Flight Level 390

Jumping Wake Turbulence

2012-01-13T13:00:00.000-08:00

Position: Taxiway Hotel... KSLC
Groundspeed: 30 knots
Equipment: 319
Pax-on-board: 123

Max forward taxi speed limitation on the 319 is 30 knots. I taxi at 30 knots when I can do so safely. Dry surfaces, light winds with smooth concrete joints are required, and of course, no one ahead blocking the way.

The heavy loads of Christmas and New Years are behind us, as is 2011. In my six... Another year on the Line... Poof! Gone.

We are on the last leg of a four day trip... Been short-hopping across the southwest in a 319 today. My kind of flying! The right seat is a retread captain, now a co-pilot, from two bankrupt airlines who is glad to have a flying job... An aspect of this career that is very unpleasant. If you lose your job at Divided Airlines and are lucky enough to get another job at Oceanic Air, guess where you start?

You say you have 12,567 hours in the B-757? Too bad... Seniority #7124, and, oh, by the way... One year of probation. One more thing, you don't know squat about the 757, so don't get cocky. We are going to teach you the correct way to fly.

There is a lot of silver hair and weathered skin in this cockpit. The lead flight attendant has been harassing us most of the day about a geriatric flightdeck. Should I check on you two every 15 minutes to make sure you're awake? Boys, call me when you want your Ensure. Are you two going to need extra lav breaks? And on it goes... Poking the old lions with a stick through the cage bars.

Is this sexual harassment? Shattering our fragile egos? Damaging on our self-esteem? I'll call an assistant Chief Pilot later and check on this matter.

The co-pilot and I are and have been in the operational groove. We are moving metal and hauling pax with minimum delays. It's nice to fly with someone who speaks the language of my era. A Holley double-pumper has nothing to do with pornography and a Rolls-Royce Merlin is not the latest project from Pimp My Ride. We announce proudly to anyone who asks that we do not have a clue what a tweet is, nor do we want to know.

Salt Lake tower asks, You guys ready? We have just finished the before take-off checklist and the co-pilot alerts the cabin. The co-pilot and I are giddy with last leg euphoria. Home to momma leg.

You ready boss?

Is the Pope Catholic?

The tower releases us for take-off, 16 Left, while we are still on Hotel. We have to make two 90 degree turns to the right... On my last checkride I got dinged for taxiing too fast in turns (again). Ten knots is max for 90 degree turns, although she will do 12-14 knots comfortably. Ten knots it is... These 319s require a lot of braking to keep them below limitation speeds.

All lights ON... Check flaps, trim, and fuel one more time.

On the center line with the nosewheel straight, I hand the aircraft over to the right seat with Your aircraft, I have the radios.

The engines roll past the critical harmonic zone quickly in the -5 C outside air temperature. Professor Energy's invisible force mashes us back into our seats as the engines spool up to a reduced thrust setting. We do not need max thrust in this cold air. I check the engine instruments for excessive vibration and temperature. Both running cool and very strong...

Yikes! We are blowing through 80 knots. I am supposed to call that out... Eighty, uh... ninety, hundred knots. Wow-ee! This baby is getting with it! Not an approved call out, but...

The gap between 80 knots and V1 is covered in two, maybe three heart beats; she is ready to fly. I call out vee one rotate five knots before V1. When the last syllable is out of my mouth, we are 20 knots past V2. The Electric Jet leaves a rolling vortex of runway dust as she leaps into the cool night sky.

Positive rate and the landing gear green lights change to red as the gear doors open.

We reach our KSLC departure altitude limit of 14,000 feet very quickly. Altitude capture happens at 12,700 feet to level at 14,000 feet. The controller points out a heavy freighter at 15,000 feet crossing in our 12 o'clock.

Uh, yeah we got him... Red, green, and white strobes ahead. It's a Mad Dog-11. Big boy!

Roger, maintain visual with the MD11, continue climb to 21,000 feet... Caution wake turbulence...

The freighter is disappearing in our two o'clock, but the wake is still in front of us and slowly descending toward our altitude. The flight attendants are up and working in the galleys. I look at the co-pilot and before I say anything, he asks You want to jump this wake? He is reading my mind, which, admittedly is not hard. Yes, no broken flight attendant ankles, please.

Fi-Fi responds to the co-pilot's commands and soars high over the wake turbulence with minimum effort. The twinkling lights of the freighter are in our three o'clock low now. We crossed 1500 feet or better above the wake trail.

Salt Lake City is falling away rapidly us as we ascend into dark and thin air. It has been a long day, but we are pumped up about off-duty time in our twelve o'clock. Less than an hour to the nest.

Life on the Line continues... 2012. Unreal...

Christmas Lift 2011

2011-12-24T13:02:00.000-08:00

Position: 100 miles south of KMSP

Altitude: 37,000 feet

Groundspeed: 515 knots (592 mph)

Equipment: A320 V2500-A5 engines

Pax-on-Board: 150 + 2 jumpers

Local Time: 0220 hrs

Airborne... Compass heading 091 degrees

It's the beach thing again... Think I am looking west (for as the Led Zeppelin song goes: there's a feeling I get when I look to the west...)

The wife-of-my-youth, laying beside me in the ridiculously skimpy bikini I bought her last summer, is the quintessential, semi-professional, non-revenue, sun bunny. The beer is iced down in a battered but still functional airline-issued six pack cooler (Yep, back in the un-PC days it was SOP for the Chief Pilot's office to give us atta-boy prizes for behaving longer than a couple months; beer coolers, pens, wind breakers, etc.). Little trinkets dropped from Cloud City where the F-4 Gods of Thunder lived... I remember.

How did I get to this beach? Well, obviously I have made it to the top of the seniority mountain where the wise old captains fly day trips, or an occasional run to the sun. A Chicago overnight? You must be kidding!

Reality check... 37,000 feet

The noise of the slip stream is back in my head again. What happened to the world's smallest bikini and coldest beer? Am I awake? Yes, I am awake... The thin air beach fantasy runs wild in the middle of the night. My co-pilot looks like he is awake, but you never know. We are operating a trans-con red-eye in the deepest part of the night. Even though I am a high-time night pilot, my body wants to sleep. It is called circadian rhythm and trying to defy it is most difficult.

My left hand reaches behind the seat and brings the oxygen mask out of its storage box with a loud hiss as the regulator charges the head-gripping harness. The co-pilot jumps when the mask hisses... I laugh and tell him, "Need to wake up. Going on the Os."

The alien-inspired harness slips over my head; I release the finger-pinch valve and the harness squeezes my head sealing my consciousness from the outside world. Automatically, fingers feel for the 100% valve under my chin. It is ON... Pure aviator's oxygen. A deep breath of the cold, gaseous elixir... And I feel better instantly; will stay in the mask until my throat gets too dry.

Overhead, the star fields of the Milky Way are bright and clear. Consider that I am looking through an oxygen-mask face plate and one inch of heated Plexiglas with old eyes. Imagine what the stars must really look like... It is a humbling thought. One hundred miles north, I can see a yellow smudge on the horizon. That is Minnie under a layer of fog.

Underneath, appearing sporadically through a broken cloud layer, the homes of sleeping farm families are disappearing in our six. If they are awake, the faint whisper of V2500-A5 engines passing overhead in their ears...

First hints of twilight...

Finally, the morning light ahead of us. It is a beautiful pale blue... The pale blue light of Christmas Eve 2011. Payloads are heavy, open seats are non-existent as we haul the kids to Grandma's once again.

Tonight, westbound and looking for Rudolf's nav light...

Life on the Line continues... Crew O2 pressure is 1400 psi.

Elevator to Heaven

2011-12-16T13:54:00.000-08:00

Position: Fifty miles southeast of KOAK (Oakland)

Altitude: 18,000 feet and climbing

Groundspeed: 370 knots

Rate-of-climb: 2,800 fpm

Equipment: A319

Pax-on-Board: 123

Airborne...

It has been one of those weeks... Juggling a heavy flight schedule with family matters taking place away from the domicile. I am glad to be back in the cockpit where I am in control, more or less. The ascension feels good to these old bones! After clearing inbound SFO traffic, our 319 is climbing to the thin air like an elevator to heaven.

The right-seater is an experienced Electric Jet pilot. He is a sharp kid and does not mind babysitting a semi-crotchety captain. I flew with him a few times when he was a newbie and showed him some of my get out of jail free techniques for handling this electrical entity which we fly. He has always remembered those days and treats me with respect, which, naturally, I take advantage of in my pre-geezer state.

I know... It's bad, but I've got to keep my reputation intact. There seems to be no shortage of co-pilots who want to fly with me, so I must be doing something right. And this in spite of the wild stories my low-life buddies spread about me.

Such as:

The wife-of-my-youth is an ex-stripper. Totally false, but she thinks it is funny.
The Chief Pilot has my iPhone on his speed dial. Unlikely, but possible...
I have inside knowledge of the infamous three-crew 2003 Orlando Hooters Incident. Where? Who?
I am hard to get along with and "write up" co-pilots. I have never written up anyone in my life and certainly am not hard to get along with... Under any circumstances.

And on it goes... But, I must admit that I love it.

22,000 feet...

The winter sun is rising above the cloud deck giving light to a new day on the Line. This morning, underneath Fi-Fi, it was dark, wet, and cold as I pre-flighted her at the Oakland gate.

Yesterday, when I checked in for this trip, I saw two more pilots on the bulletin board... Yes, that bulletin board. The one we will all, one day, have our photo pinned in the upper right hand corner.

As I was shining my flashlight on Fi-Fi's smooth belly, I could not help but thinking about those two pilots. They were down here, where I am, not so long ago, and now they are gone... Flown west. Two photos, enlarged from their IDs, pinned to the bulletin board by an assistant Chief Pilot. We regret to announce...

28,000 feet...

The two V-2500 A5 IAE engines are in their element now as we soar high above the undercast. The fuel flows are falling as the altitude increases along with the groundspeed. Winds on our tail and sunlight in our faces... It is better up here. The early morning trepidations are gone.

39,000 feet...

The auto-pilot captures the altitude at 38,700 feet and begins to lower the nose and reduce the thrust to level at exactly 39,000 feet.

Mach number- .79

Groundspeed- 560 knots

Seat-belt sign- OFF

Starbucks Christmas Blend- Excellent

Cabin Altitude- 8,000 feet

Seven more days until Christmas Lift 2011 begins. I am working it, of course. Not complaining, just saying...

Life on the Line continues...

Thanksgiving Lift, 2011... Day 2

2011-11-23T16:47:00.000-08:00

Position: Over KCMH (Columbus)

Altitude: 34,000 feet

Groundspeed: 414 knots (475 mph)

Equipment: A319

Pax-on-Board: 123 + 3 jumpers

Airborne...

Fi-Fi's nose is fifteen degrees into the quartering headwind of 120 knots to maintain the course line. In our six, the sun is barely above the horizon. Our cockpit is filling with early morning light... The kind of light that, along with Starbucks Christmas blend, pulls you out of an early morning circadian funk.

This is the biggest day of the year for the air carrier business... Wednesday before Thanksgiving. I was incredibly busy this morning dealing with captain's administrative work. That would be dispatch, maintenance control, operations, gate super, and flight attendants.

The co-pilot was busy with a last minute re-route, talking to clearance delivery, and trying to find the new airways on a hi-altitude chart.

A couple of kids wanted to see the flight deck, so we made time for them. Otherwise, I had an iPhone in my left ear, a pen in my right hand, and two large aircraft manuals open in my lap.

Every few minutes, a flight attendant would come into the flight deck with a pax seating problem, a broken thing-a-ma-jigee over row nine, overhead bins filling up and need to call the gate, coffee-maker forward galley not brewing yet, toilets not flushing yet, need more ice...

OK- yep- got it- yes- I just called- OK- yes mam- they know about it- OK- roger that- on the way...

Finally, the ducks lined up and quacked in the correct sequence three minutes before push; L-1 door closed and we pushed on-time with every seat full.

I called for gear up nine minutes later... The houses got smaller very quickly as the Electric Jet buried the vertical speed indicator at the top of the instrument case. Moms, Dads, and many kids are on the way to Grandma's... Again. How many times have I done this? Not sure... Can't remember anymore. The years run together into a 450 knot neuron stream.

Tomorrow, (hopefully) I will pick up a 100 pound non-rever, the wife-of-my-youth, for the eastbound transcon. The company will feed us turkey and dressing along the way. They are very good about catering excellent food on Thanksgiving and Christmas. Food delivery teams make sure every crew is fed somewhere, somehow.

But, for now, Thanksgiving Lift 2011, day two, is underway.

Life on the Line continues... Compass heading 272 degrees.

Brainwash

2011-11-11T13:13:00.001-08:00

Emergency brainwash post...

Crippen and Young... Two of the hottest fighter pilots ever. The kind of pilots who flew F-4 Phantoms into Vulcan gun range and traded heavy metal with comrades in Migs, then flipped them off, canopy to canopy, as they thundered past in afterburner.

Thirty years ago, these two Gods of Thunder did something so audacious it is hard to wrap our safety first before anything else minds around their amazing feat.

STS-1, Columbia, lifted off with these two guys in the cockpit. I remember listening to the launch on a car radio... One of them said, "It's a real barn burner." I almost cried... This was the first time any space shuttle had flown under its own power. It was the first time solid fuel boosters had ever been tried with pilots on the other end.

During the landing at Edwards two days later, one of the chase pilots flying formation with Columbia said, "Don't bounce it grandpa." Young had grandchildren... I almost cried.

They are old men now... Old Gods of Thunder forgotten by most but remembered by the few.

OK, I feel better... Emergency brainwash post after reading today's newspaper.

Where is YZP?

2011-11-09T15:10:00.000-08:00

Position: Over TOU (Tatoosh)
Altitude: 36,000 feeet
Groundspeed: 441 knots
Equipment: A319
Pax-on-Board: 123

Airborne...

As TOU passes beneath, I note the compass heading leaving U.S. airspace is 295 degrees. The ETP (equatime; half-way point) is still in front of us... PANC (Anchorage) ahead and over the dark horizon. Local time is 2215 hrs.

The center-tanks are almost empty as we go feet wet. Fi-Fi will run the center-pumps an extra five minutes after the last of the fuel is sucked out, just to make sure.

My dispatcher and I agreed on a fuel load that gives us 15 minutes hold over PANC, 35 miles of fuel to reach Elmendorf AFB for an emergency alternate, 10 minutes of captain Dave's "uh-oh" fuel, and the required 45-minute reserve. The weather forecast is favorable for a visual approach and landing... Never forget it is Alaska, though.

I have the warm Jet-A fuzzies as the VOR needle rotates 180 degrees indicating TOU is receding in our six.

ETP sequenced...

The equatime point has been sequenced by Fi-Fi nav... Half-way to Anchorage folks. Outside, minus sixty-two centigrade with winds from the west-south-west at 120 knots. Polaris is in our two o'clock high. The sky above is lovely, clear, and full of heavenly beacons. Beneath us, nothing... A total lack of shape, form or light.

Position check...

The weather radar antenna is tilted down below the horizon and giving good returns on the southern most islands of the Queen Charlotte archipelago. I dial in the frequency for Sandspit VOR (YZP) and look at the RMI (radio magnetic indicator) needle and DME (distance measuring equipment) mileage readout.

Hmm... Looks like the 150 degree radial and about 65 miles (think about a wheel with 360 spokes, one for each degree of the compass; so, we are crossing the 150 degree spoke, i.e., south-east of the VOR). Remembering this raw data, I compare it to Fi-Fi Magic-Nav, a combination of laser-ring inertial and satellite. If she gets bored, she looks at VOR, NDB, localizer, and DME, combining everything for a super accurate fix.

Fi-Fi, where is YZP?

Dave, YZP is bearing 330.3 degrees at 64.6 miles.

She knows her position in time and space... Life is good. Ahead, the faint green glow of the aurora borealis.

Wife check...

I push the rear-galley button over my head and get the #3 flight attendant, a hot-reserve newbie. She was sitting hot-reserve at the airport waiting for the inevitable call from crew scheduling. She tells me the wife-of-my-youth is asleep in the last row, aisle seat, covered with my leather flight jacket.

When this new flight attendant showed up at the aircraft, I noticed she had no coat. I have seen that a thousand times... They are so nervous about the flight that they forget simple things like coats for Alaska. In fact, I have seen it so many times I carry a spare, lightweight jacket for new flight attendants to borrow.

Under the Northern Lights...

Six hundred nautical miles to PANC... The aurora borealis is very active tonight. Overhead, fast moving sheets of green light with interspersed red streaks. My amateurish syntax cannot adequately describe what we see. The night sky is discharging green and red light... Being underneath it in an Electric Jet is, well, simply amazing.

It would be nice to have a real wordsmith/editor like Gerard Van der Leun riding in the cockpit jump-seat to write an accurate description.

The glow of Anchorage...

South of Valdez... We can see the glow of PANC ahead like a little galaxy hanging beneath the electric skies. I take one more look at the terrain charts around Anchorage, even though I memorized them long ago.

The mini-printer spits out the ATIS (auto-terminal info service). Runway 7-Right is closed, so it will be 7-Left... Plenty of stopping distance available even with a bit of snow cover. Surface temperature is 25 F with light snow showers, winds light and variable. Variable always means a tailwind on a slick runway... You can count on it. Vis is five miles, clouds 2500 broken, 3500 overcast, i.e., good VFR conditions for Anchorage.

The math geeks at Performance Engineering have given us landing distance charts for slick runways. I guess 6400 feet before I look at the chart. Pretty close... 6650. That is calculated with full reverse thrust and moderate-to-heavy braking, touching down at the 1,000 foot marker. I am confident I can stop in 6,000 feet or less.

YESKA intersection...

Anchorage ATC Center assigned 11,000 feet at YESKA, speed our discretion. I level the Electric Jet at 11,000 feet/310 knots five miles east of YESKA and begin to slow. The lead flight attendant reports that everyone is strapped in and the cabin is secure for landing. We received reports of moderate turbulence below 10,000 feet descending into PANC.

The clouds beneath are full of ice... Time to raise the shields. Blue lights on the overhead panel indicate engine cowlings and wing leading edges are hot. Yeah baby!

Fire Island...

I ask the co-pilot, "You got the runway yet?"

Looking out his heated right window, he snickers, "Yeah, sort of... It's in and out of the clouds."

The radar altimeter is bouncing off of Fire Island 2,000 feet below us while the approach controller vectors us to a base leg for an intercept of the localizer beam, runway 7-Left.

The controller asks, "Can you guys see the airport... two o'clock and about 7 miles?"

"Ahh, we keep losing it in the clouds. We better stay on the approach."

"Roger... Fly heading zero-four-zero and intercept seven left localizer, maintain one thousand six hundred until established, cleared for the ILS seven left approach. Tower at webbi."

I extend two fingers while the co-pilot is reading back the approach clearance. He moves the flap lever to position TWO. The trailing edge flaps move back and down into the cold slipstream; it feels like an anchor has been thrown overboard as Fi-Fi starts slowing from the increased drag.

WEBBI intersection...

The landing gear is down and locked with three green lights, flaps are FULL, ice shields are UP, speed is under control with glide-slope and localizer centered. As a long gone Captain-of-my-youth was fond of saying, we are cooking on the front burner.

The snow flakes are rushing past at 140 knots in the multi-million candlepower landing lights. Ahead, we can see blurred runway lights. The co-pilot calls out "one thousand"... Runway 7-Left is white, covered with a layer of thin snow.

On the parallel taxiway to the runway waits a long line of snow plows and runway de-icing vehicles, amber lights flashing. They will be busy tonight. The tower controller tells snow-boss, "Remain clear of seven left, landing aircraft." Yes, please.... That would be us.

Airport boundary fence...

Auto-pilot OFF, flight directors OFF, bring the FPV (bird) on-line...

The nose is pointing about two degrees right of the runway centerline... Feels like a slight tail-wind. Of course it is; I look at the inertial-platform wind arrow and see a ten knot wind behind the right wing, or a quartering right tail-wind. Uh... That's about a four knot component; add another 500 feet of stopping effort on a slick runway.

At 100 feet, the runway threshold passes beneath at 140 knots... Auto-thrust OFF.

1,000 foot marker...

Nothing fancy tonight, as in get it on the ground like right now. I plop it firmly on the snow covered 1,000 foot marker... Before the nose gear touches down, I pull the reverse thrust triggers back to MAX. The spoilers rise and shear away the lift. It's not pretty, but we need to get wheel spin-up for the anti-skid to start working.

MAX reverse thrust is impressive at sea-level on a cold, snowy night. The roaring, flower shaped plumes of hot gas are shaking the aircraft and blasting the loose snow into a brilliant white canopy which covers the aft fuselage. My feet slowly mash the tops of the rudder pedals to max deflection yielding massive braking power... The anti-skid is working beautifully, releasing the brakes when either wheel starts to skid, then reapplying in a micro-second, over and over. It is amazing how effective anti-skid technology has become.

When I was a young co-pilot, the Captains called the new technology anti-stop. They would love this stuff.

Fi-Fi tracks straight and true while shedding energy... As we slow, the reverse thrust blizzard starts to move forward into our landing lights. When we are about to lose forward vis, the co-pilot calls out "eighty knots." I reduce reverse thrust, but keep the brake pedals at full deflection. The anti-skid continues to release/reapply the brakes... It is enough to bring tears to an old pilot's eyes. Sorry, this aircraft makes me all emotional.

At 60 knots the reverse thrust is useless... I stow the reverse sleeves with hydraulic power and look at the engine gauges to confirm that they are closed. The brake pedals stay at full deflection until groundspeed is three knots. In front of the cockpit, about 5,000 feet of runway remains... It's a beautiful thing as we turn left at the next available exit. Oh no, I think I am going to cry again... Pass the Kleenex, would you?

I call for "flaps UP", but the co-pilot reminds me about the reverse thrust snowstorm and the icing conditions in general. Yep, he is absolutely correct... We need to inspect the flaps at the gate for icing.

Frozen ramp...

The ramp is slippery... There is about four inches of loose snow. Taxiing the aircraft is an exercise in patience; slow, ever so slow and please take it easy on the thrust captain.

Three rampers wearing bright orange polar suits and holding lighted wands are waiting... We can see their exhaled breath being wicked away by the wind.

I increase the thrust slightly on the left engine to help the nosewheels plow snow in a right turn toward the lead in line. Finally, approaching the gate at crawling speed, lead ramp crosses the batons. Parking brake ON... I forgot to ask for the auxiliary power unit to be started, but the co-pilot started it anyway.

He is cleaning up after me... Need to thank him for that later. I used to do the same thing for Captains that I respected. I guess that is a good sign.

Both engine master switches to OFF. Behind us, several electrical relays clack shut as the APU takes the load from the engine generators.

We have arrived ahead of schedule... Early enough that this crew (and one non-revenue dependent) can make F-Street Station before closing time. And, oh by the way.... The captain is buying.

