Airline Pilot Chatter

Return to Base

2012-01-30T14:14:00.001-06:00

I had one of those days on Saturday that started early, went bad fast and only got worse as the day went on. One of those rare days when nothing seems to go right and in spite of great efforts to the contrary, everyone involved leaves dissatisfied and determined to utilize another airline for future travel.

I signed in at 5am for the third day of a three day trip. Go home day. The day when everyone desperately hopes for smooth travel and an on time or early return to base. We were scheduled for three legs, over 7 hours of flight time and 11 hours on duty. We ended the day with closer to 9 hours of actual flight time and 14 hours on duty. A long day by any measure.

Leg number one went as planned. Our early morning departure out of Colorado necessitated de-icing and an extra cup of coffee, but we left the gate ahead of schedule and landed at our destination 15 minutes early. One down, two to go. We were originally scheduled to keep the same aircraft all day and even had the same flight number for the first and second leg, but upon arrival after leg number one we were informed that we would be changing aircraft before our next departure.

Swapping planes…the bag drag…adds more trouble and complication to a crew’s day than you might think. Pilots and Flight Attendants alike build what is often called a “nest” in the aircraft. Bags, books, checklists, headsets and everything else in its proper place takes time and effort. We all hate changing airplanes especially when you’re already on one that’s working properly. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve swapped to a new jet only to find that the new one is late, broken or both. In this case, our original jet was working fine, our nests were built and dragging our bags from one end of the airport to the other was only going to add to the fatigue of an already long day.

As I began to settle into my new work space, one of my first actions was to check the aircraft logbook. This is where the day started to go south. An aircraft, especially a large jet, is a complicated piece of machinery and it’s not uncommon for things not to work properly. There are multiple backups for all important systems and for the most part, the passengers on board are almost always oblivious to malfunctions. This particular aircraft had been written up the day before for problems with a landing gear indicator light, an anti-skid issue and a problem with the automatic spoilers. What we like to see as pilots is a balancing entry in the logbook that shows corrective action to repair the issue. What we do not like to see in the logbook are the words “unable to duplicate, ok for service.” Guess what was written in my logbook.

The jet had been flown since these words were added to the aircraft logbook, so I was hopeful that the issues had been resolved. Sometimes, an airplane is a little like your home computer. Turn everything off, remove all power and reboot…you’d be surprised how often that works.

We pushed back from the gate on time, taxied out for takeoff and were almost to the runway before we had our first sign of trouble. As we approached the runway, I was working through the Before Takeoff Checklist and was unable to arm the auto-brakes. (In the event of an aborted takeoff, auto-brakes will engage the brakes automatically to help slow the aircraft) Then I noticed that all four anti-skid inop lights were illuminated on the overhead panel. We stopped the aircraft, worked through our checklists and were able to reset the system and extinguish the warning lights. Problem solved, cleared for takeoff.

It was my leg, and as I climbed through about 5000 feet the Captain noticed the left main landing gear unsafe light was illuminated. This light indicates the landing gear is not in agreement with the landing gear handle. In this case, the light indicated that the left main gear was not all the way up and locked. We decided to continue climbing while we ran the checklist. About the time the Captain had started running the checklist, the landing gear door light illuminated. This aircraft has gear doors that open to allow the gear to raise and lower and are always closed when the landing gear is either all the way up or all the way down. The light was an indication that the door was open. A little or a lot, we did not know.

I turned the auto-pilot off and flew the aircraft by hand for a while hoping to detect some unusual control inputs that would help determine if the lights were correct. It was a possibility that both the lights were in error and that the gear was up and the door was closed. One step in the procedure was to turn the hydraulic system from low to high pressure to ensure sufficient pressure was available to raise the gear and secure the doors. As we turned the engine-driven hydraulic pumps from low to high, we heard and felt a loud kathunk as the some portion of the gear or gear doors found their correct place and the warning lights went out.

Just about this time, I looked up at the overhead annunciator panel and noticed that the “Auto Spoiler Do Not Use” light was illuminated. So here we were, no more than 10 minutes into the flight and all three previously noted issues had resurfaced.

After working through the various checklist procedures, were able to correct the issue with the landing gear. The anti-skid issue was rectified on the ground, but the circuitry would not allow testing of this system while airborne with the gear up…so we really didn’t know if it would work upon arrival. The only issue we were unable to address was the auto spoiler, which could be deployed manually upon landing. No big deal.

We continued on course and climbed to cruise altitude as we continued to discuss the possible outcomes of what had occurred thus far. The aircraft was safe to fly and could easily, safely and legally be landed even if all three of these problems resurfaced, so the immediate decision was made to continue on to our scheduled destination. However, it occurred to us that the aircraft would have to be written up after we landed and might not be able to be fixed at an outstation. To complicate matters, we were en-route to a destination outside of the United States where maintenance was going to be difficult to arrange. If we continued and landed at our destination, it was highly probable that our return flight would cancel and we would spend the night.

Selfishly…we were en-route to a beach destination in Mexico where our all-inclusive hotel sits only steps from the ocean. Spending the night would not have been a bad thing. We decided that this decision should be made by someone else and called home to ask Mom. Our aircraft is equipped with a phone that utilizes the aircraft’s on board Wi-Fi signal to place calls. We dialed the number and in seconds were having a phone conversation with company dispatch.

Quoting company policy to continue the flight if the aircraft is in safe and airworthy condition, we were initially instructed to continue. The idea is to get one plane load of passengers where they want to be and inconvenience the return group instead of both plane loads of customers.

About ten minutes later, we received a message from the company that they had changed their mind and wanted us back home. Apparently there were no facilities in place at our destination to repair the aircraft and they didn’t want to strand us and more importantly the jet at an outstation in Mexico. I started a slow 180 degree turn to the right as the Captain picked up the PA and started to explain. He offered to let me make that PA, but I declined. We were 45 minutes into our flight at this point and even with a strong tailwind the ride home seemed like an eternity.

I was impressed with how the company handled our return. This flight had become what is often called an OSO, or an off scheduled operation, and OSO’s are prone to falling into cracks. We arrived back at home base and were assigned a gate next to the aircraft we were to turn around take back out. The jet needed to be cleaned, fueled, catered and all necessary paperwork had to be re-calculated, re-filed and re-printed. There were plenty of opportunities for something to get missed, but everyone did their job and we were back on the road in a surprisingly short time.

The rest of the trip was uneventful…just long. I’m off to recurrent training next for my yearly refresher course. Saturday was a good day of practice.

Down Three Red

2012-01-10T20:43:00.000-06:00

Waiting in line for takeoff from San Diego

San Diego has a noise curfew that prohibits takeoff before 6:30am. No need to set an alarm clock if you live off the west end of the runway as the first MD80 departure of the day could wake the dead. Most of the airlines push off the gate around 6:15 taxi down and wait for the clock to click past 6:29. As you can see from the picture, my flight was about number 5 in line this morning...we rotated at 6:36.

It was a beautiful southern California morning with good visibility, warm temperatures and light winds. I landed almost three hours later in Dallas, Texas where the temperature was hovering around 40 degrees Fahrenheit with cloud bases at 300 feet and visibility described in feet, not miles. I was at the controls as Regional Approach vectored us in for an ILS approach to runway 36L. "Turn left heading 030, maintain 4000 until established, cleared for the ILS 36L."

The visibility wasn't great, but it was a simple approach with enough room between minimums and the actual weather conditions that I was confident we would land. I left the auto pilot engaged as we intercepted the glide slope and began our final descent. We were in icing conditions with engine and wing heat on and I needed to keep the engines spooled up to provide enough heat to keep the wings warm, so I lowered the flaps earlier than normal and asked the Captain to lower the gear as we descended through 1800 feet AGL. I heard the nose gear doors open and felt the mains drop into position, but in my peripheral vision I could see the glaring red lights indicating a gear unsafe condition...

In hind sight, what surprises me most about what happened next was how much information passed though my head in such a short amount of time. It was only after we were safely on the ground and the Captain and I began to talk about what had happened that we realized how much we had considered in such a short period.

...I felt the gear fall into place and was reasonable sure at least one of the three landing gear was down...three red lights on the panel indicate none of the three gear is down and locked...did I forget to turn the hydraulic pumps on high? No, both engine driven hydraulic pumps were selected to high...check the nose gear indicating pin...it's up indicating the nose gear is down, but the light still shines red...cycle the gear? Maybe we'll get lucky...1600 AGL now, precious little time to salvage a landing...bingo fuel is 9,400 lbs. and we're at 10,800 right now...not enough for a go around and another attempt...what's my alternate airport...visibility is too low to ask the tower for a visual check on the gear...

As those last few thoughts were passing through my head the Captain lowered the gear handle a second time and in a few seconds we had three green lights. Clearly the situation was much improved, but I still had work to do. I was behind now and needed to be fully configured by 1000 feet AGL or our company procedures would require a go-around. I lowered the rest of the flaps and slowed the aircraft to approach speed and managed to stabilize the thrust as the aircraft announced "1000." The surface report that I had rechecked only minutes earlier claimed a ceiling of 700 feet and visibility of 1 1/2 miles. But as we passed through 700 ft, the rain that had been falling lightly for a few minutes now intensified and it was clear the weather was lower than reported.

The Captain reported the runway lights as we descended through 300 feet and called the runway in sight at 200 feet above touchdown. As the mains contacted the runway, the tower controller reported runway visibility of 5000RVR. I slowed the aircraft to taxi speed and stepped on the right rudder to steer toward the high speed exit and noticed my heart rate...slightly elevated to say the least.

Why Does American Airlines Paint its Tails Gray?

2011-12-23T09:01:00.000-06:00

The question
A friend and fellow aviation geek recently asked me why American Airlines paints the tails of its aircraft gray. "I understand why panels constructed of composite materials would need to be painted, but I can't imagine that's why, for example, the MD80 tails are painted gray. So the question is...why does AA paint its tails gray? Thanks."

The answer:
The history on this is a bit foggy, but here's the best I can piece together in a short time. The tails of all jets at American Airlines were, once upon a time, polished. As the most common member of the American Airlines fleet, you have most likely seen the polished skin of an MD80 as it taxied or flew by. You probably had your hands over your ears at the time as the MD80 isn't exactly the quietest member of the AA fleet. Maybe you noticed, maybe you didn't, but the tail section and certain other parts of American's jets are currently painted gray. There was a time, however, that even the tail sections of American's jets were a combination of paint and polish. Access panels, trim tabs and fairings were painted gray and other sections of the tail were polished in the same manner as the fuselage.

American Airlines Airbus A300 in the New Mexico desert

Some fleet types at American have large composite sections that require painting. For instance, the nose section of American's now retired Airbus A300 fleet was composite and required a layer of paint. I'm not referring to the nose cone which is always painted, but the section over the cockpit windows.

In the end, the decision to paint the metal on the tail was designed to protect the surfaces, to provide a fleet-wide common livery and to reduce the cluttered look that resulted from painting some, but not all of the tail.

Here's an example of the change. The picture below shows ship 223 (N223AA) in 1989 with a polished tail.

The picture below shows the same aircraft with a painted tail in August of 2009, after I delivered it to its final resting place in the desert outside Roswell, New Mexico.

I've shared the link before, but in case you haven't seen it, here is a video I made after the last flight of N223AA.

