A Very Merry Christmas

This post starts out on a sour note, but ends well…so stick with me. The year 2000 was a difficult year that culminated in the story I‘m about to tell. I had already missed my oldest daughter’s birthday and baptism, my anniversary, Easter, Thanksgiving and pretty much everything else of any importance along the way, so it came as no surprise that I held a line in December that worked on Christmas day. I was on reserve from December 21st through the 26th but was quite pleased to get a three day trip on the 23rd that got off at 8:30am on Christmas day. I spent the night in Indianapolis, Indiana on Christmas Eve and was scheduled to work an early morning flight home on Christmas day. One leg home…what could possibly go wrong?
We got to the airport before sunrise and the Captain went straight to the gate to get our paperwork as I went down to the jet to warm things up and get started on my pre-flight duties. When I returned from my walk-around, the Captain was sitting in his seat with a somber look on his face. “Bad news” he said, “I checked your schedule and they’ve re-assigned you to fly to Long Beach tonight. You’re scheduled to fly home on the 26th. Your going to miss Christmas.”

“Well” I told him, “that’s fine, but they’re going to have to catch me.” The airline can’t just add a new fight assignment to a pilot’s schedule without notifying him of the change, and since it had been the Captain who logged into the computer to check my schedule and not me, it was their responsibility to notify me of the change…I certainly wasn’t going to call them.

There are a number of ways for the company to notify me of such a change. First, after we were airborne on our way home, Crew Tracking could have sent us a message over the ACARS system. ACARS is a communication system that allows the company to send a message that prints out in the cockpit. Our contract does not require me to respond to such a message while flying, but it would have given me a heads up that they were in fact trying to contact me. We never received an ACARS message.

The next and most common opportunity for contact is through the “changeover report.” About 30 minutes before we land at any destination, I send a message to the company through the ACARS system to notify them of our expected landing time. This information is passed on to ramp and gate personnel and also updates the computer screens that you read in the terminal. We receive a printed response that, among other things, includes information about crew connections. If I was expected to perform another flying assignment, then the changeover would include gate and departure information for my next flight. But instead of providing this information, the report clearly stated “No Crew Connect Info.” I quietly folded the report and stuck it in my pocket.

Next was the call to company ramp control. After we landed, I called the ramp controller to inform him that we were on the ground and requested an entry spot to the ramp. If Crew Tracking was looking for me, the ramp controller would have instructed me to call them after we parked. I received no such message.

After we parked at the gate and the door opened, I looked out onto the jet bridge…no suit with a clip board and the phone was not ringing…good.  So with the “No Crew Connect Info” message in my shirt pocket, I turned to the Captain and told him I was going home. “Must have gotten someone else” I told him.

As I started to pack my bags, four stripes got out of his seat and went out onto the jet bridge. He didn’t say anything to me and I didn’t know where he was going. As I exited the jet with my bags in hand, he was standing there on the phone with what I would describe as a “ha, I got ya” look on his face. He held the phone out where the person on the other end could hear and said “I called Crew Tracking for you…” You What?! The voice in my head was screaming something I can’t repeat in this forum. “They need you for the trip…just forgot to notify you.” I wanted to kill him. I freely admit now, that if they had not been able to contact me, some other pilot would have had to fly the trip and would have missed Christmas with HIS family…either that or the flight would have been cancelled all together. Neither is palatable to me now, but I certainly wasn’t thinking of such things at the time. It’s all about me!!!

Before we left Indy 3 hours earlier, I placed a call to my wife and broke the news to her. She grew up with a father who was always home for the holidays and took the news hard. She is, however, a strong, supportive woman and a great wife and as a surprise, she got the kids out of bed and met me at the gate as I exited the jet. It was wonderful to see her and my two little ladies, even if it was only for 10-15 minutes. They brought me some food intended for our Christmas dinner, gave me a present to open and a few last hugs as I boarded the plane to Long Beach.

The worst part? My oldest daughter was only 4 at the time and didn’t understand that I wasn’t going home with her. So as the truth became apparent, she melted down right there in the boarding area with 136 passengers sitting around waiting for their flight. She began to scream and cry and begged me no to go. As I rounded the corner and walked onto the jet, the last thing I heard her say was “Daddy, please don’t go…if you won’t go, I promise to be good.” Broke my heart. I’m pretty sure my wife had a few ugly thoughts for all those people who just HAD to fly on Christmas.

So that was my worst Christmas…here‘s my best.

This year, Christmas 2010, my seniority is about the same, maybe a little worse, than it was in 2000. That’s a story for another day, but let’s just say that between 9/11, swine flu, bird flu, sky rocketing fuel prices, age 65 and the recession, that airline pilot’s haven’t done so well in the last 10 years. I was a reserve MD80 FO in 2000 and I’m a reserve MD80 FO today. My schedule this year had me on reserve beginning on Christmas day and working through the 29th. I did my best to get a trip on Christmas day that signed in late enough to have some time with my family before I had to go to work, but was assigned a trip with a sign-in time of 5:50am. That meant I would have to leave the house at 4:50...just a little early for any quality family time. It wasn’t a total loss as the trip was just a two leg turn, out and back in the same day. I would be home in time for dinner.

We spent Christmas Eve at my in-laws house. We were all sitting around the fire trading stories at about 3 in the afternoon when my cell phone rang. I’ve been doing this long enough to know not to answer my phone if I don’t know who‘s calling. If they’re short on pilots and you’re stupid enough to pick up the phone, your it…day off or not, you're going to work. I didn’t recognize the number on the caller ID, so I let it go to voice mail. A minute or so later, my phone chimed in again indicating a new voice mail, so I punch the button and listened to a message from the MD80 Fleet Training Manager.  “Hey Brad, can you holler at me on my mobile please, I’d like to displace you tomorrow.” I'm going to omit his name out of respect since he probably doesn't want to publicize his actions, but the guy is a management pilot in charge of all MD80 training and doesn’t have to work on Christmas or any other holiday. 

I jumped up with such a start that wife thought something was wrong. She later told me that her first thought, in reaction to the look on my face, was that someone had died! I hurried into the next room so I could respond to the call in private and my wife followed along. I gave her a thumbs up as my new best friend picked up on the other end. We only spoke for a few minutes, but he explained to me that his children were all grown and out of the house and that it was his pleasure to give me the day with my family. He thanked me for my service to the company, asked about past holidays and seemed pleased to learn that it had been so many years since I had had Christmas day off.

In hind sight, it occurs to me that I will still want to spend Christmas with my kids when they are grown and out of the house.  It also occurs to me that he’s been doing this same thing for years and hasn’t had Christmas with his family either. I've heard rumors from time to time about this yearly Christmas gift. I’ve heard that he calls some junior guy who’s stuck flying on Christmas for the umpteenth year in a row and gives that pilot the day off with pay. I always thought the stories might just be urban legend and certainly never thought I would be the recipient of his good graces.

I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, but of all the people this affected, my 14 year old daughter was more touched than anyone. She had been telling me for weeks that I could keep the presents...all she wanted was for me to be home on Christmas.  I didn’t think there was any chance it would happen, and I definitely couldn’t have foreseen the outcome of the day. This will be a Christmas that my family will never forget.

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Kids and Airplanes

I come from a long line of men obsessed with aviation and a slightly shorter list of women who support our love of the skies. One of my Grandfathers was a private pilot, the other was a B-25 Crew Chief in WWII and my own Father flew OV-1 Mohawks in Vietnam followed by a 32 year career with Delta Air Lines. There are even aviators on my wife’s side of the family with a Grandfather who flew for Braniff in the ‘50s and ‘60s before tragically passing away years before mandatory retirement. So, while a career in aviation was never pushed or even initially encouraged, it was no surprise to anyone that I developed a fascination with anything that flew at a very young age.


My earliest memories of airplanes are those of family vacations. I still remember the smells, colors, sounds and textures of my first flight like it was yesterday. I remember walking down the jet bridge with the high pitched whine of two JT8s spooling down at the gate next door surrounded by bright orange carpet and olive green, orange and red striped walls, horrendous mismatches today, were both in style and hip at the time. The aroma of jet exhaust combined with the odor of well used carpet and fresh brewed coffee with a gleaming Boeing 727 waiting, door ajar, at the end of the hall.

Of course, since my father was an employee of the airline, we were traveling as non-revs, non revenue that is, so we boarded at the last minute, taking the last few seats on the jet as I was pushed past the cockpit door that I so desperately wanted to enter. I remember my Dad’s words, words that we heard just about every time we flew…”sit still, keep your feet off the seats, and if you push the stewardess call button you’ll be sorry.” He was only kidding just a little and yes, it was ok to call them stewardesses back then.

We flew often and my early memories of flying mesh together a bit, but one of my favorites is that of a trip my Dad took me on when I was only 10. He was a Boeing 727 First Officer and he had a long layover in Portland, Oregon. The loads were light both directions so he elected to take me along. There were dangers involved for a crew member taking a child to work. If the flight had unexpectedly filled up, as they often do, Dad would still have to work the flight and would be forced to leave me behind. With this in mind, Dad waited until he thought I was old enough to handle being left before taking me on my first trip, and he always made arrangements ahead of time for a gate agent to help me to the next flight home if there wasn’t a seat for me at departure time.

