Grounded Jets at American and Southwest - History Worth Remembering

View of the hole taken from the cabin

I’ve been sitting around this morning perusing stories about Southwest Airlines and their third explosive depressurization in as many years.  This all got me thinking about the FAA’s $7.2 million dollar fine against Southwest in 2008 followed quickly by a $24.2 million dollar fine against cross town rival American Airlines for a separate but related offense.  This past Friday, a 15 year old Southwest Boeing 737-300 lost pressurization while cruising at 36,000 feet after developing a large hole in the fuselage. 

The picture below illustrates how bad things could have been.  On April 28, 1988 a huge section of metal peeled away from the fuselage of another Boeing 737,  Aloha flight 243, exposing passengers to the elements as if the aircraft had been equipped with a convertible top.  They lost a crew member on that flight when Flight Attendant C.B. Lansing was sucked from the aircraft and fell to her death.  In addition to FA Lansing’s death, another 65 passengers and crew were injured. 

Aloha 243. April 28, 1988

As a result of the Aloha accident, the FAA ordered mandatory inspections of all Boeing 737 series aircraft.  Almost twenty years later in March of 2007, Southwest Airlines representatives notified the FAA that it had inadvertently missed these inspections on some of its aircraft. Some were nine months overdue.  It was revealed during the investigation that Southwest flew 46 Boeing 737s on 59,791 flights without the required maintenance inspections.


The aircraft in question were supposed to be grounded immediately, but the Southwest planes were not. For another nine days, the jets in question made more than 1,400 additional flights.  The airline was initially fined $10.2 million in March of 2008 for their lapse in procedures.  Southwest appealed the fine and eventually settled the case after agreeing to pay $7.5 million.  The largest fine ever levied against an airline.  The record wouldn't last.

As the record setting fine at Southwest rippled through the airline industry, it became apparent that many of the issues with Southwest's planes held true for other types of aircraft as well.  After the FAA found that Southwest had failed to comply with inspections of its 737s, the agency announced that it would conduct unscheduled inspections of aircraft owned by other airlines including American Airlines. As a result, many airlines began canceling flights in order to check or double-check their planes and maintenance records.

It was at this point that maintenance repair discrepancies surfaced at American Airlines and its fleet of MD80s.  At issue with the MD80 was the wiring that electrifies the planes' auxiliary hydraulic system.  But the problem wasn't with the functionality of the wiring. It was determined years ago that the wiring harness for the auxiliary hydraulic pump on the MD80 series aircraft was susceptible to rubbing and chafing as a result of its proximity to the landing gear doors.  



MD80 Auxiliary Hydraulic Pump - The wire bundle from center screen to right (white).  Closed gear door in the foreground.



The FAA, aircraft manufacturers and airlines became very concerned about wire bundles and the possibility of electrical sparks after the loss of TWA 800 in 1996 off Long Island which resulted in the deaths of all 230 passengers.  But the TWA 800 accident involved a Boeing aircraft, not McDonnell Douglas, the maker of the MD80, and the explosion on TWA 800 initiated inside a fuel tank after fuel vapors were ignited by an electrical short circuit.  The wire bundle in question on the MD80 is not in or even near the fuel tank.

The FAA issued an Airworthiness Directive (AD), an order to complete an inspection or work on an aircraft.  It should be noted that, as the largest operator of MD80s in the world, American Airlines was often called upon by the FAA to help write such directives and they did in fact write the initial version of this AD.  The initial version called for a protective sheath to be installed around the auxiliary hydraulic wire bundle and called for the sheath to be held in place by a series of ties that were to be placed one inch apart for the entire length of the wire bundle(This can all be seen in the picture above).  While American’s initial version of the procedure called for the ties to be one inch apart, it also allowed for slight variations of up to 1/8^th of an inch.  The final FAA version came in the form of a 38-page handbook and omitted the 1/8^th inch allowance.  American Airlines admitted that its engineers may have had some trouble deciphering the procedure.   





What occurred behind closed doors between American and the FAA at this point is unclear.  But it appears that an agreement could not be reached on a number of issues.  Were the aircraft in compliance?  If they were not, how much time, if any, would the airline have to correct the issue?  In the case against Southwest, the FAA allowed the airline to continue flying their jets while the required inspections were completed.  It was during this time that another 1400 flights took place with uninspected aircraft.

It is a misconception that the FAA grounded American’s MD80s…that decision was made in house.  But the massive and recent fine against Southwest was weighing heavily on the decision makers at American.  Grounding the fleet probably resulted in a smaller fine, but when you consider the lost revenue and massive inconveniences to the flying public, an argument could be made that it was a “cut your nose off to spite your face” move. 

^th of an inch.  The airline has long disputed the agency’s findings, claiming that the violations were minor and never endangered passengers.  The FAA fined American Airlines $24.2 million for failing to properly follow the agency's Airworthiness Directive.  The fine reflected a more aggressive stance by the F.A.A., which has been criticized for being lax on some maintenance issues, particularly surrounding American Airlines and in the case involving Southwest.

The transportation secretary, Ray LaHood, said in a statement, “We expect operators to perform inspections and conduct regular and required maintenance.” 

The previous highest fine was set at $9.5 million in 1987 against Eastern Airlines. But the company paid only about $1 million before going out of business.

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CAL3407, Commuting Pilots and a Personal Confession

Aviation in itself is not inherently dangerous.  But to an even greater degree than the sea, it is terribly unforgiving of any carelessness, incapacity or neglect.

