An Airline Pilot Checkride

I crawled into the cockpit, ducked my head to avoid scraping my bald head on the minefield that is the overhead panel and set my kitbag in the space designed for it next to my seat.  As I sunk into my sheep-skin covered seat and began building my “nest”, I looked up at the instrument panel and couldn’t help noticing how everything looked, felt and smelled normal.  Just another flight.  We were on the ground in Memphis, Tennessee and the terminal was clearly in view out the window.  The large, back-lit sign on the jetbridge read C12…news to me since I had entered the cockpit by way of the Flight Training Center, not the airport terminal.

Flight 611 from Memphis to Dallas was actually going to take place in a simulator on day four of my recurrent training assignment.  I return to the Flight Academy once every nine months to get one of two different training routines.  Nine months ago, while completing a three day training event, I got one full day in the classroom followed by two days in the sim.  The first, a day of training with one of our instructors.  The second, a checkride during which a check-airman thoroughly probed my abilities as an aviator. 

Nine months ago, I was tested on my ability to fly every type of approach I’m qualified to perform and refreshed my skills at handling a number of emergencies as well.  Time and distance were not factors as the instructor could place me outside the outer marker for the ILS approach to runway 28 in Chicago and five minutes later set me up to intercept the final approach course for an RNAV approach in Dallas.  The seasons could be changed faster than anything in real life allowing us to fly a heavy weight departure out of Denver at 100 degrees Fahrenheit followed by an icy winter approach and landing in New York a few minutes later. 

This month’s training event took one day longer than the routine I completed nine months ago, adding a day of classroom study to the schedule.  This time around the classes were designed to refresh my memory of aircraft systems, flight manuals, regulations, safety, security and human factors.  Day three took place in the simulator and looked remarkably similar to my first day in the sim 9 months ago with a thorough review of normal and abnormal procedures.

Today, day four of my current training cycle, was different than anything I did nine months ago.  Flight 611 was going to take place in real time.  Commonly referred to as a LOFT, or Line Oriented Flight Training, the purpose of today’s flight was to observe a real flight, in real time, with no outside help or influence not normally available to the flight crew.  Something was going to go wrong.  I didn’t know what and I didn’t know when, but I knew it was coming.  I would have to handle the situation as I would in real life and I would be graded on my performance and held responsible for the outcome. 

As I got comfortable, the check-airman sitting behind me took on the role the world outside the cockpit.  He would be the gate agent, flight attendant, push crew, ramp controller, ground, tower, departure and en-route controller and anyone else we needed to be in contact with during our flight.  What he would not be was an instructor.  During a normal training exercise in the simulator, it isn’t at all uncommon for the instructor to hit pause and carry on a conversation with the pilots as the aircraft is suspended in a moment of time.  Finish teaching, hit play, and let things start where they left off.  There would be none of that today.

The normal pressures of an every-day flight started about 5 minutes in as the instructor…excuse me…as the gate agent began pushing for an on-time departure that had been intentionally and unreasonably set by the instructor.  This really was going to feel real.  The Captain and I had to make a conscious effort to slow things down and do things right the first time.  You rarely get an opportunity for a do-over in aviation.

With the cockpit prepped and ready for departure and the simulator door closed behind us, I heard a high pitched beep from outside the sim warning anyone within a few hundred feet that the simulator’s draw-bridge style walkway was about to raise.  Shortly thereafter I felt the sim begin to move as the motion system was engaged.  From here on, everything would look and feel real.

The interphone crackled as the Crew Chief advised the Captain that the walk around and FOD check (Foreign Object Debris) was complete and gave him clearance to release brakes and call for push-back.  “Memphis Ground, American 611, C12, Push-back.” 

We pushed back from the gate, started both engines and began our taxi to runway 18C with visibility reported at 2400 RVR (Runway Visual Range).  Honestly, I was a little surprised it wasn’t lower.  Anything less than 1800 RVR and we would need a takeoff alternate, since we would need at least that much to return to Memphis in the event of an engine failure.  Instructors like to set the visibility below single engine minimums to see if you will pick up on the fact that you are legally required to have a take-off alternate.  It's a common gotcha, but as I said, would not be a factor today.

As we approached runway 18C, the tower controller cleared us to “Line up and wait” but I was not ready for takeoff.  Given the visibility, I didn’t want to be “heads down” while taxiing around a relatively unfamiliar airport and had gotten behind on the Taxi and Before Takeoff checklists.  I still needed to compare our final closeout weight and balance information against the planned numbers and had a few checklist items to complete before we would be ready to depart.  Once I was finished, I advised the tower that we were ready and we promptly received clearance for takeoff.  “Fly runway heading, Runway 18C…cleared for takeoff.”