An Insider’s View of the AMR Bankruptcy

2011-12-03T16:43:00.000-06:00

Working for a bankrupt airline is not where I thought I would be 12 years ago when I took this job. I came to a crossroad in 1999, standing in my living room staring at an answering machine with two blinking messages. One from American Airlines and the other from cross town rival Southwest. These were my top two choices. Dream jobs. Winning the lottery wouldn’t have seemed any more of a distant possibility. I was honestly amazed and bewildered by the decision I was about to make.

In the end I took the job at American with high hopes of a quick upgrade to Captain and dreams of retiring as a senior B777 Captain. At the time I was hired, my retirement seniority number was projected to be a two digit number, pretty amazing stuff at a major airline with over 10,000 pilots.

Twelve years later things haven’t worked out exactly as planned. Various circumstances with which I will not expand upon have resulted in one basic truth. 12 years ago I was a junior First Officer on the MD80 and today I find myself in the exact same position. 12 years ago I was all full of hope, excited about the future, proud to wear the uniform. Today I wonder if I will have a job next month. I wonder if I will have to sell my house. I’m thankful that I don’t have a car payment and I’m thankful that I have money in savings, although not enough, for my daughter’s college education. The future is anything but secure.

Let’s take just a moment to recognize the elephant in the room. New reports abound with stories blaming the employees of American Airlines for the demise of a once great airline. Specifically to blame are the pilots. After all, they are the highest paid labor group on the property. No doubt you have read about the pilots refusing to accept a contract offer from management that would have guaranteed pay raises and promised growth and prosperity for the airline. The airline said it, so it must be true. Hogwash.

Has everyone forgotten 2003? Ok, ok, unless you worked for the airline or were directly impacted you probably didn’t pay much attention then much less remember the details now. In 2003 the employees of American Airlines came to the company’s rescue and voluntarily accepted huge pay cuts and reductions in benefits. The often quoted mantra from company back then was “Pull together, win together.”

All told, the labor concessions at American Airlines totaled over $1.8 billion. The pilots alone agreed to cuts that, in management’s estimate, equaled roughly $660 million in annual savings for the company. Did you catch the word “annual” in that sentence? The pilot’s union claimed a much larger number and the truth most likely lies somewhere in between. Pull together, win together? These savings were in jeopardy of falling apart after retention bonuses and pension protection for executives were revealed on the last day most employees were voting on the cuts, but the labor force at American took the high road and saved the company from bankruptcy.

The improvements gained by American Airlines in 2003 gave the company an enormous cost advantage over its rivals. But instead of using this new found leverage to compete soundly with its competitors, American Airlines shrunk. In 2003 when the new contracts were inked, American Airlines employed over 13,500 pilots. Today they employ fewer than 8,000. They sold airplanes, cut routes and unveiled a corporate pay and bonus structure that rewarded top executives with multi-million dollar enhancements based on stock price as compared with its rivals. Of course, you would think as poorly as the airline has performed, that bonuses would not be paid…but you would be wrong. Last year, American ranked last when compared with its competitors, but the bonuses still flowed by the millions.

Back to the contract “turned down” by the pilots last month. First, the by-laws at the Allied Pilots Association require any Tentative Agreement (T/A) to be in contractual language before it can be voted upon. Management knows this and the agreement tendered by American was basically a bullet point summary. Second, any agreement deemed acceptable by the APA negotiating committee must be studied for seven days before the agreement can be offered to the pilot group to be voted upon. Third, and quite telling, is the fact that management inserted hot button items into the agreement that they knew full well would result in it being voted down.

Specifically, I’m referring to domestic code-share. American Airlines has an agreement with its pilots that reads as follows:

“All flying performed by the Company, a subsidiary, or affiliate directly or indirectly controlled by the Company, or successor in interest, or flying performed on behalf of the Company as a result of any agreement to which the Company is a party or becomes a party, shall be performed by pilots named on the active American Airlines Pilots Seniority List.”

This agreement, commonly referred to as a scope clause, prohibits the airline’s use of pilots from another carrier. It’s all about job protection.

Over the past 25 years, the pilots of American Airlines have allowed exceptions to this agreement to allow feed operations in domestic markets by its regional partners (mainly American Eagle) and with its international partner airlines (there are many) in overseas markets not served by American Airlines.

However, over the last 10 years alone, American Airlines has shrunk by almost 30% while its domestic code-share partner American Eagle has grown by the same amount. American Airlines now wants its pilots to allow the airline to sell tickets out of New York, Boston and Washington DC on other airlines, reducing or eliminating the need for American Airlines pilots in these markets. All markets served by American Airlines. All markets where the airline operates crew bases and its pilots and flight attendants call home.

American Airlines never expected their offer to the pilots to be accepted. It was part of a plan that was set in motion long before the company filed for bankruptcy on November 29^th. Look at what happened on day one of the AMR bankruptcy. President and CEO Gerard Arpey announced his new job at the helm of investment firm Emerald Creek Group, founded by former Continental CEO Larry Kellner. Several new websites were launched. Hundreds of pages of documents were filed. So on and so forth. A plan was made public that had been set in motion months before. The agreement pushed across the table to the pilots was all part of that plan.

It’s all water under the bridge at this point. The truth is that the employees at American Airlines are under fire. They are outnumbered and low on ammunition with no backup in sight. Need someone to blame? Point your finger somewhere else.

In Their Own Words

2011-11-29T07:19:00.000-06:00

Once you get hooked on the airline business, it's worse than dope.
- Ed Acker, PAA CEO while Chairman of Air Florida

These days no one can make money on the goddamn airline business. The economics represent sheer hell.
- C. R. Smith, Founder & President of American Airlines.

A recession is when you have to tighten your belt; depression is when you have no belt to tighten. When you've lost your trousers - you're in the airline business.
- Sir Adam Thomson Founder British Caledonian Airways

If the pilots were in charge, Columbus would still be in port. They believe the assertion that the world is flat.
- Robert L. Crandall while CEO American Airlines

If the Wright brother were alive today Wilbur would have to fire Orville to reduce costs.
- Herb Kelleher, Southwest Airlines, ' USA Today June 8 1994

If we went into the funeral business, people would stop dying.
- Martin R. Shugrue, Vice-chairman Pan Am.

The greatest sin of airline management of the last 22 years is to say, "It's all labor's fault."
- Donald Carty, Chairman and CEO American Airlines 2002.

There are only two reasons to sit in the back row of an airplane:
Either you have diarrhea, or you're anxious to meet people who do..
- Henry Kissinger

A Brief History of the DC-9/MD80 Series Aircraft

2011-06-13T16:36:00.001-05:00

The DC-9:

July 1921: The Douglas Aircraft Company was founded by Donald Wills Douglas, Sr. in Santa Monica, California. He served as President from 1921 to 1957, Chairman of the Board from 1957 to 1967 and Honorary Chairman of the Board from 1967 to 1981.
July 1939: The McDonnell Aircraft Corporation was founded by James Smith McDonnell and operated next to Lambert Field in St. Louis, Missouri. He served as President of McDonnell from 1939 to 1962, President and CEO from 1962 to 1967. At McDonnell Douglas he served as Chairman of the board and CEO from 1967 to 1972 and Chairman of the Board from 1972 to 1980.
The two companies did not merge until April of 1967.
April 8, 1963: The Douglas DC-9 was launched with no orders on the books.

April 25, 1963: Delta Air Lines placed the first DC-9 order for 15 aircraft with options for an additional 15.
February 25, 1965: First flight of the DC-9-10 twinjet airliner.
November 23, 1965: FAA certification granted for the DC-9-10.
December 8, 1965: The DC-9-10 enters service with Delta Air Lines.

August 1, 1966: First flight of the DC-9-30.
December 1966: DC-9-20 announced. The DC-9 series 20, although numbered second in the sequence of models, was actually the fourth member of the family.
February 1, 1967: DC-9-30 enters service with Eastern Airlines.

April 28, 1967: The McDonnell and Douglas companies merge to form the McDonnell Douglas Corporation with headquarters in St. Louis, Missouri.
November 28, 1967: First flight of the DC-9-40.
March 12, 1968: DC-9-40 enters service with SAS.

September 18, 1968: First flight of the DC-9-20.
December 1968: First DC-9-20 delivered to SAS.
Mid 1973: DC-9-50 announced.
December 17, 1974: First flight of the DC-9-50.
August 1975: DC-9-50 enters service with swissair.

October 1982: Final DC-9 delivered.

Total Aircraft built:

o DC-9-10: 137

o DC-9-20: 10

o DC-9-30: 662

o DC-9-40: 71

o DC-9-50: 96

· Douglas and McDonnell Douglas produced 976 DC-9s from 1965 to 1982.

The MD-80:

October 1977: The DC-9-80 was launched. The aircraft was initially known as the DC-9-55 and later as the DC-9-80…the Super 80.
October 24, 1978: President Carter signed the Airline Deregulation Act. The act became Public Law 95-504.
October 18, 1979: First flight of the DC-9-80.
May 2, 1980: During certification testing, the first DC-9-80 built (N980DC) breaks apart upon landing on runway 22 at Edwards Air Force Base. The aircraft was on a test flight to determine the horizontal distance required to land and bring the A/C to a complete stop as required by 14 CFR 25.125. NTSB Report #: NTSB-AAR-82-2 dated 2/9/1982.

August 1980: The DC-9-80 was certified by the FAA.
September 13, 1980: swissair took delivery of the first DC-9-80.
October 1980: DC-9-80 enters service with swissair.
January 8, 1981: First flight of the DC-9-82.
August 1981: The first DC-9-82 enters service with Republic Airlines.

November 1982: A new designation system for McDonnell Douglas commercial aircraft combines the “M” of McDonnell and the “D” of Douglas. The first aircraft to use the new designation was the DC-9-80 which became known as the MD-80.
April 18, 1983: TWA took delivery of its first MD-80, an MD82.
May 12, 1983: American Airlines’ first MD-82 delivered…N203AA.

February 29, 1984: American Airlines places the largest single aircraft purchase order in U.S. aviation history at the time when it ordered 67 MD-82s with options for 100 more.
December 17, 1984: First flight of the MD-83.
February 1985: The first MD-83 enters service with Alaska Airlines.
December 4, 1986: First flight of the MD-87.
June 3, 1987: American Airlines’ first MD-83 delivered…N562AA.
November 1987: The first MD-87 enters service with FinnAir.
August 15, 1987: First flight of the MD-88.
January 1988: The first MD-88 enters service with Delta Air Lines.
November 14, 1989: MD-90 program launched when Delta Air Lines orders 50 MD-90s with options for 110 more.
February 22, 1993: First flight of the MD-90.
February 1995: First MD-90 delivered to Delta Air Lines
October 1995: The MD-95 program is launched with it’s first order. The aircraft is later renamed the B717 after the Boeing merger in 1997.
August 1, 1997: McDonnell Douglas and Boeing merge.

December 21, 1999: TWA takes delivery of the last MD-80 to come off the Boeing MD-80 production line.

· McDonnell Douglas and Boeing delivered 1,194 MD-80s from 1980 to 1999.

· At one time, American Airlines owned 325 MD-80 series aircraft. Although they are currently retiring the MD-82/83 at the rate of 2 per month, American is still the largest DC-9 / MD-80 operator in the world.

N237AA, an MD-82, in the Roswell, New Mexico graveyard

American Airlines MD82s in the Roswell, New Mexico graveyard

There were a total of 2,442 DC-9, MD-80 and B717 series aircraft produced…611 more than the Boeing 727 series aircraft!