— Captain A. G. Lamplugh

A chain of events, often called an error chain, refers to the concept that a number of contributing factors, rather than one single event, typically lead to an accident.  Breaking just one link in the chain could yield vastly different results, which is exactly why pilots recognize the importance of following the rules, regulations and procedures that govern how they operate their aircraft.  However, it's often overlooked that the chain of events begins long before a pilot steps into the cockpit. 

Continental Express Dash 8 Q400

The February 2009 crash of Newark to Buffalo bound Continental 3407 (operated by Colgan Air) is a good example   The accident has resurfaced in the news lately as the final  results of the crash investigation recently went public and new FAA regulations designed to combat the root causes of the accident are soon to be enacted.  The NTSB investigation of this accident identified a series of facts, events and actions by the crew and the airline that lead to the accident.  All links in the chain.  The flight crew failed to monitor airspeed.  Both pilots failed to adhere to sterile cockpit procedures.  The Captain had no hands-on simulator training to teach stall recovery techniques and the first officer complained of being sick and spent the entire night before this fateful flight commuting to work and napping on the floor in crew ops.  Remove any of these from the equation, break the chain of events, and the end result might be quite different.  But the link in the chain I'm focusing on today started the night before the accident.  

The NTSB focused much of its attention on fatigue as a contributing factor to the crash. Records indicate that on the day of the accident, the captain logged into the company’s crew scheduling computer system at 3 am and 7:30 am, and that the first officer commuted to Newark on an overnight “red-eye” flight and sent and received text messages on the day of the accident.  Should they have been resting during this time?

The pilots reported for duty at 1:30 pm on the day of the accident and the schedule called for Flight 3407 to take off at 7:45 p.m. and arrive in Buffalo at 10:21 p.m.  While the flight was pushed from the gate at 7:45 p.m., the crew did not receive taxi instructions until 8:30 p.m. and the tower did not clear 3407 for takeoff at 9:18 p.m.  At the time of the crash, both pilots were operating on very little sleep and had been on duty for 8 hours and 47 minutes.  Not a particularly long duty day by any means, but both pilot's actions prior to sign-in, specifically the FO's commute, turned what should have been a normal day into a deadly one.

                                            There but for the grace of God, go I...

                                                                 ---John Bradford

Since I got my first commercial pilot job in 1992 until now, I’ve commuted six times for a total of 5 years, 9 months between my home in Texas to pilot bases in Corpus Christi, Atlanta, Miami and St. Louis.  Everyone who commutes does so for different reasons, but regardless of the circumstances, commuting is hard on everyone involved.  But while it comes at a cost, commuting also affords a significant up side as it allows pilots to live just about anywhere, regardless of where they work.  If you love Colorado, but you’re based in New York…great!  Have your house in the mountains if you want, because all you have to do is drive to the nearest airport and fly to work for free.  Pilots and Flight Attendants alike have what are known as reciprocal agreements with other airlines, so if your employer doesn’t fly from your city of choice to where you need to go, just hop on another airline…the ride is still free of charge.  Also, if the flight is full, there’s an extra seat or two in the cockpit specifically provided for the FAA to observe pilots at work, but if the seat is not in use by the FAA, it’s available as an extra seat for a pilot on a full flight.  Similar seats exist in the cabin for Flight Attendants.  

My longest stretch as a commuter took place over a 4 year period when I was based in St. Louis, Missouri and lived in Dallas, Texas.  After a particularly ugly merger just prior to an especially difficult time in history for the airline industry, I was forced out of my base in Texas and assigned a position in STL.  The airline was shrinking and furloughing pilots at an alarming rate and I was unsure whether my job would exist next month much less next year.  Pilots were engaged in what we commonly referred to as a “death march” in which we were repeatedly displaced from one base to another before being furloughed.  In my case, I first expected to be displaced to STL.  After a few months in STL, I expected to be displaced to New York, our junior base.  A few months later I fully expected to be furloughed from the company all together.  With deep roots in Texas, a nice home, a good school for the kids and a support structure if things got worse, I elected to commute.

For a typical three day trip, I usually flew a sequence that signed in around noon on the first day, which meant I could commute to work on the same day my trip was scheduled to start.  This kept me from having to travel on a day off, but it also meant that I was already well traveled and tired when I signed in for the first leg of my trip.  The first flight from Dallas to St. Louis left around 6am and I could put my name on the standby list using an online check-in system 4 hours before departure at 2am.  I did my best to get in bed early and get a good night’s sleep, but with young children in the house and a wife who likes late night TV, you can imagine how that went.  In spite of my efforts, I rarely made to bed before 10.

When traveling as a non-revenue passenger, the seats in the cabin are first come first served.  In other words, the first person on the standby list gets the first seat and if there isn't an open seat at departure time, you don't go.  There was always a lot of competition for seats, so it was important to get my name high on the list.  I would be at my computer with everything loaded just waiting to hit enter at exactly 2am.  I had my watch set EXACTLY to company time so I wouldn’t be more than a few seconds off.  I would hit enter at exactly 2am and hope for the best.  Usually, there would be at least 4 or 5 names on the standby list during the first 30 seconds we were allowed to sign up.  Timing was everything.  

After putting my name on the list, I would go back to sleep until I had to get up to start my commute.  So let me think out loud while I do the math…flight leaves at 6…be at the airport by 5…leave the house at 4…I’m a diva and I like to have 45 minutes to get ready, so…set the alarm for 3:15 and go back to sleep.  That’s right, I slept from 10pm to 2am then from about 2:15 until 3:15 if I was lucky…that’s not much rest to prepare for what could be a very long day, but it’s what I did almost every time I commuted to work.