The Captain had elected to fly the leg, which most likely meant I would be running the checklists and solving problems as they arose.  We accelerated down the runway, rotated and climbed into the cloud filled night sky.  We were almost instantly inside the clouds with two white beams of light emanating from each wing tip illuminating the dense cloud cover ahead.

The departure controller turned us to the west, and as we climbed through 10,000 feet, handed us off to Memphis Center.  Soon thereafter we were cleared on course direct to the Little Rock VOR where we would pick up the arrival into Dallas. 

As I mentioned before, one thing that set this flight off as different from most others was that I knew something bad was coming.  Again, I didn’t know what or when, but I knew it was coming.  I scanned the engine instruments and the overhead panel with much more frequency than normal in hopes of catching some sign of what was to come.  Nothing seemed out of place.  Everything was working perfectly.

We leveled off at FL 320 (32,000 ft.) and completed the Cruise checklist, sent a position report to our company dispatcher (who was still seated 2 feet behind me) and started planning our descent and arrival into Dallas.  The weather in Dallas was worse than it was in Memphis with RVR 800/600/400 (touchdown, mid, rollout) reported on runway 17C.  Visibility this low would necessitate a CAT III approach and an autopilot flown landing known as an autoland.

The MD80, as old as it is, does a respectable job landing itself on the centerline and coming to a complete stop without any assistance from the pilot except the manual inputs it took to set up the procedure.  300 – 200 – 100 – the jet announces 50 feet as the throttles retard on their own and the control yoke pulls back to raise the nose.  40 – 30 – 20 – 10 – and the jet settles onto the runway.  The landing isn’t always the type that encourages the pilot to stand in the doorway and take bows, but all things considered, especially the jet’s 1960’s heritage, it’s impressive to watch.

Still level at FL 320, I had just requested an ATIS (Automatic Terminal Information System) for Dallas and sent a request for gate arrival and connecting gate information when a yellow “CAUTION” light illuminated on the glare shield.  “Here we go” I thought.  I looked up to see the “L CSD OIL PRESS LOW” light illuminated on the anunciator panel.  No other light accompanied this lone warning light.  I was surprised by that and expected the left generator to fail at any moment.  At the Captain’s command, I retrieved my QRH (Quick Reference Handbook) and found the appropriate checklist.  About two minutes later as I was working my way through the checklist, the “CAUTION” light again caught my attention.  I looked up and noticed that the “L GEN OFF” light had also illuminated. 

With the Captain’s consent, I reached for the APU start switch and hoped that the good ole Auxiliary Power Unit would spool up in this cold thin air.  I was a little surprised to see it come to life and even more surprised to see a blue power available light shortly thereafter.  This was shaping up to be much easier than I expected.

A little explanation may be in order here…Each engine-driven generator is driven through a constant-speed drive known as a CSD.  The CSD converts the variable speed output of the engine driven generator to a constant speed.  The output of the generator is variable because it is connected to the engine and changes speed as the speed of the engine is adjusted by the pilot.  The CSD is lubricated by oil and is monitored by a fault protection system in each generator control circuit that automatically removes the generator from its bus and de-energize the generator in the event of certain malfunctions.

We continued with the checklist and disconnected the CSD to prevent any damage to the engine or generator.

Checklist complete. 

The question at this point, and another gotcha, was the legality of flying a CAT III approach and an autoland with a compromised electrical system.  I looked up a chart in the Aircraft Flight Manual that listed all equipment required to fly the approach.  Under electrical system, the chart simply read “Normal**” Hmm…what do the two stars mean?  At the bottom of the page in small print it read ”**APU may be used in lieu of one engine generator.”  So in our case, a disconnected CSD and an inoperative engine driven generator was normal as long as the APU generator was operating normally.

The rest was simple and quite routine.  I checked and rechecked the book a few times just to make sure I was reading it correctly since illegally flying a CAT III approach would most definitely end the ride with a pink slip, but we were in fact legal.

After we landed, we were given taxi instructions to the terminal where we shut down and completed the Parking checklist.  “Nice job gentlemen, ride’s over.”  Those were nice words to hear…except it wasn’t really over.

