Multiple Approaches

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Recurrent Training

I woke up this morning with an uncomfortable feeling in my stomach…a familiar uneasiness that originates in my gut, creeps its way up to my head and back down to the tip of my toes. Ah yes, recurrent training starts later today. I have often said that training, especially in the simulator, would be a lot more fun if my certificate wasn’t on the line every time I stepped foot on the “school house” grounds. As for me and all the other pilots at my airline, the trek to the school house occurs every 9 months, at which time we are poked, prodded, tested and trained to handle any and every situation, normal and otherwise.

Depending on the airline, recurrent training typically occurs at 6, 9 or 12 month intervals. I’ve done all three at two different companies and must admit that I’m partial to the 12 month program only because it provides the most amount of time between the stress of evaluation, ruined layovers spent at cramped hotel room desks and countless nights trying to study at home with young children in the house. I flew for a regional airline that utilized a 6 month program…the worst of the three options in my opinion, and not for the reason you might think. We would spend one day in the classroom and then move on to the simulator on day two where we got absolutely no warm-up or practice time before being evaluated. Simulators have come a long way in the last 50 years, but they still don’t fly exactly like the real thing, and a little time to acclimate is time well spent. The 12 month program was in favor at my current airline when I was hired, but later switched to a 9 month cycle. We either get one or two days of ground school followed by two days in the sim…one day for practice and one day to evaluate our skills.

Utilizing the 9 month cycle, a pilot receives an “R9” followed 9 months later by an “R18.” The R9 is a “jeopardy” event. The R18 is not. Keep reading, I’ll explain. If a pilot is unsuccessful at completing any aspect of the simulator training during an R9, then he fails the event and must complete further training and re-evaluation, usually at a later date. A pilot who fails an R9 is removed from flight status until re-training takes place. A record of this is kept in the pilot’s employment records and, surprise, surprise, no-one wants such a thing in their records and the mere threat of such a thing is enough to induce the stomach issues I mentioned earlier.

The R18 on the other hand is a “train to proficiency” event. If a pilot makes a mistake during the R18, he will be re-trained on the spot and given another chance to perform the same maneuver. The only problem is that there are only 4 hours to complete an R18 for two pilots and if you spend too much time on re-training then you can’t get everything finished and must come back at a later date. This rarely happens, but when it does…for the R18…there is no record of the event and no blemish in your file.

A pilot attends two days of classroom instruction during an R9 and the course is shortened for the R18 and only takes one day. During ground school, pilots review systems, performance, FAA regulations, security, flight manuals and what we call “Human Factors” where, for the most part, we learn from other’s mistakes. A highly useful class if you ask me. We also get some time in cabin trainers where we practice opening and closing emergency exits, the use of emergency equipment and putting out fires, something we all do every time we pass through the school house.

Day one in the simulator is usually the same, regardless of whether you are taking the R9 or the R18. Two pilots, a Captain and a First Officer meet for two hours with an instructor for a pre-flight briefing before spending four hours in the simulator, generally splitting the time evenly between the two pilots. Of course, everything we do is done as a crew, so both pilots get a thorough workout for the entire four hours.

The world inside a full motion simulator is an interesting place. Again, it would be lots of fun if there wasn’t so much on the line. You walk into a huge, hangar-like room filled with simulators, which, depending on their age, may have cost as much as the real aircraft it simulates. The sims look like something out of “War of the Worlds”…huge boxes on top of hydraulic legs with retractable draw bridges to allow crews access to their torture chambers.

Once inside, the business end looks just like a real jet. Everything looks, feels and sounds real. Once you are sitting down, strapped in with the overhead lights turned down, visual displays turned up with the sound and motion activated…your body and mind are easily fooled into believing that you’re sitting in the real thing. The back half of the room is all computers and screens from which the instructor can simulate just about anything. One minute you’re in Denver, taking off toward the mountains on a hundred degree day with thunderstorms and wind sheer reports. Two minutes later you could be on final to Santa Anna, landing on a wet 5701 ft. wet runway in poor visibility followed shortly by the mountains around Mexico City, climbing out with an engine on fire. If the instructor doesn’t like the outcome of any scenario, he can restart the event at the push of a button. “Hey guys, lets do that again…here we go.”