Once at the airport, the stress of commuting was just beginning.  When I arrived at the gate, I would assess the competition.  The flights to STL were almost always full, so seats in the main cabin were scarce and difficult to get.  As I mentioned before, the seats in the cabin are first come first served, but the aforementioned cockpit jump seats are awarded in order of seniority.  So, I would find the other pilots (there were usually at least 3 of us at this point) and compare numbers to see who was going to get the cockpit seat and who would be crossing their fingers in hopes that some paying passenger forgot to set his alarm.

As a direct result of the commute, the first day of a trip was almost always the most difficult.  I remember telling myself if I could just get through this first day and get a good night’s sleep at the layover hotel, the rest of the trip would be easy.  I remember one trip in particular that I flew with some regularity.  I would start my day with the commute described above and a sign-in time in STL sometime around noon.  My first flight was from STL back to Dallas at around 1pm.  After a short break, the second leg was a flight from Dallas to Chicago with another short sit before the third and final leg to Seattle.  Day one was a 13 hour duty day that ended in Seattle at about 1am body time…and that’s only if everything went as planned.  Add bad weather, maintenance and equipment delays to the mix and things could get much worse. 

In hind sight, I’m not proud of days like that.  I think I owe the flying public and my fellow crew members more of myself.  I rationalized my actions by convincing myself it was all in the name of normalcy for my wife and kids.  It was a significant hardship, but the truth is, it was a choice.  Furthermore, the trip I described above wasn’t my worst, just an average commute.  Many were far worse and a few were a little better. 

Continental 3407 crashed at 10:47 p.m. Feb. 12 while on approach to the Buffalo, New York. The plane, flying in an ice storm, pitched up violently as it neared a stall, then rolled over and crashed.  There were many links in the chain that led to this accident, but according to the NTSB, one contributing factor was the First Officer’s commute.  FO Shaw had flown a "red-eye" flight to Newark before Flight 3407 and allegedly spent no time in bed the night before the accident.  She can be heard on the cockpit recordings complaining about fatigue, congestion from a cold and saying she should have called in sick.  One link in an intact chain of events.

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A Delta Pilot's Japan Earthquake Story

Diverted aircraft parked at Yokota Air Base

Disclosure:  I didn't write this story but offer thanks to the Delta Pilot who shared his experience.

I'm currently still in one piece, writing from my room in the Narita crew hotel.

It's 8am. This is my inaugural trans-pacific trip as a brand new, recently checked out, international 767 Captain and it has been interesting, to say the least, so far. I've crossed the Atlantic three times so far so the ocean crossing procedures were familiar.

Everything was going fine until 100 miles out from Tokyo and in the descent for arrival. The first indication of any trouble was that Japan air traffic control started putting everyone into holding patterns. At first we thought it was usual congestion on arrival. Then we got a company data link message advising about the earthquake, followed by another stating Narita airport was temporarily closed for inspection and expected to open shortly (the company is always so positive).

From our perspective things were obviously looking a little different. The Japanese controller's anxiety level seemed quite high and he said expect "indefinite" holding time. No one would commit to a time frame on that so I got my copilot and relief pilot busy looking at divert stations and our fuel situation, which, after an ocean crossing is typically low.

It wasn't long, maybe ten minutes, before the first pilots started requesting diversions to other airports. Air Canada, American, United, etc. all reporting minimal fuel situations. I still had enough fuel for 1.5 to 2.0 hours of holding. Needless to say, the diverts started complicating the situation.

Japan air traffic control then announced Narita was closed indefinitely due to damage. Planes immediately started requesting arrivals into Haneada, near Tokyo, a half dozen JAL and western planes got clearance in that direction but then ATC announced Haenada had just closed. Uh oh! Now instead of just holding, we all had to start looking at more distant alternatives like Osaka, or Nagoya.

One bad thing about a large airliner is that you can't just be-pop into any little airport. We generally need lots of runway. With more planes piling in from both east and west, all needing a place to land and several now fuel critical ATC was getting over-whelmed. In the scramble, and without waiting for my fuel to get critical, I got my flight a clearance to head for Nagoya, fuel situation still okay. So far so good. A few minutes into heading that way, I was "ordered" by ATC to reverse course. Nagoya was saturated with traffic and unable to handle more planes (read- airport full). Ditto for Osaka.

With that statement, my situation went instantly from fuel okay, to fuel minimal considering we might have to divert a much farther distance. Multiply my situation by a dozen other aircraft all in the same boat, all making requests, demands and threats to ATC for clearances somewhere. Air Canada and then someone else went to "emergency" fuel situation. Planes started to heading for air force bases. The nearest to Tokyo was Yokoda AFB. I threw my hat in the ring for that initially. The answer - Yokoda closed! No more space.

Sendai Airport Tsunami Damage

By now it was a three ring circus in the cockpit, my copilot on the radios, me flying and making decisions and the relief copilot buried in the air charts trying to figure out where to go that was within range while data link messages were flying back and forth between us and company dispatch in Atlanta. I picked Misawa AFB at the north end of Honshu Island. We could get there with minimal fuel remaining. ATC was happy to get rid of us so we cleared out of the maelstrom of the Tokyo region. We heard ATC try to send planes toward Sendai, a small regional airport on the coast which was later the one I think that got flooded by a tsunami.