The LOFT part of the checkride is what we call a “jeopardy” ride.  Although it rarely happens, you can fail the ride.  If you don’t pass, you come back for more training and do it all over again on another day.  The rest of the ride would be “train to proficiency.”  During a “train to proficiency” event, you are permitted to re-attempt a maneuver if you screw it up the first time.  The only limiting factor is that there are a number of items that must be demonstrated and if you run out of time because you did everything twice, then you won’t be able to finish in the allotted time and another day of training would be in order. 

...if you don't think you have time to do it right the first time, what makes you think you have time to do it twice?

After a short break in the “iron kitchen” we climbed back into the simulator and took a beating from the check-airman.  Wind shear on takeoff…twice.  Wind shear during the landing phase…twice.  Twice, not because we didn’t do it right the first time, but because the instructor wanted us to see the outcome of using different techniques for escape.  High and low speed aborts…engine failures at critical speeds…several engine fires...a cargo fire…several approaches…unusual attitude recovery...RNAV procedures and some raw data time in the pattern. 

Raw data?  That means we flew around in the clouds with no autopilot and no flight director.  Sounds simple enough, but if you rely too much on the autopilot as many do, it can be surprisingly difficult.  We flew around for a while getting climbs, descents and turns then flew a raw data ILS to minimums with a direct crosswind at 18 knots gusting to 23.  It wasn’t the prettiest approach I’d ever flown, but I was pleased to have kept everything within the required standards.

Day four of my training consisted of a two hour oral exam and pre-flight brief followed by four hours in the simulator.  I walked away feeling refreshed and confident in my skills.  There’s nothing quite like the feeling a pilot has while walking away from the school house after a successful checkride.  Back to guilt free TV, good books and long walks on layovers. 

I’ll be back for more in another nine months.

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Tampa Thunderstorms

I just finished a long four day trip, emphasis on long. Four days, in my opinion, is just one day too many. We laid over in Seattle, Tampa and Puerta Vallarta, which made the trip a little more bearable, but it was still too long. Tampa was a mess…

When we departed Dallas, Tampa was being impacted by the leading edge of a severe line of thunderstorms that were forecast to be long gone by the time we arrived near midnight, but our first contact with Jacksonville Center yielded a holding clearance. The storms were moving much slower than predicted and filling in behind the leading edge. We had about 30 minutes of holding fuel and JAX as an alternate when we entered a holding pattern about 80 miles north of Tampa. However, as we neared our bingo fuel* we were informed that all personnel had gone home for the night at JAX. MCO was suggested, but was quickly ruled out since there were storms nearing the airport. FLL, MIA and RSW were all unacceptable for the same reasons. We didn’t have enough fuel to go any farther, so we had to stick with JAX as our alternate. Hopefully dispatch could get someone out of bed to service us once we landed. Just as we were about to make the decision to divert, we were given the option to be the first aircraft to attempt landing at TPA.

Tough decision. When fog or low ceilings result in a divert, you can fly directly to your alternate and land, often with little or no delay and the computed fuel needed to divert is typically accurate. When thunderstorms are involved everything is different and far more complicated. We turned toward Tampa with a lot on our minds.

Our first thought was that we needed to get down. We had been holding at 35,000 ft. to conserve fuel, and we were only 80 miles from the airport with a clearance to proceed directly to the field when able. There was conflicting traffic that made getting down difficult, but since the airport was landing to the north, we would have some extra time. Second thought was the line of thunderstorms sitting about 10 miles north of the airport. There was a small break in the line just northwest of the field through which a departure had just flown with little complaint, so we headed for the hole. Our ride through this area was unusually smooth, all things considered, but the lighting was intense. I have flown around many thunderstorms in my career, but have never experienced lightning like this. Most aircraft are equipped with a thunderstorm light in the cockpit that lights up the instrument panel with bright light at night to protect the pilots from being temporarily blinded by lightning. I had never used this light until tonight.

We continued our descent and picked our way around the storms until eventually turning final for runway 36L at Tampa. We were instructed to intercept the localizer for 36L, but were not given an approach clearance. There was another airline taking off opposite direction on our runway, so our descent would be delayed. As we continued on the localizer, the glide slope began to move and continued almost full deflection before we received an approach clearance. You must be careful in this situation, since you will have to descend at a greater rate than normal in order to intercept the glide path. My airline requires me to be fully configured for the landing, on speed and on glide path with engines spooled up by 1000 ft. above touchdown. Beginning the descent late makes this difficult. We started down at about 1500 ft/min to intercept the glide slope, began configuring early and met the 1000ft restriction just in time. The missed approach corridor looked pretty scary, but there was a small area of escape if we needed to use it. Hopefully we would not.