The simulator is truly an amazing tool. As expensive as they are, they save incredible amounts of money and provide unparalleled levels of training and the ability to train for every imaginable event. Tomorrow…it’s an R18 for me…I’ll crawl into the sim for my chance to be poked, prodded and tested. Should be fun, but I’ll be glad when it’s over and I can read magazines and watch TV on my layovers again.

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Just a Typical Trip: Part III

Orlando, Florida. This trip started out looking pretty good on paper and was relatively pleasant as long as things were going as smoothly as they did on day one and two. Day three was a different story. My alarm sounded at 6:15 am and by 7, I was exchanging pleasantries on the hotel van with a new crew of flight attendants. Security was a typical annoyance - I try to be a nice guy and not jump to the front of the line unless I’m running behind or the line is ridiculously long, but I always, always, always pick the wrong line. From there we took the train to the boarding terminal and headed for the jet with a quick stop at Starbucks. Our gate was at end of the terminal and to my displeasure, from about half way down the corridor I could see a bucket crane suspending what I assumed was a mechanic above the tail of our jet. Strike one.

Apparently, there was an issue with a sensor in the elevator that had been detected on an inbound flight the night before. There are literally hundreds of mechanical items on an aircraft that are allowed to be broken or not working properly. When something breaks, consult the MEL (Minimum Equipment List). If the item is listed, then it can be deferred…that is, deferred to be repaired later. Unfortunately this item was not listed in the MEL and had to be repaired before we could depart on our way home. Strike two.

The part we needed was a few states away, so the airline hired an air taxi service -- at great expense I might add -- to fly the part in overnight. They received the part just about the time we arrived at the airport and informed us that the repair would take hours. Then, as if nothing could go right, the crane broke down and the mechanics were unable to work. Flight Cancelled. Strike three.

This is one of those hated scenarios for airline crews. We generally travel on one of two different types of passes when deadheading on duty. An A1 pass is for a crewmember who is deadheading to cover a revenue flight and will get you on the flight in front of a paying passenger. If you’ve ever been on an oversold flight and wondered why airline employees were put on the jet before revenue passengers, this might be why. On the other hand, a crewmember deadheading home at the end of a sequence travels on an A3 pass. An A3 pass will get you on in front of airline employees traveling for personal reasons, but will not get you on in front of the paying folks. When our flight cancelled, crew tracking scheduled us to deadhead home as A3s on the next flight to DFW along with 140 paying passengers from our cancelled flight. Is there such thing as strike four?

Our saving grace was the fact that the next flight to DFW was a B757. As a result of our cancellation, the flight was seriously oversold and the standby list was mile long. There would be a long list of people from my flight who would not get seats on this one, but the aircraft was equipped with two jumpseats in the cockpit and enough jumpseats in the cabin to accommodate all the flight attendants. Home run.

We were happy and a little surprised to be heading home. Sometimes, even when a flight cancels, they make the pilots stick around to re-position a jet after it has been repaired or even ferry it to a major maintenance base if it cannot be repaired by local mechanics. Pleased that this was not the case, we all got jumpseat assignments and took our places on our ride home. The 757 has a large comfortable cockpit that easily accepts two pilots and two jumpseaters. They even fed us lunch on the way home.

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Just a Typical Trip: Part II

You can set your watch by the flurry of activity that occurs about five minutes before departure. The gate agents and crew chief on the ramp are very much in tune with the clock and the implications to them personally if we leave even one minute late. Our “out” times are registered electronically and one minute late is still late. If you’ve ever walked up to the gate five minutes to departure time with the jet sitting there in plain sight and tried to convince a gate agent to open the door and let you on, then you know. Good luck.

