAMRN intersection...

We enter holding between cloud layers at 12,000 feet. The co-pilot sends an email to Mother informing her of such... Mother sends a note to my dispatcher... He sends me a burn down fuel load, i.e., if you guys can't land by 10,000 pounds, go to the alternate airport.

I miss the days when we called dispatch on the aircraft radios and talked to a real person. Now it is too sterile... Email and paper trails for the prosecution.

The third turn...

One more turn in holding and it's bingo fuel. As we cross CAMRN for number three, approach control releases us for the VOR 13 Left. We have used all of our extra fuel in radar vectors and holding; one attempt at this before we go to the alternate of KABE (Allentown).

ASALT in our six...

After vectoring us toward the IAF (initial approach fix), approach control clears us for the VOR 13 Left approach... ASALT intersection is behind us (in our six o'clock). Fi-Fi likes a nav point behind her so she knows where she has been. A few miles ahead is CRI (Canarsie VOR). We are descending to 1500 feet with landing gear down and locked, flaps set at half... Engine heat and wing heat are ON for the light to moderate rime ice.

Fi-Fi's vertical nav computers agree with my own v-nav calculations as we descend. We cross CRI at 1500 feet; I call for three-quarter flaps and begin the descent to MDA (minimum descent altitude) of 850 feet. Fi-Fi and I diverge at this point; she wanted to stay at 1500 feet until an uninterrupted descent to the runway can be made. Normally, that is acceptable, but not today.

We need to get down where we can see the curved final segment and follow it to the runway. Fi-Fi nav cannot adequately handle this section of the approach. This is where some co-pilots get in trouble... There is no time to think about what Fi-Fi is trying to do versus what needs to be done for a successful approach.

At 1000 feet we break out of the clouds and spot the strobes leading to the runway sixty degrees to the right of the nose. The wind is strong here; 50 knots... Our groundspeed is 200 knots.

At 900 feet, I select auto-pilot OFF and begin to lower the right wing as the strobe lights curve toward the runway. A few moments later, I level the aircraft at 850 feet in moderate turbulence, select auto-thrust OFF and wait for the VASI (visual approach slope indicator) to come into view. The bank angle increases to 30 degrees as the effects of the tailwind turning into a crosswind begin to tell on the ground track.

VASI is in sight now; also, the aircraft we are following is over the threshold carrying a large crosswind angle. Now that is impressive! But what follows is even more impressive... That aircraft touches down with the crosswind angle still in the airframe. The cloud of rubber smoke is huge, but blows away instantly. I don't have time to think about why they landed with that relative airframe angle. Maybe later...

When the VASI indicates the proper visual glideslope, I reduce thrust and vacate 850 feet for the runway. Bank angle is 20 degrees and slowly decreasing. The surface winds are blowing/gusting to the maximum allowed crosswind component for the A320. No problem, though. She has a lot of rudder back there.

Over the threshold...

at 155 knots, plus or minus ten, and a carrying a large crosswind angle to hold the runway centerline. The turbulence from the terminal buildings and hangers is a real pain-in-the-rear. Fi-Fi is bucking like a half-broken horse.

During the flare for touchdown, I push the left rudder pedal about half-way and move the stick into the wind... Not enough. Left rudder to the stops and a bit more right aileron... Don't scrape the bottom of number two engine. That does it... Fi-Fi touches down on the centerline perfectly straight. Quickly lower the nose-gear to the runway and keep the stick in the wind... The force of the wind on that big tail fin is amazing, but starts to dissipate as reverse thrust slows us below 80 knots.

We have 49 minutes to unload these folks and load more pax before heading west. I am anxious to get out of here before it starts snowing.

TOC (top-of-climb)...

The JFK turn went very well. The station manager has been there a long time and knows what he is doing. We loaded 150 New Yorkers on this baby and pushed on schedule.

Fi-Fi just leveled at 36,000 feet with an extra 900 pounds of fuel on top of the flight plan forecast.