Atlanta dispatch then sent us a message asking if we could continue to Chitose airport on the Island of Hokkaido, north of Honshu. Other Delta planes were heading that way. More scrambling in the cockpit - check weather, check charts, check fuel, okay. We could still make it and not be going into a fuel critical situation ... if we had no other fuel delays. As we approached Misawa we got clearance to continue to Chitose. Critical decision thought process. Let's see - trying to help company - plane overflies perfectly good divert airport for one farther away...wonder how that will look in the safety report, if anything goes wrong.

Suddenly ATC comes up and gives us a vector to a fix well short of Chitose and tells us to standby for holding instructions. Nightmare realized. Situation rapidly deteriorating. After initially holding near Tokyo, starting a divert to Nagoya, reversing course back to Tokyo then to re-diverting north toward Misawa, all that happy fuel reserve that I had was vaporizing fast. My subsequent conversation, paraphrased of course...., went something like this:

"Sapparo Control - Delta XX requesting immediate clearance direct to Chitose, minimum fuel, unable hold."

"Negative Ghost-Rider, the Pattern is full" (every aviation story needs a top gun quote)

"Sapparo Control - make that - Delta XX declaring emergency, low fuel, proceeding direct Chitose"

"Roger Delta XX, understood, you are cleared direct to Chitose, contact Chitose approach....etc...."

Enough was enough, I had decided to preempt actually running critically low on fuel while in another indefinite holding pattern, especially after bypassing Misawa

As it was - we landed Chitose, safe, with at least 30 minutes of fuel remaining before reaching a "true" fuel emergency situation. That's always a good feeling, being safe. They taxied us off to some remote parking area where we shut down and watched a half dozen or more other airplanes come streaming in. In the end, Delta had two 747s, my 767 and another 767 and a 777 all on the ramp at Chitose.  We saw two American airlines planes, a United and two Air Canada as well. Not to mention several extra Al Nippon and Japan Air Lines planes.

Post-script - 9 hours later, Japan air lines finally got around to getting a boarding ladder to the plane where we were able to get off and clear customs. - that however, is another interesting story.

By the way - while writing this - I have felt four additional tremors that shook the hotel slightly - all in 45 minutes.

Cheers,

J.D.

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Al Capone and Chicago O'Hare

Two stories, both true and worth reading…

STORY NUMBER ONE

Many years ago, Al Capone virtually owned Chicago.  Capone wasn't famous for anything heroic. He was notorious for enmeshing the windy city in everything from bootlegged booze and prostitution to murder. 

Capone had a lawyer nicknamed "Easy Eddie." He was Capone's lawyer for a good reason.   Eddie was very good!  In fact, Eddie's skill at legal maneuvering kept Big Al out of jail for a long time.

To show his appreciation, Capone paid him very well.   Not only was the money big, but Eddie got special dividends as well.  For instance, he and his family occupied a fenced-in mansion with live-in help and all of the conveniences of the day.  The estate was so large that it filled an entire city block in Chicago.

Eddie lived the high life of the Chicago mob and gave little consideration to the atrocity that went on around him. 

Eddie did have one soft spot, however. He had a son that he loved dearly.  Eddie saw to it that his young son had clothes, cars, and a good education. Nothing was withheld.  Money was no object.

And, despite his involvement with organized crime, Eddie even tried to teach his son right from wrong.  Eddie wanted his son to be a better man than he was.

Yet, with all his wealth and influence, there were two things he couldn't give his son; he couldn't pass on a good name or a good example.

One day, Easy Eddie reached a difficult decision.  Easy Eddie wanted to rectify wrongs he had done.  He decided he would go to the authorities and tell the truth about Al "Scarface" Capone, clean up his tarnished name, and offer his son some semblance of integrity.  To do this, he would have to testify against The Mob, and he knew that the cost would be great.  So, he testified.

Within the year, Easy Eddie's life ended in a blaze of gunfire on a lonely Chicago Street.  But in his eyes, he had given his son the greatest gift he had to offer, at the greatest price he could ever pay.  Police removed from his pockets a rosary, a crucifix, a religious medallion, and a poem clipped from a magazine.

      The poem read:

"The clock of life is wound but once, and no man has the power to tell just when the hands will stop, at late or early hour.  Now is the only time you own.  Live, love, toil with a will. Place no faith in time.  For the clock may soon be still."

        STORY NUMBER TWO

World War II produced many heroes. One such man was Lieutenant Commander Butch O'Hare.  He was a fighter pilot assigned to the aircraft carrier Lexington in the South Pacific.

One day his entire squadron was sent on a mission.  After he was airborne, he looked at his fuel gauge and realized that someone had forgotten to top off his fuel tank.  He would not have enough fuel to complete his mission and get back to his ship.  His flight leader told him to return to the carrier.  Reluctantly, he dropped out of formation and headed back to the fleet.

As he was returning to the mother ship, he saw something that turned his blood cold; a squadron of Japanese aircraft was speeding its way toward the American fleet.  The American fighters were gone on a sortie, and the fleet was all but defenseless.  He couldn't reach his squadron and bring them back in time to save the fleet.  Nor could he warn the fleet of the approaching danger.  There was only one thing to do.  He must somehow divert them from the fleet.

Laying aside all thoughts of personal safety, he dove into the formation of Japanese planes.  Wing-mounted 50 caliber's blazed as he charged in, attacking one surprised enemy plane and then another.   Butch wove in and out of the now broken formation and fired at as many planes as possible until all his ammunition was finally spent.  Undaunted, he continued the assault.  He dove at the planes, trying to clip a wing or tail in hopes of damaging as many enemy planes as possible, rendering them unfit to fly.