An Airline Pilot Checkride

2011-05-27T16:33:00.002-05:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Checklist complete.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thunderstorms are Beautiful - From a Distance

2011-04-26T08:57:00.001-05:00

Every year I receive a reminder from my employer that thunderstorm season is on its way. Frankly, I don't need to be reminded, as thunderstorms are generally hard to miss, but someone making a lot more money than me thinks I need to be reminded. Spring brings with it an increase in turbulence related injuries for our cabin crews, concerns over lightning strikes for our ground workers and a plethora of added concerns for our pilots and dispatchers...but it's high altitude transitions across lines of thunderstorms like the one described below that I dread the most.

It was the first week in April this year before my first encounter with a line of severe thunderstorms. The day started in Dallas with an early morning flight to Las Vegas where I was scheduled to sit for about an hour then turn around and fly back to where I had started. The weather was absolutely gorgeous in both cities, although the Dallas area was forecasting a possibility of storms in the afternoon...not particularly unusual for a Spring day in Texas. The flight to Las Vegas was uneventful with clear skies and a smooth ride all the way to touchdown.

The flight back to Dallas was equally uneventful until the descent, where we encountered a small, but building line of storms. I wouldn't even classify this line of rain showers as a thunderstorm at this point, just rain clouds with some vertical development. Ft. Worth Center, the Air Traffic Control facility handling our flight, allowed us to delay our descent which allowed us to fly over the top of the relatively short storm. We were forced to make a few small deviations late in the descent but never encountered any turbulence.

After a short time on the ground in Dallas, we continued on to Birmingham, Alabama for a long layover in preparation for an afternoon flight back to Dallas the next day. Over night, the small area of rain showers that we easily topped on our way into Dallas the day before had grown quite mature, stretching from Louisiana to Pennsylvania, and was literally on our doorstep by the time we were scheduled to depart. The picture below shows what the storm looked like when we left Birmingham. The green line depicts our track through the weather.

The next picture is a closer look at our track. Take a look and see if you think you would have taken the same path before you continue reading.

We took off from Birmingham, headed west and were granted an unrestricted climb to a requested cruise altitude of 34,000 feet. We experience light to moderate turbulence during the first few minutes of our climb and asked the Flight Attendants to remain seated until we were above the rough air. The departure controller instructed us to climb on a westerly heading directly toward the approaching weather, but after a quick glance at the weather radar we could see that this was not going to work.

Atlanta Center was working several flights through the area that were having some success with a path through a small break in the storm just to the west of Birmingham. If you look at the map above, you can probably see the hole he wanted us to fly through. The problem was that the aircraft making their way through this hole were already at their cruise altitude and above much of the weather you see on the map. We, on the other hand, would not be able to fly through the same hole without first making it to 34,000.

As we climbed, it quickly became clear that we needed another plan, so we requested a left turn to parallel the storm until we had gained enough altitude to make our way through another hole. As we reached our planned cruise altitude of 34,000 feet, a break in the storm became apparent and we made our move. We widened out to the left initially then made a gradual turn to the west and picked our way through the hole.

Hole? You say you don't see a hole? As bad as it looks in the pictures above, we were able to find a safe path around the worst of the storm and managed a pretty smooth ride. One thing you must remember is that the weather maps you see online or on the evening news are top-down views of the storms and do not depict the height of a thunderstorm. Air Traffic Controllers see this same 2D view of weather and will often warn pilots that they are about to fly through heavy rain showers that they are actually thousands of feet above. A thunderstorm is a three dimensional beast and the 2D nature of most maps just doesn't paint the full picture.

I took the picture below just after we made our turn to the west. On the right side of the screen you see "WX+T" over "+0.5". This indicates that my NAV screen was set to display weather radar and turbulence information and that the radar beam was directed .5 degrees nose up...basically level.

It's at about this point that I usually get a tingling sensation in my toes that's my body's way of telling me to pay attention. I had already checked the aircraft performance charts and found that we were capable of climbing another 2,000 feet if needed...but I had no intention of climbing. That extra 2,000 feet was the extra performance that I needed to feel comfortable as we crossed the storm ahead. The thunderstorms were "embedded" which meant the storm cells you see on the radar screen above were hidden from view by cloud cover. As we entered the clouds, we would have to engage the wing and engine anti-ice systems to keep the engines, wings and tail clear of ice.

The anti-ice systems on most jet aircraft use air from the engines to heat the leading edges of the engines, wing and tail and the air used to keep these areas clear of ice is a direct draw on the engine. Any power draw on the engine will affect the aircraft's ability to maintain altitude. As an example, an MD80 that weighs 133,700 pounds is capable of maintaining 34,000 feet with the engine and wing anti-ice systems turned off. With those systems turned on, the aircraft would have to weigh less than 130,300 pounds to maintain the same altitude...a 3,400 pound reduction in the lift capability of the aircraft. For these reasons, I wanted to stay at 34,000.

One nice thing about the average line of thunderstorms is that they're usually only about 10 to 20 miles wide. So that uncomfortable feeling I get from flying around a thunderstorm so close to the maximum capability of the aircraft only lasts for a few minutes...then it's gone. It also brings to mind an old saying. "There are old pilots and there are bold pilots, but there are no old, bold pilots." I'm not ashamed of the uncomfortable feeling I get when operating near the edge of the envelope. I intend to be an old pilot...not a bold one.

We encountered light to moderate turbulence and at one point as we flew through a significant downdraft, the auto throttles advanced the engines to full power in an attempt to maintain the speed I had selected on the flight guidance panel. Since we had elected to stay at a lower altitude, there was ample power to maintain our speed and altitude. With the engines sitting steady at max cruise power, I was pleased with the decision not to climb to a higher altitude.

The ride through weather such as this always seems to be the worst just before you break out the back side of the storm and into clear air. As we broke out into blue sky with my concern and tingly toes in the rear view mirror, I took a moment to look back and appreciate the storm we would leave behind. Thunderstorms are beautiful...from a distance.

Grounded Jets at American and Southwest - History Worth Remembering

2011-04-03T18:53:00.192-05:00

View of the hole taken from the cabin

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

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

Aloha 243. April 28, 1988

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CAL3407, Commuting Pilots and a Personal Confession

2011-03-31T14:42:00.001-05:00

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

— Captain A. G. Lamplugh

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


Continental Express Dash 8 Q400

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

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

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

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

---John Bradford

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Delta Pilot's Japan Earthquake Story

2011-03-21T10:21:00.001-05:00

Diverted aircraft parked at Yokota Air Base

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sendai Airport Tsunami Damage

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cheers,

J.D.

Al Capone and Chicago O'Hare

2011-03-05T16:08:00.001-06:00

Two stories, both true and worth reading…

STORY NUMBER ONE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The poem read:

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

STORY NUMBER TWO

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Wind Shear, Wind Shear"

2011-02-14T13:25:00.001-06:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Back to my flight…

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ice, Sleet and Snow...oh my!

2011-02-01T21:12:00.000-06:00

Sitting in line for takeoff in Atlanta this morning

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

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

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

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

Ice forming on a heated window

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At the Edge of Safety

2011-01-17T16:04:00.015-06:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Very Merry Christmas

2010-12-27T18:00:00.005-06:00

This post starts out on a sour note, but ends well…so stick with me. The year 2000 was a difficult year that culminated in the story I‘m about to tell. I had already missed my oldest daughter’s birthday and baptism, my anniversary, Easter, Thanksgiving and pretty much everything else of any importance along the way, so it came as no surprise that I held a line in December that worked on Christmas day. I was on reserve from December 21st through the 26th but was quite pleased to get a three day trip on the 23rd that got off at 8:30am on Christmas day. I spent the night in Indianapolis, Indiana on Christmas Eve and was scheduled to work an early morning flight home on Christmas day. One leg home…what could possibly go wrong?
We got to the airport before sunrise and the Captain went straight to the gate to get our paperwork as I went down to the jet to warm things up and get started on my pre-flight duties. When I returned from my walk-around, the Captain was sitting in his seat with a somber look on his face. “Bad news” he said, “I checked your schedule and they’ve re-assigned you to fly to Long Beach tonight. You’re scheduled to fly home on the 26th. Your going to miss Christmas.”

“Well” I told him, “that’s fine, but they’re going to have to catch me.” The airline can’t just add a new fight assignment to a pilot’s schedule without notifying him of the change, and since it had been the Captain who logged into the computer to check my schedule and not me, it was their responsibility to notify me of the change…I certainly wasn’t going to call them.

There are a number of ways for the company to notify me of such a change. First, after we were airborne on our way home, Crew Tracking could have sent us a message over the ACARS system. ACARS is a communication system that allows the company to send a message that prints out in the cockpit. Our contract does not require me to respond to such a message while flying, but it would have given me a heads up that they were in fact trying to contact me. We never received an ACARS message.

The next and most common opportunity for contact is through the “changeover report.” About 30 minutes before we land at any destination, I send a message to the company through the ACARS system to notify them of our expected landing time. This information is passed on to ramp and gate personnel and also updates the computer screens that you read in the terminal. We receive a printed response that, among other things, includes information about crew connections. If I was expected to perform another flying assignment, then the changeover would include gate and departure information for my next flight. But instead of providing this information, the report clearly stated “No Crew Connect Info.” I quietly folded the report and stuck it in my pocket.

Next was the call to company ramp control. After we landed, I called the ramp controller to inform him that we were on the ground and requested an entry spot to the ramp. If Crew Tracking was looking for me, the ramp controller would have instructed me to call them after we parked. I received no such message.

After we parked at the gate and the door opened, I looked out onto the jet bridge…no suit with a clip board and the phone was not ringing…good. So with the “No Crew Connect Info” message in my shirt pocket, I turned to the Captain and told him I was going home. “Must have gotten someone else” I told him.

As I started to pack my bags, four stripes got out of his seat and went out onto the jet bridge. He didn’t say anything to me and I didn’t know where he was going. As I exited the jet with my bags in hand, he was standing there on the phone with what I would describe as a “ha, I got ya” look on his face. He held the phone out where the person on the other end could hear and said “I called Crew Tracking for you…” You What?! The voice in my head was screaming something I can’t repeat in this forum. “They need you for the trip…just forgot to notify you.” I wanted to kill him. I freely admit now, that if they had not been able to contact me, some other pilot would have had to fly the trip and would have missed Christmas with HIS family…either that or the flight would have been cancelled all together. Neither is palatable to me now, but I certainly wasn’t thinking of such things at the time. It’s all about me!!!

Before we left Indy 3 hours earlier, I placed a call to my wife and broke the news to her. She grew up with a father who was always home for the holidays and took the news hard. She is, however, a strong, supportive woman and a great wife and as a surprise, she got the kids out of bed and met me at the gate as I exited the jet. It was wonderful to see her and my two little ladies, even if it was only for 10-15 minutes. They brought me some food intended for our Christmas dinner, gave me a present to open and a few last hugs as I boarded the plane to Long Beach.

The worst part? My oldest daughter was only 4 at the time and didn’t understand that I wasn’t going home with her. So as the truth became apparent, she melted down right there in the boarding area with 136 passengers sitting around waiting for their flight. She began to scream and cry and begged me no to go. As I rounded the corner and walked onto the jet, the last thing I heard her say was “Daddy, please don’t go…if you won’t go, I promise to be good.” Broke my heart. I’m pretty sure my wife had a few ugly thoughts for all those people who just HAD to fly on Christmas.