Life on the Line continues...

Aluminum and Carbon Fiber

2011-10-26T15:20:00.000-07:00

Position: On the ramp, KLAS

Equipment: A320 V2500 A-5 engines

The first hints of twilight in the east... Above my head, a magnificent aluminum and carbon-fiber aircraft tail arching high into the lightening sky. Looking straight up, Orion the Hunter is still visible. To me, that translates to snow and ice, i.e., wintertime operations just around the corner.

The wind is whipping my tie uncontrollably. I have tried to stop it, but it is useless. I let it whip. I am holding my hat in place with one hand and shining a flashlight on Fi-Fi with the other looking for dents, ripped tires, leaks, gear-pins still installed, oxygen discs in place, fire extinguisher discs in place, static wicks, clear static ports, open pitot tubes, and on the list goes...

I won the early morning Starbucks coin flip. I would much rather pre-flight than stand in-line waiting for coffee and trying to remember the New Age drink orders from the flight attendants... Green tea light with two pumps, white cinnamon, two sweeteners, and skim, or something like that, and that is for the lead flight attendant. The remaining two are even more complicated. The co-pilot can handle it... He's a sharp young man two weeks out of the Electric Jet training machine.

The sound of large jet engines at take-off thrust... A company A320 is lifting its nose gear clear of runway 1-Right. I can see the heat plumes blasting out of the engines along with feeling the roaring thrust in my chest... It is a good feeling.

The beautiful aircraft rises into the sky, nose rising to a steep angle while briefly outlined by the lights of the casinos. In a few seconds it is banking 30 degrees toward the east, heading for the sunrise. The climb rate is fantastic... I can see the vertical speed indicator in my mind's eye. It is, more or less, awesome.

Underneath our right wing, a fuel truck is hooked up and pumping Jet-A. The fueler is standing by the open fuel panel in the right wing root watching the green digits increase. A familiar female ramp-lead and four rampers are throwing bags onto two conveyor belts aimed at the open cargo bays. Two long baggage trains are being emptied.

On the other side of the tail, a catering truck is re-stocking the galleys through cabin door 2-L. I glance at my pilot chronometer that I can't read anymore without geezer glasses, but can still see the hand position... The ducks are lining up on schedule. Captain Dave's world is reasonably stable thirty minutes before sunrise.

"Brakes released... Cleared to push."

The large diesel powered tug begins to shove on the Electric Jet; I salute the gate supervisor in the jetway and she gives me a thumbs up. Ramp-lead, pushing on my nose gear, says, "Cap, cleared to turn number one."

I ask the co-pilot to throw a match into number one, and then open my side Plexiglas sliding window about an inch. A rushing sound of high pressure air fills the cockpit. The pneumatic starter motor of the left (#1) IAE V-2500 A-5 engine starts turning the N2 section. It is one of the most satisfying sounds to my soul... Hard to explain; it's a pilot thing.

The rushing sound grows in intensity as the starter motor spins the mighty A-5 engine faster and faster... I watch the engine instruments.

Igniters, fuel flow, and temperature rise happen about the same moment with a muffled whoof and then a guttural low-pitched whine quickly rising in intensity... Light off, baby!

I close the side window and lock it... I have received my morning fix of turbine ecstasy. Yeah!

Windsock...

KLAS tower has cleared us for take-off, runway 1-Right. The sun, streaming orange light through the co-pilot's side window, is about five degrees above the horizon. I am looking for a windsock but cannot find one. Oh well... The tower controller told us the wind direction and velocity with the take-off clearance. Good enough...

A quick glance at the handwritten note I made myself for engine failure... Reaching 4.3 miles from the Las Vegas VOR, bank right back to the VOR and enter holding with a direct entry; retract flaps at 3,181 feet. I add that to my bucket of paranoia before the thrust levers are moved.

On this lovely Sunday morning, 150 souls are counting on two pilots in the pointy-end to deliver them safely to KBOS.

150 miles down the airway...

The Electric Jet levels at 35,000 feet 150 miles east of KLAS. The flight plan TOC (top-of-climb) fuel load is within 200 pounds of the actual fuel-in-tanks. That is a good thing... Calls for a TOC sip of Starbucks French roast (bold).

The flight-plan time enroute does not agree with Fi-Fi nav calculations. I push the AIRPORT button on the left nav computer and look at the arrival into KBOS. I can see 60 miles of course line that we will not be flying. I know this from KBOS experience. I will have the co-pilot take the excess mileage out later.

Training...

The airline is currently training a lot of new Electric Jet pilots, both seats. I can fly for years without seeing an inexperienced co-pilot, and then the worm turns. This kid is the fourth newbie I have had in a short time. It forces me to be on my game... No slacking or whining as I tend to do with an experienced co-pilot.

The first few months out of training is critical to understanding the ways of this remarkable electronic entity. It is not fair to burden them with extraneous nonsense of the Line. Instead, I have been showing him a few of my smoke and mirror management techniques that new Fi-Fi pilots can use to ease themselves into the matrix without too much embarrassment.

Fi-Fi can be very frustrating to a new pilot when the expected reaction goes off on a wild tangent or does not happen at all. There are work arounds to such problematic areas... Isolate it and apply manual flight techniques until you understand what the automation is trying to do.

Then and only then, start applying digital magic to the procedure until you have mastered it. Never, ever let automation overwhelm your airmanship. I see it again and again... Automation is your friend, not your master.

Speed...

Outside, a micro-thin layer of cirrus clouds a few feet above us... The top of the tail is probably slicing it like a 450 knot knife blade. The sensation of speed is amazing as the super thin cloud layer rushes past the top of the aircraft. Whoa! Look at that! We are packin' the mail... Literally.

Calls for another sip of Starbucks French roast (bold). I would estimate the in-cup temperature at about 110 degrees. Maybe another 30 minutes of drink time before it is too cool.

Auto-pilot #2...

What was I thinking earlier? If I get overheated I might pop a circuit breaker. I reach up to the a/p selector and push auto-pilot #2.

Fi-Fi accepts the command... Auto-pilot #1 turns OFF with a clack and auto-pilot #2 takes over the aircraft. I look at the co-pilot... "Your aircraft."

I feel better... Life on the Line continues...

Systems

2011-10-06T21:30:00.000-07:00

Position: Over Puget Sound

Compass Heading: 350 degrees

Altitude: 6,000 feet

Indicated Airspeed: 250 knots

Equipment: A321 V2500-A5

Pax-on-Board: 183 + 3 jumpers

Airborne...

My mood was light-to-moderately crabby until I saw what was waiting at the SEA-TAC gate... An A321. I love the 321 but do not get to fly them much because of fleet numbers. At the bottom of the jetway, L-1 (left cabin door, forward), I could smell the new odor wafting out of her cabin. Oooh, baby! You smell good.

I am a few minutes ahead of the co-pilot and four flight attendants who are standing in line at Starbucks. The stretch Electric Jet is dark, power OFF. I fumble with my geezer glasses, push the iPhone button for some Apple light and start reading the power-up checklist. There is something about the iPhone and Fi-Fi... They kind of go together.

With systems coming on line and stabilizing, I look into the cabin... Yikes, these things are long! You can barely see the rear galley. The flight deck is beautiful... I take a walk into the cabin admiring her newness. The pax seats look like they were installed at the factory this morning, instead of a few weeks ago.

OK, this is not so bad... I was wanting a northwesterly heading to Anchorage, but will make do with an easterly course line in this baby.

Noise Abatement...

Because it is after 2200 hrs. local, the departure controller turned us out over the water, i.e., a left bank after take-off from runway 34-Right to comply with noise abatement rules. As we seasoned Line geezers are fond of saying, I am using the emergency flight controls (stick & rudder, thrust levers) in the climb.

Light fingertip pressure is all it takes to maneuver this new enhanced Electric Jet; thrust levers are set in the climb power detent. Out of 10,000 feet, I flip the overhead switches to stow the main lights. You can actually see the twin light spears rotate downward as they fold into their little cubby holes under each wing root.

These 321s are very quiet. The speed increase out of 10,000 feet is a digital value on the airspeed indicator without an accompanying noise increase. Engine noise, because they are so far aft, is almost non-existent. It is a weird sensation compared to the 319/320.

11,000 feet...

Compass heading is 100 degrees as the departure controller clears us to the first virtual waypoint about 60 miles east of PPOS (present position). Fi-Fi is rolling through 270 knots as she enters the orange cloud bellies reflecting Seattle street lights. The flight director crosshairs are showing me the proper attitude for best climb rate and fuel burn... Hey, dummy! Pay attention! Put the little airplane in the center!

The crosshairs are one degree high; I pressure the joystick with my little finger and raise the nose to match. The engines are new, strong, and running cool. The fuel flows are... Uh, don't look yet. It only makes you paranoid; they are huge in this thick air.

14,000 feet...

The Electric Jet breaks out of the overcast and into the dark night sky. The stars are beautiful this evening, or is it morning? I look at the pilot's chronometer the wife-of-my-youth bought me when we were both young.

It is still evening, but not for long.

Enough fun for now... Auto-pilot ON, auto-thrust ON, check NAV engaged. The transition from my little finger to the Star Trek mode is seamless.

The Seattle departure controller gives us the frequency for Seattle Center and wishes us a good flight.

28,000 feet...

I hear a snap behind me... uh-oh; that sounded like a circuit breaker. Before I can put a light on the circuit breaker panel behind the co-pilot, the computers that monitor the system computers generate a fault warning... Center-fuel tank, right pump FAULT.

I put a flashlight beam on the circuit breaker panel and see a popped circuit breaker's white nub sticking out of the otherwise dark panel. Yep, we have lost a fuel pump. Interesting...

"Ding"...

A yellow master caution light illuminates the flightdeck along with a caution bell... Center-tank auto-feed FAULT. It's gone from interesting to very interesting... I suspect a check valve or pressure switch has failed, rather than the actual pump.

The fuel-tank system page illuminates on the lower LCD screen. The wing tanks are normal and in the green. So, the center tank has lost a pump; no problem. We can OPEN the fuel cross-feed valve and use the remaining center-tank pump to feed both engines. If we lose the remaining center-tank pump, we will be landing at O'Hare or Detroit for more fuel. The engines cannot draw fuel from the center tanks unassisted. The wing tanks; yes.

The email alert light begins to flash... Of course. Mother is calling; we are in a new enhanced Fi-Fi which communicates with Mother at all times. Maintenance Control, a subsidiary of Mother, says they show center-tank pump #2 (right) and the AUTO FUEL feed, center-tank are faulted. Amazing! I have gone from steam-jets with WW2 instrument panels to this airborne main-frame of computing power. I wonder what the young ones in the right seat will see in their time? Maybe nothing... The flight management computers might take over entirely. Get rid of these pesky pilots.

I send an email back to Maintenance Control: yes, the center tank system is having some problems, but assure them than everything is under control.

They respond with a promise to have techs waiting for the aircraft. In days gone by, we would have started preparing a booby-trapped blueberry muffin (insert realistic plastic bug) for the techs. Maintenance techs will eat anything left in the aircraft.

It's a kinder and gentler Line today... No booby-trapped muffins allowed anymore.

Manual fuel feed...

The automatic feature of the center-tank feed has failed, which means captain Dave will manually operate the remaining center-tank fuel pump. The fuel pumps give the engines more than they need at all times, so the excess returns to the wing tanks in the 321, tip tanks in the 320/319. Normally, the auto-feed function will shut the center-tank pumps OFF before the wing tanks/tip tanks overflow.

In manual feed, not so... Uh, think of a white plume jettisoning from the wing overflow vents causing multiple pax to ring their overhead call buttons in the cabin. Please don't ask me how I know about this... Well, OK... I did a carpet dance two or three Chief Pilots ago over this very thing.

Now, I am paranoid about the fuel overflow vents. It still makes me twitch thinking about it, but I will never overflow another drop of fuel as long as I am on the Line.

Center-tanks empty...

Yeah baby! The center-tanks are empty; we are drawing on the wing tanks. Life is good as I switch OFF the remaining center-tank fuel pump and close the cross-feed valve. We are good to go... Plenty of accessible fuel remaining.

Over Minny... 35,000 ft

Minneapolis is passing under our long, shiny belly when the lead flight attendant calls us, "Hey boys, dinner is ready."

I have been concentrating on the fuel and forgotten about hunger pangs. I ask her if they look edible... She assures me they are from the First Class carts. On certain legs we get First Class food, on others, lowest bidder crewmeals. There is no rhyme or reason.

I ask her to send up a strong coffee with the meals. We are living large this morning... Local time is 0220 hrs.

Fuel: Center tanks dry/wing tanks almost full.

Hydraulics: 3,000 psi

Electrics: Gen 1 & 2 under 30% of capacity

Oxygen press: 1500 psi

Fuel flow: 6200 lbs p/hr

Life on the Line continues...

MIPOT Intersection

2011-09-16T13:26:00.000-07:00

Position: South of CYEG

Altitude: 16,000 feet and descending; spoilers 50%...

Indicated Airspeed: 340 knots

Equipment: A320 V2500 A-5

Pax-on-board: 150

Airborne....

My right hand is on the spoiler handle which is fully aft. The A320 will only give half-extension with the auto-pilot ON, even if the handle is against the stops. The Canadian night winds are complicating my life... Too much tailwind!

We are dropping out of the velvety black sky for CYEG (Edmonton, AB). Visibility is truly unlimited tonight with Edmonton in sight before we passed over CYYC (Calgary, AB). Outside, the star fields are amazingly clear with Polaris about 28 degrees higher than Lost Wages.

After some trip trading, cash incentives, and tactical whining, I broke free from the East-West trans-cons and am flying the North-South system. Much better... For now.

Thirty inches from my eyes, Fi-Fi nav has drawn a bright green line extending north to MIPOT intersection, where the arc intersects the localizer beam to runway 12. The approach controller turned us loose a few miles ago... We are cleared for the visual approach to runway 12, CYEG... Contact tower at MIPOT. Roger that...

A normal comment from an experienced co-pilot at this time would be something like... Good luck! We're all counting on you.

My co-pilot is a young one fresh out of Fi-Fi finishing school. She is typical of the female pilots the hiring committee selects: good-looking with an elevated IQ. Her knowledge of the Electric Jet is limited at the moment, only what she learned in ground school and that just scratches the surface. However, in two years her system knowledge will be formidable... I have seen this type before. If my brain is... Say, like a 100 watt bulb, hers is like an aircraft landing light.

Still, she is apprehensive about turning OFF the smoke and mirrors, taking it down to the Super Cub mode, and flying her way out of mistakes where all new co-pilots find themselves. That is understandable, since training is all about becoming one with the Magic, sort of like the Borg queen.

Yesterday, we had one of those I'll bet you won't do that again moments going into Salt Lake City because she got behind the aircraft while trying to understand what the automation was doing. She was horrified with herself until I told her about a few of the lame-brain stunts I've pulled in Fi-Fi over the years... Don't worry about it.

Full Spoilers...

Auto-pilot OFF/Auto-thrust OFF/Flight Directors OFF/ bring up the FPV-BIRD; spoilers fully rise and the wings start to audibly rumble as more lift is sheared away. The vertical speed indicator continues to fall toward the bottom of the instrument case. We are too high for the geographic position related to the end of the runway, so I bank left toward the 15 mile arc (think of a circle drawn around the YEG VOR with a 15 mile radius). The radio magnetic indicator is a little used instrument in contemporary flight decks, but I still use it for flying arcs. It points at whatever radio signal it is tuned... I think of it like an old U-control model airplane; when the string is 15 miles long, I know I am on the arc.

Spoilers stowed...

Through 14,000 feet, I stow the spoilers. Our descent rate will take about 3,500 feet to arrest, and then it will be time to use the remaining descent energy to fly the arc and intercept the localizer. The engines have been at LO IDLE from 38,000 feet and I am trying to maintain that until two miles outside DEVON, the marker beacon. My idea is to show the co-pilot not to be afraid of this aircraft.

Arc intercept...

The RMI needle is pointing at YEG VOR, about in our six o'clock, and with a few miles of lead, I bank right and let the tailwind slide us onto the 15 mile arc at 12,000 feet; the string is taut at a length of 15 miles. The runway is 45 degrees right of the nose... We will be in a gentle right bank until we merge with the localizer beam. I am flying with the tips of my fingers on the joystick. Her flight controls are light and responsive... This is a fine flying machine.

Speed Bleed...

I begin to bleed the speed with a tiny bit of back pressure, which also slows the descent rate. A lot of newbies are tempted to think about Flaps 1 now, which is not flaps at all; the leading edge slats extend to 18 degrees (flaps stay retracted) and the engines switch to HI-IDLE negating any of the extra drag from the slats. It's a zero sum gain. Leave her slippery and clean; use wing loading, a smidge of spoilers (if needed), and angle of attack to slow down. Don't grossly waste any of your energy bank... You can get rid of it later.

Around the bend...

MIPOT is just around the bend... We are looking good. The glideslope is above us, i.e., we will merge with it from underneath. Now is a good time for FLAPS 1 and a spoiler bump. The co-pilot selects Flaps 1 and we watch the digital picture of the slats extending. I can't help it; I reach overhead and turn on the wing lights, and then look out my side window at the slats... Yep, they are extended. Captain's paranoia, I guess.

Over MIPOT...

The co-pilot calls the tower and they respond with their usual cheery welcome to Edmonton, you are cleared to land runway 12, winds are 180 at 10... What gate are you guys at tonight?

The radar altimeter starts picking up its reflections from the ground. It is pitch-black in our immediate vicinity. There is no horizon at all, other than the lights of Edmonton to our north. The runway lighting is bright, but there is zero depth-of-field. It is time to rebuild the automation safety net. A smart crew will always use it as a digital slave to increase safety ten fold (or more), especially on nights like this; clear and dark. Looks easy, but it can be deadly.

Flight directors ON/Auto-thrust ON/Auto-pilot ON/ Activate the APPROACH MODE/Arm the approach... More flaps, landing gear down, adjust my seat to proper height. The LCD screens are flooding the cockpit with digital information as the flight management computers take over the flight controls under my watchful eyes. The Star Trek mode is re-engaged...

Over the marker beacon...

My ADF needle swings to the tail as we pass over the beacon. I still tune it up and use it religiously, even though it is ancient technology. The engines are out of idle and stabilized at about 40%, flaps FULL, automatic braking selected to LOW. The co-pilot calls out one thousand... The radar altimeter shows 950 feet. The world is in sync... 140 knots and looking good. Fi-Fi is centered on the localizer and glideslope.

At 500 feet radar altitude, the landing lights start to illuminate the white stripes on the runway surface. Finally, some depth-of-field... I turn the auto-pilot OFF and take over the flight controls. I am following flight director commands and the auto-thrust is managing the engines, but my thumb, right hand, is on the auto-thrust OFF button... Just in case.

Over the fence...

At 140 knots, flaps FULL, three green lights, slight crosswind from the right. The white stripes are accelerating as we get closer to the concrete. I do the captain Dave thing and touchdown smoothly in the first third of the runway, pulling the reverse thrust triggers as soon as the spoilers rise. At wheel spin-up, the auto-brake computers start squeezing the brake pucks on the main gear wheels. The cool air stokes the roar of the V2500 A-5 engines under full reverse thrust; deceleration is heavy. For a Line pilot, it doesn't get much better.

Taxiing to the gate...

The co-pilot says you make it look so easy.

Don't worry... You'll get it. Six months from now it'll be a new ball game for you.

Life on the Line continues...

ISS Rising

2011-09-05T10:00:00.000-07:00

Position: Over KSTL (St. Louis)

Altitude: 34,000 feet

Equipment: A320 V-2500 A-5

Pax-on-board: 150

Mach #: Point Seven Eight

Airborne... Over KSTL

Night conditions have rolled over us from the east. The sky is exceptionally clear tonight. Thirty-four thousand feet below us... St. Louis glowing in the dark. To my left, Scorpius's tail, embedded in the Milky Way, is dragging billions of stars west. It is an awesome sight!

My co-pilot is, like me, a NASA geek and has reminded me the ISS will rise northwest of Omaha as we fly overhead. I think about that a moment and realize that we might see it a second time... About 92 minutes per orbit.

No warp gate...

The winds are not cooperating tonight. Our best groundspeed will be about 430 knots (494 mph). We will not pass through the warp gate tonight. Does not the god of speed know who is captain of this ship tonight?

Fi-Fi nav is forecasting an on-time arrival; captain Dave nav says eleven minutes early. We will split the difference; five minutes early, I think.

Rule-of-thumb #31: Never tell the pax you are going to be early unless you are absolutely sure... Too many things can slow you down. There are time and distance aficionados (like me) in the back with their vintage Omega FlightMaster watches set to exact Naval observatory time. I would hate to be the source of an incorrect ETA.

Over KOMA...

Absolutely smooth flight conditions; wind on our nose at 60 knots.

Both of us are looking for the rise of the ISS. I have at least twenty-five years more wear and tear on my eyes than the co-pilot; it will be tough to see it first. No matter, I am scanning the northwest horizon in small segments watching for a moving star. It is supposed to rise at fifty-five after the hour.

Flight-deck lighting is reduced to minimum, electric seat all the way forward with head, shoulders, and folded arms on the top of the instrument panel. It is one of my favorite places at night. The heat from the thick Plexiglas feels good. And it is a good place to star gaze.

The Omaha airport slides beneath our nose...

Movement...

I sense movement on the horizon... Look one degree right or left. Yes, a bright star rising. I quickly call it, I've got it; one-thirty low. The co-pilot sees it and confirms. I am feeling smug; still have good vision for my age.

The ISS rises in the northwest and becomes very bright as it moves toward Earth's shadow directly above us. We strain to keep it in sight as it enters the shadow and disappears in our three o'clock high. OK, that was cool. I remind the co-pilot that we might be able to see it again in about 90 minutes.

Email alert light flashing...

The flashing yellow light is bright, reflecting off the walls of our plasticized digital cocoon... Mother is calling. I finger the seat's reverse toggle switch and move backwards to the real world. A couple button pushes and I am looking at a three page message from dispatch on the captain's LCD display; PRINT button pushed and the mini-printer spits it out.

Geezer glasses ON; reading light to bright. Uh-oh... Storms ahead over Wyoming. Big ones... Tops above 45,000 feet. Suggested re-route to follow. I'll bet the DC-6 boys would have given their left arm for this technology... Well, probably the flight engineers left arm.

Less than a minute later another message... Re-route. I rip it out of the mini-printer; look at it for a second... One of the advantages of being an old pilot is the ability to do quick fuel calculations. Nothing more important than fuel in my business.

Looking good for the re-route; I ask the co-pilot to get permission from our ATC controller. Permission granted... I enter the new data in the flight management computers and ask the co-pilot to check it for middle-aged mayhem before I push ENTER... Fi-Fi asks, are you sure? YES...

