NORDO - Out Of Radio Contact

NORDO is an aviation term referring to an aircraft that is unexpectedly out of radio contact...no radio.  As you might imagine, NORDO has taken on new meaning since the 9/11 terrorist attacks.   Not that it hasn't always been serious, but unusual or non existent radio contact was the first indication controllers working hijacked flights on 9/11 had that something wasn't right.  Few have forgotten that lesson.

A high profile NORDO event occurred in 2009 when Northwest Airlines Flight 188, an Airbus A320, went without radio contact for over 75 minutes.  To make matters worse, the pilots of this flight somehow managed to overfly their destination by 150 miles in spite of all the training, experience and technology available to them. In this case, it was a flight attendant calling the cockpit to find out why they hadn't started to descend who finally clued the cockpit into the fact that they had made a serious error. Both pilots not only lost their jobs, but we're eventually stripped of their pilots licenses by the United States Federal Aviation Administration.

   

The stakes are high in a business where errors in procedure and judgment can and do result in the loss of life.  It's important to learn from our mistakes; but unfortunately, since mistakes commonly result in punishment that could include time off from work, loss of pay and even suspension of revocation of a hard earned license, self-reporting would be rare without a program known as ASAP.

Pilots, dispatchers, mechanics and even flight attendants are invited to participate in a safety reporting program known as the Aviation Safety Action Program or ASAP.  The following is an excerpt from an FAA Advisory Circular published in 2002.  "The objective of ASAP is to encourage air carrier and repair station employees to voluntarily report safety information that may be critical to identifying potential precursors to accidents.  The Federal Aviation Administration (FAA) has determined that identifying these precursors is essential to further reducing the already low accident rate.  Under an ASAP, safety issues are resolved through corrective action rather than through punishment or discipline.  The ASAP provides for the collection, analysis, and retention of the safety data that is obtained."

The program provides a system for gathering useful data that will be analysed for trending safety issues in exchange for a promise that unintentional mistakes will not be prosecuted.  Air Traffic Controllers have a similar self-reporting system known as ATSAP that works in much the same way. 

I know all this ASAP business is a little dry, but it's important and I'll come back to it.

On a recent flight, I was at the controls while the captain worked the radios and ran checklists. We were on an Air Traffic Control vector to intercept the final approach course in visual flight conditions when the approach controller got busy handling a problem with another aircraft. The other aircraft was returning to the airport with some sort of mechanical problem and was going to land opposite direction from the normal flow of traffic.

I could see the other aircraft, a small single engine Cessna, on the TCAS screen and made a mental note of its position relative to ours. We were about the same distance from the airport as the Cessna, but we were traveling well over twice its speed and would easily beat the small plane to the airport.  We were landing on different, but closely aligned runways and I didn't expect a conflict.

Normally, an approach controller will tell a pilot to call the tower on a specific frequency.  Sometimes the frequency is left out of the instruction, but it's helpful information, especially at an airport with multiple tower frequencies.  "Flight 123, contact tower on frequency 126.55."

As we descended through about 1,500 feet on the approach, I overheard a radio transmission that caught my attention and I realized we had not yet been switched over to the tower frequency.  The captain hadn't picked up on this, so I reminded him that we were still talking to approach.  Normally, if I haven't been switched over to the tower before about 2,000 feet above touchdown, I assume that the controller has forgotten to switch us over and will either transmit a gentle reminder or switch over on my own if the frequency is too congested to get a word in.  In this case, there was far too much confusion and verbal congestion on the approach frequency to request the handoff, so the captain elected to switch over on his own.

By the time we first called the tower, we were descending through 1,000 feet above touchdown.  This is where things got confusing and where we, as the flight crew, made a mistake.

We printed a copy of the ATIS (Automatic Terminal Information Service) about 30 minutes before landing. The ATIS informed us that the tower frequency had changed and provided a new frequency to be used. We made note of the change, but in the heat of the moment, the captain glanced down at his chart and dialed the inactive tower frequency into the #1 Comm radio. He called repeatedly, but the tower was monitoring another frequency and never heard his transmissions. In desperation, he tried the ground control and clearance delivery frequencies listed on the chart but for reasons unknown did not get an answer on those frequencies either.

By this point, we were descending through 300 feet above touchdown without a landing clearance. I considered going around, but then I remembered the Cessna.  I glanced at the TCAS and noted that the Cessna was now about three miles out and still appeared to be landing opposite direction. A go-around would have put us nose to nose...most likely with no radio contact. I visually scanned the runway and the taxiways around the runway and determined that the area was clear of traffic.  I told the captain that I intended to land unless he instructed me to go-around.  But before he could respond I glanced at the tower and noticed the green light.

Oddly enough, I had attended the annual AirVenture fly-in aviation convention in Oshkosh, Wisconsin just weeks earlier. I walked through the FAA's exhibit while I was there and happened to pick up a sticker entitled "Air Traffic Control - Light Gun Signals."  I placed the sticker, with no intention of ever needing it, inside the front cover of my Jepps binder.  I remembered that the signal for "cleared to land" was a solid green light. To be honest, this was information that I hadn't reviewed in many years.  The tower controller was watching.  He knew we were out of radio contact.  And he was using a light gun to clear us to land.

