AF 447... Part 3

This post is (or was) written on the fly, literally... Between legs spanning the vast American Empire. No lap-tops were used in flight...

I viewed a PBS production, Nova, the evening before this trip. It was about Air France 447, the A330 that disappeared over the Atlantic. I am a huge Nova fan... It is one of the few shows I still take the time to watch. However, a fifty minute report only scratches the surface... And there was heavy usage of qualifiers, such as may, could have, might have, probably, etc.

Here are three areas needing enhancement (sprinkled with my own qualifiers):

1. As I suspected, the ground track did take the A330 through a line of thunderstorms, and then, unfortunately, through a second line hidden by the ferocity of the first line. In my business, this is known as a radar shadow. A radar shadow is extremely dangerous, as in WARNING: Do not fly through a radar shadow! A direct quote from the Pilot Manual.

A warning, as opposed to a caution, translates to possible death and/or loss of airframe: another quote directly from the Pilot Manual. This is (major) serious stuff! The show portrays the pilots as confused and trying to understand the multiple warnings being thrown at them from Fi-Fi's electronic monitoring system as they penetrate the storms. The co-pilot is seen looking through a Quick Reference Checklist. I can (mostly) guarantee you that this was the furthest thing from their minds.

A thunderstorm's violence is indescribable. They come in six levels; the first being the tamest and the sixth the worst. Inside of a level three (half-way up the scale) is really nasty... Moving further up the food chain is, well... Bad news. Think about looking at the wing and seeing your long dead relatives sitting on the leading edge waving at you... Yikes!

That Air France crew was not reading anything. You cannot read in extreme turbulence because nothing stays in front of your eyes long enough to focus. This includes instruments, checklists, etc. It is very weird and scary phenomena.

If the QRC (quick reference checklist) says to push a certain button... Good luck! You cannot push it because it will not stay underneath your finger. How do I know this? Don't ask...

The Air France crew was trying to keep the wings level, auto-pilot ON or not. The captain would be wiping coffee out of his eyes and the co-pilot "may" (media approved qualifier) have been knocked silly from the cockpit fire extinguisher that broke loose from it's holder. The g-force from updraft/downdraft reversal of direction is something that has to be felt to be truly understood. The forces are so bad that you can barely breath.

All manuals, pieces of luggage, water bottles, crew meals; everything not tied down would be airborne. There would be a steady onslaught of aural alarms, flashing red warning and yellow caution lights during the hellacious ride. The airframe would be groaning, creaking, and popping. Oh, yes, lets not forget the sizzling lightning bolts in all quadrants.

The extreme turbulence and wild airspeed deviations would (absolutely) cause the auto-pilot to disconnect. The show's assertion that if the pilots had only maintained airspeed control everything would have been OK is, in my view, ridiculous. What airspeed control?

Now it gets interesting...

2. A thunderstorm is a tremendous atmospheric water pump. Part of the water in every storm is super-cooled, i.e., pure water with a temperature of less than 0 degrees Celsius and looking for a surface to attach itself as ice. An aircraft is perfect, especially anything protruding into the slipstream, like those evil and politically incorrect pitot tubes... Super cooled water will cover and block pitot tubes with clear ice instantaneously, easily overwhelming the heating elements. This, in turn, causes BIG problems with the air data computers, a primary supplier of information to the flight management computers.

Keep in mind that all of this happens in seconds; the seconds that the pilots are trying to get a glimpse of the artificial horizon... Holy [deleted], did I just see a 70 degree bank and 30 degree nose down attitude?

Her auto-thrust would, in the wild speed fluctuations, revert to a survival mode. Fi-Fi trys to protect herself from overspeeds and underspeeds, but with the pitot tubes temporarily blocked, she has lost her digital mind. The auto-thrust would eventually fail from the bad data it is receiving, further complicating a situation that is rapidly spinning out of control. And then (it's very possible), the unthinkable happens... The aircraft passes through an area of intense water/hail and one or both of the engines flame out. If you think your hands were full before...

The A330 is a magnificent aircraft; the Grace Kelly of airframes, and I would like to think that it successfully penetrated the first line of storms intact, giving the crew a minute or so to try an emergency engine re-start. I wonder if they could see the second line of storms looming ahead?

3. The data stream Fi-Fi was sending to Mother showed a rapid failure of critical systems. This is to be expected in the situation she was in... Probably a high altitude upset from the turbulence. Nova implied that contemporary airline pilots are not trained to recover from an upset or a stall where the aircraft rolls over on its back before plummeting earthward. I say that is Bravo Sierra... I believe most airline pilots could recover from an upset or stall, given enough altitude. Nova failed to include the thunderstorm vector in its implication.