The right wing lowers and we change course high over the world's bread basket.

North of KBOI... 36,000 feet

Smooth flight conditions prevail and the ISS should rise at anytime. It has been 90 minutes since the last sighting. Ahead of us the night sky remains clear. Thanks to dispatch, we are well north of the nasty weather.

There! Eleven o'clock low... The co-pilot sees it first. The ISS is rising again and is very bright, probably an apparent magnitude of minus one. Rising, it gets brighter until it disappears in the shadow, this time at nine o'clock high.

NASA geek heaven tonight!

It is good karma, I think... Feeling reasonably confident about our ETA, I break rule #31 and make an announcement to the pax that rubber will be on concrete at sixteen minutes after the next hour... Seven minutes early.In my minds eye, I can see the time geeks rotating their bezels.

Life on the Line continues...

Automation

2011-08-31T13:08:00.001-07:00

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

2011-08-22T19:08:00.000-07:00

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

2011-08-12T21:00:00.000-07:00

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

2011-08-01T13:00:00.000-07:00

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.

The General's Daughter

2011-07-23T10:43:00.000-07:00

Position: Over Bishop, Ca.

Altitude: 36,000 feet

Groundspeed: 426 knots (489 mph)

Equipment: A319

Pax-on-Board: 123

Airborne...

He was the all-American kid who wanted to fly airplanes when airplanes were still miraculous, long before they became ho-hum to the flying public. After Pearl Harbor, he signed up for the Army Air Corps, made it through initial training and went on to Bomber Command for B-17 co-pilot training. Next stop... The Mighty Eighth.

Much to his amazement, he survived twenty-five missions against the vaunted Luftwaffe. Eighty thousand (80,000) of his fellow airmen were not so lucky. He rotated back to Training Command and spent the rest of the war as a flight instructor. The Air Corps brass liked him and invited him to stay after the war ended. He rose to the rank of Brigadier General before he retired and along the way produced a covey of children, all of them fine pilots.

The last little girl, born during the autumn years of his life, is sitting in the right seat of this flight deck... The General's daughter.

She is razor sharp and has the best captain management skills I've ever seen. The wife-of-my-youth is one of her friends... Yes, that is a double-edged sword. The time tested left seat lines of bravado and b.s. are totally ineffective with this co-pilot... My much polished and perfected captain's swagger is a waste of time.

She flies the aircraft like she came from the factory pre-installed as an auto-pilot. Actually, she handles it better than most of the captains around this outfit, including me... Is there no respect for the left seat anymore?

Summer ops... 48 degrees C

Number, uh... Looks like about fifteen for take-off in KPHX (Phoenix). The ATIS (automatic terminal information service) temperature says it is 42 degrees C (108 F). The temperature sensor on Fi-Fi's belly feels 48 C (118 F) on the taxiway. The take-off data is figured on the ATIS temperature, but we are 2,100 pounds lighter than the flight plan estimate, so we have some wiggle room with the super-heated runway.

I am going to fly the hot weather take-off. If an engine explodes in a hot shower of titanium shrapnel, I want to be the one flying. The General's daughter could easily handle this take-off, but I asked her if we could swap legs... It's that little flashing red "uh-oh" light in the back of my brain. It's a captain Dave thing.

I am old and cranky, been there, done that, seen it before. When an engine decides to quit in weather like this you lose exactly 50% of your thrust, but 85-90% of climb ability. It is a very serious matter... I am paranoid about it and act as if it will happen, not maybe, but for sure will happen. The aircraft will fly out of this nightmarish scenario, but it is one of the few emergency events that requires immediate and correct actions.

26 degrees C...

At 7,000 feet, 26 degrees C... We are climbing out of the top of the heat dome covering Phoenix. The vertical speed is increasing as the V-2500 A-5 engines bite into the cooler atmosphere. My stress levels are falling with the outside air temperature. Much to my relief, both engines are turning and burning.

The co-pilot reaches overhead and cranks the cockpit temperature controller down even more. Yep, it is hot in here.

-45 degrees C...

We are cruising at 36,000 feet and have been for 50 minutes en route to KSJC (San Jose). The fuel temperature is 25 degrees C; brake temperatures are averaging 150 degrees C. It is hot enough to boil water down there in the main landing gear wells. Wheel brake temperature is cumulative during a multi-leg summer day. Luckily, Fi-Fi has brake fans to dissipate that heat on the ground. During my 737 days, we used a brake temperature chart in the summer to determine if we needed to delay take-off for hot brakes.

Top of descent...

Oakland Center gives us a lower altitude; (and) once we get to 12,000 feet, slow down to 250 knots, please. We can do that... Thrust rolls back to idle as I select a descent mode on the auto-pilot control panel; the Electric Jet slowly lowers her nose and down we go. Below us, a blanket of clouds with green coastal hills peeking through. It is a beautiful day in Northern Californa...

Thirty miles south of KSFO (KSJC lies beneath KSFO Class B airspace) and slipping beneath its controlled airspace, I slow the 319 to a mandatory maximum airspeed of 200 knots. We are cruising over the coastal mountains, the tops of the higher ones in the sun light. The radar altimeter comes to life as we fly over terrain that rises inside of the 2,500 foot radar altimeter floor. You can watch the peak digitally rise then fall away as the radar altimeter sweeps over it. That is kind of cool.

My old eyes are sweeping the skies for Bonanzas and Cessnas... I worry a lot about smacking aluminum in this airspace. In my younger days I could see a light aircraft ten miles away, but now, maybe four miles if I am well rested.

Cleared for the ILS 30 Left...

Fi-Fi captures the localizer radio beam and is looking for the glideslope, which is still above us. There is a marine layer over KSJC at 1,000 feet above the ground, hence the ILS approach. We fly into the glideslope and start down with three green gear lights and flaps at three-quarters. The cloud layer covers us briefly... Then we are underneath and looking at the runway. The surface temperature is 16 C, or 61 F. Nice and cool sea-level air with lots of lift potential. I feel a very smooth landing coming on... I know better, but can't help myself...

I tell the General's daughter, "OK, now watch and learn. I will demonstrate again how to land a 319. Pay attention this time."

"Yeah, that's what you said yesterday right before you slammed it in at Kansas City. Gonna be like that one?"

See, no respect...

At 500 feet... auto-pilot OFF/auto-thrust OFF/flight directors OFF/bring up the FPV (flight path vector).

Low altitude musings...

One more time... Is the gear down and locked? Yes, three green lights glowing brightly.

Are we below maximum landing weight? Yes, two thousand pounds below...

The indicated airspeed is a few knots low... Increase thrust a tiny bit. The wind sock is half extended; a slight crosswind from the left. If it's a 20 knot wind sock, the wind is 10 knots. I think the tower said eight knots... Close enough.

And... Are we on tower frequency? Yes... Did they clear us to land? Yes...

Over the fence at 136 knots indicated. The runway slides beneath us as I start thinking about flaring... Fi-Fi's digital voice is calling out the altitude in ten foot increments as we close on the concrete; fifty...forty...thirty...twenty...ten...

At twenty feet, I apply slight back pressure on the stick to slow the descent rate.

My honor is at stake here, literally. She is good friends with some of my low rent captain buds... I will never hear the end. The nose is pitched up five degrees. A little more back pressure to slow the descent further, but not too much. Absolutely do not want to bleed off too much airspeed (energy).

When it feels like the main gear is about to touch, I push the stick forward a tiny bit to rotate the airframe about the pitch axis toward the nose. This stops the main gear a few inches above the concrete and lets them settle oh-so-smoothly... It works. A perfect touchdown with minimum tire distortion.

My touchdown is so smooth it can't be felt other than the wing spoilers rising causing the transfer of wing load to the landing gear. It is absolutely what I was hoping for to save my rep from the Kansas City debacle.

Time to stir the pot again. I ask the General's daughter, "Are we down yet?"

Life on the Line continues...

Flying the Terminator

2011-06-21T15:00:00.000-07:00

Position: Over Montague Island

Altitude: 28,400 feet and climbing

Mach Number: Point seven two

Equipment: A320

Pax-on-Board: 150 plus two jumpers

Airborne...

No, Arnold is not in First Class. The terminator, in this case, is the ethereal dividing line between night and day. We are leaving PANC (Anchorage) behind at seven nautical miles p/min and climbing at a steady 1,400 feet p/min. The mighty International Aero A-5 engines are sucking fuel at a prodigious rate. On my side, thru the heated Plexiglas... Light; on the co-pilot's side... Dark.

It is, in my judgment, a Divine sight. Job was asked by the Lord if he knew the ordinances of the heavens... Well, there it is in our twelve o'clock... The Ordinances of the Heavens. I wish Job could have seen this sight. It is an incredible thing for human eyes.

Life is sweet this morning soaring over Montague Island. The co-pilot is at the top of my list of favorites, a female of extraordinary ability and intelligence, with whom I fly often. Behind the locked flight deck door, sitting over the wing center-section, is the lovely wife-of-my-youth, another woman of extraordinary ability and intelligence, who managed to snag the last seat out of Pandora. She is good at that...

Fuel range...

Aircraft routing has been able to send the A320 to PANC for the last few days because of light winds and better than normal weather. Usually, the 320 does not have enough fuel range to make Anchorage with an alternate airport requirement, which is most of the time. For this reason, the A319 is the work horse on the ANC route.

I love seeing the A320 sitting at the Anchorage gate... An extra 27 seats to lift more revenue and (possibly) get a few (small) non-revs onboard. Ergo, wife in back. Yes, we were lucky tonight that a 150 seater was waiting at the gate, otherwise she would have been in the terminal waving good-bye as we pushed...

Altitude capture...

Fi-Fi's number two auto-pilot switches to the capture mode 400 feet below the selected altitude of 35,000 feet. The co-pilot is watching as the symphony of airborne computers sends the altitude hold electron stream to the Flight Directors. The Electric Jet gently levels at 35,000 feet engaging the soft cruise mode. She will hold the selected altitude, plus or minus 50 feet.

Roll back...

The V2500-A-5 engines roll back to cruise power with a corresponding fall in fuel flow, N1, N2, and exhaust gas temperatures. OK, all we have to do now is nurse the fuel-in-tanks. We can do that; the co-pilot is one of the most fuel efficient pilots at the airline. She constantly under burns the flight plan.

No crew meals, please...

The lead flight attendant calls the flight deck and asks if she should heat our crew meals. I look at the co-pilot... A head shake and a grimace. I feel the same way... Our internal body clocks are not in the eating mode. I ask her to give the food to the two uniformed soldiers (large young men/flat top hair cuts/high and tight) in First Class. The gate agents managed to seat them close to the flight deck door, per my request. These guys can be a huge asset in an emergency situation. Yes, I know... Mild paranoia.

Undercast...

Nothing but undercast as far as the eye can see. The westerlies are mild at 45 knots; almost calm for these latitudes. The windscreen center post is exactly in the center of the terminator. Is there a profound meaning to this? Something to think about as the center-tanks slowly fill with air... Wing and tip tanks still full of Jet-A.

Life on the Line continues...

Twilight Meditations

2011-06-09T18:13:00.000-07:00

Position: SAE (Searle VOR; Ogallala, Ne.)
Altitude: 32,000 feet
Groundspeed: 415 knots (477 mph)

Compass Heading: 278 degrees

Equipment: A321 Enhanced
Pax-on-Board: 183 + 5 jumpers

Airborne... Day number three of four.

I am in the 321 groove again. I flew months without even sniffing a 321, and now almost every leg... Not complaining for I love this aircraft. Anyway, the methods and mysteries of aircraft routing is not for the great unwashed of the Line to understand.

We have been paralleling a line of Level Six thunderstorms for hundreds of miles and it appears to stretch all the way to the Rockies. The 321's multi-scan digital radar shows a clear depiction of those gigantic atmospheric water pumps to our left; to our right, another area of Level Six storms in a circular cluster about 200 miles in diameter. In between is a hole about 75 miles across; that is where we are, over SAE, along with many other airliners. The blow-off from the storm tops to our left has filled the gap with IMC (instrument meteorological conditions). We cannot see a thing outside except a gray nullity; no shape or form.

Light turbulence here... I asked the flight attendants to be careful with the carts, then flipped the seat belts sign switch to ON. The 321 is almost fun to ride through turbulence, as it has so much flex in the fuselage. The flight deck gently whips and twists on the forward end of the pressurized tube. The effect is mildly hypnotic...

My co-pilot is a thirty something guy that captains either love or hate... About half of my buds do not care for this guy, but I have no complaints. I have flown with him numerous times over the eight years he has been on the Line and I do not see the problem. He is high strung and very intelligent, one of the best aviators on the Line. There in might lie the problem... Not hard for such a co-pilot to make the captain's flying look ham-fisted. When I have a co-pilot like this, I give them all the flying; keep them busy and everyone is happy. That also allows me to pay more attention to the new enhanced Fi-Fi and her cutting-edge smoke and mirrors.

Other things...

I have received about forty plus email requests concerning Sully's new gig and his comments on AF447. I have not seen that report, nor am I interested in it. Whatever Sully says is OK with me; I would never disagree with him in public, or private. As far as I am concerned, he now walks with the Great Ones. He is, in my view, an aviation God. And he made the transition in two minutes and twenty seconds... What a staggering feat of airmanship!

Unbelievably, (well, maybe not...) I have heard quite a few Line pilots criticize Sully's actions because of listening to various expert's reports that he could have done this or that differently, etc. What a joke! Everyone of these talking heads would have been peeing their pants and crying for momma when both engines rolled back to idle thrust followed by the indicated airspeed trend arrow pointing at the bottom of the instrument case. Sully did not even raise his voice...

Free opinions...

Once again, here is my opinion on the question of multi-layered flight control systems controlled by a network of computers and managed by pilots. I think they are great! Better than great, actually... The Electric Jet can fly in the busiest and most complex airspace in the world, yet I could take any private pilot and have him/her flying this baby in about twenty minutes. Turn the magic OFF and it flies like any other aircraft, probably better than most. Stick, rudder, power... A wonderful flying machine.

Understand that is not what we Line pilots are trained or paid to do... We utilize every last transistor and circuit board in the Star Trek bay. The airlines that pay for these high dollar aircraft demand it. There is no time to fly for fun in the simulator; no flying under bridges or through the St. Louis arch like we used to do in the 737 sims. Every minute is required to train for the New World Order of airline flying; exotic instrument approaches, new airspace rules and regs, multi-layered system failures, flight computer failures, and on and on the task list goes mandated by multiple government agencies.

Is there a fatal flaw in the Airbus Industries product design? I seriously doubt it. I believe I would have seen it by now. I am not a suave French test pilot by any means, (not even close) but I am a high-time Electric Jet pilot having flown these exotic aircraft in heavy weather on a regular basis.

The guillotine of the Enlightened Ones...

Heads will roll over AF447 and the pilots are always prime targets for head chopping. The two young co-pilots flying through the nightmare scenario will be made to look like complete idiots by a media machine that understands not one tiny, itty-bitty, molecular-sized iota of the FACs, ELACs, SECs; the Captain will be an indecisive nincompoop. I've seen it many, many times. If the pilots cannot be whacked, the manufacturer is next in line... Whatever, however, for sure heads will roll. The concept of a bad accident every zillion air miles just doesn't, uh, fly anymore.

Navy pilots in our ten o'clock high...

Two Atlanta boys, maybe girls, in our ten o'clock high on the same compass heading. We cannot actually see them, but the fish finder (TCAS) shows them. Our mach number is exactly the same because relative position has not changed for awhile.

I look over at the co-pilot and ask him if he wants some fake coffee from the forward replicator. He points at his hours old Starbucks and says he would rather drink it cold. On the overhead panel, I push the lead flight attendant call button one time...

"Yeah, this is Cindy..."

"Cap'n Dave in the engine room... Would you make me a fresh pot of coffee, please?"

"I can do that darlin'... Call you back in a few..."

"Thanks..."

Are we there yet? No, not even close...

Life on the Line continues...

Midnight Meditations

2011-05-30T09:19:00.000-07:00

Position: Over KMCI (Kansas City)
Altitude: 33,000 feet
Mach: Seven-seven-five
Equipment: A321
Pax-on-Board: 183 + 3 jumpers

Airborne...

Holiday heavy with fuel, pax, bags, and cargo over the vast Midwest this morning. We have one pilot jumper stretched out full length on the cockpit floor in front of the circuit breaker panels; he is fast asleep covered with a light weight windbreaker. It is freezing on that floor, as well as noisy from the cooling fans in the Star Trek Bay underneath, but he is exhausted from flying a rigorous schedule today, make that yesterday.

My co-pilot, a thirty something whiz-kid, is reading a much used paperback he picked up in the pilot locker room. All is quiet at 0010 hrs local time. The radio frequency is quiet, too. There is no convective weather to deal with until arrival at the east coast. Fi-Fi's long fuselage will flex and twist a tiny bit from the very light turbulence we encounter at this altitude. Overall, a good ride.

Midnight meditations... I have had many emails generated from this blog requesting a read on the initial AF447 four page letter that the BEA released. Some of the comments from a few Wikipedia Warriors and Internet Oracles are unbelievable. I would pay good money to see these folks take a simulator ride re-creating the conditions of AF447.

It is not yet clear what those conditions were and will not be until the final accident report comes out in 2012. However, it appears that two young co-pilots lost control while the captain was resting. By the time the captain got back to the cockpit, they were probably doomed. It would take a substantial amount of altitude to recover a fully stalled A330 with a high angle of attack, a 15 degree pitch attitude, and 10,000 fpm descent rate.

Thinking about that gives me the creepy-crawlies.

What could possibly happen to cause such parameters? I am not buying into the theory that the two co-pilots did not know what they were doing. Air France pilots are some of the best on the planet. Obviously, they were presented with very confusing and conflicting data. And that is probably an understatement.

The aircraft gave up the protection of Normal Flight Laws and fell into Alternate Flight Laws which is a different ball game. The co-pilots did recognize that event. They were aware of conflicting data from the ADC (air data computers). But why did the two young bucks (quoting one of my retired Captain buds) start increasing pitch angle? Why didn't they ignore the bogus data and fall back on pitch and power? Why, why, why... ?

For one, I am intensely interested in the minuscule details of this event and will read the 200 plus page accident report when it is published.

This post written on the fly, so to speak. I am in the middle of a four day transcon trip. Fly all night and sleep all day... The vampire sched.

Life on the Line continues... Remember, when all else fails... Pitch and power.

Unintended Consequences... Glory

2011-05-27T18:47:00.000-07:00

That rushing sound, is it the crowd at Le Bourget,
Swarming past the barriers and lights
To scavenge my Spirit; to lift me up
Into the air that only heroes breathe?
Or is it the age-old sigh of sea on stones,
Known to those who pace the shingle
And the swirled black sands that wrap
These impossible islands in a shawl of waves?

excerpt from "At Lindbergh's Grave"
-Gerard Van der Leun

Lindbergh was into motorcycles and surely had his favorite coffee shops, pre-Starbucks, where he read the newspaper and shook his head at the blundering folly of humanity while his two-cylinder, air-cooled, nine horsepower machine ticked and clicked as it cooled in the hard scrabble parking lot.

When his eye caught the one column article on the Orteig Prize his life changed forever, although he did not know it at the time.

Think about that for a moment... A 24 year old, no-name, flat broke air mail pilot is reading the newspaper in a coffee shop after surviving another all-nighter hauling the U.S. Mail in a fabric covered bi-plane. The Orteig Prize... What the heck is this all about?

May 20, 1927... 0750 local

"Switches ON!"

"Clear prop!"

One of Lindy's ground crew, a pre-airline ramper, grabbed two handfuls of ham-stan (Hamilton-Standard) polished propeller and pulled it as hard as he could...

Cylinder number seven fired with a cough and a thick puff of blue smoke, followed by cylinder two, then five, then one-three-six-eight-nine-four... All nine Wright-Whirlwind cylinders fired in a rumbling staccato of blue smoke and an occasional backfire of yellow flame whirled away in the prop wash.

The Spirit's airframe was heavy with fuel... A lot of fuel. The moment of truth for the 25 year old air mail pilot; life or death in the next few seconds... A muddy runway and trees at the far end.

There had to be some Oh Lord, what have I done at that incredibly sweet moment of time so long ago.

Thirty-three hours later...

Le Bourget aerodrome is in sight, sort of... Lindbergh is so tired he cannot understand what is happening. There is a mass of humanity, estimated at 150,000 to 250,000 people, waiting in the dark for the Lone Eagle, as the newspapers were already calling him.

The Spirit, after crossing the North Atlantic, touched down on the grass runway with enough fuel to fly another two hours... Amazing!

The French police could not hold back the surging wave of admirers... Lucky for the first few that Lindy had the presence of mind to kill the fuel flow to the whirling ham-stan scythe. The mob ripped the young American air mail pilot out of the cockpit and carried him above their heads for twenty minutes before he was rescued... Unintended consequences.

Glory, sweet glory from a world wrapped in the arms of financial depression.

Who was this young American and who built this beautiful aircraft? Was this the light at the end of the dark tunnel?

Glory... Millions would see this handsome air mail pilot in the next few months. In the United States alone, one third of the population would see Lindbergh as he toured the country in the Spirit...

Glory... And fame for the rest of his life.

Glory... A newspaper, a motorcycle, and a cup of coffee.

Unintended consequences... Glory.

Seven Years Against the Wind... New Metal

2011-05-19T13:22:00.000-07:00

Position: On "short" final approach; KSAN (San Diego)
Altitude: 400 feet, descending 700 feet p/min
Indicated Air Speed: 145 knots (167 mph)
Equipment: A321... New metal
Pax-on-board: 183 plus 3 jumpers

Airborne... Seven years against the wind writing this blog about life on the Line.

Who would have thought?

Once again, there is the infamous parking garage at eleven o'clock... We are cranked ten degrees for the crosswind. Fi-Fi's virtual glide slope indicator matches the ground-based visual glide path precisely. I have switched OFF all the whiz-bang smoke and mirrors and am hand flying a spanking brand new A321 in the Piper Cub mode.

I have not flown a "stretch" Fi-Fi for over two months, so being assigned a factory fresh A321 super enhanced model makes the experience even sweeter. In the aircraft world, she is the Angelina Jolie of airframes... A smoking hot aluminum babe.

Over in the right seat sits a friend of mine just back from a three year leave of absence. He got in trouble with a flight attendant, lost his wife in the ensuing disaster and then decided to go native on us when the Company offered leaves-of-absence a few years ago. He flew round motors (radial engines from Pratt & Whitney) in Alaska while he was gone. It is good to have him back on the Line... In no small part to strengthen the numbers in my circle of Chuck Yeager wannabe-types.