Finally, the exasperated Japanese squadron took off in another direction.  Deeply relieved, Butch O'Hare and his tattered fighter limped back to the carrier.  Upon arrival, he reported in and related the event surrounding his return.  The film from the gun-camera mounted on his plane told the tale.  It showed the extent of Butch's daring attempt to protect his fleet.   He had, in fact, destroyed five enemy aircraft. This took place on February 20, 1942, and for that action Butch became the Navy's first Ace of WWII, and the first Naval Aviator to win the Medal of Honor.

A year later Butch was killed in aerial combat at the age of 29.  His home town would not allow the memory of this WW II hero to fade, and today, O'Hare Airport in Chicago is named in tribute to the courage of this great man.     

So, the next time you find yourself at O'Hare International, give some thought to visiting Butch's memorial displaying his statue and his Medal of Honor.  It's located between Terminals 1 and 2.

Butch O'Hare was "Easy Eddie's" son.

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"Wind Shear, Wind Shear"

In contemplating my recollection of today’s events, I can’t help but recall distant memories of Delta 191, the Lockheed L10-11 that crashed at Dallas, Ft. Worth International Airport (KDFW) in August 1985 after encountering wind shear on final approach to what was then runway 17L. I was in high school at the time and on a summer camping trip in the Colorado Mountains with a group of church friends when news of the tragedy reached me. My Dad was an L10-11 First Officer and unfortunately for me, the news I received did not include any information about my Dad. We spent another two days hiking through the mountains that week before I was able to confirm that my Dad was not involved. As it turns out, Dad was safe at home that day, but his friend and colleague Captain Ed Connors was in command of Flight 191.

There are a number of videos and audio clips available on YouTube and other sites that accurately depict the sequence of events that day at DFW, but what is rarely discussed is how little we really knew about wind shear at the time and more importantly, how poor the detecting and reporting was of such events. Today, most major airports are equipped with LLWAS (Low-Level Wind Shear Alerting System), a system comprised of 6 to 33 anemometers placed on and around an airport sensing wind speed and direction within 2 1/2 miles of the airport and our airliners have both reactive and predictive wind shear equipment to warn pilots of possible threats via aural and visual means. I feel certain, if Captain Connors had the information and warning systems then that we have today, Delta 191 would have been another flight that everyone forgot.

Today’s events come at the tail end of an otherwise uneventful three day trip. Uneventful is almost always a good thing when you’re talking about airplanes. Our day started with an early morning flight back home followed by a quick trip to Colorado Springs and back before we could call it a day. As we prepared for our flight to Colorado Springs, the Captain commented that the winds, currently blowing from 270 at about 30 knots, gusting to over 40 were too strong for us to land. The runways in use at Colorado Springs are oriented north/south, so a wind from 270 would be a direct crosswind. The MD80 we were flying boasts a max demonstrated crosswind limitation of 30 knots on a dry runway with good visibility (if you‘ve been following along, this may sound familiar). The runway was dry and there were no visibility issues complicating our arrival, but with winds gusting to 40 knots, we were going to need a backup plan. We noted that the forecast called for diminishing winds that should be below our limitations by scheduled arrival time and took off for the Springs with Denver International as an alternate.

As we approached the top of descent, we retrieved a current weather report for the airport and learned that the forecasts were correct and that the wind at the airport was just below the landing limits of the aircraft. We asked our flight attendants to prepare the cabin early and take their seats in anticipation of the kind of turbulence that typically accompanies strong westerly winds over the mountains and started to prepare for landing. The ride definitely did not disappoint. Sometimes we make a big fuss and predict a rough ride only to have perfectly smooth and comfortable conditions all the way to touchdown. I know we lose some credibility with the cabin crews when this happens but in this case, our prediction for turbulence was spot on. I cooled the cabin down a few degrees and hoped no one in the back would start the chain reaction that usually follows the first person who gets sick to their stomach. I won’t elaborate…

Let me add a few words about wind shear…The best course of action is almost always avoidance. But the truth is, airlines operate into cities every day that are prone to low level wind shear. If they cancelled every flight to Colorado Springs and Denver that intersected with a wind shear report, then air travel to those cities would be practically non-existent. With these cities in particular, it seems to be the combination of their location up against the eastern edge of the Rockies and the common nature of strong westerly winds that produce turbulence and wind shear events. Pilots are taught to avoid areas of severe wind shear at all costs, but intermittent or lesser events can be navigated with good piloting techniques and extra caution.

It is commonly held that pilot reports (PIREPS) of wind shear in excess of 20 knots or 500 feet per minute climb or descent within 1000 feet of the ground are all good indications of severe conditions and should be avoided at all costs. Given the fact that these conditions develop, change and dissipate rapidly, a pilot would be wise to consider the amount of time since the report was made.  Keep in mind that the aircraft just a few miles in front of Delta 191, flew the same approach to the same runway with no indication of threat and landed safely. The most dangerous form of wind shear and the most likely cause of the Delta 191 accident is a convective microburst. Some microbursts have been documented with wind changes in excess of 150 knots. Also, since microbursts intensify for several minutes after they first impact the ground, the severity may be up to twice that which is initially reported. It is very important to remember that the aircraft ahead of you on the approach may experience vastly different conditions than you will encounter in the same airspace.