The Captain and I were strapped in ready to go as we completed the “before starting engines” checklist and the last of the cargo doors were closed by the ground crew. A ramper tapped on the side of the airplane near my seat to get my attention…he needed me to turn on the right hydraulic pump so he could raise the aft stair door. About five minutes before scheduled departure time, the gate agent stepped into the cockpit and asked if we were ready. “We’re ready as long as the flight attendants are“ is the typical response. The ladies in the back were scurrying around finishing up their last minute duties…overheads closed, everyone seated…I’ll never understand why people wait until they’re on the plane to use the bathroom. What have they been doing in the terminal for the last hour? It’s time to go!

The agent stepped out onto the jet bridge and closed the door and the flight attendant armed the emergency slide on her door then advised that the cabin was ready. The push crew called the Captain and advised “walk around and FOD check complete, cleared to release brakes.”

TAXI

“Ramp 1180, A26 pushback” was my first radio call of the day. ATIS (Automated Terminal Information System) and en-route clearance information was printed out earlier using ACARS (pictured) and didn’t require a radio call. We pushed back from the gate, started engines and requested taxi clearance from ramp control who cleared us to spot 15 where we would wait to be called by ground control. No need to call ground…they see you sitting there and call when time permits. Also, they have new ground based radar that reads our transponder code, so they know who we are and where we’re going before we tell them. “Spot 15?” was the query from ground inviting us to identify ourselves. I responded with “American 1180, information B” and we were cleared to taxi. “American 1180 taxi 17 right, Juliet, Echo-Gulf.”

We pulled out onto taxiway Juliet and headed for the runway, completing taxi and take-off checklists as we went. Closeout information began printing out of the ACARS printer. While sitting at the gate, we entered preliminary weight and balance information into the FMS and set the planned CG and trim settings accordingly. As we taxied to the runway, we received the final weight and balance information via ACARS printout. Once the final numbers were imputed and checklists were complete, we would be ready for departure.

TAKEOFF

As we approached runway 17 right, I dialed 126.55, DFW tower, into the number one radio and we waited for our turn. We were number two for takeoff and as the aircraft ahead of us began his takeoff roll we received our clearance…”American 1180, runway 17R, position and hold.” We completed a couple last minute checklist items as we taxied onto the runway. “American 1180, RNAV NAVYE, runway 17R cleared for takeoff.” It was the Captain’s leg, so he pushed the throttles up and commanded “auto throttle on” as the airspeed indicator came alive. “Power set”…“80 knots”…V1 occurred at 137 knots accompanied by my standard callouts “V1“…“Rotate”…”V2”…”V2 + 10.” As we rotated, the Captain commanded “positive rate, gear up” and we were on our way. We engaged NAV at 400 feet and captured the RNAV track for our assigned departure and contacted departure on 118.55. Retracting the flaps on schedule, leaving the slats extended for the turn ahead., we crossed NAVYE intersection as we began a turn to the east following the magenta line on the NAV display…crossing JGIRL above 5000 at 240 knots as required by the TRISS3 RNAV procedure. After JGIRL we accelerated to 250 knots and leveled off momentarily at 10,000 for traffic at 11,000 on the arrival before we were cleared to 17,000 ft. Climbing through 10,000 we accelerated to 310 knots and received clearance to FL230 followed shortly by a hand-off to Ft. Worth Center and a clearance to a final cruise altitude of FL330.

