Position: On the ramp; KSMF (Sacramento)
Equipment: A320, V2500-A1 powered (small engines)
Leg number two of day number three... One more day to go
Brakes set, engine fuel cut-off switches to OFF, and run the shut-down check-list. I tell the co-pilot, "I'm gonna go look at number one. I'll bet two Starbucks that it's leaking again."
Collar buttoned, tie straight, hat on with a three degree tilt to the right (check in mirror before opening the cockpit door... Yep, looks good), and, of course, the cat that just ate the canary grin.
The pax are happy to have arrived twelve minutes ahead of schedule, thanks to some direct routing and light arrival traffic. Several of them complimented the landing, which the co-pilot did, but for which I'll take the credit, only because I am in a hurry. I wait for a break between pax, and then am out the jetway door and down the stairs.
The engines are still spooling down as I look beneath number one... And as I suspected, a tiny puddle of turbine oil increasing in size.
The iPhone 4.0 is out of my pocket in a flash and quickly connects me to Maintenance Control, a subsidiary of Mother. Wanting to say I told you so, but keeping my mouth in check, I dutifully report the oil leak. I can hear a sigh on the other end of the magic phone, and after a slight pause, the maintenance controller tells me that a tech is on the way.
Three hours ago... Las Vegas
"Hey, Skipper, there's a little puddle of oil under number one."
The lead ramp always does a quick post-flight immediately after chocking the nose gear. He was actually paying attention this morning. Maintenance added oil to number one in St. Louis a few hours ago; said it was two quarts low, which is not unusual.
A company mechanic, whom I have known for at least 20 years, arrives within five minutes and opens the engine cowling. I told him that I had requested a real mechanic. He said that if a real pilot was involved, a real mechanic would have responded.
Back in the day, when we could get away with it, we (myself, the co-pilot, and the lead flight attendant) put salt in this mechanic's coffee when his back was turned... He drank it. Every time he took a swallow of the spiked coffee, he grimaced. The co-pilot and I were nearly disabled with laughter all the way to Chicago.
I waited a couple of months before I asked him if he remembered that nasty cup of coffee, and then promptly blamed it on the flight attendant... Still expecting payback on that one.
There is a wet spot, about ten inches in diameter, on the inside of the cowling behind the fill port. He checks the oil level and it is good. I am watching him... The mechanic says, "I'll bet they overfilled it in Saint Loo-ee."
Well, maybe... I tell him, "I'll bet you five bucks it's an O-ring leaking."
"You're on."
I don't think the tech in KSTL is the type to overfill the engine, but I may be wrong.
This tech cleans the inside of the cowling before we do a three minute idle engine run, re-check all oil lines before both of us call it good to go. The logbook is signed off as the pax load for KSMF.
PPOS...
An independent-contractor type mechanic appeared ten minutes after I called Mother. I have worked with this kid before and I like him. He is sharp and respectful, always calling me "sir", even though I have told him half-a-dozen times my name is Dave, not Sir.
He has the cowling open in a jiff and, sure enough, another wet spot. I hesitate to tell him I suspect it is an O-ring leaking, not wanting to prejudice his mind. Nevertheless, he says, "It might be the rear O-ring in that elbow," pointing at a connection on the rear of the oil pump. "I'll take a look at it."
One hour later...
The defective O-ring has been replaced and we are running the engine at idle thrust. After three minutes, I shut the engine down and the mechanic re-inspects the oil lines. We are go for departure... the co-pilot trots up the jetway and tells the gate agents to start boarding pax.
In thirty minutes, the marshaller gives us the all-clear wands and I increase thrust on number one engine to begin the taxi, saluting the marshaller with the other hand. I ask the co-pilot to throw a match into number two as soon as we are rolling.
We are about thirty-five minutes behind schedule as we take the runway for the return to Las Vegas. The before departure checklist is complete, but old habits force a final look at flaps, trim, fuel. I am the flying pilot on this leg; before setting take-off thrust, both of us look at the number one oil pressure... It is normal, about 190 psi.
Lift-off speed comes quickly at sea level on a cool day, even with the smaller V-2500 A-1 engines. By the time I pull the nose up to 18 degrees, the indicated airspeed is 50 knots above Vee-two speed with the VSI (vertical speed indicator) passing through 3,000 fpm. Fi-Fi is getting with the program... Go Baby, go.
Climbing out of KSMF is a prime time to hit geese and I have forgotten to turn the radar ON. It is mostly an old wives tale about radar scaring geese away from the flight path, but the old timers used it when I was a co-pilot. Their theory was that microwave emissions somehow affected the little bird brains and would make them scatter ahead of the aircraft.
I have hit geese twice, both times descending into KSMF, and both times with the radar OFF. There might be some validity to it... Anyway, radar ON.
In a couple of minutes, we intercept the outbound VOR radial and are climbing out of 10,000 feet where the 250 knot speed limit falls away in our six. As tailwinds increase, we pass through the warp gate (my term for any groundspeed above 500 knots) out of 20,000 feet.
There are 86 connects on this flight... I am going to keep her moving and try to make up ten minutes. If we can get a high-energy visual approach to runway 19 Right or Left at KLAS, we'll make up fifteen minutes.
And, as soon as we arrive, I'll be collecting my five bucks from the mechanic.
Life on the Line continues...