As it turns out, the flights to and from Portland were only half full and I had no trouble getting on. Once we arrived, Dad rented a car and we spent the day driving up the Columbia River Gorge, stopping at many of the waterfalls and hiking paths along the way and drove around Mt. Hood before heading back to the city. The flight home was an all-nighter, leaving Portland around midnight and arriving Dallas, Ft. Worth International Airport at about 5:30 am. I remember that Dad was able to take me down to the jet before the rest of the passengers…I got the tour of the cockpit that I had missed on my first flight and even got to help set up the cockpit before departure. The flight attendants put me to work on the way home and I helped them pass out drinks and serve the passengers on the flight home. I think my Dad has always been secretly pleased that I chose the cockpit job over the one in the cabin.

Having first hand knowledge of the impact these early experiences have on young boys and girls, I’ve always taken great joy in extending invitations to visit the cockpit to children of all ages. I usually take the time to explain some of the basic systems, activate lights and aural warnings and if the parent is present, allow the child to sit in my lap and manipulate the flight controls. Of course pictures are always in order with a pilot’s hat on their head and the cockpit as the perfect backdrop.

On a recent trip, I found my self covering the balance of a trip for a pilot who had gotten sick half way through his sequence. Crew Schedule caught me at home and I knew I was in trouble when the lead off question was “how fast can you get to the airport?” On day two of the trip, I worked an early morning flight from Minneapolis to Chicago then deadheaded home on a flight to Dallas. The original trip had been assigned to a Chicago based pilot, so once we arrived at ORD, the trip was over and I rode as a passenger on a flight home.

As I boarded the flight, I was standing in line with a man and his wife and their three boys, the oldest of which appeared to be about 10 years old. The flight was running behind, so the boys would have to forgo a trip to the cockpit, but they seemed content tossing a barrage of questions in my direction as we made our way to our seats. As it turned out the boys sat right behind me and before I knew it, we were airborne and I was on my knees facing their direction to better facilitate what became an hour long question and answer session. I like your hat…can I wear your hat? Where’s hour coat? Can I wear that too? How fast are we going? How high are we? Can I have a pair of wings like yours?

That last question is one I get a lot. Sadly, during the post 9/11 era of red ink and bankruptcy filings, many airlines including this one, chose to eliminate plastic wings for children, a decision that probably saved them at least 25 cents. I’m not ignorant enough to believe that someone would chose one airline over another based on Junior Pilot Wings, but I do believe that making people and especially their children feel welcomed by the airline is just good business. With this in mind, I’ve scoured the internet over the years and have always been able to keep a stash of wings in my kit bag for just such an occasion. I don’t have enough to give a pair to every child who boards the jet, but if they know enough to ask, I don’t want to disappoint. It’s a little thing…but it makes a difference.

So, I got my kit bag down out of the overhead bin and started digging around. I asked one of the boys to hold my flashlight and another held one of my flight manuals. I knew where the wings were, but the boys seemed so excited to be delving through the depths of my bag that I couldn’t resist playing around a bit more. I pulled out three pair of wings, one for each of my new friends and with their parent’s consent, pinned them all on in the appropriate location. I wish you could have seen their faces. It was such a small thing…I think I spent less than $2 on ebay for this particular bag of wings, but you would have thought I had handed them a bar of gold. All three boys seemed grateful and admired their new possessions, but the wings didn’t even put a dent in the number or frequency of questions coming my way. I took great joy in being a small part of what I hope was a grand first aviation memory for these three young boys.

I know for a fact, that I got as much out of the encounter as they did. I love my job.

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Back In The Seat

I’m not sure if there is a way for me to explain all the events of the last two days without writing a book. I thought of naming this post “Two Days of Hell” but decided while accurate, that it sounded a little too melodramatic. Late aircraft, fog, freezing fog, a near miss on the arrival to Austin while preparing for a CAT III approach, maintenance issues on the ground and in the air all topped off with irate passengers and a tired and ticked off crew…it was an exhausting two days.

If you’ve been following along, then you know that I’ve been out on vacation for a while. I don’t know if it was a much deserved vacation, but I can tell you that it was much appreciated. As a result of some creative bidding, I was able to turn a two week vacation into a four week break from anything and everything airline. I walked to the employee parking lot one month ago today and didn’t step foot on the airport grounds for an entire month. It was good for my psychological well being to separate myself from the sometimes hectic life of an airline pilot, but I’m thankful to be back in the air and hoping for a few good stories to share with you. That said, my first two days back were a tremendous nightmare in just about every sense. As I sit here the morning after, it’s difficult for me to believe that this all transpired on a single two day trip.
I arrived at the airport around 7am on day one and made my way to pilot operations and, as expected, found a mailbox full of revisions that had been piling up over the last four weeks. It took almost an hour to update my manuals before I signed in on the computer and noticed that my jet was due in at 8:44 (my flight to Austin, TX was scheduled to depart at 8:45). I wasn’t paying close enough attention and mistook 8:44 for 7:44 and left the comfort of operations for the hectic environment of the gate and a late flight.

Once at the gate, I realized my error and started looking into the reason behind the delay and took a closer look at the weather ahead of me for the day. The weather in Austin was below takeoff minimums with RVR hovering around 400 ft. and takeoff minimums of 500. The aircraft I was scheduled to fly to Austin was actually still sitting in Austin where it had spent the night. The visibility eventually crept above 500 an hour past their scheduled departure time and my airplane was finally on its way.

With a little extra time, I took a look at the weather in all three cities I was scheduled into for the day. Austin was going to be interesting. I was expecting a very low visibility approach, probably a CAT III ILS. Denver was next where they were reporting equally low visibility with freezing fog and moderate turbulence thrown in for good measure. Dallas was forecasting strong and gusty crosswinds all day which left Nashville as the only bright spot with mild weather and a pleasant forecast.

Once the jet finally arrived, we did our best to get turned around in a hurry. Everyone did their jobs, the Captain and I split responsibilities and we were able to make up 15 minutes, pushing back from the gate 45 minutes behind schedule for the first of five legs. As we came to a stop after the pushback, the crew chief cleared us to start engines…I prepared for the start by turning off the packs (air-conditioning system) and opening the cross-feed valves and the Captain turned on the ignition and pressed the start switch…nothing. I looked at him; he looked at me, both with that “what did we forget” look. APU air switch on, packs off, cross-feel valves open, ignition switch selected to continuous…we were doing it right, it just wasn’t working. It turns out that the load control valve on the APU was not working properly and would not open to provide air to the start valve. (jet engines do not start using a traditional starter like you would find on a car or a small piston engine aircraft…jet engines need air to start, and we weren’t getting any) The valve in question had been working only minutes earlier, but it wasn’t working now.

Unable to start the engines, we were towed back to the gate where we contacted maintenance and explained the situation. A company mechanic showed up quickly and elected to defer the APU instead of taking time for a repair since the flight was already over an hour late. With the APU deferred, we would need a “start cart” to provide air to start the engines, a process that would take place at the gate before push-back. We would also need air pumped into the aircraft while at the gate to keep the cabin cool…or warm depending on our location.

By the time all the paperwork was in order and the proper equipment for starting the engines was in place, we were already an hour and a half past departure time with five legs to go. It was going to be a long day. We eventually got underway and took off for Austin where the visibility was just above landing minimums when we arrived. Austin approach is not typically over-tasked with traffic, but as a result of the poor weather conditions earlier in the morning, the airspace was saturated with aircraft of all sizes attempting to land. We typically come in from the north and land to the south without incurring a delay. Instead, we came in from the north and were vectored south of the airport, then back to the north to put us in sequence with other aircraft before being vectored to intercept the ILS approach to runway 17L. There is only one runway in Austin that is equipped for low visibility approaches, a fact that was not helping with the traffic congestion.

To add insult to injury, just as we were abeam the airport and level at 5000 ft, the arrival controller apparently lost track of a small plane that had just departed Austin. Our onboard Traffic Collision Avoidance System (TCAS) announced “traffic, traffic” and we turned our heads to visually acquire the traffic. Shortly thereafter TCAS announced “monitor vertical speed” and the Vertical Speed Indicator (VSI) displayed green and red arcs to emphasize where we should and should not be. Apparently unaware, the controller then issued us a clearance to descent to 4000 ft (into the traffic) just as TCAS announced “climb, climb” and we notified ATC that we were responding to a TCAS Resolution Advisory (RA) and that we were climbing out of 5000 ft. We only climbed 300 ft. before receiving the “clear of conflict” call from TCAS as the conflict aircraft passed behind us out of harms way. We had the traffic in sight the entire time and were never in any real danger of collision, but the added excitement was not what we needed.

We managed the rest of the approach without any further drama and arrived at the gate an hour and a half late. Austin turned us around in good time, especially given the extra work associated with our deferred APU, and I took the controls for the first time in a month for the flight back to DFW. Other than gusty crosswinds at DFW, the flight home was normal; however, once at the gate at DFW, we were still well behind schedule and in danger of exceeding our duty day limits if we were not able to make up any time.

As I mentioned before, the weather in Denver, our next destination, was much the same as Austin with the addition of colder temperatures, freezing fog and reports of moderate turbulence on the arrival. However, the forecast for improved conditions proved correct and by the time we found ourselves on the arrival at Denver, the weather had improved enough for a visual approach and the airport was clearly in view 20 miles out on final.