Retirements, loss of medicals, and the Grim Check Airman are thinning our ranks of low-life, middle-aged problem children. Yes, very good to see him back. He just completed a short re-qual on the Electric Jet and is voluntarily sitting in the right seat for 60 days before going back to the left seat. A smart move in my opinion...

The 321 is long enough that a tail strike is a possibility, so I am showing him my technique for landing with 75% flaps and no more than five degrees pitch on the nose. Naturally, I told him this technique is something for advanced left-seat aviators, and certainly nothing the "right seat" should ever try.

The bravo sierra is thick tonight on the first leg of a four day trip. The only time I have ever done a dual carpet dance in the Chief Pilot's office was with this guy. Yes, we have history...

We were junior captains, bottom feeders on the seniority list back during the days when F-4 Phantom-types were the shining Aviation Gods walking amongst us mere mortals, running the flight department and training. Esprit de corps was high... Both of us made it through Electric Jet training on the first attempt; that being an amazing accomplishment back in those days for a couple of common Line-trash types.

I see someone trying to unlock their car as we approach the parking garage on short final. They have an uh-oh it's about to get very loud look on their face. That person slips underneath the radome and out of sight as the engine/airframe noise footprint rolls over their world. In my world, it would be one of those "yeah-baby" moments... A beautiful jet aircraft with landing gear down, flaps extended and engines spooled a few feet above my head moving at 145 knots.

Ten of us, two complete A320 crews, were in a favorite KSFO establishment... A well known and mostly infamous crew hang-out. Also present, a navy crew from KATL and a cowboy crew from KDAL. In hind sight, that should have been the first warning sign.

There is a strong tendency to dip below the glideslope after the parking garage is cleared. Stay on the visual glide-slope with a squirt of thrust, no more than one-quarter inch of thrust lever movement... We pass over a waiting 737 holding short of the runway to our right. The 1,000 foot aim point is illuminated by our landing lights and it appears the main landing gear will contact the last part of the painted hash marks. Looking good...

I cannot remember who actually started down the path of who or which airline had the best crews, the most professional aviators, and other such bombastic talk that used to be common back in those days, but someone pried the lid off that can of worms. And then it got rude...

At fifty feet, increase pitch to five degrees and hold that until twenty feet. Thrust levers back to idle, remove the crosswind angle, and push forward on the stick a tiny bit... Maybe one degree reduction. All this has to be done simultaneously; hold "that" until touchdown. Using this technique on the 321 gives plenty of tail clearance.

A letter in my mail slot from the Chief Pilot... It says to report to his office ASAP. Yikes!! What did I do? My mind is racing thinking of any regs that I might have inadvertently broken.

The main gear Aero-Michelins roll onto the runway smoothly, spoilers rise, reverse thrust triggers up-and-over, wheel brakes activated and the stopping program is underway. It is a beautiful thing... I look over at my buddy and say, "That's how it's done." He says, "Blind luck..."

I see my buddy sitting in the outer office with hat in hand and a worried look on his face. The Chief Pilot's office manager looks at me with a smirk and asks me if I was a bad boy, too. What the heck is she talking about? The outer office is large with white walls and expensive models of our fleet types on almost every flat surface. I look at my buddy as I sit down and ask quietly what is this about? He shrugs his shoulders... I look at my shoes and remember that I shined them this morning. I got a haircut yesterday and my uniform is pressed and clean. I should be OK in that department.

The 321 requires oversteering (passing the normal point at which the nose steering would begin turning a shorter fuselage) when making turns on the ramp. I slowly oversteer a 90 degree left turn into the ramp area keeping the yellow line underneath the imaginary yaw axis in the center of the fuselage. We pass between two parked airliners, eyeballs looking hard left and right at our moving wing tips, before we are in the clear and looking at the rampers holding lighted wands high over their heads. Taxiing is the most nerve racking part of this job. Just the thought of nicking the paint on this $70,000,000 beauty makes my skin crawl.

The phone rings; she picks it up... OK boys, he is ready for you. Inside the office with the door closed, we stand in front of the Chief's desk... He is signing form letters. He is about forty-five years old, salt and pepper hair, looks to be in perfect shape. I have never seen this man before... Only heard about him from other F-4 types. On the wall behind him, a large black and white photo of him and his back-seater standing in front of a Phantom... He looks to be about 25 in the photo. The Phantom is wearing camo-paint; it looks combat battered. Next to that photo, a framed Air Force Academy graduation diploma. Next to the diploma, something about a Wing Commander, but I can't quite make it out. Whoa! This guy is the real thing.

He tells us to sit, pointing at two metal chairs with straight hard backs. When he does not offer to shake our hands I start getting really worried. This must be serious or he would not be wasting his time with Line scum.

Parking brake set and look at the hydraulic indicator to be sure it really is SET. Yep, two needles at about a 50 degree angle. Number two engine fuel cut-off to OFF and watch the engine gauges... The engine is too far back to actually hear spooling down. You must use the gauges... Yep, the fuel flow is OFF and the engine EGT is decreasing rapidly. Overhead, the GREEN ON light illuminates for the ground electrical power... I push that button and the electrical relays behind us click and clack as the ship goes on external power. Number one engine fuel cut-off to OFF and watch the gauges... And it starts spooling down... We have arrived ten minutes ahead of sched.

The ex-wing commander picks a letter out of a pile and rattles it in front of us... I recognize the corporate logo. It is the crew hang-out in SFO. I am sure my eyes widened to golf ball size. Oh, no...

"The manager of that damned place in SFO says four of my pilots were involved in a ruckus on March seventeen... You two guys know anything about it?"

I look at the photo of the Phantom again with two young Americans standing in front of the huge left air intake... I notice both of them had longer than regulation sideburns. Good Lord! Real life Gods of Thunder. My buddy is fidgeting in his chair. I decide to fess up before he denies it.

"Yes sir, we were there, but we did not start it."

"I already know you were there... Crew scheduling said you two were the only captains in the area. Tell me what happened and it better be good."

I related the incident to him in detail. The captain of the cowboys was looking for trouble and he found it when he poked the navy boys with the squid label one too many times. The defecation hit the rotary oscillator shortly after that... Amazingly, my buddy and I had the presence of mind to vacate the premise with our crews in tow.

"That is exactly what happened?"

"Yes, sir. Precisely."

The ocean air smells wonderful as I walk underneath Fi-Fi tonight. We have to turn this baby around quickly; 366 pax, 1,000 plus pieces of luggage, tons of mail, and cargo. Not a problem as the KSAN rampers are fanatically efficient... We will probably push two minutes early.

Her landing gear is still as white and clean as the day it rolled off the assembly line, belly skin tight and smooth, paint scheme mirrored and smelling new... The tail section is a long ways from where I am standing. This thing is long! When I walk underneath the tail, I look for any scrape marks; none, and we are going to keep it that way.

The Chief Pilot taps the desk with his pen as he thinks about what to do with the two idiots in his office.

"Ok, here's the deal. I'll take care of this for you two, but this is the only time. Don't ever set foot in that place again... Ever. And I never want to see you two in here again unless it is for Pilot-of-the-Year and I don't think that will ever happen. Any questions? No? OK, that's it then."

That man earned my total loyalty in three minutes. He has been gone a long time, but I still defend him against his detractors to this day and I have never, nor will I ever set foot in "that place" again.

While I am still under the tail, the auxiliary power unit air-intake flap begins to open; my partner-in-crime is starting the APU. A quick look at my watch confirms it... We are wheels-in-the-well fifteen minutes from now. Over my head, the small turbine begins to spool-up.

Still a long night ahead of us... All the way to the east coast, arriving at sunrise.

Life on the Line continues...

Curves

2011-05-07T18:35:00.000-07:00

Position: Arizona-Utah border
Equipment: BMW 1200 LT
Pax-on-Board: 1

The last night on the road...

Where does the time go? Ten days ago the wife-of-my-youth and I packed our big German motorcycle with two days worth of clothes and departed for parts unknown. We decided to totally wing it; no plans and no destination.

An hour after push-back from the driveway, we were out of the traffic and running northbound with a light quartering tailwind. The certitude that we had made the correct decision was now readily apparent. The heavy Bavarian road machine is built to do one thing... Miles in its six. It does that very well, too.

It carves curves like a road razor with bank angles that are insane for a large motorcycle. My wife loves riding behind me on this beast. Two summers ago, we rode it to Alaska... Ten thousand miles of decompression.

Sunset finds us climbing out of the windy desert into high terrain with cold temperatures and twisty mountain roads. The engine's fuel management computer is handling the altitude and temperature changes with ease.

I have slowed considerably because of the failing light and bright yellow signs warning of large furry animals on the road. The Beamer has anti-skid braking power that has to be experienced to comprehend, but I would rather not demonstrate it to my wife.

Climbing through 7,000 feet lowers the temperature to 38 F. which trips the ice warning on the instrument panel, a flashing snow flake. The roads are dry and clear, but the LT is nervous about the temperature. It is almost dark... The inn is about fifteen more miles. And we are only assuming they have a room.

Instrument lights are ON; the integrated GPS NAV system switches automatically from daylight to night setting. I reach back and switch the seat heat to ON under my wife's little hiney and ask her if she is warm enough via the helmet-to-helmet COMM. She is wearing a heated liner underneath her Joe Rocket jacket drawing power from the bike's electrical system. She says she is toasty and very happy that we ran away from home. We both laugh about that... There is something about a powerful motorcycle and the horizon.

Hairpin curves come one after another as we climb ever higher into the mountainous terrain. The potent engine, emitting a low growling sound of pent-up energy, is loafing as we take the dark curves slow and easy, always watching ahead for eyeballs in a 90 degree arc. A glance at the GPS shows five more miles.

Punching through 8,000 feet; OAT is 30 F. I give up and switch my electric jacket liner ON. The slipstream is getting frosty. I can feel radiated engine heat on my legs. Does it get any better than this? No, I think not...

The INN at the top of the world...

Ahead, leaking through the dark forest, light from the Inn. Yes! Easy does it... remember the gravel parking lot.

A few seconds later we are stopped in a large parking lot with two other vehicles, ATV type. In the summer, this place will be packed.

After my wife dismounts, I activate the electro-hydraulic centerstand raising the rear wheel clear of the ground. Think of landing gear... It is one of the top ten coolest things I have ever seen.

Through the door and into warmth... Yes, they have rooms. Actually, we can have any room we want. I notice my iPhone has no signal... Good.

"Do you guys have Internet?"

"No, sir. I'm sorry."

"No, no. That's good."

Outside in the dark, I open the right cargo compartment and remove our two days worth of clothes. The big bike is ticking in the cold air as the engine and exhaust cool. It smells good... Metal, fuel, horsepower, Metzler 880 rubber... German engineering of the highest degree.

Inside our little room, my wife is making the nest.

Where will tomorrow take us? Who cares?

Moonset... Sunrise

2011-04-19T15:42:00.000-07:00

Position: Over Lincoln, Nebraska

Altitude: 36,000 feet

Groundspeed: 337 knots (387 mph)

Equipment: A320 V2500 A-1 engines

Pax-on-board: 150

Airborne... Day number three of a four day trip.

Where am I and why am I dressed this way? Yikes! Time for oxygen, again... The alien-like head squeezer grips my skull and face allowing the regulator to flood my lungs with a pressurized stream of cool aviator's oxygen. Colors get brighter instantly and my mental acumen comes back from the brink of stupid. I look over at the co-pilot; he is looking at the food stains on his tie.

Surely he is doing just that... Because sleeping is illegal. Just ask the poor air traffic controllers who are in the media smash box at the moment.

The moon is setting in my twelve with the sun rising in my six. We have been flying for three hours with three more to go on the back side of the circadian body clock. Fortunately, I have been doing this for so many years that I am able to stay awake without much problem.

Outside, the winds are 120 knots (138 mph) on the nose cone; three different altitudes have been tried with no relief. We are going to be late arriving KLAX, no matter what thrust setting we use. I have this thing about being late, but sometimes it cannot be helped.

Below us, the vast bread basket of the American Empire. How many times have I flown over it? Maybe when I am put out to pilot pasture, I can get my logbooks/trip sheets and try to figure it out... If I can remember that I wondered about it back in the day.

Right seat nuisance...

The guy in the right seat has been ticking me off the entire trip. It is rare for me to have trouble with a co-pilot, as in extremely rare. I have been whining about him to the wife-of-my-youth with every phone call. She says I might be getting a little grumpy in my pre-geezer state. There could be something to that, I guess.

Nevertheless, he is combative with the ATC controllers on the radio. That instantly drives me insane. The controllers are not our enemies in any way, shape, or form. When he is issued a new frequency, he dials it in and pushes the transmit button before checking whether he is blocking another conversation. Also, he mumbles during the read-back causing the controllers to transmit again for clarification. Very amateurish...

Do I really have to tell a 40 year old airline pilot how to talk on the radio?

His aircraft handling is sloppy. For example, landing off the centerline of the runway. Now how basic is that?

Do I really have to tell a 40 year old airline pilot to land on the center of the runway?

Another thing that turns me into a screaming mimi is union talk while being high and fast on a crossing restriction. This guy does it continually... He is bashing airline management or a sector of the seniority list that he hates all the while being 2,000 feet high and 80 knots too fast ten miles from the crossing waypoint. Fingernails on a chalkboard...

Do I really have to tell a 40 year old airline pilot to shut-up and fly the aircraft?

Ten minutes before push from the gate and he has not pre-flighted the aircraft. And that has been at every single push on this four day trip.

Do I really have to tell a 40 year old airline pilot to pre-flight the aircraft early so the mechanics have time to work on a problem?

Right seat perfection...

The wife-of-my-youth reminds me that I am predisposed to impatience with this guy because he is not on my list of favorite co-pilots with whom I normally fly. There might be something to that...

But...

Consider that I get to fly with one of the top co-pilots in the whole industry on a regular basis. She never makes a mistake of any kind with the aircraft; flies it like she is an integral part of the control system. Radio comm is absolutely (100%) perfect; clear and concise. So much so that controllers actually enjoy talking with her and we seem to get preferential treatment.

The aircraft is ready to go all the time; all the work is done for me including administrative and any required maintenance before I sit down. All I have to do is show up with coffee in hand. The difference is like night and day. What a concept!

Left seat whinefest...

There is something about this guy that pushes the wrong buttons. It is probably magnified by circadian switches in my brain. I should quit mentally whining and get this guy out of my head. Yes, quit whining captain... Not professional at all.

No-whine zone...

OK, I feel much better. The co-pilot is still inspecting his tie. Must be a heck of a mustard stain. My throat is dry from the oxygen. I take the mask off... The sun will be above the horizon in a few minutes and the day time circadian switch will trip ON.

The ATC center controller calls us... I look at the co-pilot. Nothing, so I answer the call. The co-pilot then wakes up and asks if he missed anything.

No, not a thing.

Outside, winds have increased to 140 knots. On the plus side, our star is rising and washing away the long night with morning's beautiful light. Things are looking better already.

Life on the Line continues...

Leaving Pandora

2011-04-09T21:31:00.000-07:00

Position: JOH (Johnstone Point)

Altitude: 35,000 feet

Groundspeed: 440 knots (506 mph)

Equipment: A319 V2500-A5

Pax-on-Board: 123

Airborne...

The VOR needle swings 180 degrees indicating station passage; time to pencil in a fuel check over JOH. We are 600 pounds ahead of the flight plan. This is a very good thing.

On the other side of the heated Plexiglas... Extremely thin atmosphere, brilliant star fields and the aurora borealis. It is exceptionally active tonight. The cosmic streamers are undulating like electric snakes. Somehow, though, it is appropriate; an Electric Jet in an electric sky.

One hour earlier...

The fueler is hooked up and pumping liquid gold into Fi-Fi's belly tank, wing tanks, and tip tanks. My co-pilot is entering flight plan data into the nav computers via his mini-keyboard. I am taking a second look at the PANC weather forecast and see something I did not see on my initial perusal. As my British friend, Trevor, is fond of saying... Hang about!

The TAF (terminal area forecast) at our time of departure has a little note attached to the end: ws010/15050. I am reasonably sure that translates to low level windshear at 1,000 feet above the ground from 150 degrees at 50 knots. If we are taking off on runway 32 (northwesterly heading; 320 degrees)... Yikes! That could be a problem. Imagine a 50 knot wind suddenly hitting our tail as we are trying to accelerate at 1,000 feet.

My iPhone 4.0, a digital cousin (twice removed) to Fi-Fi, connects with my dispatcher... She is one of my favorite dispatchers ever. When email showed up in the cockpits at the end of the Bronze Age, she and one of our co-pilots used it to flirt with each other as they worked the flights across the country in the deepest part of the night. A few weeks later the Chief Pilot heard about it and told them to knock it off (or else), so instead, they decided to get married and are still married with a passel of kids. It is one of the great untold love stories of the industry... Still makes me smile thinking of it.

"Hey, it's cap'n Dave up here in Anchorage."

"Hey, Skipper... You aren't going to believe this, but I was just calling you."

"Windshear, right?"

"Yes, I missed it. I'm so sorry!"

"Well, I missed it, too. Whadda you think? Runway fourteen?"

"Yes, let's go with fourteen. I'll send you some new numbers."

Back to the cloud mines...

The overnight in my favorite destination, Anchorage, is history... We are pushing back with our new numbers (performance data). The gate agent, a personal friend, is waving from the jetway as the super-tug begins its push. PANC reminds me of Pandora from the movie Avatar, a far away and very different place. Hanging out with the lowly, and I might add, unfairly maligned freight dogs and bush pilots at Darwin's Theory will always be one of life's sweet memories... Bigger than life Han Solo characters. The last of the real aviators in this world of digitally enhanced flying.

It is the little things in this life that are so important.

Taxiway romeo...

Number two engine has started and rolled back to idle as I call for the taxi checklist on romeo. Flight controls are checked by moving my stick from stop-to-stop while the co-pilot watches the flight control screen.

"Aileron full left, aileron full right, rudder left, rudder right, elevator full up, elevator full down."

He continues reading the checklist; asks me if runway 14 is actually the runway that has been entered in the nav computers.

"Runway fourteen... Check." It is the top item on my mini-computer screen. You would not believe how many times I have caught the incorrect runway thanks to this checklist item. The human factors person who insisted this be included knew what they were talking about.

Cleared for take-off runway 14... Winds 270 degrees at 8 knots...

"OK, here we go." I move the thrust levers forward enough to bring the engines out of idle and stabilize, and then continue to the stops. Tonight we are using all available thrust to climb through the potential windshear zone.

A sea-level, cold night, max thrust take-off is impressive, even at near max take-off weight. The powerful V2500 A-5 engines are shoving us back in our seats as the speed trend arrow (an unbelievably neat little Fi-Fi'ism) goes to the top of the air speed indicator tape. We are supposed to compare air speed indicators at 80 knots but it's near impossible with this kind of acceleration... The co-pilot gets close to the 80 knot call-out; by the time I glance at mine, 100 knots is heading south.

We are (also) supposed to lead the V1 call-out by 5 knots, but again... Impossible. The V1/Vr/V2 speed zone is compressed into one blip rolling past the speed pointer.

The co-pilot calls out vee one rotate...

I lift the nose off the ground at three degrees of pitch per second, stopping at 18 degrees and ask for gear up. We are climbing at V2 plus 30 knots and accelerating. The vertical speed indicator is showing 2,500 fpm and increasing.

Fi-Fi blasts through the windshear zone at 4,400 fpm, V2 plus 55 knots. We are approaching flap/slat speeds... Flaps up. I decide to leave the engines at maximum thrust until 3,000 feet AGL (above ground level). The deck angle is very impressive as she claws for altitude. PANC departure decides to turn us to the right, i.e., the long way around to an easterly heading. This is smart because of potential turbulence in the Turnagain Arm area. As we shred 2,000 feet AGL, the airframe starts to shake from windshear caused turbulence. It is light to moderate bumping and thumping; winds showing from all directions. The inertial nav platforms are a little bit confused with light winds changing direction in rapid sequence.

Three thousand feet AGL falls away as we turn through a northerly heading holding 30 degrees of bank angle. Thrust levers back to climb power, lower the nose to accelerate and ask for auto-pilot number one, please. The vertical speed decreases to 2,000 fpm while Fi-Fi rolls the speed up to 250 knots for the climb to 10,000 feet AGL; this takes all of twenty seconds, then the pitch increases again to hold 250 knots at about 2,800 fpm. We are above the shear zone now; winds out of the northeast at steady 30 knots. The forecast 50 knot windshear did not materialize.

At 4,000 feet above Anchorage, engine heat ON as we enter the street-light illuminated cloud bellies. At 10,000 feet, we are still in the clouds as Fi-Fi lowers her nose to leave the 250 knot speed limit behind her. Finally, after four minutes in the icy clouds, we break out into clear conditions underneath the star dome at 61 North. There is literally zero light pollution up here with the terrain blocking the glow of Anchorage in our six.

Words cannot adequately describe the scene.

PPOS... 35,000 feet...

The air mass is glassy smooth even though it is moving towards the northeast at 120 knots. Fi-Fi's nose is 25 degrees right of the course line to maintain ground track. I have my little flight-bag camera, a Nikon P7000 Coolpix, up against the Plexiglas on my side and pointing back at the left wingtip. It is set for a 30 second exposure with an aperture of 2.8. If it stays smooth, this could work... No bumps, please.

Life on the Line continues...

The Need for Speed

2011-04-03T15:15:00.000-07:00

Position: Over ICT (Wichita)

Altitude: 33,000 feet

Groundspeed: 570 kts (655 mph)

Indicated Airspeed: 261 kts

Mach Number: Point Seven Four (.74)

Compass Heading: 073 degrees

Equipment: A320 A-5 engines

Pax-on-Board: 150

Airborne...

We are a late night departure out of KLAX en route to the eastern edge of the American Empire. As we climb thru 10,000 feet and Fi-Fi begins to accelerate toward the warp gate, the pesky email alert light illuminates. No, no no... Not tonight, please!

The co-pilot, number two on my top ten list, rips the message out of the mini-printer and snickers. She says, "Momma wants you to slow down. I guess you have to control your need for speed."

My cursing trigger trembles...

"Of course... The only night on this trip we have decent winds and we gotta slow down."

The co-pilot enters the new CI (cost index) and RTA (required time of arrival) into the nav computers and Fi-Fi increases pitch to catch the new and much slower climb speed. What a waste of free energy! Oh, well... Mother signs the paychecks.

Over ABQ VOR... 31,000 feet... Mach .71

Earlier, the Albuquerque Center controller suggested 31,000 feet for a smoother ride. The flight plan calls for 35,000 feet over ABQ; a quick fuel check as we pass overhead shows us falling behind on the burn. That is to be expected 4,000 feet lower than planned. Better to burn a bit more fuel than to break a flight attendant's ankle, though.