ENROUTE AND DESCENT

The departure procedure took us up over TXK (Texarkana) where we joined J42 to MOL (Montebello) J24 to FAK (Flat Rock) then direct to the airport while speaking to Center controllers in Ft. Worth., Memphis, Indianapolis and Washington. Our descent began with an early clearance to FL240, probably to get us under arrival traffic to another city. After some time at FL240, we were cleared to cross 15 miles west of FAK at 9000 to get us into the proper arrival corridor for Richmond. The rule of thumb for planning a descent is altitude to lose times 3. In this case we were cruising at FL240 and needed to plan a descent to 9000...15,000 feet to lose times 3 or 45 miles. We had a 20 knot tailwind…add 2 miles, 1 knot for every 10 knots of tailwind…and we needed to slow from 310 knots to 250 at 10,000 feet before descending to 9000...add 1 mile for every 10 knots or 6 miles in this case. All said, we needed 53 miles to get down. The FMS provides this information, but as with any computer, put junk in, get junk out. Doing the math in your head is always a good backup to the FMS.

APPROACH

At the top of descent, I began running the “descent” and “before landing” checklists in preparation for our approach and landing. We received multiple step downs as we were vectored for an approach at Richmond….the weather was good , so we briefed a visual approach to runway 34 backed up with the ILS (Instrument Landing System). We were initially told to expect runway 2, but since that runway is 3000 feet shorter than runway 34, we requested and received clearance for the longer runway. As we approached the airport the Captain began to slow and configure the aircraft for landing. “below 280, slats extend” as we approach the min maneuver speed for a clean aircraft. As we continued to slow he commanded flaps 11 then flaps 15 as we slowed well below the maximum speed for those flap settings. With the airport in sight, the approach controller cleared us for the visual approach to runway 34 and handed us off to the tower. We were turning final about 5 miles from the runway at that point descending through 2000 feet, indicating around 180 knots with flaps 15. “Tower, American 1180, visual runway 34” followed immediately by clearance to land…“American 1180, wind 360 at 13, runway 34, cleared to land.” “Gear down” “below 220 flaps 23” were my instructions from the Captain as we continued to configure for landing. “Below 195, flaps 28...below 195, flaps 40” and I completed the landing checklist. We passed 1000 ft. on speed, established on the glide slope with the power stabilized at about 1.3 EPR…a pretty normal power setting for a fairly heavy MD80 with a slight headwind and continued the approach to a smooth landing, touching down at 130 knots. I announced “deployed” after touchdown, referring to the spoilers and called out “100 knots, 80 knots, 60 knots” as we slowed and exited the runway onto taxiway Charlie. We contacted ground as we cleaned up and performed the “after landing” checklist and were cleared to “cross runway 2, taxi to park.”

After arriving at the gate, we concluded the flight with the “parking checklist,” opened the door and thanked our passengers for their business on their way onto the jet bridge. Success. Another one behind us without a call from the FAA or the Chief Pilot’s office. After a 40 minute sit, we returned to DFW and continued on to Colorado Springs for the night. Pretty good day…good Captain, three good flight attendants…operated on time…seemed to keep most everyone happy. Day two went much the same, departing COS around 1pm and continuing to Orlando, Florida after a short stop at DFW. Day three would not be as successful. Stay tuned for Part III.

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Just a Typical Trip: Part I

I got up this morning for my first day of six on reserve. My RAP (Reserve Availability Period) starts at 10 am and ends at midnight. This means that I can’t be called until 10 and any assignment I receive must end by midnight...once called I have two hours to get to the airport. Sitting at the computer, I see that crew schedule has been busy overnight assigning a number of trips. Mine is a 3 day trip, sign in at 11:50 am, three legs today, 8 hours of flying, 12 hours on duty and an overnight in Colorado Springs. Tomorrow I’ll get up in the Springs and fly back home then to Orlando for the night…two legs…we’ll be in Orlando around 8pm. Day three is one leg home. I should be home for lunch. Not so bad on paper.

I suppose there are some benefits to sitting reserve, the best of which is that I could potentially sit on reserve the entire month, never touch an airplane and still take home a full paycheck. Pretty good gig if that ever happened. Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on your perspective, it never does. It’s summer in Texas, thunderstorms rumble through daily and pilots are in short supply, so I max out around 80 to 85 hours every month. The down side to reserve would take pages to explain and I really don‘t have to energy to step up onto that soap box today, so lets just say that reserve kinda sucks and leave it at that.