With a quick turn in Denver, an 85 knot tailwind and a few short cuts, we reduced our tardiness to one hour by the time we arrived back at DFW. Our time on the ground there was uneventful except that we had an issue with a passenger just before departure who was frantically searching for a lost earring. Blaming and cursing at those around her the flight attendants took control of the situation and were able to move some people around in the cabin and calm the passenger down. Even though her frustration was understandable, it would not be at all unusual to leave a passenger behind who was acting out in this manner, but with the advice and consent of three capable flight attendants, we elected to show some grace and understanding and departed for Nashville for the night. With five legs, 13 hours and 13 minutes on duty and 9 hours and 6 minutes of flight time behind us we arrived in Nashville 53 minutes late.

Nashville was a nice treat after a long day. I got to my hotel room around 9:30 pm, changed clothes and went out for a cold drink and some live music. Our hotel is one block from Broadway, with a plethora of music choices. The Captain was tired and went straight to bed, so I went out alone and spent about an hour enjoying surprisingly good country music and the company of strangers before retiring for the night.

The second day of our trip started off looking good…relatively speaking. Our transportation to the airport arrived on time, we were paired with a friendly group of St. Louis based flight attendants, we had favorable weather ahead and the jet we would fly to DFW was waiting for us at the gate when we arrived. That was pretty much the end of anything good for the day. Once in the cockpit, I found that there were a number of deferred items that we would need to research and understand before departure. There was a problem with the fuel pumps in the center fuel tank, not a factor on this flight since we would not have center tank fuel on board. There was also a problem with the auto spoiler system, which meant we would not have auto spoilers in the event of an aborted takeoff or auto spoilers for the landing. The auto spoilers on landing would be missed, especially with gusty crosswinds back at DFW. We’d make do, and I’d have something to blame a bad landing on…but of course, I don’t make bad landings. (That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.) In addition and as a result of the deferred auto spoiler, the aircraft was not capable of flying a CAT III approach, but with agreeable weather ahead, that too was not going to be a factor. Honestly, none of the deferrals had any huge affect on the operation; they were just another pain in the neck on an already fatiguing trip.

We flew to DFW where we were scheduled to swap jets before continuing on to Houston. Swapping jets is common, especially when passing through one of our hub cities and it’s at least as inconvenient for the pilots as it is for the passengers. We gathered up our things, packed our bags and began the “bag drag” between what seemed like the two farthest points of the airport. Of course, nothing could possibly go as planned on this infernal trip, so when we arrived at our new gate, we were informed that the jet would not arrive until just before scheduled departure time. We just couldn’t win.

We pushed back from the gate 35 minutes behind schedule, taxied away from the gate and contacted ground control at our assigned ramp exit spot. Ground informed us that there was a 20 minute ATC delay due to traffic congestion in Houston and cleared us to a holding pad at the end of the runway. I must admit that I was becoming a bit numb to delays at this point. We waited out the delay and were finally cleared for takeoff on runway 17R for the last two legs of the sequence. Climbing through 10,000 ft, I accelerated to 330 knots in an attempt to make up a little time. Unfortunately, ATC had other plans and instructed us to slow back to 250 knots. I wish I had had my camera handy to document our climb rate as I pitched the nose skyward to bleed off all that extra speed. We were at 330 knots, climbing through 21,000 feet with a clearance to 29,000 feet when we got the instruction to slow. With the nose nearly 20 degrees up, the VSI indicated a climb rate of 6,000 feet per minute as we traded speed for altitude. Regrettably, the reduced speed wasn’t creating enough space for the controller’s needs, so we received multiple vectors off course before finally being cleared back to a point on the Houston arrival.

Our ground time in Houston was short and mercifully uneventful and before we knew it we were in the air again on the “go home” leg. Somehow, after all the events of the previous 38 hours, we managed to block in only 10 minutes late and I walked in the back door of my house within 5 minutes of the time I had given my wife before I left. What an amazing two days…eight legs, twenty one hours on duty and fourteen hours of flight time.

A friend of mine commented that “any vacation induced rust had been cleaned away after this trip.” I think that was an understatement. One month off followed quickly by bad weather, maintenance and equipment challenges, passenger issues and a near miss on top of the normal challenges of this job was enough to get me right back into the swing of things. Here’s to hoping I’ve got all that negativity out of my system. Cheers.

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Vacation!

Ok, ok...I haven't posted anything in a couple weeks now.  Truth is, I've been  on a much needed vacation and just haven't made time for writing.  Also, I usually write when I'm on layovers and...well...I haven't had one of those in a while.  Not to worry, my glorious step away from aviation (forgive me for putting it that way) will end this Friday and life will return to normal for me and my escapades around the country.

(The view from my parents back porch where I spent as much of my vacation as humanly possible.)

Vacation at the airlines looks better on a pilot's schedule than it looks in the contract.  What I mean by that is this...with over 11 years at a major airline I still only receive three weeks of vacation every year.  Keep in mind that I work almost every major holiday and most weekends as well.  I get my December schedule later today and I fully expect this to be yet another in a long line of Christmas days spent at the hotel bar.  One year in particular, I spent Thanksgiving, Christmas, my wedding anniversary and New Year's Eve at the Courtyard Marriott Hotel at the New York Laguardia airport.  The bar tender and I were on a first name basis by the time it was all over.  However, creative bidding allows me to stretch my three weeks into much more.  For instance, I took two weeks of vacation in the second and third weeks of November this year.  I also bid a line in October that had the last 6 days of the month off...then bid a line in November that had the first week of the month off and another 4 days off after the end of my vacation.  Long story short, by the time I go back to work this weekend, I will have been away from work for a full month.  Not bad for a two week vacation.

Anyway, my hectic life will get back to normal this weekend and I'll start writing again.  Until then, below are a couple of humorous emails I got from a friend this week entitled "Things Pilots Say" and "Airline Logbook Entries."  They aren't anything new, but they're both funny and supposedly true.  Enjoy.

__________________________________________________________________________________

 Things Pilots Say

A check ride ought to be like a skirt.
Short enough to be interesting, but long enough to cover everything.

Speed is life.  Altitude is life insurance.

It only takes two things to fly:
Airspeed, and money.

The three most dangerous things in aviation:
1. A Doctor or Dentist in a Cessna.
2. Two captains in a DC-9.

Aircraft Identification:
If it's ugly, it's British.
If it's weird, it's French.
If it's ugly and weird, it's Russian.

Without ammunition, the USAF would be just another very expensive flying club.

The similarity between air traffic controllers and pilots?
If a pilot screws up, the pilot dies.
If ATC screws up, the pilot dies.

The difference between flight attendants and jet engines:
The engines usually quit whining when they get to the gate.

New FAA motto:
'We're not happy, till you're not happy.'

If Air Traffic Control screws up, it's called a "System Malfunction",
If a pilot screws up it's called a "violation".

If something hasn't broken on your helicopter--it's about to.

I give that landing a 9 ................. on the Richter scale.

Basic Flying Rules:
1. Try to stay in the middle of the air.
2. Do not go near the edges of it.
3. The edges of the air can be recognized by the appearance of ground, buildings, sea, trees and interstellar space.  It is much more difficult to fly in the edges.

Unknown landing signal officer (LSO) to carrier pilot after his 6th unsuccessful landing attempt:
"You've got to land here son.  ..................... this is where the food is."
 
The three best things in life are:
A good landing, a good orgasm, and a good bowel movement.
A night carrier landing is one of the few opportunities to experience all three at the same time.

Things that are worthless to a pilot:
1. Runway behind you.
2. Altitude above you.
3. Airspeed you don't have.
4. Gas in the gas truck.

"The only time you can have too much gas is when you're on fire."

"Only touch the shiny switches--it means someone's touched them recently and it's probably okay."

And the Big Three:
1. Don't fly at night.
2. Don't fly in the weather.
3. Don't f#%& with the red-guarded switches.

On pre-flighting: remember you don't want to buy the damn thing, you only want to use it for a little while.

If it ain't leaking, it's empty.

Boeing multi-use switch philosophy:

Up is On
Down is Off
Twist to Dim
Press to Test
Jerk to Inflate

Three things you don't want to hear in the cockpit

CA: Watch this!
FO: I got a good idea.
FE: Oh shit!

Keep thine airspeed up,
lest the earth rise up and smite thee

I'll believe it when I'm sitting in it AND getting paid.

When it all starts falling apart............fly the biggest piece safely down.

" A good Captain and First Officer go hand in hand..... but not through the airport terminal."
Stolen from Len Morgan

Take offs are optional.  Landings are mandatory.

See this line?

See all this here stuff on THIS side?

That's MINE!!

See all this here stuff over THERE on your side?

THAT'S MINE TOO!

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Airline Logbook Entries

Airline pilots use a logbook to report problems to ground repair crew.
Sometimes the ground crew are smartasses.

(P) = Pilot's entry
(E) = Engineer's entry


(P) Left inside main tire almost needs replacement.
(E) Almost replaced left inside main tire.

(P) Test flight OK, except autoland very rough.
(E) Autoland not installed on this aircraft.

(P) # 2 propeller seeping prop fluid.
(E) # 2 propeller seepage normal.
(P) # 1, # 3, and # 4 propellers lack normal seepage.

(P) Something loose in cockpit.
(E) Something tightened in cockpit.

(P) Evidence of leak on right main landing gear.
(E) Evidence removed.

(P) DME volume unbelievably loud.
(E) Volume set to more believable level.

