Automation

I have been working on another post, but have received a lot of questions concerning the mainstream media's latest brainiac hysteria piece on pilots and automation. I'll do a quick and dirty post on this... Written in a hotel room three hours before crew van time.

Airmanship encompasses the whole of being a pilot. There are good and bad examples everywhere. Thankfully, in the air carrier business, it is mostly good. It has to be for the safety of the flying public. Flight deck automation has been coming on at a steady pace since the first rudimentary auto-pilots. It has increased safety by ten fold in this country... Not sure about other places, nor do I want to get into the politics of it.

In my opinion, flightdeck automation, and I use that term loosely, is the greatest thing since sliced bread. Is it easier to fly an A320 than a 737-100? No, it's not. Not for my generation, anyway. The old steamers were easy to fly and after a few thousand hours, the flight controls became part of you... Like walking. You did not think about how the aileron moved, it just did... Brain, muscle, cable, flight control. We had old Captains back in those days who could fly without the auto-pilot (not unusual for the early auto-pilots to be inop) drink coffee, flirt with flight attendants, and keep altitude within 50 feet at all times. Usually, though, when the auto-pilot was broken, the co-pilot had to fly all the legs while the Captain drank coffee and flirted with flight attendants.

And then, along came Airbus Industries and the air carrier world has never been the same. The Electric jet is not an easy aircraft to learn... Uh, let me restate that. It is not an easy aircraft to learn well. I can teach a private pilot to fly it with about 20 hours of dual, but if anything goes wrong... Good-bye. There have been accidents with Fi-Fi that happened because the crews did not understand the systems and reacted incorrectly. The lay people who look at these accidents do not understand the systems either and so generate false story lines. And this is after they have interviewed an "expert" who does not understand the systems. I bring to your attention the twenty year old infamous mainstream media hit piece on Airbus Industries that had a leading (at that time) anchorette, with her best serious look ask "Why will this airplane go rogue and not obey pilot commands?"

Here is where it gets touchy... Is airline training being dumbed down to save money or because good quality pilots are not being hired? I'll keep that opinion to myself... Thank you. I do know this, though: The interview process is a game that you had better be prepared for or you will not succeed, no matter your airmanship qualities. It's too bad, but that's the way it is. A perfectly good pilot will be turned away because they answered a trick interview question incorrectly. But a weak pilot who has prepared for the interview will succeed.

Let me define a weak pilot: A weak pilot is a pilot who cannot keep up with the rigors of flying the Line. This is industrial strength flying, day in and day out. Schedules are tight and demanding. Aircraft must be flown in all weather, day and night, month after month. Your flying must be aggressive; when ATC tells you to cross 40 west of a certain arrival fix at 25,000 feet, you should be able to mentally calculate the descent point within 3 seconds, tired or not. Don't start pushing buttons to see where Fi-Fi nav thinks the d/p should be... When ATC tells you to slow down 50 knots, that means now... Thrust back; tweak the spoilers... Basic airmanship skills that have to be ingrained in your pilot soul. Your body takes a beating from lack of sleep, too much coffee, and poor dietary practices. Can you keep up? If not, you are a weak pilot.

Could a weak pilot, with or without automation, have saved the Hudson River airframe, crew, and pax. Not hardly! Those folks are alive because Captain Sully had the airmanship skills to save them... My aircraft. Excuse me while I wipe my eyes...

Modern flight decks are a collection of systems working together to deliver pax safely to their destination thousands of miles away for pennies p/mile. They are not automated as the media wants the layperson to believe. The pilots still run the show, just in a different way than days of yonder. What happens when one of those systems quits working? The back-up system comes on line and is used. There are five (5) levels of flight management in Fi-Fi and you must understand each one of them thoroughly or you, as a pilot, are being irresponsible to your pax.

I don't understand this caterwauling about pilots not being able to fly the aircraft in the Piper Cub mode. I don't know any good pilots who have trouble with that... If they are one of the few weak pilots, they can't manage the systems well or fly stick and rudder. I stick and rudder it every chance I get. It handles very well... No surprises in any flight regime that I have seen. But, the Company wants its $60,000,000 aircraft used to their limits and to do that requires understanding the systems and using them to their limits. And that brings up AF447...Nothing ticks me off quicker than hearing talking heads berate the AF447 crew. When the final report comes out in 2012, it will probably paint a picture of a perfect digital storm... What else could cause the captain to say this can't be happening. Something very strange was going on... Obviously, they were getting conflicting information. I can't wait to read the final report.