I almost missed the signal. It was dim and difficult to see and certainly would not have caught my attention if I had not looked directly at the tower, but it was the clearance we needed. As we passed through 50 feet above touchdown I started to reduce thrust, pulled slightly on the yoke and set the aircraft softly onto the runway. It's funny how clear things seem in hindsight   It wasn't until after touchdown that I realized what we had done.

Ugh...that sinking feeling in the pit of your gut.  No one likes to make mistakes, but I think pilots as a group are harder on themselves than most.  I think its just part of being a professional...we demand the best of ourselves at all times.

I'm about to get back to that ASAP thing...

Realizing our mistake, I reminded the captain about the frequency change and he made contact with the tower. I appreciated the kind words and reassuring tone from the controller...and I got the impression we hadn't been the first to make that particular error.  "No harm no foul" he said.  We asked if the ground and clearance frequencies were monitored and he indicated that they were.  I'm not sure why we hadn't been able to make contact on the other two frequencies.

After we completed the parking checklist, I called the tower on my cell phone and spoke to the controller who had worked our flight. The guy was understanding and affirmed our decision not to go-around.  I think the idea of us going nose to nose with the Cessna while unable to communicate scared him at least as much as it scared me.  He made it clear that the light gun signal was a legal clearance to land.  No violation would be filed.

I feel I should add this note about the phone call.  While I've done it a number of times, I have been told by people on the inside that a phone call to the tower could potentially lead to negative results.  Sometimes, especially at large airports, the phone may be answered by a supervisor, not the controller who worked your flight.  It is possible that the supervisor might not agree with the controller's assessment, so you could be outing yourself with the phone call.  Be careful out there folks, there are ample opportunities to make your life more complicated than it needs to be.

Now back to ASAP...

The stated purpose of the ASAP program is to learn from the errors we will inevitably make, and to improve the already increasingly safe skies over the United States.

As unfortunate as it may be, the word from an air traffic controller or Federal Inspector can't always be taken at face value.  It may not be intentional, but for a number of reasons, the decision to file a violation against a crew may be out of the hands of a well intentioned controller like the one I described here.  I'm sure he had no intention of reporting the event, but there are internal and external reviews in place that could override that decision.

For that reason, even though I still believe we had a legal landing clearance, I elected to file an ASAP report.  Unfortunately for the pilots of Northwest flight 188, the ASAP report did not save them from an inevitable outcome.  Personally, I disagree with that decision, but their mistake was too great and too public to be overlooked.  Mine on the other hand was quietly accepted into the program.  The event has by now been "collected, analysed, and retained" and will be tracked for a possible trend.

Hopefully, I won't be the only person who learns from my mistake.

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A Tale of Two Airlines

I took to the sky for the very first time at the controls of an avocado green and white Cessna 172, N4664L. I saw a picture of the old girl recently…hasn’t changed a bit. Same paint job, interior unchanged. The images rekindled positive memories of an outstanding flight instructor and a summer learning the skills that became the foundation of my career in aviation. The date was September 13, 1986...13 years to the day before I landed what I thought was my dream job.

I was a junior at J.J. Pearce High School in Richardson, Texas in 1986 when I chose Aviation Science as an elective course. Taught by the varsity golf coach, the class was basically a Private Pilot ground school course and the leaping off point for my career. On a regular basis, our class was visited by a local flight instructor, former Braniff and current (at the time) corporate pilot and photographer for Steak and Ale who volunteered his time and offered to take anyone who wanted go, flying in his little green and white Cessna 172. We went three at a time…each of us getting about 15 minutes at the controls. After flying with the entire class, he chose one person who, in his opinion, possessed the ability and the desire to make a career of aviation, and taught that person to fly for free…well, almost free. It was more of a time swap deal. One hour in his yard for one hour of instruction. He chose me and I spent the summer mowing, trimming, clipping and learning the skills of aviation.

Thirteen years to the day from my first flight, I stepped onto the property at American Airlines as a gainfully employed airline pilot. Dream job obtained. Grey pin-striped suit, burgundy tie, brief case…we all looked the same…pumped up and feeling like we had just one the lottery. But I’d like to back up about 30 days and describe a unique perspective of two career paths. 30 days earlier, after years of preparation and training. Four years of college. One year as a CFI. One year flying cancelled checks single pilot at night with no radar or autopilot. Six years at a regional airline flying the EMB-120 Brasilia and the ATR-72 and years of applications and updates. Then, in one day, I got two calls. One from American and one from Southwest. Here’s what happened.