(P) Dead bugs on windshield.
(E) Live bugs on order.

(P) Autopilot in altitude hold mode produces a 200 fpm descent.
(E) Cannot reproduce problems on ground.

(P) IFF inoperative.
(E) IFF always inoperative in OFF mode.

(P) Friction locks cause throttle levers to stick.
(E) That's what they're there for.

(P) Number three engine missing.
(E) Engine found on right wing after brief search.

(P) Aircraft handles funny.
(E) Aircraft warned to straighten up, "fly right," and be serious.

(P) Target Radar hums.
(E) Reprogrammed Target Radar with the words.

(P) Pilot's clock inop.
(E) Wound pilots clock.

(P) Autopilot tends to drop a wing when fuel imbalance reaches 500lbs.
(E) Flight manual limits maximum fuel imbalance to 300lbs.

(P) - Suspected crack in windscreen.
(E) - Suspect you're right.

(P) - Mouse in cockpit.
(E) - Cat installed.

(P) - Ghostly creaking from airstairs
(E) - Airstairs lubricated and exorcised.

(P) - The autopilot doesn't.
(E) - IT DOES NOW.

(P) - Seat cushion in 13F smells rotten.
(E) - Fresh seat cushion on order.

(P) - Turn & slip indicator ball stuck in center during turns.
(E) - Congratulations. You just made your first coordinated turn!

(P) - Whining sound heard on engine shutdown.
(E) - Pilot removed from aircraft.

(P) - #2 ADF needle runs wild.
(E) - Caught and tamed #2 ADF needle.

(P) - Unfamiliar noise coming from #2 engine.
(E) - Engine run for four hours. Noise now familiar.

(P) - Noise coming from #2 engine. Sounds like man with little hammer.
(E) - Took little hammer away from man in #2 engine.

(P) - Whining noise coming from #2 engine compartment.
(E) - Returned little hammer to man in #2 engine.

(P) - Flight attendant cold at altitude.
(E) - Ground checks OK.

(P) - 3 roaches in cabin.
(E) - 1 roach killed, 1 wounded, 1 got away.

(P) - Weather radar went ape!
(E) - Opened radar, let out ape, cleaned up mess!

 __________________________________________________________________________________

I hope you enjoyed that.  Thanks for reading, I'll be back soon!

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Delay After Delay on top of More Delays and Rough Air

Ok, so here’s my disclaimer.  Yes, there is a tone of sarcasm in today’s post…a slightly dark side to my personality maybe…but no, I do not have anything against RJ pilots.  That’s not to say that I don’t have anything against RJ’s, but that’s an entirely different subject.  As a matter of fact, I crawled my way up the aviation ladder at a regional airline and have nothing against those who did the same.  So please resist the temptation to fire off that email.  Yes, today the object of my frustration is an RJ and to some extent, those piloting the beast, but it could easily have been a much larger jet with far more experienced pilots.  Oh, I did it again.  Please forgive that last jab as well.

Have you ever had one of those days when absolutely nothing went as planned?  Sometimes I have flights like that.  I’ve noticed over the years, that once a particular flight starts going bad, that things are only going to get worse.  I started out the day at a quiet little airport in the south.  Generally speaking, I enjoy flying into small airports where my MD80 is the big man on campus.  Security lines always seem to be short and are usually staffed by kind and helpful TSA agents…there’s rarely a delay for taxi…no lines for takeoff…and you’re almost always first for the approach…easy in, easy out.  Pleasant.  But not today.

We started out on the wrong foot at the hotel, where on top of dirty rooms, questionable food and rude personnel, the van to the airport was nowhere to be found at our scheduled departure time.  A crew of five leaves this hotel every morning at this time, 7 days a week, 365 days a year, but for some reason we caught them completely by surprise with our request for transportation.  Go figure.  We waited around 15 minutes past our scheduled departure time before hailing a couple of cabs and making our way to the airport at our own expense.

I don’t like getting to the airport late.  In the end it really isn’t that big of a deal if everything goes as planned, but it rarely does when you're running behind.  We arrived at the gate about 35 minutes before departure, which translates to about 25 minutes late.  The gate agents typically want to begin boarding 30 minutes prior to departure to facilitate an on-time departure, so the flight attendants needed to work fast to get things ready in the cabin.

I made my way to the cockpit while the Captain pulled up our paperwork at the gate.  Upon inspection of the logbook, I found that the fuel quantity indicator for the right main tank was deferred.  This is the sort of thing that really complicates my job, especially when I’m running behind.  On a good day, when everything is in order, I can pre-flight the aircraft, set and check the various cockpit instruments and program the computers in about 20 minutes.  The issue with the fuel tank was going to add a good 15 minutes to my duties.  Have you done the mental math?  An on-time departure wasn’t looking so probable at this point.

I pulled out the MEL (Minimum Equipment List) and flipped back to the appropriate page to determine what exactly had to be accomplished to verify our fuel level…few things will ruin your day like running out of fuel.  Of course, everything I needed wasn’t in one book, so I had to flip through another manual to find the procedure and charts I would need to “stick” the tank and verify our fuel.

“Sticking” the tank, involves dropping a measuring stick from the bottom of the wing that has a float on the other end inside the tank.  The stick drops down until the float is floating on top of the fuel inside the tank and I read the meter on the stick (it looks something like a ruler), then go to the charts to verify that we are fueled to the proper level.  The whole process is a major pain in the you-know-what and takes a lot of valuable time.

*In the top picture, you can see that there are four "sticks" on each wing.  Also in the top picture is a visual depiction of a "stick".  The chart on the bottom shows a typical Verification Chart.  As an example, an indication of 6.5 inches in stick number 1 on either wing (outboard stick) would equal 9,212 pounds of fuel in the tank.

With the help of a good Captain who did most of the work inside the cockpit, I was in my seat, ready for departure and confident in our fuel quantity within a few minutes of departure.  We would leave the gate a few minutes late, but I was sure we could make up the time en-route.  I sat down, adjusted my seat and put on my headset as the Captain asked for the Before Starting Engines checklist and we were on our way.

I called for push back clearance and as we were moving back from the gate, I could see that an RJ had already pushed from an adjacent gate.  The RJ was blocking our exit from the ramp, but I assumed since he had pushed before us that he would be long gone by the time we were ready for taxi.  I was wrong.  In anticipation of a short taxi, we started both engines at the gate (as opposed to starting one and then starting the other during taxi) but as we finished up the starting process, the RJ was still blocking the ramp…so we sat there…for 10 minutes.  I haven’t the foggiest idea what was going on in the cockpit of that little jet.  Ground control couldn’t raise them.  We couldn’t raise them.  In a “have your people contact my people moment” we even tried to get our gate agent to call their company in an attempt to get the guys moving, but nothing worked.  So we just sat there needlessly burning kerosene.  In hind sight, 10 minutes doesn’t seem that long, but it was an eternity at the time.

Finally, mercifully, they finished whatever it was they were doing and called for taxi.  I really do hate to talk badly about another pilot, but these guys seemed really out of the loop.  I suspect that one of the guys in the cockpit, probably the FO, was getting his IOE (Initial Operating Experience) with an instructor.  Whoever was working the radio, (again, probably the FO) had difficulty with even the simplest of instructions.  First he wouldn’t answer at all, and then when he did he didn’t get the instructions correct.  “Taxi runway 17R via Juliet, Whisky, Whisky 1” …it seemed so simple.  (I should be ashamed for making fun of the guy…we’ve all been new)  Painfully, excruciatingly, they started to move and we followed them to the departure runway where they apparently got lost in their own little world again.  We sat behind them at the end of the runway for another 10 minutes until they finally realized they were on the wrong frequency and called the tower ready for takeoff.

Once airborne, you would think the whole thing was over, but it was just beginning.  The RJ took off in front of us and we were cleared for takeoff a few minutes later.  As soon as we contacted the departure controller he advised us to maintain 250 knots until further advised and amended our altitude from 10,000 to 5,000 feet.  Apparently the RJ wasn’t climbing very well.  We got a stair-step climb…one thousand feet at a time…all the way to FL280 (Flight Level 280 or 28,000 ft).  “Climb maintain 6,000”…”Climb maintain 7,000”…you get the idea.  About the time I would level off, the controller would clear us to climb another thousand feet.  We did this all the way to FL280 until the RJ finally leveled off and we were allowed to climb above him and resume normal speed.  Don’t ask me why we couldn’t level off and pass the guy or go around, but the controller wouldn’t go for it.  To make matters worse, the guy climbed at 250 knots all the way to his cruise altitude.  I don’t fly that type aircraft and I am not sure what a normal climb speed should be, so maybe this was normal, maybe it wasn’t, I don’t know.  But normal climb speed in our jet would have been around 310 knots, so 250 was really going to hurt our attempt to get back on schedule.

Once clear of this particular thorn in our side, we were given normal speed and an unrestricted climb toward our planned cruise altitude of FL360.  We were planned at that altitude because the cloud tops were around FL340 and the ride was reported to be rough at that altitude.  But as we continued our climb, we were told that FL340 would be our final altitude for traffic.  This isn’t that uncommon, ATC is often unable to clear us to our flight planned altitude for one reason or another.  It usually isn’t that big of a deal except on a day like this one when the altitude they offer is unpleasant or all-together unusable.   After trying to make FL340 work for a few minutes, we gave up and requested a lower altitude to get out of the clouds and rough air.  We eventually had to go all the way down to FL260 before we found any smooth air.  Frustrating, given the effort it took to get to FL340.  At least we were in front of the RJ.