In the picture to the left, you an see that as an airplane enters the leading edge of a microburst, the first indication is an increased headwind. As the aircraft continues into the microburst, the headwind shifts to a downdraft then a tailwind. It is the down draft and tailwind portion of the microburst that is intensely dangerous to airplanes of all shapes and sizes. Additionally, a microburst viewed from above is round and shaped like an upside down mushroom. It is possible to fly through the edges of a microburst and never encounter the downdraft or the tailwind.



Back to my flight…

As we approached the airport from the south, I made every effort to be prepared early for the approach and landing. Arriving from the south into Colorado Springs when the airport is landing north can be a handful even on a normal day. Approach control usually instructs us to cross the FSHER intersection at 14,000 feet on the arrival. FSHER is roughly 25 miles south of the airport, so with a touchdown zone elevation of 6,118 feet above sea level, we only have 25 miles to lose just under 8,000 feet. This isn’t a problem and can be handled without too much effort if you have already slowed the aircraft by the time you reach FSHER. The gotcha here is that a typical descent speed for the MD80 would be around 300 knots, plus or minus depending on a number of factors, and the pilots are not required to slow to 250 knots until descending below 10,000 feet. So if the pilot crosses FSHER at 14,000 feet indicating 300 knots, then getting down is going to be next to impossible since slowing from 300 to 250 will add about an extra 5 miles to the distance needed to descend.

Maybe that’s too much information, but I want to emphasize that this arrival can be a challenge even without the threat of wind shear. I crossed the FSHER intersection at 14,000 as instructed with the airspeed steady at 250 knots in preparation for our descent for runway 35R. We were then cleared to continue our descent and were given a heading to intercept the final approach course for the runway. There weren’t any aircraft ahead of us on the approach to relay reports on the airborne conditions, but Tower and Approach Control were reporting gains and losses near 20 knots on the ground surrounding the field. We elected to continue our approach and make a final assessment of the conditions at 1,000 feet on final.  We wouldn't ge that far.

I slowed the aircraft and configured for landing a little early to ensure a stabilized approach and was on final approach speed, glide slope and fully configured for lading at 1,500 feet above touchdown when we got a yellow wind shear light on the glare shield. The yellow light is an indication of an “increasing performance” wind shear and is yellow to emphasize caution. Increasing performance means that we went from a tailwind to a headwind or a headwind to a stronger headwind in a short distance. Neither of these is particularly dangerous, but is a possible indication that we were entering the leading edge of a microburst. A go-around is not required for this indication, but great caution is advised and we were prepared for a possible missed approach and escape maneuver.

About 200 feet later in the descent and just about the time I had processed the yellow light flashing in my face, the light extinguished and was replaced by a red flashing wind shear light and aural “wind shear, wind shear“ warning from the speaker above my head. In anticipation of a possible wind shear event, I had already increased our approach speed by 20 knots and was intentionally flying slightly high on the glide path. I knew the runway ahead was long and sloped upward from the touch down zone, so I was confident that dissipating the extra speed would not be a problem. I announced “escape” and pressed the TOGA (Take-Off, Go-Around) buttons on the throttles which automatically commanded go-around thrust on both engines.  I followed the commands of the flight director to just under 20 degrees nose up, but for a short time, the aircraft would not climb.

It is difficult for me to believe, but with 24 years of flying experience under my belt, this was my first actual encounter with “decreasing performance” wind shear outside of the simulator. This is something I train for every single time I enter the sim, but I had never actually seen one in real life, and this one was pretty mild. With the nose pointing to the sky and two JT8D-219 engines producing nearly 40,000 pounds of thrust, the jet would not climb. We were well over a thousand feet above the ground with power to spare in case the event became more severe, but it was an incredibly long 3-5 seconds before we began to exit the wind shear and started to climb away from terra firma. Once we began to climb, I asked the Captain to raise the gear, reduced thrust on the engines and cleaned up as we would on a normal flight.

We departed the area to the east where the ride was a little less turbulent and entered a holding pattern to give the conditions a little time to improve. We also wanted a few other airplanes go in and land without incident before we elected to try again. On the second approach, we added in the same safety margins as before, but encountered a relatively smooth ride down final and landed uneventfully. As we taxied to the gate, I recalled images of Delta 191. I couldn’t help but wonder if Captain Ed Connors would have made a different decision about his approach and landing that day had he been graced with the knowledge and equipment that we had on this approach. Maybe he would have executed a missed approach earlier. Maybe he wouldn’t have started the approach at all. I guess we’ll never know for sure, but I am confident the outcome would have been much different.

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Ice, Sleet and Snow...oh my!

Sitting in line for takeoff in Atlanta this morning

I started a three day trip yesterday with a five leg day passing through Dallas, Ft. Worth, Memphis and Austin before finishing the day in Atlanta where we spent the night. All five leg days are long, but this one went quite smoothly, which was a good thing since we were all expecting significant weather related challenges on day two of our trip. I’ll get to the weather in a minute.

We landed in Atlanta last night after dark with ceilings reported at 200 feet and visibility expressed in feet, not miles. The approach to Atlanta was an interesting one, the ILS/PRM (Simultaneous Close Parallel) approach to runway 10. The procedure is a standard ILS approach with localizer and glideslope indications except that it is too close to a parallel runway (9R in this case) to be flown using normal procedures. The pilot’s must be specially trained to fly such an approach and there is a page long explanation that must be read and reviewed before executing the approach. The procedures call for the pilots to monitor a second tower frequency during the approach to guard against blocked transmissions and the pilots must be alert and ready to immediately follow break out instructions from the tower controller in case another aircraft “blunders” into your airspace. You might find some humor in the word blunder, I know I did, but that is the actual word used in the FAA explanation for this approach. Here’s the actual wording…

“pilots, when directed by ATC to break off an approach, must assume that an aircraft is blundering toward their course and a breakout must be initiated immediately”

I do think it’s important to have a good laugh every now and then and I laughed out loud when I read that line approaching Atlanta last night.