So that was my worst Christmas…here‘s my best.

This year, Christmas 2010, my seniority is about the same, maybe a little worse, than it was in 2000. That’s a story for another day, but let’s just say that between 9/11, swine flu, bird flu, sky rocketing fuel prices, age 65 and the recession, that airline pilot’s haven’t done so well in the last 10 years. I was a reserve MD80 FO in 2000 and I’m a reserve MD80 FO today. My schedule this year had me on reserve beginning on Christmas day and working through the 29th. I did my best to get a trip on Christmas day that signed in late enough to have some time with my family before I had to go to work, but was assigned a trip with a sign-in time of 5:50am. That meant I would have to leave the house at 4:50...just a little early for any quality family time. It wasn’t a total loss as the trip was just a two leg turn, out and back in the same day. I would be home in time for dinner.

We spent Christmas Eve at my in-laws house. We were all sitting around the fire trading stories at about 3 in the afternoon when my cell phone rang. I’ve been doing this long enough to know not to answer my phone if I don’t know who‘s calling. If they’re short on pilots and you’re stupid enough to pick up the phone, your it…day off or not, you're going to work. I didn’t recognize the number on the caller ID, so I let it go to voice mail. A minute or so later, my phone chimed in again indicating a new voice mail, so I punch the button and listened to a message from the MD80 Fleet Training Manager. “Hey Brad, can you holler at me on my mobile please, I’d like to displace you tomorrow.” I'm going to omit his name out of respect since he probably doesn't want to publicize his actions, but the guy is a management pilot in charge of all MD80 training and doesn’t have to work on Christmas or any other holiday.

I jumped up with such a start that wife thought something was wrong. She later told me that her first thought, in reaction to the look on my face, was that someone had died! I hurried into the next room so I could respond to the call in private and my wife followed along. I gave her a thumbs up as my new best friend picked up on the other end. We only spoke for a few minutes, but he explained to me that his children were all grown and out of the house and that it was his pleasure to give me the day with my family. He thanked me for my service to the company, asked about past holidays and seemed pleased to learn that it had been so many years since I had had Christmas day off.

In hind sight, it occurs to me that I will still want to spend Christmas with my kids when they are grown and out of the house. It also occurs to me that he’s been doing this same thing for years and hasn’t had Christmas with his family either. I've heard rumors from time to time about this yearly Christmas gift. I’ve heard that he calls some junior guy who’s stuck flying on Christmas for the umpteenth year in a row and gives that pilot the day off with pay. I always thought the stories might just be urban legend and certainly never thought I would be the recipient of his good graces.

I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, but of all the people this affected, my 14 year old daughter was more touched than anyone. She had been telling me for weeks that I could keep the presents...all she wanted was for me to be home on Christmas. I didn’t think there was any chance it would happen, and I definitely couldn’t have foreseen the outcome of the day. This will be a Christmas that my family will never forget.

Kids and Airplanes

2010-12-21T14:49:00.003-06:00

I come from a long line of men obsessed with aviation and a slightly shorter list of women who support our love of the skies. One of my Grandfathers was a private pilot, the other was a B-25 Crew Chief in WWII and my own Father flew OV-1 Mohawks in Vietnam followed by a 32 year career with Delta Air Lines. There are even aviators on my wife’s side of the family with a Grandfather who flew for Braniff in the ‘50s and ‘60s before tragically passing away years before mandatory retirement. So, while a career in aviation was never pushed or even initially encouraged, it was no surprise to anyone that I developed a fascination with anything that flew at a very young age.

My earliest memories of airplanes are those of family vacations. I still remember the smells, colors, sounds and textures of my first flight like it was yesterday. I remember walking down the jet bridge with the high pitched whine of two JT8s spooling down at the gate next door surrounded by bright orange carpet and olive green, orange and red striped walls, horrendous mismatches today, were both in style and hip at the time. The aroma of jet exhaust combined with the odor of well used carpet and fresh brewed coffee with a gleaming Boeing 727 waiting, door ajar, at the end of the hall.

Of course, since my father was an employee of the airline, we were traveling as non-revs, non revenue that is, so we boarded at the last minute, taking the last few seats on the jet as I was pushed past the cockpit door that I so desperately wanted to enter. I remember my Dad’s words, words that we heard just about every time we flew…”sit still, keep your feet off the seats, and if you push the stewardess call button you’ll be sorry.” He was only kidding just a little and yes, it was ok to call them stewardesses back then.

We flew often and my early memories of flying mesh together a bit, but one of my favorites is that of a trip my Dad took me on when I was only 10. He was a Boeing 727 First Officer and he had a long layover in Portland, Oregon. The loads were light both directions so he elected to take me along. There were dangers involved for a crew member taking a child to work. If the flight had unexpectedly filled up, as they often do, Dad would still have to work the flight and would be forced to leave me behind. With this in mind, Dad waited until he thought I was old enough to handle being left before taking me on my first trip, and he always made arrangements ahead of time for a gate agent to help me to the next flight home if there wasn’t a seat for me at departure time.

As it turns out, the flights to and from Portland were only half full and I had no trouble getting on. Once we arrived, Dad rented a car and we spent the day driving up the Columbia River Gorge, stopping at many of the waterfalls and hiking paths along the way and drove around Mt. Hood before heading back to the city. The flight home was an all-nighter, leaving Portland around midnight and arriving Dallas, Ft. Worth International Airport at about 5:30 am. I remember that Dad was able to take me down to the jet before the rest of the passengers…I got the tour of the cockpit that I had missed on my first flight and even got to help set up the cockpit before departure. The flight attendants put me to work on the way home and I helped them pass out drinks and serve the passengers on the flight home. I think my Dad has always been secretly pleased that I chose the cockpit job over the one in the cabin.

Having first hand knowledge of the impact these early experiences have on young boys and girls, I’ve always taken great joy in extending invitations to visit the cockpit to children of all ages. I usually take the time to explain some of the basic systems, activate lights and aural warnings and if the parent is present, allow the child to sit in my lap and manipulate the flight controls. Of course pictures are always in order with a pilot’s hat on their head and the cockpit as the perfect backdrop.

On a recent trip, I found my self covering the balance of a trip for a pilot who had gotten sick half way through his sequence. Crew Schedule caught me at home and I knew I was in trouble when the lead off question was “how fast can you get to the airport?” On day two of the trip, I worked an early morning flight from Minneapolis to Chicago then deadheaded home on a flight to Dallas. The original trip had been assigned to a Chicago based pilot, so once we arrived at ORD, the trip was over and I rode as a passenger on a flight home.

As I boarded the flight, I was standing in line with a man and his wife and their three boys, the oldest of which appeared to be about 10 years old. The flight was running behind, so the boys would have to forgo a trip to the cockpit, but they seemed content tossing a barrage of questions in my direction as we made our way to our seats. As it turned out the boys sat right behind me and before I knew it, we were airborne and I was on my knees facing their direction to better facilitate what became an hour long question and answer session. I like your hat…can I wear your hat? Where’s hour coat? Can I wear that too? How fast are we going? How high are we? Can I have a pair of wings like yours?

That last question is one I get a lot. Sadly, during the post 9/11 era of red ink and bankruptcy filings, many airlines including this one, chose to eliminate plastic wings for children, a decision that probably saved them at least 25 cents. I’m not ignorant enough to believe that someone would chose one airline over another based on Junior Pilot Wings, but I do believe that making people and especially their children feel welcomed by the airline is just good business. With this in mind, I’ve scoured the internet over the years and have always been able to keep a stash of wings in my kit bag for just such an occasion. I don’t have enough to give a pair to every child who boards the jet, but if they know enough to ask, I don’t want to disappoint. It’s a little thing…but it makes a difference.

So, I got my kit bag down out of the overhead bin and started digging around. I asked one of the boys to hold my flashlight and another held one of my flight manuals. I knew where the wings were, but the boys seemed so excited to be delving through the depths of my bag that I couldn’t resist playing around a bit more. I pulled out three pair of wings, one for each of my new friends and with their parent’s consent, pinned them all on in the appropriate location. I wish you could have seen their faces. It was such a small thing…I think I spent less than $2 on ebay for this particular bag of wings, but you would have thought I had handed them a bar of gold. All three boys seemed grateful and admired their new possessions, but the wings didn’t even put a dent in the number or frequency of questions coming my way. I took great joy in being a small part of what I hope was a grand first aviation memory for these three young boys.

I know for a fact, that I got as much out of the encounter as they did. I love my job.

Back In The Seat

2010-11-23T10:26:00.004-06:00

I’m not sure if there is a way for me to explain all the events of the last two days without writing a book. I thought of naming this post “Two Days of Hell” but decided while accurate, that it sounded a little too melodramatic. Late aircraft, fog, freezing fog, a near miss on the arrival to Austin while preparing for a CAT III approach, maintenance issues on the ground and in the air all topped off with irate passengers and a tired and ticked off crew…it was an exhausting two days.

If you’ve been following along, then you know that I’ve been out on vacation for a while. I don’t know if it was a much deserved vacation, but I can tell you that it was much appreciated. As a result of some creative bidding, I was able to turn a two week vacation into a four week break from anything and everything airline. I walked to the employee parking lot one month ago today and didn’t step foot on the airport grounds for an entire month. It was good for my psychological well being to separate myself from the sometimes hectic life of an airline pilot, but I’m thankful to be back in the air and hoping for a few good stories to share with you. That said, my first two days back were a tremendous nightmare in just about every sense. As I sit here the morning after, it’s difficult for me to believe that this all transpired on a single two day trip.
I arrived at the airport around 7am on day one and made my way to pilot operations and, as expected, found a mailbox full of revisions that had been piling up over the last four weeks. It took almost an hour to update my manuals before I signed in on the computer and noticed that my jet was due in at 8:44 (my flight to Austin, TX was scheduled to depart at 8:45). I wasn’t paying close enough attention and mistook 8:44 for 7:44 and left the comfort of operations for the hectic environment of the gate and a late flight.

Once at the gate, I realized my error and started looking into the reason behind the delay and took a closer look at the weather ahead of me for the day. The weather in Austin was below takeoff minimums with RVR hovering around 400 ft. and takeoff minimums of 500. The aircraft I was scheduled to fly to Austin was actually still sitting in Austin where it had spent the night. The visibility eventually crept above 500 an hour past their scheduled departure time and my airplane was finally on its way.

With a little extra time, I took a look at the weather in all three cities I was scheduled into for the day. Austin was going to be interesting. I was expecting a very low visibility approach, probably a CAT III ILS. Denver was next where they were reporting equally low visibility with freezing fog and moderate turbulence thrown in for good measure. Dallas was forecasting strong and gusty crosswinds all day which left Nashville as the only bright spot with mild weather and a pleasant forecast.

Once the jet finally arrived, we did our best to get turned around in a hurry. Everyone did their jobs, the Captain and I split responsibilities and we were able to make up 15 minutes, pushing back from the gate 45 minutes behind schedule for the first of five legs. As we came to a stop after the pushback, the crew chief cleared us to start engines…I prepared for the start by turning off the packs (air-conditioning system) and opening the cross-feed valves and the Captain turned on the ignition and pressed the start switch…nothing. I looked at him; he looked at me, both with that “what did we forget” look. APU air switch on, packs off, cross-feel valves open, ignition switch selected to continuous…we were doing it right, it just wasn’t working. It turns out that the load control valve on the APU was not working properly and would not open to provide air to the start valve. (jet engines do not start using a traditional starter like you would find on a car or a small piston engine aircraft…jet engines need air to start, and we weren’t getting any) The valve in question had been working only minutes earlier, but it wasn’t working now.