Over LBL VOR... 33,000 feet... Mach .72

This is painful! Seven-two? Fingernails on a chalkboard... I briefly think about taking the speed control away from Fi-Fi, but common sense prevails. Mother has the big picture on arrival slotting into one of the busiest airports in the world. On the positive side, the ride seems to be improving at higher altitudes and because of that, we are slowly ascending.

I look over at the co-pilot in the dark flight deck and ask, "Hey, you wanna hear some more Robert Stack? I've been working on it since we last flew together."

"No."

"Come on, I know you like it."

"No, I don't."

The mach number is creeping up as the nav computers continuously chew on the RTA. The tail wind has increased to 60 knots helping us slip through the 500 knot warp gate. It is about time!

PPOS... 33,000 feet... Mach.74/570 kts gs

Underneath our belly, Wichita is a soft yellow smudge on the otherwise dark undercast. Overhead is another story, though. It is appears that an angel threw a bucket of stars across the heavens... Hey, Capt. Dave look at this!

Even with my aging eyes, it is one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen. The viewing conditions are perfect this morning. I can only imagine what it must look like on the other side of the heated Plexiglas. Outside, tailwinds have increased to 126 knots.

Over STL... 35,000 feet... Mach.75/590 kts gs

Moonrise on the eastern horizon is at 0330 hrs local... Tailwinds are 145 knots. We could easily break 620 knots across the ground with a little more thrust, but...

The undercast disappears east of St. Louis and countless agricultural communities of the great American Midwest stretch to the horizon. They look like small diamond broaches illuminated with yellow-orange light. In the center of each is a tiny pin-point of flashing red light... Main and First street intersection, undoubtedly.

I always wonder if anyone is looking up at a small twinkling light moving east against the star fields. It is Capt. Dave and 154 souls passing overhead...

Back to reality and time for a system check:

Hydraulics are 3,000 psi...

Fuel is balanced within 1,000 pounds...

Electrics are good...

Engines are loafing at a reduced thrust setting...

Oxygen pressure is 1550 psi...

We are looking good... Another eighty-eight minutes to top-of-descent.

Life on the Line continues...

Spring Break 2011

2011-03-24T12:00:00.000-07:00

Position: Over Kansas City

Altitude: 36,000 feet

Mach Number: Point Seven Nine (.79)

Headwind Component: 86 knots

Equipment: A320

Pax-on-Board: 150 plus two jumpers

Departure: KJFK (New York City)

Destination: KSAN (San Diego)

Airborne... Flying has been getting in the way of blogging.

Spring break is underway and the pax loads are huge. In fact, so much so that the wife-of-my-youth has been unable to non-rev with me for a couple of weeks. Those of us looking up the seniority slope, instead of gazing down from the summit, are flying heavy schedules. I'm not complaining, though. I am truly fortunate to have this life on the Airways of America.

Talking about airways... We have been paralleling a contrail for about 100 miles. It is mesmerizing as the sun sets behind it. We cannot see the actual aircraft, only the contrail it is leaving in its six.

My co-pilot, the Argentinian Kid that I really like flying with (and have written about on this very blog) is the flying pilot. He might be the best pilot I have ever seen. Yeah, I know... Some of the old war horses were really good, but there was a lot of hero worship on my part. They could have been flying with the needle and ball on opposite sides of the case and I would have thought it was the greatest thing in aviation.

Center-tank fuel pump 2 fault...

Fi-Fi's systems monitoring software has detected a fault in one of her center-tank fuel pumps. An amber caution light and warning bell followed by a short message from the ECAM (electronic centralized aircraft monitoring) display alerts us and gives as a suggested course of action. Fi-Fi wants me to open the fuel cross-feed valve so that the remaining center-tank fuel pump can distribute the center-tank fuel to the engines. That is a reasonable request... I reach overhead and push a button opening the cross-feed valve. Next request from ECAM is to de-energize the broken fuel pump, which I do with another button.

Obviously, if the remaining center-tank fuel pump fails we cannot access the fuel in the center tank... That translates into landing short of our destination, KSAN, to re-fuel the wing tanks. I decide to email my dispatcher to alert her of that possibility.

Dinner time...

The lead flight attendant calls me to report our crew meals are ready. I ask her if they are cloned-replicator low-bid crew meals or real First Class food. She says they are crew meals, but she is not sure what they are... One looks like beef, maybe, and she thought the other might be chicken or pork. I look at the co-pilot and ask him if he wants his meal... He asks me if I am going to eat mine...

I tell the lead flight attendant that we are not eating. It's safer for the 150 souls-on-board.

Over FTI (Fort Union, N.M.)... 38,000 feet...

Following the flight plan, we climbed to and crossed GCK (Garden City) at 38,000 feet. The remaining center-tank fuel pump is losing prime as it moves the last of the kerosene out of the center tank. We are now good to make KSAN, then KONT (Ontario: the alternate, if necessary) with remaining wing tank fuel. The headwind component is slightly greater than forecast... About plus five knots. In practical terms, this means we will have enough fuel to hold three turns, shoot one localizer approach to KSAN runway 27, miss the approach and go immediately to our alternate of KONT, arriving with minimum legal fuel.

Everything has to go our way tonight. That is why I assigned the flying pilot job to the Kid. He is young with fast reflexes, perfect eyesight, and an agile mind. Not to mention that Fi-Fi seems to like him. I tell him what we need to happen and he makes it happen.

Over PXR (Phoenix, AZ)... 38,000 feet...

The number one VOR receiver fails over PXR. It is rare to have two failures during a flight. I send an email to Mother reporting the new fault and dutifully write it in the logbook. We still have number two VOR receiver, DME receiver, two GPS units, and three inertial nav computers... High-accuracy nav capability remains intact.

Over IPL (Imperial, CA)... 32,000 feet...

KSAN weather is two miles with fog and 800 feet overcast. We need one and three-quarter mile visibility for the non-precision approach. During the approach, we can descend to 690 (640 + 50 mandatory company buffer) feet on the barometric altimeter... The airport elevation is 17 feet. So, as you can see, we might have a problem. My mental fuel computer is in the highest state of awareness complete with the little red uh-oh light flashing.

IPL is the starting point for the LYNDI TWO area navigation arrival into KSAN. The LAX center controller has slowed us to 280 knots indicated airspeed and tells us there are no serious delays into KSAN. That is what I wanted to hear.

Crossing VYDDA intersection at 4,000 feet... 210 knots...

The Kid is flying as he always does... Aggressively, but in total control. Fi-Fi is following his commands and behaving. He asks for flaps/slats to the first notch... The next crossing altitude is 3600 feet two miles ahead. We are cleared for the localizer approach to runway 27 and contact tower over REEBO.

Crossing REEBO intersection at 1,800 feet... 160 knots...

The gear is down and locked, leading edge slats at 22 degrees/trailing edge flaps at 20 degrees. A 3.14 degree glide-slope is recommended after REEBO. Since this is a non-precision approach, there is not an actual radio beam glide-slope, but (and this is one of many reasons I love this aircraft) the Electric Jet builds us a virtual glide-slope, which the co-pilot follows. In the old days flying the 737 steamers, we would descend to a minimum altitude, fly at that altitude until the next descent point, and then descend to the next minimum altitude, etc. This virtual glide-slope business is much better.

100 feet above minimums... 145 knots...

The cloud ceiling, allegedly, is 800 feet above the airport. We are east of the airport at 770 feet above the runway height and still in the fog.

Minimums... 145 knots...

I can see the approach lights through the fog and tell the co-pilot approach lights in sight. On the left side of the runway is a PAPI (precision approach path indicator) burning though the fog with two white lights/two red lights... We are on a good vertical path. Ahead, and only a few feet below the main landing gear wheels is the infamous parking garage... Would not be good to be low here.

Touchdown... 125 knots...

The Kid rolls it on slightly past the 1,000 foot marker... Cannot feel the tires contact the asphalt. The only clue is the wing spoilers rising and forcing the weight onto the landing gear. As usual, he makes my landings look amateurish.

We were so engrossed in the arrival and and approach, both of us forgot to send a message to Mother for a gate assignment. When the ground controller asks us which gate we are going to, I wag it and tell him the usual assignment. He clears us into the alley, but I can see no rampers waiting for us. Oops!

I confess to the controller that I don't know where I am going. We are calling company. He laughs and says no problem... uh, just don't block Delta coming out of the alley.

Roger that...

The assigned gate is at the other end of the airport, so I use asymmetrical thrust to make a tight turn in the alley and begin the taxi to the correct gate. OK, this is a little embarrassing.

Back in the Iron Age, a real Captain would have been chewing my butt (while taxiing) for not having the gate information.

That was then, this is now...

Life on the Line continues...

Fire Drill

2011-03-01T19:00:00.000-08:00

Virtual Position: MMMX (Mexico City), runway 05 Left

Actual Position: Pilot school house, simulator #11

Equipment: A320E (enhanced, sort of like version 6.0)

Density Altitude: >7,000 feet

Gross Weight: Max allowed

It is that time of year, again...

The sim instructor, whom I have known for years, is really proud of his new $48,000,000 toy. He keeps saying, "Dave, you're really gonna love this... Just tell me when you are ready."

I hate it when a sim instructor says that...

Gee, I wonder what is going to happen next? The visibility has magically reduced to only a couple of white runway stripes ahead and the aircraft is at max gross weight at a high altitude airport with high terrain in three of the four quadrants. Probably an engine failure.

I have flown with my co-pilot a few times out on the Line, but never in the simulator. He is a young, single, intelligent, George Clooney looking guy who spends a great deal of time on Facebook via his smart phone. He was Facebooking tonight in the simulator until the instructor told him to turn that [deleted] cell-phone off.

To me, that is unreal. Playing digital footsie with flight attendants would have been the last thing on my mind when I was a co-pilot in the simulator. I would have been worried about performing well enough to pass the simulator ride. Apparently, he is a heck of a lot smarter than I was at his age, or we really are living in the New Age of kinder and gentler training.

A few seconds later and we are rolling down the MMMX runway with AC/DC's Thunderstruck playing on my mental iPod, the almost perfect engine failure tune.

When I first checked out on the Electric Jet, training showed us a video of a suave and debonair French test pilot demonstrating engine failures in an actual aircraft. His co-pilot would pull an engine to idle thrust at lift-off speed and the test pilot would quickly and precisely accomplish all engine failure procedures without changing heading a single degree, displacing the yaw indicator one iota, or causing a single ripple in his coffee; all the while giving a running commentary about his aircraft.

The video was a thing of beauty... A jaw dropping demonstration of absolute mastery of an aircraft.

Admittedly, he made his living demonstrating Fi-Fi to potential customers. But still... You have to be a multi-engine pilot to really understand it. Just thinking about it makes me all misty- eyed.

Seeing that at the beginning of Fi-Fi training all those years ago has always given me a target to shoot for in simulator training, i.e., smooth and stable engine failure drills worthy of that French test pilot. Will I ever get there? Not going to happen, but 75% might be obtainable.

A few knots before the 150 knot rotation speed, I am ready to apply rudder to counteract the loss of thrust on one side, and then crank (actually, it is an electric switch) a lot of rudder trim into the mix while maintaining runway heading and a positive rate of climb.

When the co-pilot calls out "rotate", I ease the nose off the runway waiting for the tell-tale clues, via the rudder pedals, of which engine is going south. Unfortunately, no engine fails and I am caught unprepared for a normal take-off. I can hear the sim instructor quietly snickering behind me. My take-off is sloppy... I was prepared for trouble, but nothing happened. Fi-Fi responds to my nervousness by wallowing a bit, patiently waiting for the human pilot to make up his feeble mind. I respond by pulling the nose up to eighteen degrees and calling for landing gear UP.

Of course, as soon as the nose is eighteen degrees above the horizon, number two engine catches on fire. Jet engines are always burning inside, and on rare occasions, outside, too.

Actually, simulator engines seem to burn on the outside a lot...

The co-pilot calls out "Engine Fire!" The engine is still producing thrust, so instead of doing the fire drill, I will let the fiery engine's thrust help carry us to a safe altitude. No need to get in a hurry and make a stupid mistake; after all, there is no propeller to feather.

At 1,500 feet above the ground, it is time to do the fire drill:

1. Engine two thrust lever pulled back to the idle stop

2. Engine two fuel cut-off to OFF

3. Engine two FIRE button pushed (kills the hyds, fuel, electrics, bleeds, etc)

4. Engine two fire extinguisher discharged

Now, a thirty second count begins to see if the fire actually goes out. If not, there is one more fire extinguisher bottle for a second chance. In less than ten seconds, the fire is out.

The Electric Jet flies (fairly) well on one engine, as she is doing now. Her nav computers recognize that an engine has failed and has presented us with the published escape route, which is back to the VOR in a left turn and enter holding. I trim the rudder to help with the engine out condition and then turn the auto-pilot ON.

The co-pilot takes over as flying pilot and I begin the multiple checklists, read-and-do items, to get this wounded bird back on the ground. Naturally, the weather below us it at landing minimums, adding another vector to the simulator drill... Still a busy night ahead of us. And so it goes... Year after year.

Life on the Line continues... Virtually.

AF 447... Part 3

2011-02-20T19:04:00.000-08:00

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

2011-02-15T16:32:00.000-08:00

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

2011-02-04T03:00:00.000-08:00

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...

O-Ring

2011-01-25T07:07:00.000-08:00

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...

2011 at 61 North

2011-01-10T07:38:00.000-08:00

Position: Abeam YZP (Sandspit, BC)

Altitude: 31,000 feet

Mach: Point seven nine

Equipment: A319

Pax-on Board: 123

Airborne...

Jan 2, 2011... 0400 hrs local

I am not sure I heard the Vancouver ATC guy correctly, so I ask him to repeat what he said to the airliner in our seven o'clock and eighty miles.

"Oh, I was just wondering if any of you guys were affected by the iPhone problem. We had a flight through this airspace running late because something is wrong with the iPhone and one of its crew overslept."

Hallelujah!!! Vindicated... Sort of...

My vaunted iPhone 4.0 failed to wake me one hour before crew van time in PANC. I awoke naturally five minutes before report time and was four minutes late for the crew van. I did not take the time to shave, took a twenty second cold shower, donned yesterday's uniform, and packed my overnight bag like a bank robber stashing cash.

Pouring gasoline on the fire was the call from the front desk one minute prior to walking out of the room... Captain, your crew is waiting for you. Being late for the crew van is not good... Unprofessional, and in this case, it's the captain of the Airways! What a way to start the New Year.

Climbing into the crew van, I am met with smirks and smart aleck comments... Yeah, I deserve it. I apologize numerous times and explain that my iPhone malfunctioned, and yes, I should have set a second alarm.

Their facial expressions tells it all... Poor guy. He's so old he can't figure out how to set his iPhone alarm.

Dec 31, 2010... 2305 hrs local

The Electric Jet breaks out of the icy clouds at 8,000 feet, her belly illuminated by the lights of Anchorage. The co-pilot says, "There it is..."

"Yeah, baby! Look at the fireworks." Seemingly, every backyard underneath us is launching bottle rockets. Visually, it is very satisfying to see something except cockpit instrumentation and the dark, starless void outside. We have been en route almost six hours and are at the end of our fuel range. Anchorage never looked better than this very moment in time.

The V-2500 A-5 engines are rolling over at idle thrust as we trade altitude for airspeed on the downwind leg, base leg, and final. PANC approach control clears us for a visual approach to runway 7 Right... Please contact tower over TULLI.

Jan 1, 2011... 0900 hrs local

New Year's Day in Anchorage... Not too bad. The sun is still well below the horizon as I walk, very carefully, toward my favorite breakfast place. I stayed in the hotel last night after seeing the streets filled with young, drunken revelers and the numerous police cars chasing them with lights flashing and sirens blaring.

The debris from bringing in the New Year is scattered everywhere.... Discarded party hats and burned out bottle rockets. These Alaskans know how to party!

Jan 2, 2011... 0405 hrs local

The wife-of-my-youth warned me a couple of times about relying on the iPhone alarm without a back-up. As usual, she is correct. Of course, I will have to tell her when she sees my slovenly, unshaven appearence.

The good news is that we pushed back from the gate on time. That counts for something, right honey? And I hid from the passengers... No one saw me.

She might buy into it.

Jan 2, 2011... 0500 hrs local

The Moon and Mercury are rising ahead of the sun. That falls into the major cool category of airborne sights. I start to tell the co-pilot about it, but he is studying the overhead panel for his next checkride. The guy is totally dedicated.

I am slipping into the before sunrise fatigue zone. It's time to don the oxygen mask, double check the 100% O2 flow button is pushed and breath deeply. The whiskers that I should have shaved are biting my face under the tight sealing mask. Oh, well...

OAT: -47 C

Wind velocity and direction: 165 knots (189 mph) from 300 degrees

Groundspeed: 525 knots (603 mph)

Hydraulic pressure: 3000 psi

Oxygen pressure: 1400 psi

Fuel flow: 5200 lbs/p/hr

Life on the Line continues... In a dirty uniform.

Christmas Lift 2010... Day 2

2010-12-29T15:29:00.000-08:00

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

2010-12-28T18:37:00.000-08:00

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

2010-12-18T09:00:00.000-08:00

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

2010-12-10T11:24:00.000-08:00

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...

Deep End of the Pool

2010-11-25T13:11:00.000-08:00

Position: Abeam KRNO (Reno, Nv.)

Altitude: 30,000 feet

Groundspeed: 488 mph (425 knots)

Equipment: A320 with A1 power (small engines)

Pax-on-Board: 145

Destination: KPDX (Portland)

Airborne...

An ATL flight instructor with whom I have become acquainted, via the Internet, told me that my job, as part of Wilbur and Orville's Great Aviation Adventure, is the deep end of the pool. I like that description, for it is correlative to deep water, i.e., not being able to touch bottom. It fits nicely with my veneration of the night sky... Deep, infinite, and untouchable.

My wandering mind comes back to the flight deck as I remember the initial incident report I read today in the CBMI (Crew Briefing Master Index, essentially a pre-flight book updated by the Chief Pilot's office). A British crew flying the A321 had a nocturnal visit from an electrical gremlin. It was not pretty, but they kept their heads on straight and managed to maintain control... Got to love those Brits.

The moon is exceptionally bright tonight. I can see the outer portion of the left wing, from the spoilers outward, clearly. No gremlins riding on my side... I do not dare ask the co-pilot to do a gremlin check, though. Even so, there might be one riding on the tail and we would never know until it reached into the Star Trek bay with its putrid fingers and started pulling on wire bundles.

Yikes! Shake it off captain... Too much worrying going on here. But, can you worry too much about the souls in the back?

So goes the mentation in the dark... 30,000 feet over Nevada.

PPOS (present position)...

We are in an older 320 with small engines, but with upgraded flight/nav computers. She is a good ship. I have flown her many miles over the years. As do all these older birds, her belly has a few wrinkles from hard landings and if you look close enough in the flap tracks and gear wells, you can find evidence of four, maybe five paint jobs. She has only flown at this airline, but, like me, has seen a lot of miles and management practices disappear in her six. Paint jobs seem to be the first thing to change with a new base commander.

Tonight, during the taxi to the runway, number two engine high-pressure bleed valve failed. Bleed air from the high pressure section of the engine is cooled and delivered to various user units. Not a major problem, though. We can still fly using the high pressure bleed from number one engine. There is one itty-bitty catch... We have to fly at a lower altitude in case the number one engine bleed valve fails while en route.

After getting approval from Maintenance Control and completing the incriminating paper trail, we continued the taxi and take-off.

The troposphere is smooth at 30,000 feet, night sky is clear, winds are moderate (70 knots) out of the west. Over each check point I compare fuel-in-tanks and time from the last check point with my dispatcher's flight plan. If they are within 1,000 pounds and three minutes, I am a happy captain. If not, why?

Outside, a moonlit undercast as far as the eye can see. Inside, a bright green course line generated by Fi-Fi's exotic nav computers leading to the edge of the digital world. Chris Columbus would be amazed...

Top-of-Descent...

We leave the safe embrace of altitude, aways altitude, and begin the descent for KPDX by commanding the flight management computers to follow the vertical profile. A virtual waypoint at the end of a string of waypoints is the target Fi-Fi is concentrating on... Speed, altitude, time, and distance is her game and she is good at it. We enter data and requested parameters via dual keyboards, always monitoring the reaction. The cerebral interface... If I push this button, what is going to happen?

During the old days, flying the 737-100 steamers, we would lower the altitude hold paddle, pull the thrust levers back, and push the yoke forward. The airmanship interface... Mind to muscle to flight controls, all done subconsciously while asking the Captain if he had seen the new flight attendant in the rear galley.

Glide slope intercept...

KPDX weather is atrocious; +R, 006 ovc, 3215G25 (heavy rain, 600 overcast, winds 320 degrees at 15 knots with gusts to 25 knots). That would be a 40 degree crosswind on a wet and contaminated runway. Partial flaps would facilitate an easier missed approach and go-around, but full flaps gives a better view of the runway environment in the murk.

Full flaps it is with auto-brake ARMED, medium strength. On a thirty degree intercept angle, the Electric Jet captures the radio beams that lead to the runway. Her auto-thrust is having a hard time maintaining selected airspeed in the turbulence and wind; I select it OFF and take over with captain Dave's thrust control.

Gear down and locked, flaps to FULL, check engine heat ON, turn wing heat OFF in case of a go-around (we will need the bleed air for thrust). At 2,000 feet above the airport, the precip is heavy snow. OK, this is cool, literally...

Runway in sight...

There it is, sort of... Ten o'clock. The nose is pointing into the wind to maintain the runway centerline; snowflakes have turned into heavy rain, just as advertised. It is time to turn the wipers on HIGH, auto-pilot OFF... The VASI (visual approach slope indicator) is burning through the rainfall showing two white over two red... Perfect! I turn my full attention to the VASI and the airspeed indicator, my right hand feeding or denying kerosene to the mighty V2500 engines. God, I love these babies... Atmospheric processors working hard.

100 feet... 50 feet... Start the flare and kick the crosswind out of the airframe with a lot of left rudder and right aileron. The million candlepower landing lights show the rudder application with a shift of rain drop impact angle.

Touchdown comes at 140 knots on a wet runway. The airborne conveyance changes into a fast moving, ungainly ground vehicle with the application of spoilers, brakes, and reverse thrust... The stopping program is underway at KPDX.

At the gate and underneath the dripping Electric Jet, the co-pilot and I do a post-flight inspection, mostly looking at tire condition. Tread can come off the tires during take-off or landing and damage the underside of the wing and fuselage. No damage tonight, though; all tires look good.

A few minutes later, all five of us are waiting for the crew van in near freezing temperatures. I call the hotel and tell them a crew of five is waiting for pick-up. The woman at the hotel tells me the van should be there in five minutes.

It is always five minutes even if the van is sitting at the hotel twenty miles away. I guess it is like the airlines telling passengers at the gate the plane will be arriving in twenty minutes, always twenty minutes, even if the plane is still over Ohio. Yeah, it is the same...