Ice forming on a heated window

 

As I mentioned before, the weather forecast for DFW predicted a crippling combination of ice, sleet and snow. I woke up early this morning to give myself time to look at the weather and check the status of my flight before heading downstairs to catch the hotel van. Overnight, the DFW area was hit by a thin layer of clear ice, followed by something less than an inch of sleet and ice pellets followed by a shallow layer of snow. Those of you in colder climates may feel free to poke fun at southern US residents and their inability to drive in snow, but I think you would agree that the combination of ice, sleet and snow can be a deadly combination. When I first checked the DFW weather, the wind was blowing from 320 degrees at 29 gusting to 44 knots (KDFW 32029G44KT 2SM TSSNPL BR BKN009 OVC013CB M03/M06) and all the runways were closed. The airport authority at DFW had planned to treat the runways overnight in preparation for today’s weather event, but due to heavy rain, the runways went untreated. As a result the ice, sleet and snow stuck to the runways and it took hours to get even one runway in a condition safe enough for use.

By 9am, DFW had one of it’s seven runways open and that runway was only being used for arrivals. It was another two hours before a second runway was open for use by departing aircraft. The airlines, which had preemptively cancelled hundreds of flights continued to cancel even more as the day went on. In contrast, Dallas Love Field, just miles away was unable to open all day forcing Southwest, Delta and Continental Airlines to cancel every flight out of the airport all day.

Back at the gate in Atlanta and ready to depart, our flight was held on the ground while we waited for word on the condition of the runway. At the time the gate agent finished boarding, the runways at DFW were still closed, but were expected to be open by the time we landed. An hour after our scheduled departure time, we elected to takeoff in hopes that the runways would in fact be open when we arrived. Of course, we had an alternate airport planned in case the runways were still closed when we arrived, but we certainly hoped we wouldn’t need it.

We departed Atlanta where the visibility was still hovering around CATII minimums and headed toward DFW. Just as we leveled off at FL340, we received word that one runway was open at DFW and we would be able to land. The runway was covered in ice and snow, but a short time later we were informed that several company jets had landed and reported braking action good.

Our flight plans have a column indicating forecast ride conditions. The ride forecast comes from a combination of actual reports from other aircraft and the professional opinion of a meteorologist. The forecast is expressed as a number between 0 and 5...0 being a perfectly smooth ride and 5 being something like the inside of an F5 tornado. Our ride prediction for today’s flight was a 3...not good. The ride in was terrible with moderate chop and turbulence for most of the flight. We tried various altitudes, high and low, to find a smooth ride, but it just didn’t happen. The flight attendants stayed in their seats and I kept the cabin as cool as possible without freezing people out in an effort to prevent a chain reaction of air sickness.

The landing at DFW was actually a little anti-climactic. By the time we arrived, the precipitation had ended and the airport had successfully opened two runways. We landed on runway 31R while 31L was being utilized for takeoff operations only. The runway was completely covered in ice and snow, but the braking action reports were all good and although the wind, still peaking at 40+ knots was strong, it also meant that when we touched down, we were just that much closer to taxi speed which of course just shortens our landing distance.

The biggest problem I had was getting home. My car was literally frozen to the pavement in the employee lot and the drive home that usually takes 20 minutes on a good day and 25 minutes in the heat of rush hour traffic took an hour and a half. The rest of my trip was canceled and scheduling put me on reserve beginning at 3am in the morning. I really hope they don’t call…not sure if I could get to the airport anyway. We’ll see.

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At the Edge of Safety

The following was originally posted at  www.aviationschoolsonline.com/blog  Check out their site to view more recent posts by other authors. 

Do you remember the details of your last drive to work? If the weather was nice and the roads were in good condition, you probably don’t. How about the last time you topped an ice covered bridge in the winter with a stout wind blowing from one side to the other? I remember the last time that happened to me in great detail. Tightened grip on the wheel…concern and accuracy with the placement of my tires on the rough…enter the bridge slightly upwind if possible…mildly elevated heart rate. At my job as an MD80 First Officer, I rarely remember the specifics of a particular day or individual landing. I go to work, fly from here to there, layover and do it again the next day. My internal autopilot often engages and things just seem to happen on their own. Don’t get me wrong, I take every flight seriously and devote my professional existence to performing at my best, but as many times as I’ve landed this airplane, things begin to happen without consciously thinking of every move. However, every now and then I find myself in a situation that gets my heart beating and adrenaline flowing. 

Climbing out of DFW this morning on our way to Minneapolis, I pulled up a current weather report so the Captain would have the most up-to-date weather information to pass along to the passengers when he made his next PA. I was surprised to see that the conditions at the airport were worse than forecast with strong crosswinds, visibility around 2 miles and light snow. When I signed in early this morning, I checked the weather along our route and at Minneapolis, our final destination. The visibility was hovering around 3 miles in light snow with crosswinds blowing steadily at 18 knots and forecasts predicted improved conditions with diminishing winds and improved visibility as the day went on.