Unable to start the engines, we were towed back to the gate where we contacted maintenance and explained the situation. A company mechanic showed up quickly and elected to defer the APU instead of taking time for a repair since the flight was already over an hour late. With the APU deferred, we would need a “start cart” to provide air to start the engines, a process that would take place at the gate before push-back. We would also need air pumped into the aircraft while at the gate to keep the cabin cool…or warm depending on our location.

By the time all the paperwork was in order and the proper equipment for starting the engines was in place, we were already an hour and a half past departure time with five legs to go. It was going to be a long day. We eventually got underway and took off for Austin where the visibility was just above landing minimums when we arrived. Austin approach is not typically over-tasked with traffic, but as a result of the poor weather conditions earlier in the morning, the airspace was saturated with aircraft of all sizes attempting to land. We typically come in from the north and land to the south without incurring a delay. Instead, we came in from the north and were vectored south of the airport, then back to the north to put us in sequence with other aircraft before being vectored to intercept the ILS approach to runway 17L. There is only one runway in Austin that is equipped for low visibility approaches, a fact that was not helping with the traffic congestion.

To add insult to injury, just as we were abeam the airport and level at 5000 ft, the arrival controller apparently lost track of a small plane that had just departed Austin. Our onboard Traffic Collision Avoidance System (TCAS) announced “traffic, traffic” and we turned our heads to visually acquire the traffic. Shortly thereafter TCAS announced “monitor vertical speed” and the Vertical Speed Indicator (VSI) displayed green and red arcs to emphasize where we should and should not be. Apparently unaware, the controller then issued us a clearance to descent to 4000 ft (into the traffic) just as TCAS announced “climb, climb” and we notified ATC that we were responding to a TCAS Resolution Advisory (RA) and that we were climbing out of 5000 ft. We only climbed 300 ft. before receiving the “clear of conflict” call from TCAS as the conflict aircraft passed behind us out of harms way. We had the traffic in sight the entire time and were never in any real danger of collision, but the added excitement was not what we needed.

We managed the rest of the approach without any further drama and arrived at the gate an hour and a half late. Austin turned us around in good time, especially given the extra work associated with our deferred APU, and I took the controls for the first time in a month for the flight back to DFW. Other than gusty crosswinds at DFW, the flight home was normal; however, once at the gate at DFW, we were still well behind schedule and in danger of exceeding our duty day limits if we were not able to make up any time.

As I mentioned before, the weather in Denver, our next destination, was much the same as Austin with the addition of colder temperatures, freezing fog and reports of moderate turbulence on the arrival. However, the forecast for improved conditions proved correct and by the time we found ourselves on the arrival at Denver, the weather had improved enough for a visual approach and the airport was clearly in view 20 miles out on final.

With a quick turn in Denver, an 85 knot tailwind and a few short cuts, we reduced our tardiness to one hour by the time we arrived back at DFW. Our time on the ground there was uneventful except that we had an issue with a passenger just before departure who was frantically searching for a lost earring. Blaming and cursing at those around her the flight attendants took control of the situation and were able to move some people around in the cabin and calm the passenger down. Even though her frustration was understandable, it would not be at all unusual to leave a passenger behind who was acting out in this manner, but with the advice and consent of three capable flight attendants, we elected to show some grace and understanding and departed for Nashville for the night. With five legs, 13 hours and 13 minutes on duty and 9 hours and 6 minutes of flight time behind us we arrived in Nashville 53 minutes late.

Nashville was a nice treat after a long day. I got to my hotel room around 9:30 pm, changed clothes and went out for a cold drink and some live music. Our hotel is one block from Broadway, with a plethora of music choices. The Captain was tired and went straight to bed, so I went out alone and spent about an hour enjoying surprisingly good country music and the company of strangers before retiring for the night.

The second day of our trip started off looking good…relatively speaking. Our transportation to the airport arrived on time, we were paired with a friendly group of St. Louis based flight attendants, we had favorable weather ahead and the jet we would fly to DFW was waiting for us at the gate when we arrived. That was pretty much the end of anything good for the day. Once in the cockpit, I found that there were a number of deferred items that we would need to research and understand before departure. There was a problem with the fuel pumps in the center fuel tank, not a factor on this flight since we would not have center tank fuel on board. There was also a problem with the auto spoiler system, which meant we would not have auto spoilers in the event of an aborted takeoff or auto spoilers for the landing. The auto spoilers on landing would be missed, especially with gusty crosswinds back at DFW. We’d make do, and I’d have something to blame a bad landing on…but of course, I don’t make bad landings. (That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.) In addition and as a result of the deferred auto spoiler, the aircraft was not capable of flying a CAT III approach, but with agreeable weather ahead, that too was not going to be a factor. Honestly, none of the deferrals had any huge affect on the operation; they were just another pain in the neck on an already fatiguing trip.

We flew to DFW where we were scheduled to swap jets before continuing on to Houston. Swapping jets is common, especially when passing through one of our hub cities and it’s at least as inconvenient for the pilots as it is for the passengers. We gathered up our things, packed our bags and began the “bag drag” between what seemed like the two farthest points of the airport. Of course, nothing could possibly go as planned on this infernal trip, so when we arrived at our new gate, we were informed that the jet would not arrive until just before scheduled departure time. We just couldn’t win.

We pushed back from the gate 35 minutes behind schedule, taxied away from the gate and contacted ground control at our assigned ramp exit spot. Ground informed us that there was a 20 minute ATC delay due to traffic congestion in Houston and cleared us to a holding pad at the end of the runway. I must admit that I was becoming a bit numb to delays at this point. We waited out the delay and were finally cleared for takeoff on runway 17R for the last two legs of the sequence. Climbing through 10,000 ft, I accelerated to 330 knots in an attempt to make up a little time. Unfortunately, ATC had other plans and instructed us to slow back to 250 knots. I wish I had had my camera handy to document our climb rate as I pitched the nose skyward to bleed off all that extra speed. We were at 330 knots, climbing through 21,000 feet with a clearance to 29,000 feet when we got the instruction to slow. With the nose nearly 20 degrees up, the VSI indicated a climb rate of 6,000 feet per minute as we traded speed for altitude. Regrettably, the reduced speed wasn’t creating enough space for the controller’s needs, so we received multiple vectors off course before finally being cleared back to a point on the Houston arrival.

Our ground time in Houston was short and mercifully uneventful and before we knew it we were in the air again on the “go home” leg. Somehow, after all the events of the previous 38 hours, we managed to block in only 10 minutes late and I walked in the back door of my house within 5 minutes of the time I had given my wife before I left. What an amazing two days…eight legs, twenty one hours on duty and fourteen hours of flight time.

A friend of mine commented that “any vacation induced rust had been cleaned away after this trip.” I think that was an understatement. One month off followed quickly by bad weather, maintenance and equipment challenges, passenger issues and a near miss on top of the normal challenges of this job was enough to get me right back into the swing of things. Here’s to hoping I’ve got all that negativity out of my system. Cheers.

Vacation!

2010-11-17T09:21:00.002-06:00

Ok, ok...I haven't posted anything in a couple weeks now. Truth is, I've been on a much needed vacation and just haven't made time for writing. Also, I usually write when I'm on layovers and...well...I haven't had one of those in a while. Not to worry, my glorious step away from aviation (forgive me for putting it that way) will end this Friday and life will return to normal for me and my escapades around the country.

(The view from my parents back porch where I spent as much of my vacation as humanly possible.)

Vacation at the airlines looks better on a pilot's schedule than it looks in the contract. What I mean by that is this...with over 11 years at a major airline I still only receive three weeks of vacation every year. Keep in mind that I work almost every major holiday and most weekends as well. I get my December schedule later today and I fully expect this to be yet another in a long line of Christmas days spent at the hotel bar. One year in particular, I spent Thanksgiving, Christmas, my wedding anniversary and New Year's Eve at the Courtyard Marriott Hotel at the New York Laguardia airport. The bar tender and I were on a first name basis by the time it was all over. However, creative bidding allows me to stretch my three weeks into much more. For instance, I took two weeks of vacation in the second and third weeks of November this year. I also bid a line in October that had the last 6 days of the month off...then bid a line in November that had the first week of the month off and another 4 days off after the end of my vacation. Long story short, by the time I go back to work this weekend, I will have been away from work for a full month. Not bad for a two week vacation.

Anyway, my hectic life will get back to normal this weekend and I'll start writing again. Until then, below are a couple of humorous emails I got from a friend this week entitled "Things Pilots Say" and "Airline Logbook Entries." They aren't anything new, but they're both funny and supposedly true. Enjoy.

__________________________________________________________________________________

Things Pilots Say

A check ride ought to be like a skirt.
Short enough to be interesting, but long enough to cover everything.

Speed is life. Altitude is life insurance.

It only takes two things to fly:
Airspeed, and money.

The three most dangerous things in aviation:
1. A Doctor or Dentist in a Cessna.
2. Two captains in a DC-9.

Aircraft Identification:
If it's ugly, it's British.
If it's weird, it's French.
If it's ugly and weird, it's Russian.

Without ammunition, the USAF would be just another very expensive flying club.

The similarity between air traffic controllers and pilots?
If a pilot screws up, the pilot dies.
If ATC screws up, the pilot dies.

The difference between flight attendants and jet engines:
The engines usually quit whining when they get to the gate.

New FAA motto:
'We're not happy, till you're not happy.'

If Air Traffic Control screws up, it's called a "System Malfunction",
If a pilot screws up it's called a "violation".

If something hasn't broken on your helicopter--it's about to.

I give that landing a 9 ................. on the Richter scale.

Basic Flying Rules:
1. Try to stay in the middle of the air.
2. Do not go near the edges of it.
3. The edges of the air can be recognized by the appearance of ground, buildings, sea, trees and interstellar space. It is much more difficult to fly in the edges.

Unknown landing signal officer (LSO) to carrier pilot after his 6th unsuccessful landing attempt:
"You've got to land here son. ..................... this is where the food is."

The three best things in life are:
A good landing, a good orgasm, and a good bowel movement.
A night carrier landing is one of the few opportunities to experience all three at the same time.

Things that are worthless to a pilot:
1. Runway behind you.
2. Altitude above you.
3. Airspeed you don't have.
4. Gas in the gas truck.

"The only time you can have too much gas is when you're on fire."

"Only touch the shiny switches--it means someone's touched them recently and it's probably okay."

And the Big Three:
1. Don't fly at night.
2. Don't fly in the weather.
3. Don't f#%& with the red-guarded switches.

On pre-flighting: remember you don't want to buy the damn thing, you only want to use it for a little while.

If it ain't leaking, it's empty.

Boeing multi-use switch philosophy:

Up is On
Down is Off
Twist to Dim
Press to Test
Jerk to Inflate

Three things you don't want to hear in the cockpit

CA: Watch this!
FO: I got a good idea.
FE: Oh shit!

Keep thine airspeed up,
lest the earth rise up and smite thee

I'll believe it when I'm sitting in it AND getting paid.

When it all starts falling apart............fly the biggest piece safely down.