Next stop... Las Vegas. Outside, the headwinds are atrocious at 150 knots. KLAS is still five hours away. Doesn't matter, though... It is only day one.

Life on the Line continues...

Midnight in Mile High City

Position: Walking on the ramp; KDEN (Denver, CO.)

Equipment: A320 with V2500-A-5 engines

Pax-on-Board: 122

Post-flight/pre-flight inspection...

It is midnight in mile high city. We are here only long enough to pick up a few pax and some Jet-A before continuing east. Our flight departed the west coast after sunset and will arrive on the east coast one hour before sunrise.

Night flight... This is what I do, mostly. The vampire schedule...

And the night is lovely down here underneath Fi-Fi. Her electronic life force permeates through me as I shine my little high intensity flashlight on her landing gear struts and tires, the still hot V2500 engines, wings and tail, flight control surfaces, and the ancillary power unit shroud.

The air-conditioning/pressurization packs, located in her belly, mid-ship, and the brake cooling fans are wailing the loud song of heat dissipation. During the winter, the exhaust vents from the packs and are a good place to warm up when Canadian snowflakes are blowing up your pant legs.

Closer to her nose is the E & E bay, which I affectionately call the Star Trek bay. The cooling fans inside the bay are powerful and noisy, the exhaust strong enough to blow the captain's hat off... Wouldn't do for the pax to see the captain chasing his hat across the ramp... I stay clear of the discharge area.

KDEN station personnel are working furiously to do the bag swap and load more mail and freight. Underneath her right wing, the fueler is hooked up and pumping kerosene. There is a feeling of balance in Colorado's thin night air... It feels correct.

Before returning to the flight deck, I rub her smooth belly skin and tell this aluminum hottie you're lookin' good, baby.

Flight Level 390...

The KDEN stop went very smoothly. We pushed at 0020 hrs. and were airborne at 0025 hrs... Denver ATC stopped us briefly at 19,000 feet for inbound traffic, then cleared us to 39,000 feet. The Electric Jet ascended into the starry heavens with ease.

Ahead of us, as far as these old eyes can see, are the small towns and villages of fly-over country. Incredibly beautiful... Little gatherings of humanity living underneath Orion the Hunter.

The tail-winds are spectacular up here. It never ceases to amaze me how incredibly thin atmosphere can have such motive force... Our groundspeed is 720 mph. Later this evening, I will be whining about the headwinds. Not this morning, though...

TOD (top of descent) is 130 minutes east of here... About where Scorpius rises. The auto-pilot is in soft cruise mode, i.e., allowing a 100 foot modulation of altitude; 50 feet either side of selected altitude. Fi-Fi slowly drifts between 38,950 to 39,050... Sort of like being on a calm ocean surface.

The co-pilot is not a big talker. He keeps his own council, which is OK. In the middle of the night, though, it helps me to stay awake if I can swap wild and unverified tales with the right seat. Oh, well...

I search the cockpit for contraband sport sections, usually hidden underneath the aircraft manuals. Nothing... It's a dry cockpit. The newspaper police have cleaned it out. I briefly consider my laptop... Uh, no way. I can see the headlines now...

Middle-aged airline pilot was caught using laptop computer during flight. Reportedly, he was reading politically incorrect blogs. Passengers say they were scared. An airline representative said an investigation is underway.

No laptops...

Well, I have an illicit paperback book buried in my flight bag. It's either that or the aircraft manual...

Life on the Line continues...

Sounding like Robert Stack

Position: 180 nautical miles southeast of KSEA (Seattle)

Altitude: 28,000 feet

Indicated Airspeed: 300 knots

Equipment: A320; large engines

Pax-on-Board: 150 + two jumpers

Airborne...

Long red fingernails screeching on a chalkboard... That is your ATC controller saying, "Tell me when you're ready to copy holding instructions. Something is going on at Seattle. They're telling me a 747 slid off the runway."