I really wasn’t overly concerned about the weather reports. Snow and wind is part of the deal when flying up north this time of year and today’s weather was no exception. As we continued, I kept an eye on airport conditions, retrieving new reports about every 30 minutes, checking for special reports and hourly observations. As we began our descent from 35,000 feet, I checked the weather one last time and discovered that the visibility had dropped to ¾ of a mile in snow with wind blowing directly across the runway at 24 knots.

The Captain and I both began to wonder about crosswind limits and retrieved our operating manuals to verify the limitations in diminished conditions. These numbers are the sort of thing they ask us every year in training, but since we rarely operate near the limits, it’s always a good idea to check your memory against the books. The maximum demonstrated crosswind for the MD80 is 30 knots on a runway with good visibility and favorable braking action reports. Reduce the braking action report to fair, and the crosswind limit drops to 20 knots. Reduce the visibility below ¾ and the max crosswind limit drops further to 15 knots. The current visibility at the airport was ¾, which was just enough to avoid a crosswind reduction, but with snow and ice on the runway, we were concerned about braking action reports. We would have to wait until we got a hand-off to Minneapolis approach before we would be able to get an accurate braking action report, so we continued preparations for landing.

The Captain briefed an ILS to runway 12R and I tuned and identified the frequencies. We continued our descent as I completed the Descent Checklist and got started on the Before Landing Checklist. I flipped the switch on our number one radio to check on with approach and overheard a Delta jet inquire about the winds. The wind was still blowing directly across the runway with gusts to 24 knots, but the controller relayed a braking action report of “fair.” As I mentioned before, the crosswind would have to be less than 20 knots before we could land with a fair report. I waited for a break in the radio congestion and informed the controller that we would be unable to land. “Say your intentions“ he said.  I requested holding then explained that we needed a braking report of “good” before we could accept the approach. MSP approach informed us that the “fair” report was from a much smaller aircraft and that they would get reports from larger aircraft ahead of us on the arrival.

There were several Delta A320s on the arrival in front of us that seemed content with the winds and continued the approach. I was a little surprised that their limits would be different than ours, but I was also pleased that someone ahead of us could land and hopefully report better conditions on the runway. A report of braking action “good” was reported by the next aircraft and we accepted an approach clearance. There were now two Delta jets ahead of us on the approach and as we passed 3000 feet on the glide slope, the first relayed another report of “fair” but the aircraft in front of us landed and passed along another “good” report. We were legal to land.  

The back and forth reports of the conditions on the runway concerned me greatly and present an opportunity to mention the different and sometimes contradictory terms legal and safe. There are a great many times in aviation that an action may be legal, but not safe. There are probably a number of examples of safe, but not legal, but none come to mind at the moment. Our manuals and the Federal Aviation Regulations determine the rules by which we operate our aircraft, but the legal minimums don’t always take all relevant factors into consideration and sometimes don’t provide enough of a margin for safety. For the MD80, the maximum crosswind limitation for a runway with braking action “good “ is 30 knots. The crosswind today was gusting to 24 on a snow covered runway with suspect braking reports.  Legal?  Yes.  Safe?  That’s up to the pilot. How long is the runway? What type aircraft made the report? How experienced was the pilot and do you trust his subjective opinion of the conditions? All these things come into play at this point of the process and they are all valid considerations. Legal is not always safe, and the decision isn’t always easy and is never made in a vacuum.

There are other considerations as well. The vast majority of the approaches we fly provide ample room for mistakes and malfunction, but while incredibly rare, system malfunctions do occur. An airplane is an incredibly complex machine and sometimes things go wrong within landing critical systems like brakes, anti-skid, spoilers and reversers…sometimes at the most inopportune moment. When operating into an airport near sea level with long runways on a day with favorable weather conditions, there’s automatic room for error and abnormality. Dallas, Ft. Worth International, for instance, is an airport where the runways, at only 600 ft. above sea level, are almost all longer than 13,000 feet in an area of the country that enjoys generally mild weather conditions. I realize you might take issue with that statement in August when it’s 113 degrees outside, but compare DFW to Minneapolis and the approach we flew today with an 8,000 ft. runway covered in ice and snow where the winds were blowing directly across the runway at 24 knots and what you have is an approach and landing at the maximum capability of the aircraft. On an approach like this one, very little can go wrong without dire consequences. The Captain and I determined that we were legal and decided it was safe to land, so we proceeded with the approach….carefully.

The Captain was at the controls and I assisted him as best I could with regular callouts regarding our speed, altitude and changes in the wind as we continued down the glide-slope. We completed our landing checklist and were stabilized on the approach well before the required 1000 feet. When I say stabilized, what I mean is that we were on speed, on glide-slope, engines stabilized and properly configured. Statistics show that the chances for a successful approach and landing are far greater when the aircraft is properly configured for landing and stabilized on the approach by 1000 ft.

The wind was gusty and we experienced plus and minus 10 knot fluctuations in airspeed most of the way down final, but the Captain put the aircraft right in the touch down zone, the auto brakes and auto spoilers deployed as planned and we stopped with plenty of runway to spare. As we slowed to taxi speed, the anti-skid began to release the brakes in an effort to maintain traction, but I would have to say that I agreed with the preceding jet’s assessment of the braking action and we passed along our own report to the tower.

You know that feeling you sometimes get after driving home from work when you can’t remember exactly how you got home? We didn’t feel that way after this landing. We cleared the runway and taxied to the gate with a sense of relief, and maybe a little pride, for a job well done. Hats off to the Captain for shooting the perfect approach in some pretty awful conditions. Go to work. Fly from here to there. Layover and do it again the next day. When we return in the morning, hopefully the line between safe and legal won’t be so thin.

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