Delay after delay on top of rough air and more delays.  This was a fairly short flight, and after we leveled off at FL260, we found ourselves in a traffic jam of planes trying to line up on the arrival.  The controller at Ft. Worth Center directed us to turn 30 degree right and slowed us to 250 knots to make some room between us and the traffic ahead.  A few minutes later he turned us back on course and handing us off to the next controller.  As soon as we checked on with the next controller, he turned us 30 degrees left “for traffic.”  This went on for the next four frequencies, one guy turning us off then back on course only to be vectored off course again by the next guy in line. 

Once we were handed off to Regional Approach Control, we found ourselves properly spaced and the delays came to an end.  We were vectored for a visual approach and enjoyed a breathtaking view of the sunset reflecting off the surface a lake just north of the airport. 


The thermals from earlier in the day had subsided giving way to smooth evening air and an effortless approach and landing.  When the air is that smooth, you can configure for landing, set the power, trim the controls and just sit back and watch.  Our patience during the last two hours was rewarded with a truly enjoyable approach and landing enhanced by an equally amazing view.  Our next leg was back to the same airport from which we had just come.  Hopefully we would be more successful with our second attempt.

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Questions and Answers

I’ve been getting a number of questions from readers lately…some general in nature and some pretty specific.  I thought it might be fun to post some of the questions and my responses to them.  If you would like to submit a question, there’s a button in my profile you can use to send me an email.  If I post your question, all personal and identifying details will be removed.

The following questions are from a guy flying an MD80 simulator on his home pc:

Question: Ground Power (GPU) vs. APU power. Which one do you use more often?  It is my thought that at some point before the flight, you need to use the APU for bleed air supply to start the engines.  Do you just leave the APU on all the time on the ground or do you turn it on just before engine start?

Answer:  Pre-Conditioned Air (PCA) is usually available to heat and cool the aircraft on the ground, so we typically use ground power and PCA until about 15 minutes before departure.  Sometimes PCA is unavailable or the unit does not provide a sufficient amount of air to heat or cool the jet, in which case we leave the APU running the whole time we're on the ground. At about 15 minutes prior to departure, we start the APU to provide the air we need to start the engines.  If the APU is inop, a start cart is used to provide the air we need to start the engines.  The start cart is also capable of providing the air needed to run the air conditioning system if both PCA and the APU are inop or unavailable.  The APU burns approximately 200 pounds of fuel per hour, so it is economical to leave it off as long as possible.

Question:  What kind of reserve fuel do you plan on. When flying in the sim in the MD82 I try to land with no less than 7k lbs of fuel. What do you guys shoot for in the real world?

Answer:  Generally, I like to land with at least 6,000 pounds.  We are regularly planned to arrive with around 5.8 on a good day with no expected delays, but most Captains will rarely accept less than 6.  The legal minimum for an MD80 is about 4.3 (45 minutes of fuel), which in my opinion is nuts.  Our manual does not even allow a go-around with less than 5k, so why on earth would I accept any less.  The problem with accepting less than about 6k is that if something goes wrong at the last minute, you may not have the fuel to divert to even a close airport.  A diversion to an airport less than 20 miles away could easily consume 2000 pounds of fuel.  Also, the flight plan does not consider many of the fuel sucking variables that we encounter every day.  All that said, 6k is about as low as I like to go…thankfully most of the Captains I fly with agree.

Question:  I sometimes use a simulator program called topcat which produces Vspeeds and t/o and landing data for fs. Do you use a real world software program to determine these or do you use paper charts in reference to OAT and weight?

Answer:  We get two things from dispatch before our flight...a Flight Plan and a Departure Plan.  The Flight Plan has all the en-route info we need and the Departure Plan tells us everything we need to takeoff.  The Departure Plan provides settings for flaps, CG, trim, power and V speeds and is good for the planned departure weight plus 2,000 pounds and planned temperature plus 2 degrees.  If we close out 2,001 pounds over the planned weight or if the actual temperature is 3 degrees above or below plan, then we must get new numbers.  After we push away from the gate, we get a “closeout” over the ACARS that provides actual weight, CG and trim settings for takeoff.  If, for some reason, we are required to get new takeoff data or the Departure Plan does not provide data for the runway in use, we can get new data over the ACARS while we taxi to the runway.

Question:  I am kind of confused about the landing speeds. I’ll get a Vapp and a Vref speed and normally shoot to be at Vapp speed at 1000ft then slow to Vref at 300 feet? How do the pros do it?

Answer:  (Thanks for the “pros” comment by the way).  We bug the min maneuver speeds for each flap configuration and then bug approach speed.  Specifically, the top bug is the minimum speed to fly with a clean wing…flaps and slats retracted.  The bottom bug is Vref.  That way, as you begin to slow for the approach, you know as you approach a bug on the airspeed indicator that you need more flaps.  It is always a good idea to extend flaps closer to the min maneuver speed than the max speed for the flap setting to reduce stress on the flaps and the airframe. 

I generally cross the final approach fix between 170 and 180 knots with flaps set to 11 degrees...anything faster than 180 and you will almost surely have trouble being configured in time to be stabilized at 1000 feet.  If you are not stabilized on speed, on glide path with the engines stabilized at approach thrust by 1000 feet above touchdown, a go-around is required.  At about 1800 feet above touchdown elevation, I reduce the throttles to idle, lower the flaps to 15 and drop the gear.  As soon as the gear is down I lower the flaps to 28 then flaps 40 as we slow.  I then push the throttles up to around 1.3 EPR and stabilize at about VREF plus 10 knots.  This all allows me to be fully configured by the 1000 foot requirement.  I then fly VREF plus 10 knots until the flare.

I hope you find this information helpful.  Good luck with your sim.

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Close Call

The picture above is Pacific Southwest Airlines (PSA) flight 182, a Boeing 727, after a mid-air collision with a Cessna 172 over San Diego, California on September 25, 1978. PSA 182 was on a downwind leg for runway 27 at the same time that the 172, N7711G, was flying a practice ILS approach to runway 9. After the impact, both aircraft crashed, killing a total of 144 people…135 passengers and crew aboard PSA 182, a student and his instructor in the 172 and 7 people including 2 children on the ground. An additional 9 people on the ground were injured and 22 homes were destroyed.

This accident and other similar incidents gave impetus to the creation of such technology as the Traffic Collision Avoidance System (TCAS), policies like those requiring altitude reporting transponders while inside the airspace surrounding major airports and procedures inside the cockpit and within air traffic control centers that would help prevent such disasters from occurring in the future.

Since it relates specifically to the story I’m about to tell, let me provide a short explanation of TCAS.

The picture above is a good representation of a typical TCAS display. TCAS involves communication between all aircraft equipped with an appropriate transponder (provided the transponder is enabled and set up properly). Each TCAS-equipped aircraft "interrogates" all other aircraft in a determined range about their position, and all other craft reply to other interrogations. This interrogation-and-response cycle may occur several times per second.

Through this constant back-and-forth communication, the TCAS system builds a three dimensional map of aircraft in the airspace, incorporating their bearing, altitude and range. Then, by extrapolating current range and altitude difference to anticipated future values, it determines if a potential collision threat exists.

The next step beyond identifying potential collisions is automatically negotiating a mutual avoidance maneuver (currently, maneuvers are restricted to changes in altitude and modification of climb/sink rates) between the two (or more) conflicting aircraft. These avoidance maneuvers are communicated to the flight crew by a cockpit display and by synthesized voice instructions.

In basic terms, if I am sharing airspace with an aircraft that is not equipped with TCAS, the TCAS onboard my aircraft will tell me to climb or descend to avoid a collision. If I am sharing airspace with an aircraft equipped with TCAS, the systems onboard my aircraft will communicated and coordinate with the other aircraft and our respective TCAS systems will provide instructions to climb or descend to avoid a conflict.

So here we go…Ontario, California to Dallas - Ft. Worth, Texas on a crisp, cool Saturday afternoon in November. We were planning to have a few open seats on our flight home, but non-revs and last minute travelers seem to come out of the woodwork at the last minute and we managed to leave full. We left the gate a few minutes ahead of schedule and began the short taxi to runway 26R for takeoff as I briefed the Captain on the final weight and balance information and ran the taxi and before takeoff checklists.

The departure procedure out of Ontario is far from the most complicated we fly, but it can be a challenge for a few reasons. First, Ontario has a noise abatement procedure that is put in place to minimize the impact of noise pollution in the area surrounding the airport. The MD80 that I fly is not exactly known for it’s quiet engines and is notorious for setting off noise sensors when the procedure is not followed correctly. They don’t just issue the procedure and ask us to fly as quietly as possible, they actually listen.

Many airports around the country have installed noise sensors in the neighborhoods surrounding major airports. If the pilots exceed the allowable decibel level on one of these sensors, the airline is fined. In this case, the procedure calls for an early left turn with the flaps and slats extended to allow for a sharper turn and a reduction from takeoff to climb power at a lower than normal altitude. By itself, not a huge deal.