Life on the Line continues...

Bonus Bucks

2010-11-14T20:20:00.000-08:00

Position: Outside the Box

Altitude: 0

Indicated Airspeed: 0

Groundspeed: 2 knots

Equipment: 319

Pax-on-Board: 103

On the taxiway...

The narrow taxiways are bad enough, our engines hanging over the edges, but when we turn the corner, what do we see? A general aviation ramp covered with Cessnas, Pipers, four or five new GA aircraft that I am not familiar with, at least three older Lears that are probably night freighters, and a few mid-size biz jets. No terminal building, no jetways, no airliners... A familiar FBO (fix based operator) building is on the north end of the ramp.

Pressure is increasing on the cursing sear with the little devil on my left shoulder taunting me to just go ahead and let it out... You'll feel better.

The tiny angel that reports to the wife-of-my-youth, sitting on my right shoulder, is calming me with relax... Have fun. This is easy money.

Don't get me wrong, I love general aviation. There is nothing finer than a Cessna 185, or a Cessna 206, or the Holiest of Holies, a Beech P-Baron.

On the other hand, a 319 on a general aviation ramp is marginal, yet here I am...

Last night...

The wife-of-my-youth hands me the phone whispering, "It sounds like Billy."

No, please no... Not tonight. He is one of my running buddies, for better or worse, mostly worse.

Me: "Hey Bill, what's going on?"

Bill: "Dave, I've got a charter tomorrow... It's my wife's birthday and I friggin' forgot. I promised her weeks ago we could spend the day together. Can you fly my charter? Please, please, please..."

Me: "Not no, but heck no! I don't do charters... You know that."

Bill: "Oh, come on! It's a two legger... You'll be back by sunset."

Me: "No way, sorry..."

Bill: "I'll give you an extra hundred."

Me: "Forget it!"

Bill: "Two hundred..."

Me: "Not gonna happen..."

Bill: "Three hundred..."

Me: "There isn't enough money... I don't do charters. Period!"

Bill: "I am in big trouble here. You gotta help me... Everyone else is flying."

Everyone else is flying; he has me in a corner. Wild Bill and I are members of an alliance of captains that help each other with scheduling problems, among other things (mostly other things). If I do not take this charter... Trouble.

Me: "Tell you what... I'll take your charter, but you owe me big time and I want three C-notes in my mail slot tomorrow, before I leave."

Bill: "Deal! Thanks Dave... You the man!"

On the taxiway...

That would be the man way outside the box of Line operations, close to the edges of a narrow taxiway of marginal load bearing ability... With a professional sports team in the back.

Thankfully, the co-pilot is one of my favorites. He is the guy that flew the MU-2 in night freight service and survived. I cannot think of anyone I would rather have with me on this trip.

I ask him, "We got room to park this beast?"

"Yeah, kind of looks like they have cleared a place for us... In front of those buses."

There are three full-size luxury buses waiting, and between the buses and the FBO building are two media vans with their microwave antennas fully extended, news crews scrambling to get ready for our arrival.

Just what we need...A high def TV camera to document a 319 dropping a main gear off the edge of a narrow taxiway, or a V2500 engine blowing a Cessna 172 over the fence. I can see the headlines:

Middle-aged airline pilot damages Girl Scouts Cessna with blast of carbon polluted air from jet engine. Reportedly, he was laughing at the time and said "Girls shouldn't be flying anyway." Authorities are investigating.

The taxiway finally transitions to the ramp with a single employee from the FBO waving us in without wands or helpers on the wing tips.

"How you lookin' over there?"

"We are good... Got about fifty feet." The co-pilot's neck is cranked hard right.

My neck is cranked hard left briefly, "Yeah, I got about fifty on my side." There are lots of people standing behind the lone ramper with hands clamped tightly to their ears. The noise must be incredible.

My dispatcher informed me the FBO would have an external power cart standing by, but I do not see one.

"We better start the APU."

The ramper crosses his arms... After we stop, I set the parking brake and shut down number two engine. The APU is spooling up, but not yet on line; 50-60-70-80-90-100% and now ready to carry the electric load.

Number one engine fuel cut-off to OFF. Number one generator falls off-line causing loud electric relay clacking as the APU generator picks up the load.

OK, we have arrived... So far, so good.

Outside, an ancient set of jet-stairs mounted on an old truck is pulling up to the front-left cabin door. Lord, I hope they know what they are doing. They are attacking a $50,000,000 aircraft with a 63 Dodge pick-up.

We watch the cabin door escape slides being dis-armed on our instrumentation, and then hear the front left cabin door being opened from the inside, probably by the charter coordinator. The cabin doors are supposed to be opened from the outside to prevent accidental escape slide deployments.

I am going to forget I saw that...

After the athletes, coaches, and other members of the airborne entourage are off the aircraft, the co-pilot and I walk down to the ramp. Underneath Fi-Fi, bags are being tossed out of the belly into the beds of pick-up trucks. Not a belt loader in sight.

I tell the co-pilot I will take the left side of the aircraft for post/pre-flight, if he will do the right side. The air conditioning/pressurization packs and APU are howling. Yeah, this is kind of cool.

Inside the FBO...

The co-pilot and I are getting a few stares from student pilots and flight instructors as we wait for the young woman behind the counter to pull our flight plan out of the fax machine. Probably not many fully uniformed air carrier pilots visit here, I would guess... Certainly not with their airliner out on the ramp.

A young man in coveralls with the FBO name across his back approaches me with a clipboard. He addresses me as sir and then asks do you need fuel?

I tell him that we brought our return fuel with us, but thanks anyway. He looks relieved... Probably does not re-fuel many 319s. Then, with a nervous smile, he volunteers that he is working on his instrument rating. I ask a few questions about his training and then offer to show him some Fi-Fi sorcery.

"Some what?"

On the ramp...

The co-pilot is showing the kid some Fi-Fi black magic in the flight deck... I am underneath the belly looking at the ramp and proposed taxi route back to the runway. We need to turn 90 degrees right, hard right, taxi a few hundred and then a second 90 degree turn to the right to return to the taxi way leaving this ramp.

The first 90 degree turn is a problem. The engines will be blowing into a covey of aluminum birds during that turn. No problem, Herr Captain, we'll get a tow to point the engines in a safe direction before start.

Just to make sure I am not overreacting, I climb the stairs and ask the co-pilot to take a look at the light aircraft situation and the first turn out of here. Also, I ask the FBO kid if they can tow us, if we need it... He thinks "maybe" they can, but he will check.

Just like me, the co-pilot is nervous about the first turn on the ramp. Even at idle thrust, the V2500 engines would be dangerous to light aircraft. A few minutes later the FBO kid returns with bad news... Their tug is broken. But, he adds, the guys across the field might be able to help.

There is a small pax terminal on the other side of the airport that gets a single Mad Dog 88 and a few regional jets per day. The kid gives me the ops number over there and my iPhone does its thing.

Their station manager answers the phone... I explain what is going on and ask for a small favor.

SM: "Uh, well captain, we can't really do that. I mean, we could get in trouble if anything happens."

Me: "Yeah, I understand that, but we are going out of here empty, just the crew. I only need to point the nose away from the light aircraft."

SM: "Ya know, I think we'll pass on that. Sorry..."

Me: "Look, we gotta get outta here. I'll give you a hundred bucks to pull me 100 feet."

After a minute of ramp negotiating, the final agreed upon amount ended up to be, of course, $300. The station manager figured he could pull us 100 feet for $3 p/foot. Wild Bill's bonus bucks stayed in my pocket for a couple of hours. I should have known...

The station manager came over by himself in a large tug complete with tow bar. I helped him hook the tow bar to Fi-Fi's nose gear, handed him the $300 in the white envelope, and thanked him.

"No problem Cap, and thank you!"

I patted the FBO kid on the back and gave him a few words of encouragement on his flight training, and then asked him to please be careful backing away from The Electric Jet with the truck stairs.

End of the runway...

I'll bet that was the easiest $300 that station manager ever made in his airline career. To me, it was worth it to get out of here.

Fi-Fi is empty with enough Jet-A to get home plus 45 minute reserve and 10 minutes of hold fuel. When the co-pilot advances the thrust levers, the acceleration is vicious. It feels like the tires are sliding instead of rolling... At 119 knots indicated airspeed, the co-pilot hauls The Electric Jet off the runway and buries the vertical speed needle. The little airfield falls away in our six.

We level off at 39,000 feet in short order. The flight attendants told us before take-off that there was a lot of left over food, and it is the best that money can buy. Million dollar athletes do not eat crew meals.

Soon, we are eating broiled rib-eyes and fresh salad. Well, this isn't too bad.

On the $300 that I took from Wild Bill... It was on the edge of being bad karma to take his money, but... I dislike charters because they are outside the box and there is little if any protection from the Chief Pilot's office in today's New Age world of air carrier flying.

In the old days, the Chief Pilot would deflect any problems that might arise and no one would be the wiser. Today, the captain is an Enemy of the State if he/she makes a mistake.

Anyway, the $300 went for a worthy cause; a ninety degree, 100 foot tow. We are on the way home in style.

Life outside the Box, continues....

Precision

2010-10-28T19:22:00.000-07:00

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

2010-10-21T14:49:00.000-07:00

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

2010-10-15T16:20:00.000-07:00

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...

Who's In Charge Here?

2010-09-30T19:08:00.000-07:00

Position: KLAX; runway 24 Left

Groundspeed: 0

Radar Altitude: 0

Equipment: A321

Pax-on-Board: 183

Almost airborne... Day two of four.

The KLAX tower controller told us to expect "a minute in position" on the runway. Something is happening in the departure corridor requiring extra spacing. The visibility is about 1/4 mile, less at the end of the runway... Still good to go, though. We can depart with 500 feet horizontal visibility, i.e., not much. It is a typical early morning LAX departure.

Stretch Fi-Fi is heavy with pax, fuel, luggage, mail, and freight. The Michelin Aero main gear tires are bulging under the weight and her wings are sagging from the fuel load. The mighty V2500 engines are rolling over at idle thrust, only sipping the oh-so-precious Jet-A. All systems are in the green. The captain is well rested and nursing a still hot cup of Starbucks strong coffee.

Day two of four... O'Dark Thirty...

My most excellent iPhone 4 sounds the alarm at o'dark thirty, bursting the dream bubble of a Mexican beach with the wife-of-my-youth laying by my side.

It is only another dark hotel room.

OK, now where am I this morning? Concentrate... Come on, you can do it. Oh, yeah... City of Angels. Got in last night; a short one. Nevertheless, got to get moving; lot of miles today.

Day one of four... Check-in...

Uh-oh! There is a note in my mailbox to see the Chief Pilot. I think I know what it is about. One of my flights departed five minutes late because we, rather, I adjusted the crew van departure time to please a flight attendant that insisted the hotel did not know what they were doing concerning travel time to the airport.

"Last week," she said, "We got to the airport thirty minutes early. It was ridiculous. I could have gotten extra sleep."

Actually, as it turned out, the hotel knew exactly what they were doing. Yikes! So, the gate agents wrote me up. Having said that, I realize they are under extreme pressure to get flights out on time. I should have known better.

The Carpet Dance...

It is an assistant Chief Pilot... I know him. This should be a minor two-step event.

ACP- Wanna tell me why were you late pushing out of Indy... Uh, September eight? The gate agents said you guys left the hotel late.

Me- I, uh... Well, I adjusted the crew van time.

ACP- Why?

Me- I thought it was too early. (Does absolutely no good to attempt a blame shift. I know from experience.)

ACP- OK, well I guess it wasn't... I can deflect this one for you, but don't do it again. By the way, have you read the new captain's authority statement in Flight Ops? It's been in the administrative section a couple months.

Me- Yeah, but I'll read it again. (When is the last time I read the administrative section? Hmm, let me think...)

Who's In Charge Here?

Good Lord! It says that the captain must be obeyed! Stand-by one... Let me clean my cheaters. Wow, no weasel words or doublespeak. It also says that procedures or events that are contrary to accepted operating standards should be brought to the captain's attention. If the order remains, it must be obeyed.

I am getting nervous... This is strong stuff! Obviously, something big happened to precipitate this change. Just a wag, but I'll bet it was a near disastrous crew separation... That is New Age speak for an altercation, either verbal or physical, in the flight-deck. Yep, it is extremely rare, but it happens. Not necessarily at my airline, either. Big events at any airline usually change procedures for everyone.

Wait a minute... Here is what the assistant Chief Pilot was hinting about: The captain is in charge of the entire crew during the trip, this includes transportation to and from the lay-over facility. Holy Moly!

So, it seems I am not the only left-seater doing the two-step over this problem, as this was written months ago. I hate to admit it, but I am amazed that I did not know of this regulatory statement. Probably because of years of touchy-feely classes during re-current training, where captains have to sit and take it... Flight attendants telling horror stories of those mean and rascally captains.

The captain must be obeyed... What is going on here? My head is spinning...

The Era of the Great Ones...

I was fortunate to have co-piloted for some of the great Captains. The guys who flew the F-4 Phantom in the vertical against the nimble Migs... The guys who were 22 year old flight engineers on the DC-7 and met the likes of John Wayne, Robert Stack, and Charles Lindbergh in the cockpit during flight. Can you imagine, as a young FE, Charles Lindbergh asking to see your fuel burn logs?

The Great Ones are gone, most of them flown West for the last check-ride. Cockpit Resource Management (CRM; later changed to Crew Resource Management after it was determined cockpit was PC-incorrect) was only a theory then. The Great Ones believed in the concept, but not the method of implementation.

Later, when I moved to the left seat, CRM was coming on strong, by force, if necessary. The captain's authority curve was being flattened. There was no such thing as the captain must be obeyed. Command by committee was not far away.

For reasons known only to the folks on the Top Floor, the winds of command in the cockpit are slowly changing directions.

Day Two of Four... KLAX; 24 Left...

The fog layer is only 700 feet thick. At 1,000 feet, the co-pilot lowers the nose and reduces thrust to climb power. The fuel flow digits roll backwards to settle at 9500 pounds per engine. Visibility is unlimited above the marine layer, with the sun rising in our six.

First stop is KORD (O'Hare), and then on to KPHL (Philly). It is going to be a long day, as there is a lot of weather on the east coast.

Life on the Line continues...

Compass Heading 095

2010-09-18T12:29:00.000-07:00

Position: Over Fargo, N.D.
Altitude: 33,000 feet
Groundspeed: 640 mph (556 knots)
Compass Heading: 095 degrees
Equipment: A321
Pax-on-board: 183

Airborne... Day number three of four.

As it was, America remembered the horror of 9-11-01 for a couple of days with news bites of falling human bodies and serious looking reporters walking towards their cameras asking, "Could we have stopped the un-thinkable? Did we do enough?" And then a toothpaste commercial... Oh, well.

Outside: -55 degrees C.
Atmospheric Pressure: 3.9 psi

The moon has just slipped beneath the horizon in our six o'clock. Ahead, a black void; all starlight hidden by thin clouds blown from the tops of gigantic storms in our three o'clock. Even with the flight-deck lights at minimum setting, there is nothing to see outside. It is as if a thick, dark blanket has been spread over the front of the aircraft. The distance to those storms is about 240 miles, measured by Fi-Fi's outstanding weather radar.

Kudos to my dispatcher who flight planned a good trans-con route for us tonight.

The original co-pilot called in sick before report time. The replacement co-pilot is a junior reserve pilot. He has flown twice in sixty days, being the flying pilot on (only) one of those legs. By his own admission, he is rusty. But, we are working on that... He is flying every leg on this trip and I am showing him a few Electric Jet-isms; methods of adjusting the mirrors to gain better vision through the smoke, even when he has not been flying much.

It is difficult to get good rest on these red-eyes, sleeping during the day, then flying back west and trying to sleep at night, and then... Another red-eye the following night. New pilot rest rules are coming out soon. It will be interesting to see what changes with back side of the clock flying.

Until more fuel weight burns off, Fi-Fi is too heavy for anything above 33,000 feet. Thirty knots separates high and low speed regimes... Big load tonight.

Industrial strength flying, as in nothing out of the ordinary happening here, i.e., a standard issue trans-continental flight. With these tailwinds, three more hours before we sleep...

Life on the Line continues...

I Remember

2010-09-11T12:07:00.001-07:00

September 11, 2001...

"Honey, wake up! Come on, wake up... An airliner just hit the World Trade Center."

I had been in bed three hours... Had landed at 0230 hrs. I looked at the clock on the bed stand: 0630 hrs.

"What? It wasn't foggy in New York when we took off."

I remember the B-25 that slammed into the Empire State building in thick fog. Could it have happened again?

The phone rings... My brother. The phone rings again... My sister. The phone keeps ringing every few minutes... Where is Dave?

TV on and looking at the size of the hole in the building... Yeah, it was definitely an airliner. I am thinking (very carefully) that those guys were way off the localizer radio beam for KJFK. What could have happened?

A second airliner appears in the top-right corner of my TV screen in a two G turn and slams into the opposite tower. Gut check time...

October 2001...

Holy ground; U.S. Naval Academy, Annapolis, Md. I am standing next to a WW II torpedo on display in front of a large barracks. It is quiet... No midshipmen, no wind, no birds. The sky is deep blue with scattered clouds moving slowly from the southwest.

I walk to the barracks doors; they are not locked. The brass is polished, so I use a Starbucks napkin I find in my coat pocket to open the door. Inside, you could, if it happened, literally hear a pin drop. Oh, Lord... Nimitz might have lived here. I move carefully and quietly, passing through a shaft of sunlight from a window on the second floor. There is an easel with a large poster board at the bottom of the stairs.

Black and white photos of USNA graduates killed in the attack cover the poster board. I am shocked at the number of faces looking at me.

One of the pilots, a left seater, was a graduate. He was happy when the photo was taken in his airline uniform. The smile is contagious... I start grinning, too.

September 11, 2010...

For some of us, nine years later, Life on the Line continues...

Head of Flight Ops

2010-09-07T19:12:00.000-07:00

Position: 200 miles north of LIT (Littlerock VOR)

Altitude: 35,000 feet

Groundspeed: 575 mph (500 kts)

Equipment: 321

Pax count: 178 (5 empty seats)

Fi-Fi was being very bad before push. She was playing hide the stray electron from the captain and two avionics technicians. The nav computers refused to talk to the flight management computers after the inertial units finished their alignment process.

After pulling and re-setting circuit breakers, de-powering the whole electrical system, changing power sources, and secret incantations known only to the few, the techs were scratching their heads and calling for reinforcements from the avionics shop. In the mean time, I was looking through my Secret Book of Electric Jet Knowledge gathered (and hand written) over ten years and thousands of hours in this electronic entity. Finally, the lead avionics tech, via the radio, told my two techs to go into the belly and re-rack a navigation black box with a fifteen digit part number.

After the re-rack, all computers are talking to each other. I wrote the fix and part number in my book... Amazing! I learned something new today, but that is not uncommon in this airplane.

Ten minutes before push...

An expensive suit with a company ID walks into the flight deck and introduces himself as the Head of Flight Operations, i.e., the Chief Pilot's boss... Please tell me this is not happening. I have never seen this guy before, but recognize the name on the ID. It is the first name on the list of administrative phone numbers in the Pilot Manual. Yikes!

He asks, "Hey cap, can I catch a ride? I have a meeting in the morning. I gotta a seat in the back, so I won't be bothering you up here."

"Absolutely! Welcome on board and very nice to meet you, sir." Maybe I should salute this guy. Instead, we shake hands. He pats the co-pilot on the left shoulder saying, "How ya doin?," and then takes his seat in First Class.

I look at the co-pilot and ask, "Why, oh why, does he have to be on our flight?"

I am sure he is a nice guy, but, Good Lord, he is the Head of Flight Ops at the top of the food chain. My young co-pilot looks at me with a who is this guy expression... That gives me an idea. I will have the kid fly this leg. He is a smooth stick and that will leave me free to worry about what we are doing wrong.

120 minutes after take-off...

Down the airway 852 miles... We are making excellent time and will arrive early. The lead flight attendant reports that the Head of Flight Ops has been working on company business the whole flight and is drinking only ice water. She also reports that he is polite.

Two more hours...

240 minutes after take-off...

Hotlanta approach has cleared us to descend to 11,000 feet on the downwind leg. The kid has the spoilers fully extended with the indicated airspeed at 310 knots. The Electric Jet is giving back all the altitude she gained four hours ago. This is going to be a slam-dunk arrival, which, if it is smooth, is OK. He needs to be stabilized over the outer marker with gear and flaps out.

The guy who is in charge of stabilized approaches is sitting in First Class.

Before top of descent, I made a radio call to Atlanta ops and spoke to the station manager whom I know personally, warning her about Head of Flight being on board. We do not need a jet way malfunction on this arrival.

Over the threshold...

The kid has the energy triad (kinetic/potential/chemical) perfectly balanced. At 400 feet, a little inverted red V popped into view on the primary flight display... Tail-strike warning symbol. The 321 tail is way back there. Any more than eight degrees of pitch and you are asking for an aluminum skid mark on the runway in this aircraft. During his approach briefing, the co-pilot assured me he would touchdown at five degrees pitch.

Fifty feet and seven degrees pitch... Twenty feet, engines to idle and he pushes the nose down slightly... Ten feet, five degrees pitch and holding. The inverted red V appears menacing on the flight display. It makes my skin crawl just looking at it.

Touchdown comes slightly after the 1,000 foot aim point... Perfect! The tires slide onto the runway at 140 kts indicated airspeed leaving a cloud of rubber smoke. This landing is excellent, especially considering who is sitting in First Class. The kid is good... I made the correct decision having him fly this leg.

I take the aircraft at taxi speed and turn off the runway calling for flaps UP.

At the gate...

The Head of Flight Ops comes into the flight deck, shakes my hand and compliments the flight and my landing. I tell him the co-pilot was the flying pilot and made the landing... Head of Flight Ops looks at the co-pilot and says, "Oh, well, nice job." Then he pats the co-pilot on the left shoulder again, and leaves.

No screw-ups, not even a little one. Whew!

Life on the Line continues...

Rigel Rising

2010-08-29T22:06:00.000-07:00

Position: 230 miles south of KMSP (Minneapolis)

Altitude: 35,000 feet

Mach number: Point seven niner (.79)

Compass heading: 095 degrees

Equipment: A320

Pax-on-Board: 150

Airborne...

The summer is slowly releasing it's heated grip on flight operations. Ahead, barely visible in the moonlight... Rigel rising in the east. The bright-blue super-giant star of Orion the Hunter, a beautiful constellation of winter night skies, is a welcome sight to these middle-aged eyes. When it is first visible in the waning days of summer, you can count on a few weeks of better flying weather along the jet airways.

This was a summer of storms, one of those summers that every pilot dreads, but one that comes, regardless. Your continuum clock through time and space somehow matches the radar signatures ahead. It is one of the inexplicable mysteries of this airborne life.