OK, that's it for now... The Electric Jet is a beautiful flying machine, either in stick and rudder mode, or Star Trek mode. The so called downside of "automation" is claptrap. The air carrier business is totally safe.

I've got to get ready for work... A transcon westbound. Sorry for the sloppy writing.

Wonder and Awe

Position: On the green line; ten miles southwest of KLAS (Sin City)

Altitude: 9,240 feet and climbing

Indicated Airspeed: 250 knots

Vertical Speed: 3,900 fpm

Equipment: A319 V2500-A-5 engines

Pax-on-Board: 123 plus 2 jumpers

Airborne...

Ascension is happening here... Big time; climb rate of 3,900 fpm with every seat full, cargo holds bulging, and Jet-A weight measured in tons. The flight management computers are tracking the green line as the left seat looks out the forward heated Plexiglas for the lost Beech Baron or Cessna 206 totally unaware that an Electric Jet is rapidly closing the distance from below. It is one of my nightmares; a mid-air collision during the climb.

Over the third virtual waypoint, the night sky rolls right as Fi-Fi rolls left to make the sharp course change eastward.

10,000 feet...

The co-pilot flicks the switch to stow the lights and then dings the flight attendants out of 10,000 feet as Fi-Fi lowers her nose and leaves the 250 knot restriction in her wake.

It has been a long day and we still have to fly to the eastern edge of the Empire before sunrise.

The slip-stream noise level increases as our thoroughbred aluminum bird decides speed is what she needs. Visibility improves as the sky clears in the rapidly thinning atmosphere.

Sunday morning church service...

This morning, I attended church service with the wife-of-my-youth. The preacher, a magnificent speaker and all around good guy delivered a powerful sermon. The subject: Wonder and Awe, or lack thereof...

One of the quotes he used:

The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and all science. He to whom this emotion is a stranger, who can no longer pause to wonder and stand rapt in awe, is as good as dead: his eyes are closed.

-Albert Einstein

Our preacher opined that several generations see the Creator as some sort of Spiderman in the sky. What's so great about God? Spidey can save the world... He does it all the time; I see it on the big screen.

The preacher might be on to something... Could this be the reason people do not know the difference between James T. Kirk and, say, Alan Shepard? Who? Alan Shepard... Who is that?

F1 engines...

I miss the days of Von Braun's F1 engines and the hard-core American fighter pilots who rode them.

Engines so mighty that people broke down in tears when the crackling thunder rolled over their souls from a mile away.

Wonder and awe is too hard now. It's safer to make a movie about it.

Monday morning, 0001 hrs...

I glance at the pilot watch the wife-of-my-youth bought me years ago when I could actually read the miniature numbers on it's face... It is one minute hand width after midnight in this time zone. I check it against Fi-Fi's GPS time; exactly 0701 Zulu.

Ahead, just breaking the horizon, the moon. Jupiter is about forty degrees above the horizon. Directly over the cockpit, the Northern Cross embedded in the Milky Way... I can see it with my left eye if I hold my face tight against the warm Plexiglas.

In the green...

All systems are in the green this morning as Fi-Fi spreads her wings over southwest Colorado; Denver's faint glow in my ten o'clock. Yes, visibility is truly unlimited this morning. We have about three hours until the top-of-descent.

Before that, I will sit here in my electrically adjustable pilot's seat and experience the mysterious. Just how big is the universe?

Are we alone or is there life on a far away celestial shore? As Sagan said, "Either possibility is astounding to consider"... Einstein was correct.

Life on the Line continues... With wonder and awe.

Turbulence Glasses

Position: Over BIL (Billings, Mt)

Altitude: 33,000 feet

Mach: Point seven eight (.78)

Equipment: A320 V2500-A-1

Pax-on-Board: 150

Airborne...

She's got small engines and has run out of steam until more fuel weight is burned off. I still like this old girl, though. I can remember when she was a smoking hot piece of mysterious dark metal that most of the 737 war horse Captains shunned. They would walk around her, never under her, fearing the rumored electric demons waiting to fall on their fifty-mission crush hats.

That was then and this is now... Most of those guys have flown west for the final checkride and she is still here flying east. Her days are numbered, though. Soon, the company is going to open the corral gate and shoo her on down the airway; her nav computers, engines, and software are generations behind the new, enhanced Electric Jets arriving on the flight-line flaunting their big-thrust engines, smooth bellies, glistening factory paint jobs, and super-fast computers.

Tops above 55,000...

My dispatcher, whom I have known for decades, has a funny habit of clearing her throat when she is about to tell me about big storms along the route. Only if they are above 55,000 feet, though... Less doesn't seem to make her throat itch. I talked to her via iPhone 4 at the gate for a weather briefing; when I heard the throat clearing, my first thought was uh-oh.