I leave the house at 10:50, kiss my wife and kids good-by and head out. It’s about a 20 minute drive to the parking lot, but the trip from the parking lot to the terminal can take 10 minutes or 30...no telling which it will be today, so I need to be in the parking lot by 11:20. Traffic is light and I arrive at the lot by 11:15, there’s a bus waiting and by 11:25 I’m walking through security on my way to ops. I stop by operations to check my box and sign in for my trip. Sign in…check. Check trip for revisions…check. Print layover instructions…check. Review flight plan and weather…check. Jepps and manual revisions…check.

The plane is due in at 11:45 and I prefer to meet the inbound crew to get a brief on the condition of the jet, so I hurry off to the gate. When I arrive at the gate, the passengers are deplaning and I check in with the gate agent who checks my ID against the crew list and briefs me on any “specials”…wheel chairs, unaccompanied minors, armed passengers, etc.

After the passengers deplane, I head down the jet-bridge. It’s already 94 degrees in Dallas and the bridge is hot. Thankfully, the inbound crew left the APU running, so the jet is cool and comfortable. I put my bags away and build my nest, that is, I unpack my kit bag and get everything set up the way I like it. Everything out and ready. Everything in place and ready to use.

I do an initial preflight of the cockpit and head out for my walk-around. The ramp is hot and loud and looks a little like an ant mound with people and equipment moving around in what looks like completely random and pointless movements. There are a couple rampers attaching the tow bar to the nose gear and reading the tug for push back. Fuel is being pumped into the right wing. All three cargo doors are open and bags are being unloaded from the last flight. A cleaning crew is walking up the aft stairs to do their magic on the cabin, the lav truck is backing up to the rear access point and catering has already started on the first class galley.

The walk-around yields no issues. This airplane is old and has been used hard. An MD-82 that entered service in 1987. “Ridden hard and hung up wet” as my Dad would say. Tons of little dents and scratches, but they’re all cosmetic and every one is accounted for in the damage log. This aircraft is well cared for and has plenty of life left in it.

Back in the cockpit, I meet the Captain for the first time and we exchange pleasantries and he hands me a printed copy of the flight plan and TPS. The flight plan contains all the information for the flight from take-off to landing. Route, altitude, speeds, weather, destination alternates, etc. Everything we need for the actual fight. The TPS is a departure plan. It contains information about runways, flap settings, power settings, takeoff speeds, engine out acceleration altitudes and planned passenger loads. It also contains information about cargo weights, fuel distribution and expected temperatures at departure time. Everything we need to know to safely takeoff. We enter all this information into the cockpit computers and FMS. Set our speed and altitude bugs and complete all our final cockpit checks as the passenger board the aircraft.
Stay tuned for Part II and the remainder of the trip.

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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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Airliner Graveyard

I recently delivered two pristine McDonnell Douglas MD-82's to Roswell, New Mexico for long term storage. Strange day to say the least, emotionally and otherwise, as I sent two perfectly good aircraft to an arguably early grave. The day started with the simple task of parking my car. I could have parked within walking distance of the jet, which was parked across the airport at the hangar, but at the end of the day I was going to deadhead home from Roswell on a revenue flight and...well, the airline is a lot more interested in helping me find my way to the jet at the beginning of the day than helping back to my car at the end...so, I parked at the terminal and began my journey to the other side of the airport.

The crew scheduler who assigned me the trip the day before knew nothing of the process except that the aircraft would be at the hangar, not the terminal. A fact with which I was already familiar. So, I did what any pilot does when he doesn't know what to do, I called the Chief Pilot. That is, I called the Chief Pilot's secretary, because they, not the chiefs, are the ones with all the answers. I was provided with the phone number I needed to set up transportation and managed to get to the hangar. Once there I had to determine which aircraft was to be ferried that day and where the logbook was located. Flight planning was already done, but I was responsible for requesting fuel and servicing the aircraft for departure. Just finding the jet was no easy task, as there were about ten MD-80's scattered in and around the hangar, all a significant walk from where I was planning my flight.