The realities of this airborne life are on the other side of one inch of heated Plexiglas. Outside, deep cold and a high velocity ethereal atmosphere. Thankfully, the air mass is smooth; not even a ripple this morning... Seat belt signs have been OFF for hours.

Inside, not toasty, but not too cool either. It is that time of the morning where talking is suppressed by the human circadian rhythm. The rushing of the slip stream and radio chatter dominate the aural spectrum. The co-pilot is working a crossword puzzle from a two day old newspaper. Yeah, that is in the gray area of legality, but I would rather have him awake. Being awake is directly related to the safe operation of the aircraft.

Fi-Fi is twitchy about one of the pressurization packs, trying to decide whether or not a zone controller is about to fault. She is sending little caution notes via the electronic monitoring software, but withdraws them after a few seconds and reports everything is OK. This behavior is not unusual in the Electric Jet, in fact in an aircraft of this complexity, it is, more or less, normal.

I am not stressed about it. I have seen it before and have already reviewed the on-board system manual about zone controllers. When she decides whether to fault or not, I will be ready.

The lead flight attendant reports the cabin is dark and cool with almost all pax sleeping the torturous sleep of high density seating.

Fuel-in-tanks: Good

Hydraulics: In the green

Electrics: Generators less than 40% capacity

Crew Oxygen: 1600 psi

Engines: Smooth, cool, and strong

Life on the Line continues...

The Wheel in the Sky keeps turning...

-Journey-

Checklist

2010-08-25T15:13:00.000-07:00

Position: At the gate; KSNA (Orange County)

Equipment: A320

Pax-on-Board: Boarding 150... Oversold by four

My co-pilot, just returning from Starbucks with two cups of strong coffee, says, "Hey boss, there is a check pilot at the counter and I think he is getting the jump seat."

"What's he look like?"

"Uhh... You know, the Air Force guy with white hair."

"That's not good."

I thought briefly about cursing, but then remembered I went to church with the wife-of-my-youth last Sunday and one of the topics was foul language. She was poking me in the side during the sermon. I promised her I would work on the cursing threshold, again.

The day had been going so well, flying the Las Vegas-SoCal shuttle three times or six legs. The co-pilot, an ex-MU2 freight dog, is an undoubtedly great pilot to have survived flying the MU2 in night freight service. I was looking forward to hearing a few more of his one engine feathered with a load of ice somewhere over Iowa stories.

27,000 feet... 320 kts IAS (indicated air speed)

No MU2 stories being told... There is a very serious check pilot sitting behind me. My left ear has lost some high frequency hearing from turbine engines, but my right ear is still able to hear the pencil lead scratching on the clipboard, the check pilot's clipboard. This guy has no sense of humor at all. Sort of like the Terminator... No remorse, no pity, can't be reasoned with, that's all he does. He is watching everything, all the while putting check marks in little boxes and writing notes in the margins. Yikes!

Thankfully, the flight between KSNA and KLAS is a ballistic curve: up, down, short, sweet and usually a lot of fun flying a big jet at low altitude/high speed between close cities. A few more miles, and this pilot inspector will move on to the next crew.

Over the outer marker, runway 25 Left, KLAS...

The wind is howling across the runway approaching or equal to the maximum crosswind component allowed by the aircraft limitations. Of course it is, there is a check pilot looking over my shoulder. It could always be worse, though. Number one engine could be on fire with a check pilot looking over my shoulder. I'll take the crosswind...

At 1,000 feet with partial flaps set, gear down and locked, engines spooled to 39%, I call for, "auto-thrust OFF, flight directors OFF, bring up the FPV (flight path vector: it is major cool, basically a digital representation of the energy state of the airframe.)"

I said all of that with one breath; check pilots love this stuff. They are sticklers on proper verbiage per the Pilot Manual.

Surface temperature is around 110 degrees F. with a 31 knot wind out of 300 variable 330 degrees, gusting to 40 kts. A little slice of heaven waiting for us.

Over the fence...

The wind sock is parallel to the ground with sand plumes blowing across the runway giving a perfect visualization of the crosswind angle. Fi-Fi's wings are rocking and rolling as she glides over the threshold at about 50 feet. My right hand is making small thrust lever movements as the indicated airspeed varies by plus or minus ten knots in the wind.

Twenty feet... Thrust levers slowly to idle; left rudder to remove the wind angle from the airframe; right aileron up to lower the right wing slightly.

Hold it... Hold it... Easy baby...

Touchdown on a windswept runway at 140 kts (161 mph), and it is not pretty. The main gear tires deform into an oval shape, then the landing gear rolls over that deformation giving the whole pax cabin a big jolt. A wind gust tries to lift the right wing, but the spoilers rise forcing the wing down. Reverse triggers pulled up and over... #1 MAX REV/ #2 MAX REV. Hold the stick into the wind and nose down, but not too much.

Engines out of reverse at 60 knots, continue to brake to less than 30 knots and take the first high speed turn-off.

At this moment, the only thing that matters in my life and 150 pax lives on my aircraft is following the control tower's last instruction of hold short runway 25 Right.

No talking, joking, bragging, or horse play allowed. For that matter, no thinking about anything other than holding short of the runway. I am like a dog with a bone balanced on it's nose, and that bone is the approaching hold short line.

An MD-88 roars past our intersection, nose gear in the air, but mains still rolling on the runway.

At the gate: KLAS...

Both engine fuel cut-off switches to OFF. Run the shut-down checklist and get ready for a butt chewing.

The check pilot is putting his clipboard and head set into his attache case. He says, "Good flight captain. Ah, there are a couple of things I want to cover."

Uh-oh, here it comes...

"Max taxi speed is 30 kts in a straight line. I saw you exceeding that a couple of times. There is a reason for 30 kts, so slow down."

"OK."

"When you call for a checklist, you are leaving the list off. It is checklist, not check. Taxi checklist, not taxi check. Before take-off checklist, not before take-off check. Got it?"

"Got it."

"I like the way you fly your crosswind landings. Good job. Get this thing on the ground and get with the stopping program."

"Thank you."

"And you," (looking at the co-pilot) "When the captain gives you the controls you are supposed to say, 'my airplane', not 'I got her' or whatever you were saying."

"OK."

"Mmm, I guess that is about it. Good job. I would let my wife fly on your airplane."

Whoa! That is a compliment coming from this guy.

"Thanks."

And just like that, the Line check is over... We did OK.

Neither of us drank much of our KSNA coffee. Too nervous, I guess. I told the co-pilot to get Fi-Fi ready while I make another Starbucks run.

Life on the Line continues...

Ascension

2010-08-18T22:37:00.000-07:00

The Cessna 150 was struggling to make 10,500 feet; I was the only pax on-board. The little four-cylinder, normally aspirated, 100 horse engine (at sea level on a cool day), was breathing hard at 9,900 feet.

I was flying my second solo cross country, being fifteen years old and utterly convinced of my immortality.

A VFR flight plan was filed, which my instructor approved, with an initial cruise altitude of 6,500 feet. No matter (as soon I was out of his sight), I wanted to see if I could climb the C-150 to 10,500 feet. The cylinder head temperatures were rising as I sweet-talked the little Cessna through 10,000 feet with an indicated airspeed of 70 mph and a climb rate north of 50 feet per minute. I was living large over the vast prairies of southeastern Colorado on that long past summer day.

At 10,300 feet, the vertical speed no longer showed a positive rate. Nothing could persuade the small red and white trainer to climb another foot.

Denied glory and with cylinder head temps almost in the yellow, I eased the throttle back and began the descent to my flight planned altitude. Someday, I thought...

Position: 25 miles southwest of KMCI (Kansas City)
Altitude: 10,300 feet and climbing... The mystical place burned into my psyche by a little Cessna
Indicated Airspeed: 280 knots (322 mph) and increasing...
Equipment: A319
Pax-on-board: 123 plus 3 jumpers (full boat)

Airborne...

"That's enough of that," I announce to the co-pilot. "You can stop worrying... Gimme auto-pilot number one."

Mother wants the non-flying pilot to push all buttons while the flying pilot is in stick and rudder mode. This decree from headquarters falls into the category of who signs the paychecks, I guess. It is, also, in the Pilot Manual, which makes it regulatory in nature. What (c)aptain Dave thinks of it matters not...

The co-pilot engages my auto-pilot with A/P #1 button and a clack as Fi-Fi takes the controls. Happy to get rid of the two arrogant pilots, she slows the climb rate to 1,000 feet per minute while the airspeed indicator winds up shrugging off the speed limit below 10,000 feet. At 300 knots indicated, she raises the nose a few degrees to begin the ascension into the flight levels.

We punch through a gilded cloud layer into a scene of incredible beauty. Both of us are scrambling for our flight bag cameras... Hurry! The Electric Jet is climbing like a home sick angel. No time to compose; just point and shoot. My battered Nikon Coolpix S630 powers up quickly and I get one shot immediately before Fi-Fi punches the second, thin cloud layer into the cold and clear blue above.

Oh, Lord, it was magnificent! As with so many lovely things in life, though, it is falling away with the vertical speed indicator buried at the top of the instrument case, never to be seen again, except for my pitiful little digital record.

Ascension... Two mighty V2500 engines powering a little A319 full of souls from KMCI. Does it get any better?

Probably not...

Life on the Line continues...

Miles in Her Six O'clock

2010-08-11T20:36:00.000-07:00

Position: 55 miles west of KIAD (Dulles)

Altitude: 18,000 feet and climbing...

Groundspeed: 391 mph (340 kts)

Equipment: A321

Pax-on-Board: 183

Airborne...

The Electric Jet is doing what she does most excellently... Putting nautical miles in her six o'clock. Our main sequence star is setting as we ascend into the afternoon skies west of IAD. Fi-Fi is operating in the highest level of automation, affectionately known as (aka) the Star Trek Mode in my world.

That terminology is not to be found in the Pilot Manual, the Company Ops Manual, or the Electric Jet Limitations... But it darn well should be.

What day is it? Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday... Does it matter? No, but what does matter is that it is day three of a four day. Where have we been on this trip? Uh, maybe Florida, Oregon, Michigan... I think. Is that important? Nope, miles in her six...

My co-pilot is a forty year old father of three; when I first flew with him he was a twenty-six year old unmarried new-hire on the road to air carrier super stardom. That was the plan, but as so often happens in this industry, life got in the way. Furloughs, shrinking airlines, pilot-union combat ops, and the list goes on and on... A forty year old co-pilot is not uncommon nowadays.

During the Golden Era of airline flying that everyone in the industry grieves over, a forty year old co-pilot was the norm. Better be careful what you wish for....

Fourteen years have passed since we last flew together, but it (only) seems like one or two. Is this time dilation from years of velocity? What is going on here? Put that thought on hold for later... 183 folks are counting on us to fly them to KSFO safely.

32,000 feet... Cruising...

We have reached a comfortable altitude for our current weight. More fuel weight needs to burn off before further climb. The sun is intense, even at it's low angle. A Jeppesen High Altitude chart, two clips, and a little bit of paper folding creates a small shady refuge. That ought to be good until sunset; about 400 miles from ppos (present position).

The estimated flight time from the flight plan added to the take-off time yields a landing time within eight minutes of Fi-Fi nav. That will tighten as we get closer to the destination.

Remaining fuel in tanks is good, electrics are good, hydraulics are good, engines are good, oxygen is good.

Life on the Line continues...

A Small Navigation Anomaly

2010-07-28T10:07:00.000-07:00

Position: Racing for the worm hole west of KEWR (Newark)

Altitude: 12,000 feet

Indicated Airspeed: 280 kts (320 mph)

Equipment: A320

Pax-on-Board: 150

It is the summer of electric dreams, except these dreams are very real. It has been a number of years since I have flown through a summer of this much convective activity. Thor has been and is still swinging his mighty hammer with abandon.

The departure controller stopped our climb at 12,000 feet while traffic clears overhead. We are flying a compass heading of 270 (west). The co-pilot is flying this leg. He is a 32 year old hot-shot, never married, very intelligent, and has above average airmanship skills. I have flown with him many times and have never seen him do anything out of the ordinary; that parameter covers a lot of airspace.

Tonight, we experienced a small navigation anomaly of the co-pilot's making. Luckily, we reacted quickly, so no harm/no foul. He is pretty much mortified and has apologized twice... Ahem, also using a term that Clint Eastwood made famous in a movie about a Marine gunny... Uh, we will leave it at that.

I told him that everything is cool, no problem and don't worry about it. We can talk later... At the moment we are in a high workload area.

Fifteen minutes earlier...

Both engines are turning and burning, last checklist is still waiting; we are number three for departure. The sky is electrically charged with spiderweb lightning above and in all quadrants, heavier bolts striking the ground south of the airport. Every few seconds I reach overhead and turn my wiper on for one swipe, a nervous habit more than anything else. The mad-dog 88 ahead of us is checking flight controls, rudder moving right, then left.

The co-pilot is worried about one of the flight attendants in the back. She is single, very attractive, young, and friendly. In fact, she has the right seat wrapped around the proverbial axle.

I am worried about this aluminum female and all souls behind the flight deck door. She is, also, very attractive, young (in airplane years), and friendly (if you know what you are doing). The co-pilot is rambling on about maneuvering plans concerning the flight attendant. The words are not registering... I am counting minutes until we are fuel critical.

We are now number two for the runway. Pilots are known to have compartmentalized brains, i.e., very good at multi-tasking. For example, I have moved the engine failure procedure to a frontal brain bucket and placed it beside the normal procedure bucket. This is the perfect time for that evil demon of engine failures to appear. The night is dark, wet, electric, and one pilot's mind is in the aft galley... Favorable conditions for molten engine shrapnel.

Next for take-off; pre-departure checklist finished, flight attendants warned. As I have done since I had lots of hair, none of it grey, I mentally re-check FLAPS, TRIM, FUEL. We are good to go as I roll Fi-Fi onto the centerline, all wing, fuselage, and nosegear lights ON. The radar is turned ON and the antenna elevated to look ten miles ahead and eight degrees above the horizon. It is not one of the new whiz-bang-multi-scan units, but still a good radar.

I straighten the nosewheel before handing the aircraft over to the co-pilot. In a few seconds we are moving toward the far end of the runway with extreme vigor.

Here is the drill: After take-off on this particular runway, you are expected to turn right to a heading of 060 degrees (northeasterly), fly four miles as counted by DME (distance measuring equipment; it senses distance from a selected radio transmitter), then turn left to a heading of 290 degrees (northwesterly). Flying this procedure in Fi-Fi is very straight forward. Before take-off, the nav computers build virtual waypoints with which the flight director bars will lead the pilot.

At 1,000 feet, with both engines still turning, I start to relax a bit... Until the co-pilot asks (sheepishly), "Are we suppose to fly runway heading?"

Oops! Something has happened to the nav data, i.e., it has disappeared from the computer nav display. Fi-Fi is on an unannounced tour of New Jersey. The co-pilot is wondering why the flight director bars are commanding runway ground track.

This very thing happens with alarming regularity in contemporary airliners as the interface between pilot and machine becomes more complicated. But that is for another post...

Speed of reaction is critical in these situations and it had better be the correct reaction. There is no time for looking at the charts and trying to figure out what the heck is going on... The captain can take over the controls (probably not a good idea, as it has been pretty much proven that captains have the most crashes; another post for the future), or assist the co-pilot in getting out of the mess. I usually choose the latter; actually I cannot remember ever taking the aircraft from a co-pilot. If they are newbies in the Electric Jet, I might say something like, "Can I show you something?"

On the flip side, it is time for a little bit of micro-management. The co-pilot is unsure of what is happening to the point of causing the ailerons to twitch via nervous input from his joystick.

"OK, turn auto-pilot two ON and fly a heading of zero six zero... Now."

Fi-Fi is accelerating rapidly and approaching flaps/slats up speed but the co-pilot is still caught in the confusion of the moment. He follows my instructions and the Electric Jet begins banking right toward the Manhattan skyline. I raise the flaps/slats and tell him I have done so...

He asks, "Do you remember the frequency for the four mile turn?"

"I'll tell you when to turn. Watch your altitude; twenty-five hundred is coming up fast."

One of my forever-and-ever-habits-amen is to start the timer when the engines come out of idle for take-off. I do it for fuel burn, but it works for lateral distance, too. The clock is running and my little mental time and distance calculator is building the turn point taking into account acceleration.

Four miles is about here... "OK, turn left heading two nine zero."

Fi-Fi begins banking left. I glance out my side Plexiglas and see that we are still in the departure corridor, more or less. An Instructor Pilot running the simulator and looking at the computer generated ground track would be shaking his head... Sloppy, sloppy, sloppy.

The co-pilot is mentally returning from the aft galley. He says, "I am so sorry. I did that to myself. I messed with the flight plan on the runway." Mystery solved...

"We'll talk about it later."

There is blue sky toward the west and Fi-Fi is heading that way with the vertical speed needle buried at the top of the case.

One hour later...

The line of storms is in our nine o'clock as we head for Tampa. The subject of screwing with the flight plan on the runway has not come up. I have decided not to say anything about it; he knows what he did was a big no no. An Instructor Pilot would be chewing on him for 500 miles, maybe more.

I'll bet he doesn't do it again.

Life on the Line continues...

Minimum Brake Release Fuel

2010-07-18T13:10:00.000-07:00

Position: 100 miles west of KPHL (Philly)

Altitude: 28,500 feet; climbing at 900 feet per minute

Groundspeed: 488 mph (425 kts)

Equipment: A320

Pax-on-board: 150

Destination: KSFO

One of the cranky old timers that taught me the way of large jet aircraft told me the TOC (top of climb) fuel check was probably the most important on the whole flight plan. In hind sight, I believe he is correct. The crew can get a good idea of realistic remaining range at TOC.

We are still 5,500 feet from TOC, nevertheless my mental fuel loop is in hyper-drive. The question is: Are we going to have enough fuel-in-tanks to make KSFO without diverting to re-fuel? We lined up on the runway with minimum brake release fuel, but large deviations, north and south, during the climb through a line of thunderstorms put a dent in our fuel load.

Surprisingly, the left seat cursing threshold has not been breached. After all, we have been working this problem with all available resources.

Three hours earlier...

This is the stuff of airline pilot nightmares. We are number one gazillion and three on the taxiway with brakes set, thunderstorms in all quadrants with rain, wind, and lightning; captains losing their cool on the radio frequency; airliners at bingo fuel trapped on the taxiway and unable to get back to a gate for a kerosene upload. Many of the aircraft are approaching the new DOT three hour rule, but nothing can be done about it.

Ground control and operations frequencies are a melee of colliding radio waves causing very annoying squealing in our earpieces. I am calm, though... On the beach in Cancun. Before we pushed back into this mess, the dispatcher and I decided to fill all fuel tanks to the max, and then use creative fuel planning to get us off the ground.

We are using the number one engine for cooling and electrical power instead of the APU. Why? If the APU fails on the taxiway, which is rare, but not unheard of, you are in a proverbial pickle. No APU on the taxiway equals no engine start, no electricity other than battery power, and most important, no cooling air for the pax. Simply thinking about it is enough to put another shade of gray in my hair. There is a 600 pound per hour difference in fuel burn using the engine, but I will deal with it later.

Two hours earlier...

Two orbs of light are approaching, getting brighter and larger. The roar of jet engines at maximum thrust washes over our flight deck. It is a surrealistic scene through a sheet of rain covered Plexiglas. I reach overhead and turn my wiper ON for a better look... Their flight deck is leading a moving storm of mist and hot fog from the engine thrust. The approaching candlepower is almost overwhelming and it is still two hours from sunset. Abeam our aircraft, the nose gear breaks free causing the engines to blast the rain covered runway. The fuselage is hidden inside a whirling storm of hot mist, although the main cabin windows are glowing smudges of yellow light.

And then, it is gone; the crackling thunder of jet engines at close range fading in our seven o'clock. The co-pilot says, "They're lining up another one." Yep, he is right. Two new orbs of light coming into view at the end of the runway.

The original brake release fuel is history. I pull out my number two pencil and hand calculator to begin the new and improved brake release fuel calculations, moving 700 pounds of Jet-A from the captain's uh-oh contingency fuel to the taxi burn. I set it aside for a few minutes, and then look at it again... Still looks reasonable. An email is sent to my dispatcher with the new figures so she can back me up with her number two pencil.

In a few minutes, the email alert light flashes and the mini-printer spits out a new fuel burn column amending the flight plan.

Another roaring cloud of mist goes past our aircraft. We are slowly moving toward the end of the runway.

One hour earlier...

The new and improved brake release fuel is history. It was such a good plan, too.

OK, we have 30 minutes of holding fuel. I can move 700 pounds to taxi burn, instead of robbing more contingency fuel. Holding fuel is not legally required, but it is a really good idea to keep some in your back pocket for precious minutes to get an alternate plan cobbled together when things start going south. We will have about 25 minutes of hold fuel.

Another email leaves Fi-Fi's belly en route to dispatch with the newest and best brake release fuel figures.

Thirty minutes earlier...

We are next for take-off as we complete the last checklist and warn the flight attendants. The newest and best brake release fuel is at hand. Fi-Fi moves onto the rain covered runway, finally, after two and a half hours on the taxiway. We are now the two orbs of light at the end of the runway. Put that thought aside until later...

Radar ON and looking eight degrees above the horizon. The co-pilot asks for twenty degrees left after take-off to miss a cell at the edge of the airport. Cloud-to-cloud lightning flashes illuminate our dark world every few seconds.

I tell the co-pilot, "Here we go," moving the thrust levers forward a bit to bring the engines out of idle and preparing them to receive large amounts of fuel.

Thrust levers forward and watch the fuel burn digits blur into an upward counting frenzy, going from three digits, four digits, settling into five digits as the feeling of raw power pushes us back in our seats. The engine temperatures are wonderfully cool in the rain. I reach overhead and turn my wiper ON high until we get airborne. We are blowing through the eighty knot call in a few heartbeats... 100, 120, 140, 150... "Vee-One"... 160... "Rotate."

Fi-Fi does not roll more than a hundred feet on her main gear tires before the runway is falling away, rapidly. She is happy to be out of this place.

After the landing gear has slammed into their respective up-locks, and gear doors closed, we fly into a gray, electrically charged netherworld of fast moving rain drops in the million candlepower light spears. Carefully, I bank left to miss the approaching cell at the edge of the airport. Airspeed is increasing, even though I have nailed 18 degrees pitch angle. Jet engines love cool conditions. The vertical speed is passing 3,500 feet per minute when we reach 1,000 feet... Whoa baby! Airspeed is approaching flaps/slats UP speed. Flaps up!

Top of climb...

The Electric Jet levels at 34,000 feet 118 miles west of KPHL. I bring her five fuel tanks onto the lower display and scribble each tank amount on the flight plan. Ahead, the sun is going down behind a strange looking towering cumulus cloud that wanted to be a thunderstorm, but never made it past the development stage. Poor little thing... I think I will take a picture of it.