My worn, but still functional brain immediately and subconsciously compartmentalizes... The fuel burn section kicks into overdrive.

Thanksgiving Lift 2010 is underway, and as usual I am on the tip of the spear. Every seat is full with one flight attendant and one pilot jumper. The pilot jumper is a senior Instructor Pilot going home for Thanksgiving; off-duty, but still an IP watching everything I do.

The seasonal good flying weather of October and November is over... Winter ops have arrived.

Seattle is in the grips of a snowstorm complete with ice and wind, i.e., the worst kind of winter weather for an aviator. My dispatcher and I burned a lot of iPhone battery power before take-off discussing the what-ifs... Well, guess what? A what-if has happened!

Our holding instructions are: 20,000 feet, east of the holding fix, right turns, leg length our choice. My co-pilot is the best ever, a female in my Top-Ten list who buddy bids me. That means she agrees to fly my schedule and I agree to behave. We fly together a lot and know what the other is thinking before articulation... I see she is emailing our dispatcher; also entering holding data into Fi-Fi's nav computers at approximately the same time.

I am the flying pilot and start the descent to 20,000 feet. I figure we have 45 minutes of holding fuel before we must proceed to Seattle and attempt the approach. The fuel computers estimate 60 minutes, but that is a digital wag. Missed approaches use an enormous amount of fuel, always more than forecast. The alternate airport is KPDX (Portland), a short flight from Seattle.

At 23,000 feet, with engine icing shields up, we descend into the tops of the frosty clouds. The turbulence level increases instantly to the flight-attendant ankle breaking threshold... I look at the co-pilot and nod my head toward the forward galley, saying we had better sit them down back there.

The beautiful orange and deep blue skies of dusk are replaced by darkness. I cannot see the little ice probe mounted on the forward wind screen support without a flashlight... Uh-oh! There is already one-half inch of mixed rime/clear ice on the probe. That is not good... Cloud tops typically have the worst icing.

Holding (holding means flying racetrack shaped patterns where ATC assigns; thus, the holding fix) at 220 knots (253 mph) will allow ice to build on the tail. Obviously, we need to get out of here, like now. The co-pilot asks me if I want to climb before I ask her to get higher. The ATC controller gives us 25,000 feet and says he is still trying to get news on KSEA.

After I set 25,000 feet in the altitude selector and command the auto-pilot to begin climbing, I turn the wing heat ON, wing lights ON, and quickly look back toward the left wing. Yeah, baby! Sheets of ice are losing their cold grip on the wing's leading edge and disappearing into the slip stream.

Fi-Fi breaks out into twilight conditions at 3,000 feet per minute. We reach the holding fix and begin to fly a racetrack pattern with ten mile legs. The co-pilot reports to ATC and Mother that we are officially holding.

I remove the cabin PA handset from it's cradle, clear my throat, and then use my best-ever deep and confident Captain's voice to tell the pax why we have suddenly reversed course.

After a short and well done communique to the pax, I replace the handset and ask the co-pilot, "Come on, admit it... That sounded like Robert Stack."

The co-pilot rolls her eyes back, shakes her head and says, "Oh, please..."

Respect for the left seat is slipping amongst the young and impressionable... Actually, I am surprised that she knows of Robert Stack, the coolest Hollywood airline Captain ever.

Turning circles at 25,000 feet...

The hold is sort of thought-provoking... We see the night sky rolling over us from the east and the retreating daylight in the west as we burn precious kerosene, but get nowhere. I can sense the instructor pilot fidgeting as he considers the personal ramifications of diverting to the alternate airport.

Outbound from the holding fix on the third turn, our ATC guy says, "They're gonna let a few of you in... Uh, braking action is reported as fair on the runway, poor on the taxiways. The runway was chemically de-iced a few hours ago. Tower visibility is a quarter-mile, RVR (runway visual range, i.e., how many horizontal feet can you see down the runway) is 2800 feet. Say intentions..."