The airline industry can be a perilous place to hang your hat. My father, retired in 2004, was hired by Delta when the airline was a regional carrier with no international presence at a time when the desirable airlines were names like Pan Am, TWA and Eastern. Leap ahead 36 years and Delta is the largest airline in the world and all my father‘s first picks are fading memories. In 2004, the pay rates at Delta were unmatched anywhere in the world and may never be achieved again in commercial aviation. A B777 Captain at the time could easily bring home something north of $300,000 per year. Who knows what the future holds…another 30 years in the future and Delta could be on the same list as the other bygone greats. No one knows, and that is the most significant pitfall of an airline career.

A pilot is married to an airline for life due to a little thing called seniority. The guy who has been there the longest is number 1 on the list. The guy hired last is at the bottom and everyone hired in between populates the list in a position relative to his hire date. Everything, and I mean everything, is determined by seniority. Monthly schedule, base, equipment, vacation, compensation, the list goes on…everything is based on seniority and you can’t take it with you. As a new hire pilot at American Airlines in 1999, I earned a little less than $24,000. Today, I make 11 year MD-80 FO pay…roughly $100K per year. If American Airlines closed up shop tomorrow, if I was furloughed, fired or just chose to leave and work for another airline, my seniority would reset to day one. I would start over at the bottom in every sense of the word…and that is why pilots are careful about where they work and never leave unless forced to do so.

As soon as I was hired by a regional airline, I put my career plan in high gear. Part of that plan was that moss would never grow on this stone. I would spend every waking moment attacking the idea of working for my airline of choice. I thought I was sitting pretty at the time. I was making descent money, working for a reputable, stable airline and upgrade to Captain was in sight. There was no pressing desire to move to another “stair step” airline. That is, another step to a company where I would not spend my career. I wanted my next step to be my last. So I made a short list of what I thought were the best U.S. airlines and sent my first application to a major before I finished new-hire training at my regional airline. American, Delta, Continental, United, Northwest, Southwest, UPS and FEDEX all made my list. Yours may vary. Mine would certainly look different today.

UPS and FEDEX never responded to me at all. You never quite know why one airline jumps and another gives you the finger and my story was no different. Continental, Northwest and United responded to each of my updates with a pleasant enough postcard inviting me to try again later. Delta was a top choice for me, but my father was a pilot for them and they had a nasty nepotism rule that excluded me as candidate for employment. That would change later when they dropped their little “no family” rule, but it would prove too little too late for me.

So that left American and Southwest. American’s response to my attention was no different than the rest at first. Southwest was different. Their minimums were higher and a little more complex than the rest, so I had been focused on the other airlines for quite some time before I met the minimum requirements at Southwest. At this point, almost 6 years had elapsed since I sent in my first major airline application, but only 2 months since I applied at Southwest. I was astounded by how fast things worked with this great airline and quickly shifted all my hopes and dreams to Southwest. I was hired by Southwest two weeks later and put into a “pool” of available pilots. Sadly, there was no rhyme or reason to the method of pulling pilots from the pool, and I stayed there for months. All that momentum came to a screeching halt.

Then, in August of 1999 in the presence of a good friend and pilot with whom I had a friendly, yet vigorous, competition to see who would be hired first, the phone rang. It was American Airlines calling to offer me a job and unlike Southwest who placed me in a pool of available pilots, American offered me class date. Remember, seniority is everything…and seniority starts on your first day. It can never be taken away and never improved. You get what you get and you don’t throw a fit…as my 9 year old would say. I had always said that I would only apply where I really wanted to work and accept the first class date that came up. So I accepted. Happily…and I won the competition too!

Later that same day, smile still firmly affixed, the phone rang again. It was Southwest Airlines. You’ve got to be kidding me, I thought. My two top picks on the same day. It was the toughest decision I have ever had to make. At the time, American paid more, had a better retirement, flew bigger, more exciting airplanes and flew them around the world. Captains at the time were receiving yearly bonus checks large enough to purchase a new Cadillac and Southwest just seemed like a better paying regional airline job. At least that’s how I rationalize my decision today. Plus, I always said I would take the first job I was offered and never look back, so I stuck to my plan and accepted the job at American Airlines.

I won’t know until the day I retire if I made the right decision. My employment history at AA has been a roller coaster ride. I was hired at a time when the airline was taking on 100 pilots per month. By September 2001, when everything changed, I had almost 3000 pilots junior to me on the seniority list. Since then I have steadily lost seniority due to the shrinkage of this once great airline. When I was hired in 1999, my seniority number was just over 10,000. The pilot ranks at American swelled to over 13,000 with vigorous hiring and the merger with TWA in 2000. At one point I was displaced out of my home airport and forced to commute to reserve in a distance city. A situation that lasted almost 4 years. Today, I am based where I want to be based and have a 20 minute drive to work. But with almost 11 years seniority, the right seat of the MD-80 is the only thing I can hold, I’m on reserve, unable to hold a regular line of time and upgrade to the left seat is at least 10 years in my future…if at all. At Southwest, I would have been a Captain 5 years ago, in the same city where I live now, making double what I currently earn. Did I make the right choice? You may have your own opinion. I know I have mine, but time will tell.

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