The procedure is further complicated by the routing and altitude requirements on the SID (Standard Instrument Departure). After liftoff, we are required to make an early and sharp turn to the southeast and proceed directly to the Paradise VOR. Once direct to Paradise, we must be careful to cross 6 miles from the VOR at or below 4000 feet and then cross over the VOR at or above 2700. We then cross the next fix between 4500 and 9000, the next fix at or below 11000 and the fix after that above 6000. It’s all very confusing and a lot to think about in the first few minutes of the flight, especially when you consider the pilots are also retracting gear and flaps, accelerating to 250 knots, running the after takeoff checklists and watching for traffic.

Traffic. It’s that last little thing that has the potential to make this departure so interesting. Southern California and specifically the LA basin hosts a significant number of small, general aviation aircraft sharing the same airspace as large jets easily operating 2-3 times their speed. The LA basin is also home to a number of major airports…LAX, ONT, BUR, LGB and SNA…to name a few. The combination of large jets and small general aviation aircraft operating in significant numbers in a relatively small geographic area makes the possibility of disaster is a very real concern.

I was flying, so after receiving our takeoff clearance, I pushed the throttles up to stabilize the engines, then called for “auto throttle” and allowed the automatic system to set takeoff thrust. We accelerated normally down the runway and the Captain called out V1, Rotate and we were airborne. As we climbed through 100 feet, we received our first traffic advisory from the tower. I don’t know exactly what was going on in the controllers mind at the time…maybe he was distracted by something else…maybe he was previously unaware of the traffic, but I can tell you that 100 feet is an extremely unusual time to receive a traffic advisory. There was a helicopter two miles west of the airport heading east at 1000 feet. That put him directly in front of us, heading right at us, at an altitude we were going to climb through very shortly. Our TCAS called out an audible warning “Traffic, Traffic” to warn us of the target and displayed a solid white diamond shape on the TCAS display that immediately became an amber circle, indicating the increasingly close proximity of the traffic. I elected to begin the turn as depicted on the departure procedure and increased our rate of climb to clear the traffic as soon as possible. As we passed through 800 feet the TCAS once again sounded…this time with the words “Climb, Climb” as the amber circle became a red square and a green arc appeared on the VSI (Vertical Speed Indicator) indicating the rate of climb needed to resolve the event. We continued our turn and climbed as fast as we could with the nose well above the 20 degrees. We safely passed through 1000 feet and could see the helicopter clearly as he passed behind us…much closer than I would have liked. Then as we passed through 1500 feet and were moving away from the target, the TCAS made it’s final announcement… “Clear of Conflict” and the event was over. No more than 20 seconds had elapsed since rotation.

As we continued to climb, we shifted our attention to completing the after takeoff checklist and monitoring the various altitude restrictions on the departure. Approaching the JUMPA intersection, so named for parachute jumping activity in the area (another target to watch for and a story for another day) we received another traffic advisory from ATC. As we passed through 9,000 feet climbing at about 2000 feet per minute, ATC advised us of opposite direction traffic ahead at 10,500 feet. “Advise you stop climb until passing traffic” we were told. I had already started to push the nose over before receiving the instruction and we level off at 10,000 feet just before the TCAS announced “Traffic, Traffic”. By the time I looked down at the TCAS, the target was already a red square on the display and we received our second Resolution Advisory of the day as the TCAS announced “monitor vertical speed” and a green arc illuminated on the VSI indicating that we should maintain level flight or descend to avoid the target.

Level at 10,000 we visually acquired the traffic ahead, a twin engine Cessna 421. As the traffic passed by, the TCAS announced “clear of conflict” once again and two other targets appeared on the TCAS screen, both below us, one crossing right to left and the other crossing left to right, both less than 1000 feet below us. I wondered if they were aware of each other. With the overhead traffic now behind us, we happily continued our climb out of what is almost always a very busy environment on a nice Saturday afternoon. Once above 18,000 we were once again in no man’s land for small planes enjoying visual flight and could once again relax a bit.

Clearly, TCAS was a tremendously important tool to us on this flight. The ATC controller watching over our flight was responsible for separating us from other traffic in the area, the Captain and I were also responsible for separation and were paying close attention to local traffic, and I’m sure the other pilots involved were as well. That said, TCAS provided a level of safety and protection for our flight that was not available in 1978. With respect to the PSA accident over San Diego, TCAS would almost certainly have prevented the collision. While I am saddened by the fact that it took a death count to bring about this change, I am hopeful that those who lost loved ones in this accident and other like it gain some solace in knowing that the death of those they cared for may very likely have saved the lives of thousands.

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An Unexpected Ferry

I was scheduled to finish my three day sequence by 8pm and, assuming all went as planned, should be relaxing at home by 9.  We started on Sunday afternoon with a pretty long 3 leg day and just under 8 hours of flying followed by a slightly shorter 2 leg day with just over 5 hours in the cockpit and finished up with one 3 hour leg home. We call these 3-2-1 trips and they’re usually difficult to get, especially for someone junior like me. Day three started out in Detroit, Michigan in a pretty nice hotel across the street from a mall with good restaurants and a movie theatre…not a bad layover. It was a nice fall day with rain in the morning and a cool cloudy afternoon. As a Texas boy, I appreciated a break from the heat and was happy that I had remembered to pack something warm.

We left Detroit on time, even though our jet came in a little behind schedule, and made good time with a tailwind of almost 120 knots for much of the flight. (The image above shows the wind in the bottom right hand corner as we approached St. Louis). About 30 minutes before landing, I sent a “changeover” report to the company. The changeover is an electronic report used to advise the company of our expected touchdown time so the ramp personnel know when to expect us. As usual, we got a printed response that listed our arrival gate and connecting gate information for the passengers and crew. This is the same gate information you hear the flight attendants read over the PA system during an arrival. Since this was the last leg of our trip, the words “No Crew Connect Info” were listed for the pilots and flight attendants. This was good news since it isn’t unusual to get a re-assignment at the end of a trip when the company is short of pilots and or flight attendants. As you can imagine, it is incredibly frustrating to be headed home with the family expecting you for dinner only to find out that you are needed for another day or two or work.

We landed on runway 35C at DFW and crossed 35L before contacting the ramp tower for taxi clearance to our gate. As we entered the ramp, we heard the words no pilot wants to hear in the last 5 minutes of a long trip…”1941 you need to call operations, they have a message for you.”

Long story short, 30 minutes later instead of sitting on the crew bus on my way to the parking lot, I was sitting in the right seat of an MD82 bound for our maintenance base in Tulsa, Oklahoma. We were probably drafted for the ferry assignment because we were conveniently arriving home when Crew Tracking realized they needed a couple pilots for an unscheduled flight. We were easy pickings.  Our assignment was to fly the jet, empty, to Tulsa, spend the night, and deadhead home in the morning on the first flight we were legal to take. If you consider that we spent a little over an hour in the cockpit and were paid 5 hours for the extra day, it really wasn’t such a bad deal.

The really interesting thing about the evening was how the aircraft flew when it was empty. On a normal flight, the maximum takeoff weight for an MD82 is 149,500 lbs…but minus 140 passengers, 3 flight attendants, catering and enough fuel for an average flight, the aircraft weighed just over 100,000 pounds as we pushed away from gate A26.

It was my leg and as we taxied out onto runway 35L for departure, the Captain told me he would help me steer around the corner and that I had the brakes and throttles. The tiller, or steering wheel, is located on the Captains side of the cockpit which leaves only the rudder pedals on my side to steer and the pedals don’t have enough authority to get around a sharp corner. There was a heavy UPS MD-11 taking off in front of us so I elected to come to a full stop on the runway and set takeoff thrust on the engines before releasing the brakes. We are actually required to do this if we come to a complete stop on the runway before being cleared for takeoff, but tonight I really just did it for rush of acceleration I was expecting. After being cleared for takeoff, I pushed the throttles up to about 1.4 EPR and allowed the engines to stabilize before calling for the auto-throttles to set takeoff power. Once we had achieved takeoff EPR, I released the brakes and felt acceleration like you rarely experience in an airliner. Without that extra 50,000 lbs, the aircraft accelerated to rotation speed in no time and as we reached V1 and VR I smoothly pulled the nose up to almost 25 degrees to maintain V2 (minimum flying speed) plus 20 knots for the first 1000 feet of our climb before accelerating to a normal climb speed.

In that first 1000 feet, the VSI (vertical speed indicator) was pegged out at 6000 fpm and as I lowered the nose and accelerated to 240 knots as per the departure procedure, our climb rate never got below 4000 fpm. Once established at 240 knots, we were able to maintain at least 5000 fpm all the way to 10,000 feet. I don’t think I’ve ever seen an MD80 climb that fast and I was a little surprised the departure controller didn’t make a comment about how light we must be.

We made it to our cruise altitude in record time and had a few minutes at cruise to contemplate the most unpleasant part of flying a light airliner…the landing. I’ve been on the MD80 my entire airline career and don’t have anything to compare it to, but I can tell you that this aircraft is a bear to land when it’s light. Nothing feels normal…the controls are light and touchy and the engines don’t like the power band required to fly an approach at this weight so you always seem to have a little too much or not quite enough power.  The touchdown is often not a pretty sight. The struts are designed to withstand a hard landing at 130,000 pounds (the max landing weight for an MD82), so without the extra weight to smooth things out, the touchdown is either going to be a greaser or it’s going to hurt your back side…nothing in between. I began making excuses for the landing as we joined the final approach course. I’m a little tired…big bug on the window…sure are light tonight…joking of course, but excuses don’t count after the fact, so you have to make them early and often. My landing was smooth and while I would love to claim it was the result of great skill and experience, I must admit that it was more about luck than anything else as I actually misjudged the runway and touched down a little earlier than expected. The Captain made some off handed remark about a blind squirrel finding a nut every now and then. He was just jealous.