Dark skies ahead...

Above Montana, only bright swathes of stars in a dark sky, visibility unlimited. The seat belt sign is OFF. I told the flight attendants, one senior sky momma and two brand new, one week from the flight attendant academy, newbies to expect a goat rodeo over Nebraska and thereafter for a few hundred miles.

The co-pilot is a young male I have flown with on numerous occasions. He is OK to fly with, but is not on my top ten list. His father, a mechanic for a major airline, is my age; the kid does not let me forget it, either. He is always poking me about retirement age, radio volume too high, cockpit lights too bright, can't remember crew names, and on it goes.

It's deserved, though. Oh yes, I did the same thing to more than a few Captains of yesteryear; exactly the same. If any of those old guys are looking down from the heavens, they have got to be smiling. How does that old saying go? What goes around comes around, I believe. A lot of miles behind the tail since I was young like this kid. I hope he remembers... Me.

Electric poof...

Was that an electric poof ahead? I turn down the instrument lights and lean forward on the top of the panel... Far below, little villages of South Dakota are passing under the radome quickly at 550 knots; the winds are giving us a good push.

Yep, there it is... An electric poof. A big thunderstorm still over the horizon will say hello with a very faint flash of blue light. I slide back away from the heated Plexiglas and look at the weather radar display... Nothing yet.

As if she is reading my mind from thousands of miles away, the email alert light flashes. The mini-printer spits out a message from the dispatcher. The weather ahead is ugly... She suggests a turn to the southeast toward Wichita or northeast toward Waterloo. I look at the green digits on the fuel page and do a quick mental burn calculation... We can do either route.

From the very beginning (of my career as a pilot), I have had trouble with summer weather in the Wichita-Kansas City- St. Louis area. I was hammered in a Rockwell Twin Commander over Kansas City one dark and stormy June night... Miraculously, the tail stayed on that beautiful flying machine.

A few years later, between Kansas City and St. Louis in a Baby Nine, I was jump-seating to work when the crew inadvertently flew through a level four thunderstorm. The hail was intense and the turbulence was, uh.... Looking for a word here... Vicious will do. Yes, the turbulence was vicious. I thought we were going to auger into a Missouri wheat field.

Anything that was not tied down... Airborne in the little DC-9's cockpit; the instrument panel was unreadable... A blur of moving steam gauges. My jump-seat broke after a few seconds in the horrific pounding from Thor's Hammer. The mono-chromatic radar was like a bad dream. Out the east side of the storm line happened quickly and I specifically remember looking at the engine gauges to see if they were still turning and burning... God Bless Pratt & Whitney!

Hmmm... Let me think. Do I want to go over Wichita or Waterloo?

The co-pilot asks ATC for a left turn toward Waterloo. High in the moonless South Dakota night sky, Fi-Fi lowers the left wing and proceeds toward Waterloo.

Cool under pressure...

Our ATC controller is under pressure from seven flights that are too close to the weather. We are listening to the continuous exchange... This controller is one cool customer. He is issuing rapid fire course and altitude changes, not confusing flight numbers and handling the squealing frequency when two or more flights push the transmit button at the same time.

Those captains are asking questions about the extent of the storm line and the controller is answering, giving good information. I know why they are asking... Their green digits are not looking as good as mine.

Fuel... It's always fuel. Fuel is life itself. There is something mildly satisfying about listening to the exchange from a distance.

I should get the sector phone number, call the supervisor when we land and ask, "Who is this guy and where did he come from?" Whoever, we need more like him... An amazing display of professionalism under intense pressure.

A break in the line...

Just as advertised, a break in the storm line north of Waterloo. It is a hole about eighty miles across; north of the break, the storm line continues for another 200 plus miles. The immense storms on both sides are very active; continuous lightning illuminating the inside of the cockpit from 40 miles away.

I call the forward galley and tell the senior sky babe to batten down the hatches; the goat rodeo is about to start.

Mach .74...

Following my inputs, the Electric Jet slows to Mach .74 for turbulence; engine anti-ice is ON. Keeping a reverent profile, we slip through the break in good visual conditions and out the east side. Not a ripple of turbulence. Yeah baby! I re-engage the auto-pilot speed control and watch the fuel flows increase rapidly as the engines press us back in our seats.

Soon, the flashing storms are only illuminating the side windscreen posts from our six o'clock. Ahead, dark and storm free skies.

Captain's turbulence glasses...