I will gladly buy popcorn, sodas, and M & M Peanuts for anyone wishing to join me in the simulator to watch the "experts" try to recover from a high altitude upset inside a thunderstorm. This offer does not extend to Chuck Yeager or Neil Armstrong. I would have included Scott Crossfield, but he had a recent clash with a thunderstorm and lost.

Why did the Air France crew lose the airframe and all the pax on that fateful night over the Atlantic? I try to put myself in that captain's seat... Now, the view through the Plexiglas is hazy, but I am hoping the flight data recorders will eventually be found.

Oh, Lord, there but for the Grace of God, go I...

Life on the Line continues...

Light Storm

Posititon: Abeam CYVR (Vancouver, BC)
Altitude: 29,000 feet
Groundspeed: Warp Two
Equipment: A319
Pax-on-Board: 96

Airborne...

The sun, after teasing us with forty-five minutes of soft twilight, finally peeks over the eastern horizon and slams our tired eyes with a brilliant light storm. It is almost laughable that we have to break out the Revos after struggling to stay awake in the pitch-black nothingness in our six, but the starlight is intense... Sunglasses ON.

In ten minutes, I am feeling better with the reset of my circadian body clock by the sun's light.

I can quit sipping Fi-Fi coffee, a noxious mixture of lowest bidder grind and bilge water from the potable tank deep in her belly. As bad as it is, it does a good job keeping you awake, but probably reduces life span two hours for every sip. This might explain the early demise of many a retired airline pilot... That and the three ex-wives.

165 minutes ago... PANC

I reach over my head to turn the flashing red beacon switch to ON, back down to the center console to release the parking brake, look over at the co-pilot who gives me the thumbs up, and then key the mike to the tug driver... brakes released; cleared to push for de-ice.

It had been snowing heavily during pax loading, but has now quit. Do I take a chance and only de-ice the aircraft with relatively inexpensive Type 1 heated glycol and try to beat the next snowfall to the runway, or do I de-ice with Type 1, and then have Type 4 anti-ice fluid applied, a very expensive treatment of magical fluid. In this temperature of minus seven Celsius, it will give us 20 minutes protection against snowfall.

Type 1 gives zero protection against snow at these temperatures... So the question is: Will it snow again before we can get to the runway?

I ask the co-pilot for his opinion, "Type 1 or type 4, whadda you think?"

If we have to return for more de-icing:

1. We will be late.

2. We will be forced to upload more fuel.

3. Any savings will be wiped out, regardless of Type 4 application.

The co-pilot thinks we ought to "Go for it." I think that, too. Iceman plugs into the belly and asks, "What kind of fluid tonight"... I tell him Type 1 only.

Eleven minutes later...

the de-icing is complete, tug is un-hooked, and ramp is holding up the nose gear pin for me to see. I flash the nose gear light briefly... we are good to start engines. The co-pilot cranks number one; I start a mental chant of Oh, please don't start snowing, please, please... No snow.

Both V2500-A-5 engines are turning and burning, flaps set for take-off, flight controls checked and the before take-off checklist complete as I taxi for the runway. Snowman has moved his plows onto a taxiway giving us the freshly plowed runway; ANC tower has cleared us for take-off. The Electric Jet, dripping Type 1 as we turn onto runway 32 at intersection kilo is anxious to get airborne... You can feel it in her circuit boards.

18,000 feet and climbing at 2,400 fpm...

We set our altimeters to 29.92 inches of mercury as we ascend into the flight levels. The little pocket of orange light from Anchorage is fading rapidly. Outside, the winds are rotating toward our tail and getting stronger as we climb. The Warp gate is almost in sight... My dispatcher flight planned us at 29,000 feet for the winds aloft. The flight plan is, as my British friend Trevor says, "Spot on."

Through the Warp gate... Abeam JOH (Johnstown Point)

Sixty knots on the tail pushes us through the Warp gate early (500 knots)... Gotta love these winter winds!

One hundred knots on the tail abeam LAIRE intersection... Groundspeed 560 knots (644 mph).

One hundred-sixty knots southwest of LAIRE... Groundspeed 613 knots (703 mph).

One hundred-one souls, two cats, and one pocket dog riding the jet-stream in a pressurized digital tube over the dark and cold waters of the Pacific... Amazing stuff!

Thirteen hundred and fifty miles to the nest...

Life on the Line continues...

