An Unexpected Ferry

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Hermine's Revenge

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

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

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

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

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




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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Multiple Approaches

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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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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