We cleared the runway to the east and got in behind a “follow me” truck that guided us to a parking spot on the maintenance ramp in unfamiliar and alarmingly dark territory. You can't see the wing tips on an MD80 from the cockpit, so taxiing through tight and unfamiliar locations, especially at night, can be a bit unnerving.  As we completed our parking and shut down checklists, a mechanic appeared in the cockpit behind us. He had lowered the aft stairs and walked up to greet us. He was a friendly guy and also our ride back to the terminal where we would catch the hotel van for our nights rest.

This was a fairly old jet, built in the mid 80s. At first I though maybe it was being moth-balled. We’re currently parking 2-3 MD80s per month as we replace our older equipment with newer and more efficient 737s. We were happy to learn that the old girl was just in need of a few inspections and would fly again soon…maybe just not this light.

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Hermine's Revenge

In my 18 years as a commercial pilot, there have only been a handful of approaches memorable enough that I remember them in detail…Dallas, Ft. Worth in an ATR-72 in 1996 when I encountered wind sheer while flying an approach I probably shouldn’t have accepted in the first place…Toronto, Canada in the winter of 2002 in an MD-82, flying an ILS in white-out conditions with a strong 90 degree crosswind to a runway that was in serious need of a plow…New Orleans, as I mentioned in my last post, when I practically lost count of the number of approaches we shot in a single 24 hour period and yesterday, September 8th , 2010 at DFW, flying through the remnants of Tropical Storm Hermine. (The picture above shows the sun coming up over Hermine as she sat on Dallas, Ft. Worth.)

The Today show began this morning with a story entitled “Hermine’s Revenge,” an appropriate title given the events in and around the Dallas, Ft. Worth area yesterday. The airport officially soaked up 5.23 inches of rain as of 3pm, but nearby areas of town recorded as much as 9 inches. There were 5 confirmed tornadoes that touched the ground within the city limits and countless funnel clouds and rotations that mercifully remained aloft. The local stations today are streaming video of homes and businesses without roofs and area residents who were plucked from rising flood waters by fire and rescue crews. Clearly, it was a difficult day for those on the ground, but it was a significant challenge for those of us in the air.

My day started with a 4:15 wake-up call and a 6am departure for a short flight to DFW and a scheduled landing around 8:45 am. I watched the Weather Channel as I dressed at the hotel and couldn’t help but wonder if I would in fact be spending the night at home tonight as planned. We departed a few minutes ahead of schedule with a light load of passengers and enjoyed beautiful clear skies, a smooth ride and a gorgeous sunrise until we got to within about a hundred miles from DFW.

We had ample fuel on board, fully expecting to burn more than planned on this flight. Our official alternates were Dallas Love Field and Tulsa, Oklahoma. I wasn’t crazy about either of these choices...Love field is generally only put on the flight plan to fulfill a legal requirement…if you could land at Love, then you could certainly land at DFW, so what good is it? Tulsa would normally be fine, except that yesterday, there was a line of storms between DFW and Tulsa that I didn’t want to cross. The Captain and I discussed this before we departed and preemptively decided that something west of the airport like Abilene would better suit our needs. Hopefully we wouldn’t need it.

About a hundred miles out of DFW and just about the top of descent, we were told to slow as much as practical and told to expect holding over the Glen Rose VOR, a navigation point on the arrival southwest of the airport. At that point we started our calculations for “bingo” fuel. I’ve discussed this before, but bingo fuel is the fuel needed to fly from the holding point to the airport, execute a missed approach then continue from there to the alternate airport and land with acceptable reserves. We calculated our bingo fuel and estimated that we had enough fuel to hold for approximately 30 minutes. (The picture below was taken just prior to entering the hold.)




Holding was short and sweet. We began our entry turn into holding and were then cleared to DFW via radar vectors. The weather at the field was as bad as I’ve seen it in a very long time with heavy rain reported at and around the airport, visibility less than a mile and winds from 140 degrees at 12 gusting to 28 knots. We initially received vectors for the ILS approach to runway 13R, a runway on the far west side of the airport, but as we were approaching the airport, four jets in a row missed the approach due to windshear on short final. With the reports of windshear isolated to the west side of the airport, we received clearance to land on runway 17C, a north-south runway on the east side of the airport.

The ride during the last ten to fifteen minutes of our arrival was pretty uncomfortable. We entered heavy rain about 30 miles from the airport and endured continuous moderate turbulence and airspeed fluctuations as high as 25 knots until about 1500 feet on the approach. The speed fluctuations calmed down after we joined the final, which was a good thing, since anything more than about 15 knots inside the final approach fix would probably result in a divert.

As an added concern, the rain was so intense that our on board radar was attenuating. Radar attenuation occurs when a strong weather cell reflects all of a radar signal, preventing that radar from detecting any additional cells that might lie behind the first cell. When approaching a line of thunderstorms and trying to find a path through to the other side, it is good practice to tilt the radar down in an attempt to “paint” the ground on the back side of the storm. If you are unable to paint the ground on the other side of the storm, then the weather ahead is so dense that the radar signal is unable to penetrate it and thus, unable to detect what may be on the other side. For us, the intensity of the rain was preventing the radar from being able to “see” more than 5 to 8 miles ahead of the aircraft. In this scenario, a pilot is forced to rely on reports from aircraft ahead, ground radar and what little warning is available from the limited sight capability of the on board radar.

Regional Approach Control brought us in 10 miles in trail of the aircraft ahead and vectored us to intercept the ILS to runway 17C. Once on the localizer, we intercepted the glide path and began to configure for landing. Thankfully, the turbulence seemed to subside somewhat as we descended below 1000 feet and the airspeed fluctuations dropped from plus and minus 25 knots to a little less than 15. The tower was reporting RVR of 4000 feet at the touchdown point, the minimum allowable visibility for me, the First Officer, to fly the approach and land, so I continued at the controls. We were still flying though heavy rain at this point, so I asked the Captain to set my windshield wiper to high as we passed through 500 feet. The Captain activated both wipers and noted that he could see the ground when looking straight down, a good sign that we would soon see the runway. At about 400 feet, the approach lights came into view and the runway was in sight shortly thereafter.

There is such a thing as touching down too smoothly. It is possible to waste thousands of feet of runway while holding the jet off in an attempt to “grease” it onto the runway. (The touchdown is the only thing anyone remembers.) When landing on a wet or short runway, it is much better to comfortably, but firmly place the aircraft on the ground. If you’ve ever sat near the wing on a large jet, then you have seen the ground spoilers deploy after touchdown. These spoilers, depending on the aircraft, are usually activated by a “weight on wheels” switch or by wheel spin-up. If an aircraft lands too smoothly, especially on a wet runway, then the wheels will not spin-up and there may not be enough weight on the wheels to deploy the spoilers. The spoilers are designed to do two things, both important when landing in inclement weather or on short runways. First, they create drag. Second, they kill lift and put the aircraft’s weight on the wheels allowing more traction and more effective breaking. Both are vitally important.

In this case, we touched down smoothly enough that the spoilers did not deploy. I felt two expansion joints in the runway pass beneath the main gear with no reaction from the spoiler lever, so as I lowered the nose to the runway, the Captain manually deployed the spoilers, which put our weight where we needed it and gave us the traction we need to stop the aircraft on the runway. The runways at DFW are both grooved and shaped in such a way that water drains to the side. So as I applied the brakes, the aircraft felt more like it was on a damp runway than on a runway subjected to hours of heavy rain. We slowed at a normal pace and exited the runway.

I must admit, that I can recall precious few approaches that successfully elevated my heart rate. I pride myself in being good at what I do and being calm and professional as I execute my duties. This approach…got my heart beating. As we cleared the runway I became aware that my heart was racing and that I was very happy to be on the ground. There’s an old aviation saying…maybe you’ve heard it…that it’s “better to be on the ground wishing you were in the air than in the air wishing you were on the ground.” I was very happy to be on the ground.

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Multiple Approaches

Flight level 330...Mach .76...clearance to cross Baton Rouge at FL230. We were at the top of descent, planning our arrival and approach to New Orleans when I requested a weather report and sent notification to the station personnel on the ground that we’d be touching down a little after 10 pm. The weather was forecast to be marginal at best, but conditions at the airport were better than planned with high ceilings and light winds. The temperature and dew point were within one degree, an indication that fog was a possibility, but there was no restriction to visibility mentioned in the current report. Due to the chance of poor weather conditions, we were carrying enough fuel to safely continue on to Houston if we were, for any reason, unable to land in New Orleans.

It was my leg, so as we began our initial descent, I briefed the Captain on the localizer approach to runway 19 and set up all the appropriate speed and altitude bugs. With light winds, we would typically land on runway 10, a longer runway with a better approach system, but that runway was closed for renovation. It was crazy dark, with high overcast clouds and no moon and we were able to see the glow of New Orleans on the horizon from over 100 miles out and would have a clear view of the runway at about 30 miles. With the weather as it was, it seemed clear that this approach would terminate as a visual procedure. However, company policy is to fully brief an instrument approach when landing at night, even when the weather supports a visual procedure, so that‘s what I did. In hindsight, I must admit that while I technically fulfilled the requirement to brief the approach, I was not fully committed to the idea of actually flying an instrument approach…nor was I mentally prepared for what was about to happen.