After a few minutes of time, distance and wind calculations, I am comfortable with the remaining fuel load. Comparing my numbers to Fi-Fi's nav computers shows a 500 pound difference. That is within fuel sensor error margins.

We are three hours late. Fortunately, there are no connecting pax. I call the lead flight attendant in the forward galley and ask about the mood of the pax. She says that most are glad to be airborne and heading for SFO. There are two pax asking about refunds from the new D.O.T. regulations. Since we were airborne before the three hour clock ran out, I don't think that will fly. Anyway, that is above my pay grade.

Life on the Line continues...

Independence Day Over Pensacola

2010-07-07T17:32:00.000-07:00

Position: Over Pensacola

Altitude: 30,000 feet

Groundspeed: 552 mph (480 kts)

Equipment: 321 stretch Fi-Fi

Pax-on-Board: 183 + 4 jumpers

July 4, 0800 hrs

Oh Lord, what a beautiful day. Ahead, dark blue morning skies and light headwinds. Below us, the home of Naval Aviation. In my opinion, one of the finest places to be over on this fourth day of July.

The Disney World airlift is underway. Yesterday, we flew 183 kids and parents to Orlando. This morning, we are taking 183 back home. As the pax were boarding, several kids asked the lead flight attendant if they could see the flight deck. As is my practice, burned into my very being by a long gone Connie Captain, I sat them in my seat, showed them how to work the electric seat controls and a few buttons to push causing Fi-Fi to squawk. The thing they really notice is the side stick controller (joystick) and most had a look of understanding in their eyes. They get it... Children of the digital age.

The Electric Jet is heavy this morning, fat with fuel, baggage, and mail. The flight management computers want to cruise at 30,000 feet, even though we have performance for 32,000 feet and are, in fact, flight planned by Mother's main frame at 32,000 feet. The outside air temperature and wind component are causing the difference. If I plug 32,000 feet into the fuel computers, they actually show an increase in burn. This is one of those little things that falls into the major cool category. Admittedly, we are talking about measuring with a micrometer and cutting with an axe, but Mother is hounding her captains about every pound of Jet-A, so I guess we will cruise at 30,000 feet for awhile.

This morning is easy money compared to yesterday afternoon.

July 3, 1730 hrs (5:30 PM)

The Orlando vicinity forecast is 100% accurate today; thunderstorms and heavy rain. Our plan is to land between storms in moderate rain. Jacksonville ATC Center is doing a marvelous job of vectoring us around the heaviest weather. Before we started down into this mess, I told the lead flight attendant to prepare the cabin for a rough ride... Strap those kids in extra tight.

The 321 fuselage is twisting, flexing and emitting little thumping noises in the turbulence. Her digital, multi-scan radar is showing a hi-def return of the weather ahead. It is, without a doubt, the finest radar I have ever seen or used in my career. It brings me to tears just thinking about the difference between this radar and the early, mono-chromatic, non-stabilized units of my youth... Excuse me while I wipe my eyes.

Two hundred miles prior to this point, I memorized the first two nav fixes to the alternate airport, KJAX. Also, the co-pilot and I reviewed the likely ILS approaches and the engine failure procedure for each of them. It is good policy to move all the big things to the front of your mind in bad weather, i.e., hope for the best but expect the worst. Then, if you have to get out of Dodge in a hurry, the transition will be much smoother.

Sixty miles to the airport... It is looking dark, wet, and rough ahead. The co-pilot is asking for small vectors left and right around the heaviest stuff. There is a 737 behind us with an ATC assigned 300 kts speed limit; we have a 300 kts or greater ATC speed assignment.

Forty miles to the airport... We are in it now, heavy rain and moderate turbulence. This is lightning strike territory, but we are descending rapidly and will be out of the critical temperature band in a moment. Thick clouds are darkening the flight deck. JAX center hands us off to Orlando approach control who advises ILS to runway 18 Right, low level wind shear advisories are in effect. The co-pilot sets us up for a partial flap approach. It makes the escape maneuver more effective, i.e., more energy (speed) to deal with wind shear.

Twenty miles to the airport... Flaps and slats are coming out. We are approaching the radio beam to the runway at a 45 degree angle and are still above the glideslope. I have taken the radar out of Fi-Fi's network and am using raw microwave returns to peek at the weather around the runway. Actually, not looking too bad... Sort of a typical afternoon summertime arrival in Florida.

Ten miles to the airport... Merging with the localizer radio beam, still above glideslope. I ask for the landing gear DOWN and the remainder of the flaps to be lowered. The increased drag allows me to push the nose over slightly without an increase in airspeed. The final approach controller hands us off to the tower five miles from the outer marker. The tower clears us to land, visibility two miles and moderate rain; no wind shear reported.

Over the marker... On glideslope, speed, and configured for the approach.

Six hundred feet above the ground... Runway environment in sight. The rain is moderate to heavy... Wipers on HIGH. The runway's lead in lights are bright, beautiful, and welcoming.

Over the fence... Remember, it is a 321. The tail is way back there... Seven degrees max pitch. Fight the illusion of being high; wet Plexiglas tricks the human eye. Fi-Fi helps with radar altimeter digital voice call outs... "50-40-30-20-10-5."

Touchdown... On a wet runway at the 1,000 foot marker, wipers furiously slinging water, all spoilers forced to full extension, reverse thrust triggers pulled up and over... This is the time to be very careful. There is a micro-thin layer of water between the tires and the grooved concrete. With peripheral vision, I am watching for both green REV annunciations on the engine instrument display... ENG 1- REV/ENG 2- REV.

Yeah baby, we've got reverser vanes open for business. My right hand pulls both thrust levers and reverse triggers to the rear stops. Deceleration is awesome, but, unfortunately, not much noise. The 321 engines are too far behind the flight deck. Except for the nose and the top of the tail, an observer would see the aircraft disappear in a cloud of mist from the reverse thrust.

As far as the children in the back are concerned, we have arrived in paradise.

Thirty minutes later...

The crew van is rolling as iPhones and Droids come out of pockets and purses to call loved ones. It is raining hard outside. We landed in the proverbial nick.

I figure we have enough time for twenty minutes on the treadmill, a light dinner, and one episode of American Pickers before hitting the rack for an o'dark thirty get-up.

Life on the Line continues...

319 State of Mind

2010-06-19T20:37:00.000-07:00

Position: Over Sioux City

Altitude: 39,000 feet

Groundspeed: 580 mph (505 kts)

Equipment: A319

Pax-on-board: 123

Airborne... KSEA direct KBOS; day three of four.

I slept seven uninterrupted hours last night in the KSEA crew hotel. I am feeling great, being mentally alert with pre-geezer aches and pains at a minimum. The first sight of the 319 at the gate extracted a barely audible yes! from me. I am in a 319 state of mind today... Set climb power and watch the houses become rapidly smaller.

Seattle ATC stopped our climb briefly at 23,000 feet, then again at 33,000 feet, and once more at 37,000 feet, before finally clearing us to 39,000 feet. Life is good up here today. The air mass is smooth and moving in our direction at 60 kts. All things being equal, we will be arriving thirty minutes ahead of schedule.

The engines are running cool and strong, hydraulics good, electrics good, fuel flow good, and crew oxygen full.

In the right seat sits an outstanding pilot. He is an Argentinian kid that I have seen around the pilot locker room before, but this is the first trip flown with him. On day one, after a red-eye flight to the east coast, I saw him fly a high energy visual approach that would have brought tears of joy to an Instructor Pilot's eyes.

At first, I thought he was behind the aircraft, but that proved not to be the case. His energy management techniques were amazing, in fact, I was blown away. This is day number three and I have yet to see him use the wing spoilers to dissipate lift. He is ultra smooth and mentally far ahead of the aircraft.

I guess that makes me a hacker, because I use spoilers a lot. In my view, they are another flight control available for use. On the other hand, I saw him fly the same visual approach that I have flown 200 times, but he flew it faster, smoother and without using spoilers or adding thrust until the outer marker. In a way, it is depressing.

I am trying to think of anyone I have flown with that is as talented as this kid. There is a young Canadian female on my list of top co-pilots that is probably his equal... Maybe. Then there is the Air Force guy who is quiet and unassuming, yet has airmanship skills second to none. He was the co-pilot when I made a fool of myself at Anchorage and had to go-around. He tried to help me blame it on someone else, but we could not come up with a guilty party, other than the silver-haired guy in the left seat. His attempt to shift blame from his captain moved him up the list of my favorite co-pilots, though.

Who is the best pilot I have ever seen? That question reminds me of the scene in The Right Stuff where Gordon Cooper was asked that by a reporter. He jokingly said, "You're looking at him."

The Right Stuff is a powerful movie in my world. Chuck Yeager walking away from a smoking crater with his helmet under arm, face burned, and all the while chewing his stick of Beeman's gum brings tears to my eyes every time.

Occasionally, I remind my low-life captain buddies that I am the best pilot they have seen. The resulting storm of insults and vitriol is truly shocking.

The wife-of-my-youth tells me that I am the best pilot she has ever seen, but when I fix a leaky faucet she tells me that I am the best plumber she has ever seen. She is a college dean and being very intelligent, I suspect she sometimes toys with my subordinate mental abilities, and then erases all traces of her tampering inside my head.

Is it one of the F-4 warriors, all long gone from the seniority list? Maybe it is one of the senior Captains of my youth who began their careers at twenty years of age sitting sideways as an engineer on a DC-7. They told me tales of seeing the likes of John Wayne in the cockpit (during flight) visiting with the crew. If only half of what they said was true, it still inspires awe. Lord, thank you for letting me co-pilot for such men.

Who is the best pilot I have ever seen? It is a composite image in my psyche that I cannot match with a name. Whoever it is, though, should see this Argentinian kid fly.

Life on the Line continues... Eastbound.

Midnight at 61 North

2010-06-12T20:14:00.000-07:00

Position: 60 east of PANC (Anchorage)

Altitude: 22,000 feet and descending

Fuel-on-board: 90 minutes

Pax-on-board: 123

Equipment: A319

Airborne...

Good Lord, it is beautiful up here... Midnight at 61 north with ninety minutes of Jet-A in the tanks. I am trying to imagine how my life could be better at this point in the continuum. The sun is barely below the horizon, something I never tire of seeing.

I was able to get the wife-of-my-youth the last seat before the gate agents closed L-1 (forward left cabin door). She boarded with a big smile and her little pilot's wife Go-Pack, a light weight shoulder bag strategically packed for non-rev flying.

After five hours of cruise flight with an incredible wind component of zero, we still have ninety minutes of fuel. It is a rare thing to see this much fuel at this lat-long. Captain Dave's warm and fuzzy meter is at the top of the green. My co-pilot has never been in this airspace before, having just transferred to the Electric Jet and her route structure. He is still in the first few months of post-training Fi-Fi shock, a common reaction from new co-pilots. He keeps saying, "They didn't teach us that in ground school" and "What's it doing now?"

Anchorage approach has cleared us to descend pilot's discretion to 11,000 feet. I am fantasizing about descending at idle thrust until the outer marker beacon. When my biorhythms are at the top of the wave and the approach controller, traffic permitting, keeps clearing me for lower altitudes before I have to add chemical energy to the vertical path, I can usually accomplish it. Then, of course, I am insufferable for thirty minutes afterwards.

Most likely, I will ask the right seat, "Have you ever seen such skill?"

A few years ago, I embarrassed myself on this very same approach, being too high and fast and had to go-around. The worst thing about that stellar display of airmanship was that the tower controller asked, "Do you guys need assistance?" I still get elevated blood pressure and sweaty palms just thinking about it.

40 miles east of PANC, runway 14

Fi-Fi is a clean machine as she soars over some serious terrain east of PANC. The compressor fans are rolling at idle thrust, fuel flow a piddling three digits. I am keeping some extra altitude in the energy bank to use or discard close to the marker beacon. The trick to these idle thrust approaches is to concentrate on the five mile fix, instead of the runway. The runway will take care of itself if the aircraft is configured at the five mile fix.

Cleared for the visual approach, runway 14

The visual approach slope indicator is clear and bright fifteen miles ahead, all four lights white. We are a little high, but nothing that spoilers cannot handle. Slats and flaps are coming out, landing gear at the marker. The excellent IAE engines are still at idle thrust and have been for 90 miles. The co-pilot switches to tower frequency and receives landing clearance.

Cleared to land, runway 14

I am in the groove over the marker... Gear down and three green, flaps set, spoilers stowed, engines spooling up, two red lights/two white lights on the visual slope. The flight attendants are slamming carts home in the galley.

Fi-Fi passes over the cliff that rises from the sea at the end of the runway threshhold. There are two people on the beach looking up at us. That falls into the cool category.

At fifty feet, engines to idle thrust, nose up a couple of degrees and let her settle. At five feet, nose down a tiny bit, rotating the main gear tires counter-clockwise (up) around the pitch axis. If this manuever is timed correctly, the tires will smoothly roll onto the runway without deforming. Normally, on a dry runway, the tire will momentarily deform causing a noticeable thump as the landing gear rolls on the egg shaped tire.

Touchdown is absolutely smooth, in fact it is one of those yeah, baby moments that every pilot tries for all the time, but rarely gets. The wing spoilers rise to dump the lift and force the weight onto the landing gear and brakes. Reverse thrust triggers are pulled up and over, opening the cascade vanes. The stopping program is underway...

The lead ramp has his illuminated batons moving in perfect come to me arcs as he guides the Electric Jet toward the gate. I can see the station manager on the ramp holding her clipboard. She has 49 minutes to turn this aircraft around.

Ramp crossed the batons; I bring Fi-Fi to a stop and set the brakes. Engine number two fuel-switch to OFF. Engine number one will idle until ground power is plugged in the belly. As soon as the rampers hear number two spooling down, they are opening cargo compartments on that side of the aircraft. The station manager is looking at her watch. The green ground power light illuminates on the overhead and I shut down number one.

The jetway gently nudges the fuselage, a double knock from the gate agent and L-1 is opened. We have arrived three minutes ahead of schedule with more than an hour of fuel remaining. Life is good!

Nice landing...

More than the usual smattering of pax are throwing nice landing compliments into the cockpit as they exit. There are a lot of pilots in Alaska. In a few minutes I can sense the wife-of-my-youth standing behind my seat. She asks, "Who made that landing?"

Do you really have to ask?

Life on the Line continues at 61 North, 150 West...

Around the South End

2010-06-01T12:37:00.000-07:00

Position: Over KAMA (Amarillo)

Altitude: 33,000 feet

Groundspeed: 554 mph (482 kts)

Equipment: A321

Pax-on-Board: 183 + 4 jumpers

Destination: KBOS

Airborne...

Earlier, my dispatcher was nervously clearing her throat while describing the weather north of Amarillo, extending all the way to Casper. She told me about thunderstorms with tops in excess of 65,000 feet. We have eyes on them now and she was not kidding. They are not at 65,000 feet anymore; I wag them at only 55,000 feet in the cooling night atmosphere.

These level 6 aircraft killers punched through the tropopause with ease and exploded into the stratosphere. It is not unheard of for aircraft to inadvertently fly through hail columns twenty miles away from these monsters. I have chosen to fly south and upwind of the storm line.

We are in a 321 stretch Fi-Fi with every seat full, including jumpseats. The two pilots in the cockpit jumpseats are buddies of mine, one going home after a four day trip and the other being positioned for a flight later in the day. The three of us belong to a small band of misfit, politically incorrect, grumpy old captains who have formed a Lufbery Circle at work, helping each other with family matters, scheduling conflicts, alibis, etc.

To run with this pre-geezer gang, one must have thick skin. These two have been harassing me since they sat down in the cockpit. They have been telling the co-pilot outrageous stories of my (alleged) involvement in past incidents on the Line. Thankfully, we are ninety minutes into the flight and they are getting sleepy and talking less; important in case we have a statute of limitations problem here.

The wing tanks and center tanks remain mostly full, being replenished from the aft center fuselage tanks. We are step climbing tonight, currently at 33,000 feet waiting for fuel weight to decrease. Fifty miles northeast of our track, huge thunderstorms with tops at least 20,000 feet above our cruise altitude. The lightning is continuous and bright, a sure sign of very dangerous storms.

Industrial strength flying is the name of the game tonight. No exotic destinations on this trip; just hardcore east coast airports with fast talking controllers, extended taxi times, and short overnights.

Life on the Line continues.... Over the Texas panhandle.

The Turn Point

2010-05-19T22:06:00.000-07:00

Position: Ten miles northeast of KATL (Atlanta)

Altitude: 15,000 feet... Climbing

Equipment: A321 "stretch" Fi-Fi

Pax-on-board: 183

Airborne...

On the first leg of the day, about ten hours ago, I checked the KATL weather. Between then and our actual departure for KATL, three hours ago, I checked the weather, probably obsessively, at least a dozen times. Three different sources, all huge commercial weather disseminators, agreed that thunderstorms were not in the forecast for Mylanta.

I guess I am imagining those flashes on the horizon. Or, maybe they are swamp gas bubbles popping in the night sky.

My cursing trigger is twitching, still in the OFF position, but loading up the release sear. I resist the urge to look at the fuel gauges. That can wait... I already know we do not have thunderstorm fuel, because I did not upload it, although I knew better.

The email alert flashes; gotta be my dispatcher. I push the print button and the little mini-printer spits out bad news. I ask the co-pilot, a 29 year old kid with not a single grey hair and eyes that can read in the dark without geezer glasses, to read it to me.

Storms building rapidly northwest and southwest of ATL. How much fob?

OK, this is what I get paid for... Don't swell up like a toad and blow a fuse, captain. After a second or two, I chuckle to myself. Of course there are storms at the destination... Every seat full, new aircraft, forecast for clear skies (in the springtime) at Atlanta, and a visual fuel load of which the company flight manual states, "Shows good fuel awareness from the captain." That is new age speak for please do not carry extra fuel unless you deem it absolutely necessary.

Some of the pressure on the cursing trigger relaxes. These new Electric Jets are fabulous aircraft with multiple resources to assist the pilots with this very problem. One of my favorites is a list of airports within fuel range of the missed approach point. A quick look shows at least four airports in range with long runways and big quantities of Jet-A for sale. After considering the wind factor, and geographic location, I select one of the airports for an on-the-fly alternate.

I ask the kid to take a look at it and at the same time shoot an email to my dispatcher requesting him to back me up on the quick-and-dirty alternate.

The plan is to approach KATL from the south, get as close as possible and realistically assess whether we can make a successful approach and landing. We are not going to waste fuel trying an approach with less than a good chance of completion. Missed approaches burn a lot of fuel that can be used getting to the alternate.

The email alert light flashes with a response from dispatch: CAE looks good; if unable to land ATL fob 10.6 proceed to alt of KCAE

Eighty miles south, Atlanta Center says the dreaded words: standby for holding instructions. The fuel loop running in my head computes no more than three turns in holding, but center assures us it should not be a long hold; traffic saturation caused by the storm closed gate to the west. Center allows us to hold at 20,000 feet using 10 mile legs which is a very fuel efficient combo for our current weight. The storms are now clearly visible and they are active with lightning popping in a chain reaction down the line. The worrisome storm is west of the airport; it is a big one allegedly moving northeast. Unfortunately, storm movement depends on fuel-in-tanks. This one will certainly be moving east.

At the sixty mile holding fix, Fi-Fi enters the hold via a direct entry, banking to the right. The co-pilot reports to ATC that we have entered the hold at 20,000 feet. The lightning flashes are getting brighter and more frequent giving the pax a good look at the electric storm as we turn in holding. I brief the flight attendants first, then the pax of my intentions shortly after we enter holding.

The first turn in hold is complete as we cross the fix for the second turn. ATC issues a clearance to the first fix on the downwind leg... Descend to and maintain 8,000 feet. Roger that... Fi-Fi flies a right 360 degree turn back to the fix and departs for the downwind leg. On the intercom, I tell the flight attendants to batten down the hatches and take their seats.

The 321's remarkable multi-scan digital wx radar is another available asset tonight. It does a good job of eliminating ground clutter (radar returns from ground objects) and shows a (mostly) true image of the threat ahead. It is ugly... I am starting to get that re-fueling feeling.

At 15,000 feet, in the descent, we say good-bye to the stars and enter the first of several thin cloud layers prevalent around convection. The clouds transmit the lightning flashes like fiber optics, creating a surrealistic strobe effect in the cockpit. We are in and out of wispy layers until we break out at 10,000 feet with the lights of Atlanta stretching before us as far as we can see. There is a line of storms in our nine o'clock extending towards the airport. West of the airport is the big level 6 storm. The lightning is continuous and spider webbing throughout the interior and exterior of the storm cloud. The belly of that beast is stroking the ground with large bolts, illuminating a large shelf cloud (leading edge of big storms) between the storm and the airport.

This is not good... Shelf clouds are dangerous; on a scale of one to ten, ten being disastrous, shelf clouds are a seven. When I was a green co-pilot on a 737-100 steam jet, one of our most experienced Captains inadvertently flew us into a shelf cloud going into DFW. Our radar was a crude mono-chromatic, barely stabilized unit which was attenuated (overwhelmed by rain) at the time. We could (kind of) see the runway on base leg in heavy rain, lightning, and moderate turbulence. Without warning, we hit a green tinted storm wall, i.e., the lower leading edge of a fast moving thunderstorm. The Captain, to his credit, got us out of there, but I will never forget that incident. It was scary for me and was surely terrifying for the pax/flight attendants.

With Fi-Fi leveling at 8,000 feet a few miles south of the airport, the little red warning light in the back of my head is flashing. The desire to shoot the approach is very, very strong, but I have a creepy feeling of trouble.

I ask the co-pilot, "Whadda you think?" He says, without hesitation, "It doesn't look good." Yeah, he is right. A lot of pax lives are on the line, not to mention a $60,000,000 company asset.

"Tell approach we want to go to Columbia."

The Turn Point...

Against an electrified background of storm clouds, the Electric Jet is ascending back into the safety of the night sky. When I advanced the thrust levers to climb power, Fi-Fi dropped a virtual beacon in her six o'clock, i.e., the turn point. Her nav computers like to see where they have been as they are computing where they are going. It falls into the super-cool category and is one of the many things I love about this aircraft.

I ask the co-pilot to take over the flying duties... I've had enough. He can fly the two re-fueling legs. I notify dispatch that we are on our way to South Carolina. Our long day just got longer.

Life on the Line continues...

Six Years at Altitude

2010-05-15T17:50:00.000-07:00

Six years at altitude and still writing about life on the airways.

I fly about 430,000 miles annually; that would be 2,580,000 miles since I began this poor little blog. I have safely carried 260,000 passengers to their destinations without denting aluminum... Knock on wood.

Life on the Line continues...