" A good Captain and First Officer go hand in hand..... but not through the airport terminal."
Stolen from Len Morgan

Take offs are optional. Landings are mandatory.

See this line?

See all this here stuff on THIS side?

That's MINE!!

See all this here stuff over THERE on your side?

THAT'S MINE TOO!

_________________________________________________________________________________

Airline Logbook Entries

Airline pilots use a logbook to report problems to ground repair crew.
Sometimes the ground crew are smartasses.

(P) = Pilot's entry
(E) = Engineer's entry

(P) Left inside main tire almost needs replacement.
(E) Almost replaced left inside main tire.

(P) Test flight OK, except autoland very rough.
(E) Autoland not installed on this aircraft.

(P) # 2 propeller seeping prop fluid.
(E) # 2 propeller seepage normal.
(P) # 1, # 3, and # 4 propellers lack normal seepage.

(P) Something loose in cockpit.
(E) Something tightened in cockpit.

(P) Evidence of leak on right main landing gear.
(E) Evidence removed.

(P) DME volume unbelievably loud.
(E) Volume set to more believable level.

(P) Dead bugs on windshield.
(E) Live bugs on order.

(P) Autopilot in altitude hold mode produces a 200 fpm descent.
(E) Cannot reproduce problems on ground.

(P) IFF inoperative.
(E) IFF always inoperative in OFF mode.

(P) Friction locks cause throttle levers to stick.
(E) That's what they're there for.

(P) Number three engine missing.
(E) Engine found on right wing after brief search.

(P) Aircraft handles funny.
(E) Aircraft warned to straighten up, "fly right," and be serious.

(P) Target Radar hums.
(E) Reprogrammed Target Radar with the words.

(P) Pilot's clock inop.
(E) Wound pilots clock.

(P) Autopilot tends to drop a wing when fuel imbalance reaches 500lbs.
(E) Flight manual limits maximum fuel imbalance to 300lbs.

(P) - Suspected crack in windscreen.
(E) - Suspect you're right.

(P) - Mouse in cockpit.
(E) - Cat installed.

(P) - Ghostly creaking from airstairs
(E) - Airstairs lubricated and exorcised.

(P) - The autopilot doesn't.
(E) - IT DOES NOW.

(P) - Seat cushion in 13F smells rotten.
(E) - Fresh seat cushion on order.

(P) - Turn & slip indicator ball stuck in center during turns.
(E) - Congratulations. You just made your first coordinated turn!

(P) - Whining sound heard on engine shutdown.
(E) - Pilot removed from aircraft.

(P) - #2 ADF needle runs wild.
(E) - Caught and tamed #2 ADF needle.

(P) - Unfamiliar noise coming from #2 engine.
(E) - Engine run for four hours. Noise now familiar.

(P) - Noise coming from #2 engine. Sounds like man with little hammer.
(E) - Took little hammer away from man in #2 engine.

(P) - Whining noise coming from #2 engine compartment.
(E) - Returned little hammer to man in #2 engine.

(P) - Flight attendant cold at altitude.
(E) - Ground checks OK.

(P) - 3 roaches in cabin.
(E) - 1 roach killed, 1 wounded, 1 got away.

(P) - Weather radar went ape!
(E) - Opened radar, let out ape, cleaned up mess!

__________________________________________________________________________________

I hope you enjoyed that. Thanks for reading, I'll be back soon!

Delay After Delay on top of More Delays and Rough Air

2010-11-01T18:23:00.011-05:00

Ok, so here’s my disclaimer. Yes, there is a tone of sarcasm in today’s post…a slightly dark side to my personality maybe…but no, I do not have anything against RJ pilots. That’s not to say that I don’t have anything against RJ’s, but that’s an entirely different subject. As a matter of fact, I crawled my way up the aviation ladder at a regional airline and have nothing against those who did the same. So please resist the temptation to fire off that email. Yes, today the object of my frustration is an RJ and to some extent, those piloting the beast, but it could easily have been a much larger jet with far more experienced pilots. Oh, I did it again. Please forgive that last jab as well.

Have you ever had one of those days when absolutely nothing went as planned? Sometimes I have flights like that. I’ve noticed over the years, that once a particular flight starts going bad, that things are only going to get worse. I started out the day at a quiet little airport in the south. Generally speaking, I enjoy flying into small airports where my MD80 is the big man on campus. Security lines always seem to be short and are usually staffed by kind and helpful TSA agents…there’s rarely a delay for taxi…no lines for takeoff…and you’re almost always first for the approach…easy in, easy out. Pleasant. But not today.

We started out on the wrong foot at the hotel, where on top of dirty rooms, questionable food and rude personnel, the van to the airport was nowhere to be found at our scheduled departure time. A crew of five leaves this hotel every morning at this time, 7 days a week, 365 days a year, but for some reason we caught them completely by surprise with our request for transportation. Go figure. We waited around 15 minutes past our scheduled departure time before hailing a couple of cabs and making our way to the airport at our own expense.

I don’t like getting to the airport late. In the end it really isn’t that big of a deal if everything goes as planned, but it rarely does when you're running behind. We arrived at the gate about 35 minutes before departure, which translates to about 25 minutes late. The gate agents typically want to begin boarding 30 minutes prior to departure to facilitate an on-time departure, so the flight attendants needed to work fast to get things ready in the cabin.

I made my way to the cockpit while the Captain pulled up our paperwork at the gate. Upon inspection of the logbook, I found that the fuel quantity indicator for the right main tank was deferred. This is the sort of thing that really complicates my job, especially when I’m running behind. On a good day, when everything is in order, I can pre-flight the aircraft, set and check the various cockpit instruments and program the computers in about 20 minutes. The issue with the fuel tank was going to add a good 15 minutes to my duties. Have you done the mental math? An on-time departure wasn’t looking so probable at this point.

I pulled out the MEL (Minimum Equipment List) and flipped back to the appropriate page to determine what exactly had to be accomplished to verify our fuel level…few things will ruin your day like running out of fuel. Of course, everything I needed wasn’t in one book, so I had to flip through another manual to find the procedure and charts I would need to “stick” the tank and verify our fuel.

“Sticking” the tank, involves dropping a measuring stick from the bottom of the wing that has a float on the other end inside the tank. The stick drops down until the float is floating on top of the fuel inside the tank and I read the meter on the stick (it looks something like a ruler), then go to the charts to verify that we are fueled to the proper level. The whole process is a major pain in the you-know-what and takes a lot of valuable time.

*In the top picture, you can see that there are four "sticks" on each wing. Also in the top picture is a visual depiction of a "stick". The chart on the bottom shows a typical Verification Chart. As an example, an indication of 6.5 inches in stick number 1 on either wing (outboard stick) would equal 9,212 pounds of fuel in the tank.

With the help of a good Captain who did most of the work inside the cockpit, I was in my seat, ready for departure and confident in our fuel quantity within a few minutes of departure. We would leave the gate a few minutes late, but I was sure we could make up the time en-route. I sat down, adjusted my seat and put on my headset as the Captain asked for the Before Starting Engines checklist and we were on our way.

I called for push back clearance and as we were moving back from the gate, I could see that an RJ had already pushed from an adjacent gate. The RJ was blocking our exit from the ramp, but I assumed since he had pushed before us that he would be long gone by the time we were ready for taxi. I was wrong. In anticipation of a short taxi, we started both engines at the gate (as opposed to starting one and then starting the other during taxi) but as we finished up the starting process, the RJ was still blocking the ramp…so we sat there…for 10 minutes. I haven’t the foggiest idea what was going on in the cockpit of that little jet. Ground control couldn’t raise them. We couldn’t raise them. In a “have your people contact my people moment” we even tried to get our gate agent to call their company in an attempt to get the guys moving, but nothing worked. So we just sat there needlessly burning kerosene. In hind sight, 10 minutes doesn’t seem that long, but it was an eternity at the time.

Finally, mercifully, they finished whatever it was they were doing and called for taxi. I really do hate to talk badly about another pilot, but these guys seemed really out of the loop. I suspect that one of the guys in the cockpit, probably the FO, was getting his IOE (Initial Operating Experience) with an instructor. Whoever was working the radio, (again, probably the FO) had difficulty with even the simplest of instructions. First he wouldn’t answer at all, and then when he did he didn’t get the instructions correct. “Taxi runway 17R via Juliet, Whisky, Whisky 1” …it seemed so simple. (I should be ashamed for making fun of the guy…we’ve all been new) Painfully, excruciatingly, they started to move and we followed them to the departure runway where they apparently got lost in their own little world again. We sat behind them at the end of the runway for another 10 minutes until they finally realized they were on the wrong frequency and called the tower ready for takeoff.

Once airborne, you would think the whole thing was over, but it was just beginning. The RJ took off in front of us and we were cleared for takeoff a few minutes later. As soon as we contacted the departure controller he advised us to maintain 250 knots until further advised and amended our altitude from 10,000 to 5,000 feet. Apparently the RJ wasn’t climbing very well. We got a stair-step climb…one thousand feet at a time…all the way to FL280 (Flight Level 280 or 28,000 ft). “Climb maintain 6,000”…”Climb maintain 7,000”…you get the idea. About the time I would level off, the controller would clear us to climb another thousand feet. We did this all the way to FL280 until the RJ finally leveled off and we were allowed to climb above him and resume normal speed. Don’t ask me why we couldn’t level off and pass the guy or go around, but the controller wouldn’t go for it. To make matters worse, the guy climbed at 250 knots all the way to his cruise altitude. I don’t fly that type aircraft and I am not sure what a normal climb speed should be, so maybe this was normal, maybe it wasn’t, I don’t know. But normal climb speed in our jet would have been around 310 knots, so 250 was really going to hurt our attempt to get back on schedule.

Once clear of this particular thorn in our side, we were given normal speed and an unrestricted climb toward our planned cruise altitude of FL360. We were planned at that altitude because the cloud tops were around FL340 and the ride was reported to be rough at that altitude. But as we continued our climb, we were told that FL340 would be our final altitude for traffic. This isn’t that uncommon, ATC is often unable to clear us to our flight planned altitude for one reason or another. It usually isn’t that big of a deal except on a day like this one when the altitude they offer is unpleasant or all-together unusable. After trying to make FL340 work for a few minutes, we gave up and requested a lower altitude to get out of the clouds and rough air. We eventually had to go all the way down to FL260 before we found any smooth air. Frustrating, given the effort it took to get to FL340. At least we were in front of the RJ.

Delay after delay on top of rough air and more delays. This was a fairly short flight, and after we leveled off at FL260, we found ourselves in a traffic jam of planes trying to line up on the arrival. The controller at Ft. Worth Center directed us to turn 30 degree right and slowed us to 250 knots to make some room between us and the traffic ahead. A few minutes later he turned us back on course and handing us off to the next controller. As soon as we checked on with the next controller, he turned us 30 degrees left “for traffic.” This went on for the next four frequencies, one guy turning us off then back on course only to be vectored off course again by the next guy in line.

Once we were handed off to Regional Approach Control, we found ourselves properly spaced and the delays came to an end. We were vectored for a visual approach and enjoyed a breathtaking view of the sunset reflecting off the surface a lake just north of the airport.

The thermals from earlier in the day had subsided giving way to smooth evening air and an effortless approach and landing. When the air is that smooth, you can configure for landing, set the power, trim the controls and just sit back and watch. Our patience during the last two hours was rewarded with a truly enjoyable approach and landing enhanced by an equally amazing view. Our next leg was back to the same airport from which we had just come. Hopefully we would be more successful with our second attempt.