The minimum altitude on this approach is 340 feet above the ground which we round up to the nearest hundred. So in this case, we could descend no lower than 400 feet before we would be required to see the runway. If at 400 feet we could not see the runway and were not in a position to land, a go-around would be required. To further complicate matters, the missed approach altitude for the approach is only 2000 feet. So consider this, you’re descending on the approach at a speed of about 140 knots, you reach 400 feet with no visual and execute a missed approach. On the MD80, when the pilot pushes the throttles up to go-around power and pitches the nose skyward, the vertical speed could easily reach 4-5000 feet per minute in the initial stages of the climb. Needless to say, 2000 feet comes very, very fast and you had better be ready to level off. Add to this the fact that the missed approach procedure to this runway requires an climbing left turn to intercept a VOR radial that you wouldn’t already have tuned in and holding at a startlingly close intersection and you can imagine how busy things could get.

Approach control vectored us in over Lake Pontchartrain and lined us up along side the Causeway bridge where we joined the final approach course to runway 19. We had a clear view of the runway at this point so I was a little surprised that the approach controller cleared us for the Localizer approach instead of the visual. I think he knew something we didn’t. As we continued inbound, I was concentrating on the approach and the step down altitudes approaching the final approach fix when the Captain commented that the runway seemed too close to the lake. The airport is about 2 miles from the south shore of the lake, but tonight, the lake looked to be immediately off the end of the runway. Weird…but at this point, I was focused on configuring the aircraft for landing and beginning our final descent as we crossed the final approach fix. I took a look outside and noted the proximity of the lake to the airport, but I was confident in the fact that we had identified the approach and that we were in fact lined up to the correct airport, so I chalked it up to optical illusion and continued the approach.

We crossed the final approach fix at 2000 ft., fully configured for landing and began our final descent, we continued past SHORE intersection at 700 ft. at which point we unexpectedly entered a cloud layer and lost visual contact with the runway. As it turns out, there was a fog layer moving in from the north which we had noticed from a few miles out, but mistook for the lake. At this point we were still 300 feet above the minimum descent altitude, so we continued the approach in hopes that we would descend below the clouds and regain visual flight, but that didn’t happen. We reached 400 feet while still solidly in the clouds and the Captain reported “minimums.” I called out “go-around” as I pressed the TOGA buttons on the throttles which commanded go-around thrust and moved the Flight Director command bars to a go-around pitch attitude…about 20 degrees nose up. I commanded “flaps 15, positive rate, gear-up” and asked the Captain to engage NAV, which would mercifully guide us through the lateral portion of the missed approach procedure.

As we began climbing we almost immediately broke out of the clouds and could see that the entire southern half of the airport was in the clear. It was obvious to us that we could execute a visual approach to the airport from the south and easily land. But since half the airport was covered in clouds, the controller would not allow us to fly a visual approach and instead vectored us to the south the fly the ILS approach to runway 1. This would be the same runway we just attempted to land on, but from the other direction. Now if you know anything about instrument flying then you know that an ILS approach will generally get you much closer to the ground than the localizer approach we just flew. Typically, an ILS approach will get you down to 200 feet. But in this case, the minimums for the ILS approach to runway 1 at MSY are only 381 feet…barely an improvement over the 400 foot restriction on the localizer. That said, we thought if we could get back around to the airport fast enough, that we would beat the fog and land.

We were vectored well south of the airport and, you guessed it, by the time we got back to the airport, the fog had covered the south end of the field. We flew the ILS, entering the clouds at about the same time as before and executed the missed approach when we reached 381 feet with no view of the runway. This time, as we began our climb, we broke out of the clouds and could clearly see the NORTH side of the airport in the clear. Everything had flip flopped. There appeared to be patches of fog out over the lake that could impact another attempt to runway 19, but we thought it was worth the try, so again, we were vectored out for another approach to the south. Same song, third verse, we continued the approach, began our descent and lost visual with the airport once again, at about 700 feet, reached minimums at 400 feet without any indication that we were about to break out and executed the missed approach. We were getting very good at missed approaches at this point.

By now, we had exhausted our patience with the fickle New Orleans weather and had used up all our reserve fuel flying multiple approaches. We made the decision to divert and headed for Houston, which was a long way to go, but it was the closest airport with weather good enough to be a legal alternate. We received a current weather report and were pleased to see that Houston was reporting visual conditions…not much better weather than New Orleans had been reporting an hour ago, but the forecast did not call for impaired visibility or low ceilings. We were expecting a simple, straight forward arrival.

By now it was about 11:30 at night. The leg to New Orleans was our third of the day, so we had already endured a lengthy duty day. We were tired and ready for a comfortable bed. When we checked on with Houston approach, the first words out of the controllers mouth were “what visibility do you need to land?” A little over thirty minutes had elapsed since we received our last report on the Houston weather and during that time, unforecast fog had formed over the airport reducing visibility to 1000 RVR. RVR (Runway Visual Range) is a measurement of forward visibility, reported in feet, taken on or next to the runway. The minimum RVR for our intended runway was 600 feet, so we had the visibility we needed to land, but the visibility was low enough that we were required to fly an auto-land approach where the airplane‘s autopilot flies the entire approach, lands the aircraft and stops on the centerline without any assistance from the pilot. Of course the pilot must program the autopilot to fly this approach, but after that he’s just along for the ride. The pilots both have important jobs during an auto-land, but they are related to monitoring the approach and manually executing a go-around if things do not go as planned. There wasn’t much traffic at that time of night, so we were vectored in for the approach without delay and successfully shot the CATIII ILS to runway 26L and for the first time in what seemed like forever…landed.

The station manager met us on the jet bridge with paper work in hand and a fuel truck standing by to fill our empty tanks. But by this time, the weather at New Orleans was getting worse and forecast to stay that way and more importantly, we were near the end of our legal duty day and would be “pumpkins” before we could get back off the ground. That would be all for tonight.

The next morning, we loaded our weary passengers and took to the skies…after all, we had promised these poor people a trip to New Orleans. You might think the story was over at this point, but you would be mistaken. The weather conditions and forecasts were remarkably similar to the reports from a day earlier. A fact that wouldn’t have garnered more than a passing thought on any other day, but today was cause for concern. We pressed on with the past nights experience fresh on our minds. About 30 minutes before landing we received a weather report that indicated deteriorating weather conditions at the airport that would require us to again fly the localizer approach to runway 19. The longer runway, runway 10 was still closed.

I had flown all the approaches the night before except for the auto-land, which of course was flown by the auto pilot. Today, it was the Captain’s turn. We joined the final approach course with a sense of déjà vu and entered the clouds a little earlier than we had the night before. The tower controller assured us that aircraft had been landing all morning long and, in fact, another airline had landed just five minutes earlier. The ceiling (or base of the clouds) was reported to be at 1000 feet, so I was surprised to see rain on the windshield instead of the runway coming into view as we passed though 1000 feet. We continued the approach….900...800...700...I remember thinking “you gotta be kidding me” as we continued passed 600...500...and reached minimums at 400 feet with nothing to see past the windshield but rain and clouds…go-around! We flew the missed approach, a procedure we were very comfortable with at this point, and were assured by the tower that the bases were ragged and that we would most likely get in if we attempted the approach a second time. But he had no sooner finished his report to us when the aircraft behind us went around for the same reason.

In the time it took us to get vectored around for another attempt, 3 jets missed the approach. Which, frankly, was a bit of vindication at that point…I was beginning to feel a bit deflated. It really shouldn’t be this hard. We flew the localizer a second time with the same results as the first and had just about decided to head home when the Continental 737 flying the approach behind us was able to land. We had the fuel, so we reluctantly agreed to give it one more try. The Captain indicated that he was fed up and transferred control of the aircraft to me…“give it one more try if want, then we’re heading home.” Localizer 19 approach…for the umpteenth time in two days.

We joined the final, configured for landing and began our descent at the final approach fix. As we continued our descent, things didn’t look any different than before. Rain began falling as we passed through 1000 feet…900...800...700...I was running through the missed approach procedure in my head just in case…600...500...I started to reach for the TOGA buttons for one last go-around when the Captain announced “runway in sight.” The rain intensified as we continued, but we were able to maintain visual contact with the runway…automated callouts from the jet announced 50...40...30...20...10 followed by a smooth touch down and the roar of applause from the cabin.

I like to attribute the reaction from our passengers to that of Stockholm Syndrome, a phenomenon in which a hostage begins to identify with and grow sympathetic to his or her captor. Every single passenger shook my hand or had some sort of positive comment to make as he or she exited the aircraft. I felt like I had tortured these people for 2 days. I expected angry outbursts, not congratulatory high fives and admiration. It felt good. Things certainly didn’t go as planned, but we all did our jobs, did them well, and deposited 140 happy people on the New Orleans economy.

Oddly enough, we were supposed to spend the night in New Orleans the night before. A nice long downtown layover that I was sorry to miss. The last day of this three day trip was a mid morning departure from New Orleans to Chicago followed by a short sit and one last leg home to DFW. We finally arrived in New Orleans an hour before our scheduled departure to Chicago…which we flew. No rest for the weary.

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