From about 800 ft. down, the ride was pretty rough, with gains and losses of about 10 knots all the way down. The runway came into view at about 500 ft. though light rain and the wipers noisily bouncing back and forth. I touched down deliberately as the Captain announced ”deployed,” referring to the speed brakes. As I put the nose on the ground my windshield wiper quit working…nice timing. The auto brakes worked their magic and the anti-skid cycled as we slowed. We cleared the runway and began our after landing checklist as another airline broke out of the clouds on final. We were one of only three landings during that little break in the weather. The others would have a much longer night. Shortly after we arrived at the gate, the storms again began to impact the airport. We earned our pay that night. I remember feeling rather accomplished and proud of our performance.


*Bing Fuel - As you enter holding, you must figure the amount of fuel needed to leave the pattern and safely arrive at your destination, execute a missed approach and proceed to your alternate. Decide on a “bingo” fuel early and stick to your numbers. Stretching your fuel supply is never a good idea. Remember…it is better to be on the ground wishing you were in the air than in the air wishing you were on the ground.

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Cat III approach

Just prior to a late night departure for a short, 30 minute flight to our scheduled layover, the weather at our destination was good but not great. It's usually the visibility, not the ceiling, that is the limiting factor with respect to legally beginning an approach. At our destination that night, the visibility was 2 1/2 statue miles and forecasted to stay that way. It was my leg and I, the first officer and a guy who doesn't like to give up a landing for any reason, am not allowed to land the airplane if the visibility is less than a mile. I've never been crazy about this rule, but its intent is to put the aircraft in the hands of the most experienced pilot while flying in the most challenging conditions.

Our flight that night progressed normally, climbing through a thin, stratiform cloud layer that streamed through the landing lights like soft white ribbon revealing a beautiful star filled sky and full moon above. The air was stable and smooth...I could hear the flight attendants beginning their duties as we retracted the last of the flaps and slats. In less than 10 minutes we were cruising at 23,000 ft, completing cruise checklist items, planning our descent and retrieving destination weather. The automated weather system reported visibility of 2 1/2 miles, conditions that were confirmed by the approach controller at first contact. Ten miles later and a mere 20 miles to the airport, the conditions began to change. 20 miles may seem like a lot, but we were still clipping along at 250 kts and would quickly gobble up 20 miles.

With 20 miles to touchdown, we were informed that the visibility on runway 17R, our intended runway, had just fallen to one mile and the visibility on runway 17L was now at 1/2. We had some quick decisions to make. We were set up for an approach to runway 17R. If the weather remained unchanged we could safely and legally continue and I could execute the approach and land, but the lowest visibility to legally fly the approach was 3/4 of a mile. Runway 17L on the other hand, was equipped with a special approach that would allow us to land with a visibility of 600 RVR. (Runway Visual Range). Since the visibility was so different on two runways in such close proximity, we decided to change to runway 17L and fly what is known as a CAT III, autoland approach. This approach is flown all the way through touchdown and to a complete stop on the runway by the autopilot and takes special consideration and planning. Given our distance to the runway, we elected to go-around and give ourselves some extra time to set up the approach.

By the time the controller vectored us around for the approach to runway 17L, the weather on both runways was reported to be 1/4 and falling. Of course, since the vis was below one mile, I had to relinquish control of the jet and my precious landing to the Captain. As we continued the approach and intercepted the glide slope, we each began our required call outs and completed the landing checklist. At 500 ft, I reported "on speed, sink 700" and noticed that the cloud tops were still glowing in the moonlight in my peripheral vision. My call outs continued at 300 ft. as I heard the tower controller announce 17L visibility at 600 RVR..."300" "200"...still above the cloud tops..."100"...finally in the clouds...at 50 feet I reported "minimums" just as the Captain stated "landing" and the autopilot continued the approach as the aircraft announced "50" "40" "30" "20" "10" followed by the best autoland I've ever witnessed. Very nice.

We crawled to the gate that night. The visibility was so poor that we couldn't see the terminal from the center line on the ramp. The ground crew had to walk out to the aircraft to guide us onto the lead in line. It's been a strange winter this year. Low visibility approaches like this one are rare in the U.S. In the last 10 years I have only flown 6 approaches that required an autopilot flown approach and landing. 3 of those were in February 2010.

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