Questions and Answers

2010-10-26T19:27:00.003-05:00

I’ve been getting a number of questions from readers lately…some general in nature and some pretty specific. I thought it might be fun to post some of the questions and my responses to them. If you would like to submit a question, there’s a button in my profile you can use to send me an email. If I post your question, all personal and identifying details will be removed.

The following questions are from a guy flying an MD80 simulator on his home pc:

Question: Ground Power (GPU) vs. APU power. Which one do you use more often? It is my thought that at some point before the flight, you need to use the APU for bleed air supply to start the engines. Do you just leave the APU on all the time on the ground or do you turn it on just before engine start?

Answer: Pre-Conditioned Air (PCA) is usually available to heat and cool the aircraft on the ground, so we typically use ground power and PCA until about 15 minutes before departure. Sometimes PCA is unavailable or the unit does not provide a sufficient amount of air to heat or cool the jet, in which case we leave the APU running the whole time we're on the ground. At about 15 minutes prior to departure, we start the APU to provide the air we need to start the engines. If the APU is inop, a start cart is used to provide the air we need to start the engines. The start cart is also capable of providing the air needed to run the air conditioning system if both PCA and the APU are inop or unavailable. The APU burns approximately 200 pounds of fuel per hour, so it is economical to leave it off as long as possible.

Question: What kind of reserve fuel do you plan on. When flying in the sim in the MD82 I try to land with no less than 7k lbs of fuel. What do you guys shoot for in the real world?

Answer: Generally, I like to land with at least 6,000 pounds. We are regularly planned to arrive with around 5.8 on a good day with no expected delays, but most Captains will rarely accept less than 6. The legal minimum for an MD80 is about 4.3 (45 minutes of fuel), which in my opinion is nuts. Our manual does not even allow a go-around with less than 5k, so why on earth would I accept any less. The problem with accepting less than about 6k is that if something goes wrong at the last minute, you may not have the fuel to divert to even a close airport. A diversion to an airport less than 20 miles away could easily consume 2000 pounds of fuel. Also, the flight plan does not consider many of the fuel sucking variables that we encounter every day. All that said, 6k is about as low as I like to go…thankfully most of the Captains I fly with agree.

Question: I sometimes use a simulator program called topcat which produces Vspeeds and t/o and landing data for fs. Do you use a real world software program to determine these or do you use paper charts in reference to OAT and weight?

Answer: We get two things from dispatch before our flight...a Flight Plan and a Departure Plan. The Flight Plan has all the en-route info we need and the Departure Plan tells us everything we need to takeoff. The Departure Plan provides settings for flaps, CG, trim, power and V speeds and is good for the planned departure weight plus 2,000 pounds and planned temperature plus 2 degrees. If we close out 2,001 pounds over the planned weight or if the actual temperature is 3 degrees above or below plan, then we must get new numbers. After we push away from the gate, we get a “closeout” over the ACARS that provides actual weight, CG and trim settings for takeoff. If, for some reason, we are required to get new takeoff data or the Departure Plan does not provide data for the runway in use, we can get new data over the ACARS while we taxi to the runway.

Question: I am kind of confused about the landing speeds. I’ll get a Vapp and a Vref speed and normally shoot to be at Vapp speed at 1000ft then slow to Vref at 300 feet? How do the pros do it?

Answer: (Thanks for the “pros” comment by the way). We bug the min maneuver speeds for each flap configuration and then bug approach speed. Specifically, the top bug is the minimum speed to fly with a clean wing…flaps and slats retracted. The bottom bug is Vref. That way, as you begin to slow for the approach, you know as you approach a bug on the airspeed indicator that you need more flaps. It is always a good idea to extend flaps closer to the min maneuver speed than the max speed for the flap setting to reduce stress on the flaps and the airframe.

I generally cross the final approach fix between 170 and 180 knots with flaps set to 11 degrees...anything faster than 180 and you will almost surely have trouble being configured in time to be stabilized at 1000 feet. If you are not stabilized on speed, on glide path with the engines stabilized at approach thrust by 1000 feet above touchdown, a go-around is required. At about 1800 feet above touchdown elevation, I reduce the throttles to idle, lower the flaps to 15 and drop the gear. As soon as the gear is down I lower the flaps to 28 then flaps 40 as we slow. I then push the throttles up to around 1.3 EPR and stabilize at about VREF plus 10 knots. This all allows me to be fully configured by the 1000 foot requirement. I then fly VREF plus 10 knots until the flare.

I hope you find this information helpful. Good luck with your sim.

Close Call

2010-10-17T12:28:00.004-05:00

The picture above is Pacific Southwest Airlines (PSA) flight 182, a Boeing 727, after a mid-air collision with a Cessna 172 over San Diego, California on September 25, 1978. PSA 182 was on a downwind leg for runway 27 at the same time that the 172, N7711G, was flying a practice ILS approach to runway 9. After the impact, both aircraft crashed, killing a total of 144 people…135 passengers and crew aboard PSA 182, a student and his instructor in the 172 and 7 people including 2 children on the ground. An additional 9 people on the ground were injured and 22 homes were destroyed.

This accident and other similar incidents gave impetus to the creation of such technology as the Traffic Collision Avoidance System (TCAS), policies like those requiring altitude reporting transponders while inside the airspace surrounding major airports and procedures inside the cockpit and within air traffic control centers that would help prevent such disasters from occurring in the future.

Since it relates specifically to the story I’m about to tell, let me provide a short explanation of TCAS.

The picture above is a good representation of a typical TCAS display. TCAS involves communication between all aircraft equipped with an appropriate transponder (provided the transponder is enabled and set up properly). Each TCAS-equipped aircraft "interrogates" all other aircraft in a determined range about their position, and all other craft reply to other interrogations. This interrogation-and-response cycle may occur several times per second.

Through this constant back-and-forth communication, the TCAS system builds a three dimensional map of aircraft in the airspace, incorporating their bearing, altitude and range. Then, by extrapolating current range and altitude difference to anticipated future values, it determines if a potential collision threat exists.

The next step beyond identifying potential collisions is automatically negotiating a mutual avoidance maneuver (currently, maneuvers are restricted to changes in altitude and modification of climb/sink rates) between the two (or more) conflicting aircraft. These avoidance maneuvers are communicated to the flight crew by a cockpit display and by synthesized voice instructions.

In basic terms, if I am sharing airspace with an aircraft that is not equipped with TCAS, the TCAS onboard my aircraft will tell me to climb or descend to avoid a collision. If I am sharing airspace with an aircraft equipped with TCAS, the systems onboard my aircraft will communicated and coordinate with the other aircraft and our respective TCAS systems will provide instructions to climb or descend to avoid a conflict.

So here we go…Ontario, California to Dallas - Ft. Worth, Texas on a crisp, cool Saturday afternoon in November. We were planning to have a few open seats on our flight home, but non-revs and last minute travelers seem to come out of the woodwork at the last minute and we managed to leave full. We left the gate a few minutes ahead of schedule and began the short taxi to runway 26R for takeoff as I briefed the Captain on the final weight and balance information and ran the taxi and before takeoff checklists.

The departure procedure out of Ontario is far from the most complicated we fly, but it can be a challenge for a few reasons. First, Ontario has a noise abatement procedure that is put in place to minimize the impact of noise pollution in the area surrounding the airport. The MD80 that I fly is not exactly known for it’s quiet engines and is notorious for setting off noise sensors when the procedure is not followed correctly. They don’t just issue the procedure and ask us to fly as quietly as possible, they actually listen.

Many airports around the country have installed noise sensors in the neighborhoods surrounding major airports. If the pilots exceed the allowable decibel level on one of these sensors, the airline is fined. In this case, the procedure calls for an early left turn with the flaps and slats extended to allow for a sharper turn and a reduction from takeoff to climb power at a lower than normal altitude. By itself, not a huge deal.

The procedure is further complicated by the routing and altitude requirements on the SID (Standard Instrument Departure). After liftoff, we are required to make an early and sharp turn to the southeast and proceed directly to the Paradise VOR. Once direct to Paradise, we must be careful to cross 6 miles from the VOR at or below 4000 feet and then cross over the VOR at or above 2700. We then cross the next fix between 4500 and 9000, the next fix at or below 11000 and the fix after that above 6000. It’s all very confusing and a lot to think about in the first few minutes of the flight, especially when you consider the pilots are also retracting gear and flaps, accelerating to 250 knots, running the after takeoff checklists and watching for traffic.

Traffic. It’s that last little thing that has the potential to make this departure so interesting. Southern California and specifically the LA basin hosts a significant number of small, general aviation aircraft sharing the same airspace as large jets easily operating 2-3 times their speed. The LA basin is also home to a number of major airports…LAX, ONT, BUR, LGB and SNA…to name a few. The combination of large jets and small general aviation aircraft operating in significant numbers in a relatively small geographic area makes the possibility of disaster is a very real concern.

I was flying, so after receiving our takeoff clearance, I pushed the throttles up to stabilize the engines, then called for “auto throttle” and allowed the automatic system to set takeoff thrust. We accelerated normally down the runway and the Captain called out V1, Rotate and we were airborne. As we climbed through 100 feet, we received our first traffic advisory from the tower. I don’t know exactly what was going on in the controllers mind at the time…maybe he was distracted by something else…maybe he was previously unaware of the traffic, but I can tell you that 100 feet is an extremely unusual time to receive a traffic advisory. There was a helicopter two miles west of the airport heading east at 1000 feet. That put him directly in front of us, heading right at us, at an altitude we were going to climb through very shortly. Our TCAS called out an audible warning “Traffic, Traffic” to warn us of the target and displayed a solid white diamond shape on the TCAS display that immediately became an amber circle, indicating the increasingly close proximity of the traffic. I elected to begin the turn as depicted on the departure procedure and increased our rate of climb to clear the traffic as soon as possible. As we passed through 800 feet the TCAS once again sounded…this time with the words “Climb, Climb” as the amber circle became a red square and a green arc appeared on the VSI (Vertical Speed Indicator) indicating the rate of climb needed to resolve the event. We continued our turn and climbed as fast as we could with the nose well above the 20 degrees. We safely passed through 1000 feet and could see the helicopter clearly as he passed behind us…much closer than I would have liked. Then as we passed through 1500 feet and were moving away from the target, the TCAS made it’s final announcement… “Clear of Conflict” and the event was over. No more than 20 seconds had elapsed since rotation.

As we continued to climb, we shifted our attention to completing the after takeoff checklist and monitoring the various altitude restrictions on the departure. Approaching the JUMPA intersection, so named for parachute jumping activity in the area (another target to watch for and a story for another day) we received another traffic advisory from ATC. As we passed through 9,000 feet climbing at about 2000 feet per minute, ATC advised us of opposite direction traffic ahead at 10,500 feet. “Advise you stop climb until passing traffic” we were told. I had already started to push the nose over before receiving the instruction and we level off at 10,000 feet just before the TCAS announced “Traffic, Traffic”. By the time I looked down at the TCAS, the target was already a red square on the display and we received our second Resolution Advisory of the day as the TCAS announced “monitor vertical speed” and a green arc illuminated on the VSI indicating that we should maintain level flight or descend to avoid the target.