I reach overhead and ring the forward galley. One of the twenty-one year old newbies answers and I tell her they can get up... Smooth sailing ahead. She asks me about the lack of turbulence and I tell her, "I have special REVO turbulence glasses. I can see bumps in the dark. The astronauts used them... You know, remember Pete Conrad?"

"Who?"

"Uh, never mind..."

Life on the Line continues...

Against the Sun

Position: 120 miles east of KSEA (Sea-Tac)

Altitude: Flight Level 350 (35,000 feet)

Groundspeed: 465 knots (534 mph)

Equipment: A320 V2500-A5 engines

Pax-on-Board: 150 plus 2 jumpers plus 1 pilot inspector (FAA type)

Airborne...

Why am I, world famous night pilot (according to the wife-of-my-youth), flying with the sun in my face? Why is there an FAA pilot inspector sitting behind me writing on his clipboard? The only two reasons I fly at night: (1). Hide from the FAA and (2). Hide from the Chief Pilot's Office.

I definitely need to take another look at my trip scheduling procedures...

We have just leveled at 35,000 feet, the maximum altitude for our weight... She is a heavy Chevy this morning. I've got a pilot commuting to work sitting in the torture seat located directly behind my seat... It's a very small and miserable jump seat. The FAA pilot inspector is sitting in the main jump seat, a little less painful than the torture seat. In the rear galley jump seat, I've got a flight attendant commuting to work.

And then, of course, 150 passengers and three flight attendants... Every seat is full.

Ninety minutes prior... Sunrise

I told the co-pilot to stand in line at Starbucks while I pre-flight the aircraft and start loading the nav computers. At the bottom of the jetway stairs I see someone in civilian clothes, a light blue blazer and cream colored shoes, walking underneath my aircraft with a clipboard. He looks like an old school FAA inspector. The new breed would not be caught dead in a light blue blazer. Do I know this guy?

As I get closer to the inspector, I see he is older than I am, i.e., older than dirt. I stick out my hand with a big grin and shake his grizzled hand. I'll bet a hundred dollar bill he is a retired 37-year Captain with two gazillion hours, two ex-wives, and one retirement pension slaughtered by the unintended consequences of de-regulation.

He has that look... "Honey, you need to find something to do with yourself. Playing with the grand kids doesn't count."

We hit it off immediately... I've never seen this guy before, but I like him. He tells me he is giving me a Line check to JFK. I tell him, "I feel sorry for you. I heard I scared the last inspector so bad he retired early."

Power-up...

Fi-Fi is cold and dark, batteries OFF. I interrupt her digital dreams when I select both large capacity NiCad batteries to ON, and then push the ground power button. Numerous relays click and clack as all the electrical busses are flooded with early morning electrons. One system after another join the party and start self-testing... A few seconds later the instrument panel and computer displays flicker into life.

She is awake but definitely not happy. It is best to leave her alone for awhile... Let her throw an electrical tantrum and get it out of her system.

New co-pilots will start pushing buttons immediately; big mistake. You have to ease her into the day.

"Brakes released... Cleared to push tail to the east."

Time to make donuts... The tug starts pushing on eighty tons of flying machine and all the weightless souls within... I can see the FAA inspector look at his watch and make a notation.

I punch the chrono button; the clock is running.

"We're out of ten..."

The co-pilot reminds me we are above the 250 knot speed limit airspace and most of the light aircraft. Fi-Fi's nav computers re-set the speed bug to 300 knots and the auto-pilot responds to the new command by lowering the nose to accelerate. The slipstream gets louder in a hurry as the airspeed increases.

The FAA inspector taps me on the shoulder and asks me, "Uh, Dave, do you like flying this thing?" It makes me wince... Fi-Fi is sensitive about being called "a thing." Easy baby... He's doesn't mean anything by it.

Cruise altitude...

We've got a decent groundspeed going here and should be arriving JFK a few minutes early. I have been talking to the inspector during climb and as I suspected, he is in his early 70s; a retired 36 year Captain. He flew the 727, DC-10, DC-8, and DC-9 for three airlines. His pension was indeed slaughtered by de-regulation and he is still married to the wife-of-his-youth. He is darn lucky for that.

He is still talking but I am only half listening... Not being rude but thinking about a couple of things I have to tell the wife-of-my-youth to put on the list of never allow items.

For instance: No black socks while wearing shorts, no gold coins hanging around my neck, no ear rings, no hair dye... and now, a new item... If I have to work for the FAA giving line checks after I retire, no light blue blazers with cream colored shoes. Black shoes would be OK, I guess.

Life on the Line continues... Against the sun.