Once at the jet, things didn't get any easier. To make matters worse, the Captain I was assigned to fly with had not planned on having so much trouble getting from the terminal to the hangar and showed up about 45 minutes late. I performed my pre-flight walk around inspection, loaded the FMS and prepared the cockpit. The cockpit was like any other 80, the cabin was another story. Anything that was not permanently attached to the airframe had been removed. Nothing in the gallies. No supplies in the lavs. No unnecessary fluids of any kind...DO NOT USE THE LAVS! No I didn't make that mistake. When the Captain finally arrived, I had the jet ready to go and we left on time. No one, was impressed.

By the time we were ready to depart, a mechanic had already removed the chocks, closed the aft stairs behind us, given us the all clear for engine start and left. The ground crew for a normal start and push-back would include two wing walkers and a tug driver with whom we are in constant contact. Today, we were on our own. We started engines and taxied out from the hangar without assistance from any ground personnel, mark that up for another strange feeling. When you can't see your wing tips from the cockpit, taxiing out without extra eyes on the ground is unnerving to say the least.

A normal takeoff weight for an MD-80 is somewhere between 125,000 and 160,000 pounds. This jet, at just over 80,000, wanted to fly and was ready to leap into the air about the time we managed to get the power set for takeoff. To illustrate, there is a point on our departure that we usually struggle to cross at the mandatory "5,000 or above" restriction...we were level at 10,000 before this point. En-route was pretty uneventful except for the fact that we were alone. No passengers, no flight attendants...no one calling to complain about the temperature...I wondered if this was how UPS and FedEx guys felt. Quiet.

Landing, as you can see in the video, is difficult when landing at this weight. The extra weight on the struts during a normal weight landing helps to smooth out a less than perfect touch down and in this case, there was no extra weight. My landing was a little long and a little firm, but hey, we walked away. After all, any landing you walk away from is a good landing...but everyone knows that's just what you say after a crappy landing. After clearing the runway we were happy to find an eager "follow me" truck to lead us through the maze of lonely jets on our way to the final resting place of this old friend.

With about an hour until our flight home, we accepted the hospitality of an airport employee who generously offered to give us the grand tour. We hopped in his car and meandered up and down the various rows of abandoned planes. Some of what I saw that day did not surprise me at all...old 727s and early model 737s that were long past their prime. DC9s that hadn't flown in years. 747s that were nearing the end of their life when I was learning to fly. Other sights were a surprise, like a line of Air Canada 767s that looked freshly painted and ready for service. Four American Airlines F100s left over from the company's ill-timed decision to get rid of 100 seat jets. A line of UPS DC8s with new high bypass engines while old, seemed out of place. On a side note, it is my understanding that the DC8s were the casualty of a bureaucratic pissing match between UPS and the FAA over maintenance records. The list goes on.

The MD-82 I sent to it's grave was a nice flying, well equipped machine with GPS, moving map, EGPWS, TCAS and more. Much of the equipment I only dreamed of having a short time ago. Now we're sending such aircraft to the desert. Money is always the bottom line in these decisions, but not always the way you might thing. After all, the old MD80 is significantly less efficient than the 737 that is it's replacement. But metal fatigue is an even greater issue. As an aircraft ages, all its structures and components experience metal fatigue. Once this internal deformation exceeds its limit, the structure needs to be replaced. On an aircraft of this size, the cost to undertake such a procedure would be prohibitive. No matter how great they look from the outside...the useful life of these jets has come to an end.




If you enjoyed the video, you can find more like it on my YouTube page.

www.youtube.com/contrail777

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