"Tell him we are ready."

Descending into KSEA...

Engine heat/wing heat ON as we descend, one more time, into the icy clouds. We have been cleared to intercept the localizer (radio beam to the runway) outside of the outer marker. The co-pilot and I brief the approach, reminding each other of the required call-outs for an instrument approach, especially with an IP sitting behind us, on-duty or not.

I visualize how this landing is going to go and all the things that could go wrong after touchdown. We have a slick surface with a crosswind...

Over the marker with three green gear lights shining brightly, flaps FULL, engines spooled up, and landing checklist complete. Fi-Fi's nav computers are in a heightened sense of self-awareness as the runway gets closer. My right hand is on the thrust levers, left hand on the stick as I monitor her behaviour. The landing lights are OFF because of the reflection from snow flakes.

At 1,000 feet radar altitude, nothing but darkness... 500 feet radar altitude, nada... 300 feet radar altitude, approach lights burning through the cold gloom... I get a hit of adrenaline from those beautiful lights. At 200 feet radar altitude the end of the runway is in sight, a bit crooked from the crosswind. I reach overhead and illuminate our world with candlepower. The instant sensation of velocity is incredible as the radiant snow flakes rush toward us at 140 knots.

We can see the runway surface; it is patchy snow and ice, but doesn't look all that bad. I decide to add five knots to the touchdown speed for tail icing. Five knots requires 500 feet of dry runway, probably 1,000 feet of icy runway, but we have plenty of concrete in front of us.

I estimate the crosswind at 10-15 knots from the left with light to moderate turbulence as we pass over the threshold. Auto-pilot OFF, auto-thrust OFF...

Touchdown...

Removing the crosswind angle with rudder and aileron, I drop the Electric Jet onto the runway firmly, shaking both galleys a bit, I am sure. Got to get those tires on the runway and load them with weight quickly. Reverse thrust comes on strong and wing spoilers are raised with brute hydraulic force destroying the lift.

At 100 knots, I start applying the brakes evenly with ever increasing pedal pressure. They are, in reality, only electric switches, i.e., no hydraulics at the pedals. The braking computers read the strain on the pedal and send the proper stream of electrons to the wheel brakes.

I can feel the anti-skid working as the brakes are released momentarily when their assigned wheel assemblies skid on the ice. The normal reaction is to decrease pedal pressure, which is the wrong thing to do... Keep the pressure heavy and let the anti-skid work, and work it does.

There are strange multi-colored flashing lights in our ten o'clock. It is like Christmas lights in low visibility. It dawns on me... Emergency vehicles around the 747 that slid off the runway.

Our airplane is tracking the centerline as it slows to walking speed before turning onto the taxiway, which has not been de-iced. Before the turn, we can see the 747's tail... There must be 20 to 30 emergency vehicles surrounding the stricken aircraft.

There, but for the Grace of God, go I...

Cannot worry about it now, though. We transition to the taxiway covered with a couple inches of snow over an ice base. When I command the nose wheel to turn using my tiller, nothing happens. The nose gear is sliding... Well, there is more than one way to skin the proverbial cat. I bring Fi-Fi to a complete stop, then slowly increase power on number one engine to help the nose wheels turn to the right... It works very well, being something that one of the Captains-of-my-Youth showed me in the 737.

Fi-Fi continues slipping and sliding toward the gate, which is in an area of aircraft de-icing activity. The overspray has melted all the snow and ice in the gate area and we regain full traction about 100 yards from the marshaller.

Brakes set at crossed batons, engine fuel switches to OFF, and start breathing again. Outside, the snow is blowing horizontally.

The IP says, "Good job guys. And by the way, I think the captain does a good Robert Stack impersonation."

"Don't tell him that! He'll do it even more!"

Yep, I absolutely will. It's called stirring the pot.

Life on the Line continues...