Time-to-Climb

Position: Climbing out of KPHX

Altitude: 10,200 feet

Indicated Airspeed: 210 knots (240 mph)

Equipment: A319

Pax-on-Board: 91

Airborne...

Leg number three is underway. The departure controller just cleared us direct to the first fix on the SID (standard instrument departure). The co-pilot, new to Fi-Fi and just back from an extended furlough, timidly selects the correct nav fix from the flight plan, and pushes the 319 version of the enter button to move that fix to the front of her digital brain.

Fi-Fi asks him, Are you sure? You better be... He selects the yes, I'm sure button and Fi-Fi banks right. In the mean time, she is climbing at 4,400 fpm thru busy airspace. I am keeping one eye outside for the nightmarish scenario of a Cessna in our 12 o'clock, and the other is watching the co-pilot who is (mostly) hanging on by his fingernails. Fi-Fi is having her way with him. She is bad about that.

Most of the furloughed youth and several old re-treads are back on the Line. Only a few were lucky enough to find flying jobs during their furlough. This kid told me he was very happy to be re-called. An exact quote: The paychecks are nice and the insurance is wonderful. I have a wife and a one year old. That puts things in perspective.

He also told me that he was rusty and that Fi-Fi was still a mysterious creature to him. I assured him that he would see the Electric Jet light in a few months, but for now, just try to not scare the passengers. The best way for a new co-pilot to learn is from his own mistakes, as long as they are not dangerous to the pax, or cost the company too much money.

For instance, we are out of 10,000 feet, where the indicated airspeed could be accelerating above 250 knots, but he has forgotten to give the speed control to the nav computers by a single button push (or just roll the speed up manually), so instead of accelerating, we are climbing like a homesick angel. In a minute or two, ATC is going to ask him about his indicated airspeed. Does this cost the company money? In the big picture... No. Does this scare the pax? No.

I, captain Dave, used to be (probably) the worst co-pilot that many of those old war horse Captains had ever seen, or even heard of... I think about some of the ignorant stunts I pulled over in the right seat and it brings beads of cold sweat to my forehead.

Here is a prime example... Still in my probation year, my leg climbing out of KLAS in a 737-100-Basic. In the first turn toward the west coast, I forgot to engage the auto-pilot and released the yoke... The Thunder Guppy kept turning, and turning. The Captain came un-glued and asked me what the [deleted] are you doing? He took the aircraft away from me while he chewed on my butt with a steady stream of expletives, some of which I did not know could be used together in the same sentence.

And then there was the time that I figured take-off thrust incorrectly causing another Captain to abort the take-off. Back in the Iron Age, co-pilots figured performance with a hand calculator, pencil, and company charts. Performance Engineering switched from Fahrenheit to Centigrade temperature on all the data, which I was aware of, but promptly forgot the next day.

When the Captain discovered what I had done, he quietly said, "You screw up like that again, I will be getting a new co-pilot. You got it?"

"Yes sir, I've got it and it won't happen again." Yikes! My tail was between my legs for a couple of days.

Oh yeah, let's not forget the time going into KPDX (Portland), at night, my leg, 737-200-Advanced, visual approach, Runway 28 Left. I turned the normal dog-leg final over the river, but failed to positively identify the airport, nevertheless I told the Captain that, "Yep, I got it in sight." I'm not sure to this day what I was looking at, but it sure wasn't the Portland airport.

By the time I called for gear DOWN and flaps to fifteen, KPDX was passing by on our right side and 1,000 feet below. I should have been on short final for 28 Left, fully configured, and about 500 feet over the river descending at 700 feet per minute.

Portland control tower asked, "Where are you guys going?" Oh, Lord, I'll never forget that question as long as I live.

The Captain, generally known to be a calm individual, lost his cool. He had totally relied on my airmanship and I had let him down in a big way. Yes, he should have been more in the loop, but it was the end of a long day and we were both tired. He told me, rather forcefully, to go around and get lined up with the [deleted] runway, and I mean right [deleted] now.

Another butt chewing after we set the brakes at the gate... I deserved it.

And I have never forgotten it.

PPOS... 16,000 feet

My co-pilot is about to set a time-to-climb record for a 319 when the departure controller asks, "What's your airspeed?"

"Two ten knots."

"Uh, can you guys give me more than that?"

I look across the dark cockpit at the co-pilot... He realizes his mistake and immediately turns speed control over to the nav computers. Fi-Fi drops her nose and the airspeed starts increasing.

"Sorry about that."

"Ah, don't worry about it."

The grin on my face hurts as The Electric Jet ascends into the moonless, starry night.

Life on the Line continues...