Level at 10,000 we visually acquired the traffic ahead, a twin engine Cessna 421. As the traffic passed by, the TCAS announced “clear of conflict” once again and two other targets appeared on the TCAS screen, both below us, one crossing right to left and the other crossing left to right, both less than 1000 feet below us. I wondered if they were aware of each other. With the overhead traffic now behind us, we happily continued our climb out of what is almost always a very busy environment on a nice Saturday afternoon. Once above 18,000 we were once again in no man’s land for small planes enjoying visual flight and could once again relax a bit.

Clearly, TCAS was a tremendously important tool to us on this flight. The ATC controller watching over our flight was responsible for separating us from other traffic in the area, the Captain and I were also responsible for separation and were paying close attention to local traffic, and I’m sure the other pilots involved were as well. That said, TCAS provided a level of safety and protection for our flight that was not available in 1978. With respect to the PSA accident over San Diego, TCAS would almost certainly have prevented the collision. While I am saddened by the fact that it took a death count to bring about this change, I am hopeful that those who lost loved ones in this accident and other like it gain some solace in knowing that the death of those they cared for may very likely have saved the lives of thousands.

An Unexpected Ferry

2010-09-30T16:27:00.001-05:00

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.

Hermine's Revenge

2010-09-09T14:39:00.016-05:00

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.

Multiple Approaches

2010-08-29T15:58:00.003-05:00

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.

Recurrent Training

2010-08-06T10:17:00.003-05:00

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.

Just a Typical Trip: Part III

2010-07-18T21:22:00.005-05:00

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.

Just a Typical Trip: Part II

2010-07-16T21:30:00.005-05:00

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.

Just a Typical Trip: Part I

2010-07-15T12:12:00.002-05:00

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.

A Tale of Two Airlines

2010-07-04T14:09:00.003-05:00

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.

Airliner Graveyard

2010-06-14T20:06:00.013-05:00

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

Passenger Bill of Rights

2010-05-21T14:52:00.004-05:00

Yesterday, I had my first encounter with the Passenger Bill of Rights, otherwise known as the Tarmac Rule. It was in no way a positive experience. Bottom line? The law of unintended consequences strikes again. I genuinely do not think those who drafted this law intended these results.

First, let me give you my basic interpretation of the law. It is generally accepted practice to start the clock at the "out" time, which is the time that the aircraft begins movement away from the gate for the purpose of flight. The fact that you may have been in your seat for some time before the "out" time is not relevant to the law. For a domestic flight, an airline is required to offer food and water to passengers at or before the 2 hour point and allow passengers the opportunity to exit the aircraft at or before 3 hours. If adequate food and water is not available, the aircraft must be back to the gate within 2 hours. The fines for violating this law are astronomical at $27,500 per passenger. This flight, with 124 passengers, would incur a fine of $3,410,000 for exceeding the limits of the law by even one minute.

Our flight was scheduled from DFW to a city in the northeast. The weather at departure time was actually pretty good. Partly cloudy skies, light winds...no big deal right? Not when ATC and a large airline get involved. There was a serious line of weather east of the airport that was spawning severe thunderstorms and even a reported tornado. The storms were all at least 15 miles east of the airport and moving away, but they were disrupting all the departure routes to the east. Our flight was departing out one of the north departure corridors, but many of the east-bounders were re-cleared out to the north, so our departure would be affected.

With the weather to the east, we convinced our dispatcher to add 2000 pounds to our fuel load due to the possibility of increased taxi times. But since the weather along our route and at our destination was good, we decided not to load any significant extra fuel. 2000 pounds may or may not sound like a lot, but everything is relative. On this aircraft, 2000 pounds would last about 2 hours on the ground, but only about 20 minutes in the air. As it turned out, the Tarmac Rule, not our fuel, would dictate the outcome of the day.

I won't bore you with all the details, but we were cleared to one runway, then another, and then back to the original. I'm sure the ground controllers at DFW were trying to do their very best, but every time they changed our runway, our delay got longer and our position in line for takeoff got worse. As it became obvious that we would not be able to takeoff within the limits of the law, we began discussions with our flight's dispatcher to coordinate our return to the gate.

Just getting back to the gate took over 30 minutes due to all the taxiway congestion. We finally arrived back at our starting point and parked with two minutes to spare. By this time, the Captain and I had been on duty for 13 hours and would be illegal to continue. This is where the "Law of Unintended Consequences" comes into play. Since there were no reserve crews available, the flight was cancelled. All 124 people aboard this flight were put in hotels for the night and re-booked on flights the next day that were already full.

I believe that if we had remained in line for takeoff, that we would have exceeded the limits of the law by no more than 10 minutes. But due to the inflexible nature of the law, we were required to return to the gate. 124 passengers inconvenienced.

Are the outcomes of this flight and hundreds like it acceptable casualties in the effort to protect passengers from excessive ground delays? I don’t think so, and I know 124 people who would agree.

Tampa Thunderstorms

2010-04-30T11:44:00.003-05:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Medical Emergency

2010-04-10T17:06:00.003-05:00

I was responding to our instructions to “Descend now, cross MOOSE at FL 240” when I heard the cabin emergency signal. I turned up the volume on the intercom in time to hear one of the flight attendants in the back alerting the others that we had a passenger in distress near the last row. A man in his 40’s had lost consciousness after standing near his seat and hit his head on the way to the floor. One of the flight attendants tried to break his fall, but was injured in the process. The captain instructed me to declare a medical emergency and handle the flying and ATC communications while he took over coordination with the flight attendants and our company dispatch.

As we learned later from exiting passengers, the flight attendants were doing an excellent job with their patient and were both calm and collected as they performed life saving duties. They are trained for this sort of thing, but situations like this are uncommon. Normally, the flight attendants are seen passing out drinks and trying to make everyone’s flight a little more comfortable, but they are trained for much more. Even on a routine flight, they perform many safety related duties that are not recognized by the average traveler, but when called upon in an emergency, they are invaluable.

In the cockpit, it seemed like the interphone chime sounded a hundred times in the 15 minutes it took us to get on the ground. Every time there was a change in the passenger’s condition, we were notified. The Captain was in constant contact with the flight attendants, company dispatch, and the “on-call physician” available to us via phone patch. Passenger condition, medical history, medications…everything was important. You never know how these things are going to turn out and I've seen them go both ways…but you have to assume and prepare for the worst. Sometimes you do everything in your power to get what you think is a dying passenger on the ground only to have them walk off the jet in seemingly perfect health. Other times, it’s the real deal and a life is in the balance.

Once I uttered the word “emergency” to ATC, we were immediately cleared direct to our destination and others in our path were given vectors to clear the way. I increased our speed to Mach .80 and transitioned to 330 knots. As far as the flying was concerned, everything we were doing felt out of the norm, so I had to be very careful to plan my descent and speed reduction to avoid any mistakes. I wanted to fly as fast as possible and delay my speed reduction as late as I could, but had to plan carefully, and when it came to the approach, flew normal speeds and utilized standard procedures in order to insure the safety of all those on board. We had our choice of runways and were cleared direct to the outer marker from about 80 miles out. As we broke out of the clouds at about 1000 ft, we could see that there was a line of planes awaiting our arrival. All departures were suspended as we approached the airport to insure there would be no delays for our flight.

After landing, the tower cleared us directly to our gate where paramedics, passenger service personnel and a ground crew were ready and waiting. As we approached the gate, I asked our passengers to remain seated until the paramedics had entered the aircraft and assessed the situation. Thankfully for all involved, this situation ended well. The ill passenger was removed from the aircraft and taken to the hospital where he was treated and released. The injured flight attendant had a bruised hand and will recover fully. To be honest, the whole thing was a little anti-climactic. After we arrived at the gate, my job was essentially over. It seemed like there should be more for me to do, but there wasn’t. I thanked everyone involved, packed up my bags and headed for home.

Rush to Comply

2010-03-13T09:42:00.002-06:00

Ok, before I begin I must admit that JFK is not common ground for me…I pass through every now and then, more often as a last minute divert from LGA or EWR than a planned destination. I possess a mental short list of airports that I avoid for one reason or another and JFK makes the list for a number of reasons. I was flying a “turn” this day…one leg out, one leg back, home at night. Not a bad deal if, like me, you savor the company of your wife and kids and are lucky and or wise enough to live where you are based. Our arrival, landing and taxi-in were unusually routine for New York. Beautiful winter day. No delays. Landed 31R. Short and simple taxi clearance to an open gate…arrived about 20 minutes early. Uneventful…just the way I like it. Getting the heck outa Dodge wouldn’t be so easy.

The 100+ knot headwind that yielded our early arrival would be a thorn in our side on the way home, so we made every effort to get underway on-time if not a little early. In spite of what the Captain may tell you when running late, it’s quite difficult to make up any measurable time en-route. That extra speed at altitude on a flight like this would cost the company at least another 1000lbs of fuel and would result in about 5 minutes saved…not a great return on investment. The best way to hedge our bet against the headwind was to get off the gate early and hope for a short taxi.

I can’t speak for the ramp crew, but for whatever reason they didn’t start paying any visible attention to us until about 20 minutes before departure. This would not suffice for our fully loaded flight home. We would leave the gate a little late. Strike one.

We finally requested push clearance about 10 minutes past departure, but the flight at the next gate beat us to the punch. We would have to wait for him to push, start and taxi out from behind us before we could move. Strike two…and here comes the fun part.

With pencil in hand, I requested taxi clearance from ever-patient JFK ground (yes, I’m being facetious). We got off to a good start with a clearance to taxi via Tengo and Alpha. “Follow the jet ahead to runway 22R” he told us. Great. Follow him…we can do that. We were turning onto Alpha when we got our first amendment. “Hold short Victor” he said, “I have a runway change for you. Standby.” So we pulled up and held short of taxiway Victor, hoping for something simple. Our new instructions were to taxi to runway 31L via Bravo. I read this back before looking at my chart and realizing that we could go left or right on Bravo and reach runway 31L. In hind sight, turning left seems more logical, but I still didn’t know for sure and needed clarification. But this is JFK ground and getting a word in is often more difficult than it sounds. So we sat there, not know which way to turn, until we were in someone’s way, got noticed by ground control and were finally asked what we were doing. Questions like “what are you doing,” “where are you going,“ and “say your altitude” are not favorites of any flight crew as they usually infer an error on your part. To add to my discomfort, the tone in the controller’s voice was not one of a nurturing parent, but one of a weathered schoolmarm. We were indignantly instructed to turn left and contact clearance for a re-route. Strike three.

We received a new full-route clearance comprised of numerous navigational points and airways with which I was not familiar. Jet this, victor that, intersections and VORs…it wasn’t pretty. I’m sure my read-back sounded something like a student pilot's first attempt at an IFR clearance, but I muddled through it with a bit of assistance and managed to get it all down on paper. Getting the new route into the FMS wasn’t any easier. Each fix and airway along our route had to be verified on a map before being entered in to the FMS. Just locating an unfamiliar fix in this part of the country is a chore. An airway map of the northeast looks a little like a plate of spaghetti. Everything is compressed and jumbled together, so finding unfamiliar points is a time consuming task...and the pressure of the clock was beginning to have its toll as we approached the departure runway. We pulled out of line to give ourselves some extra time, verified the new route and successfully entered it into the FMS. We then contacted dispatch to verify legal compliance and viability of our new clearance and left New York on our way home. Crawled into bed a little late that night.

Time seems to compress when you are feeling rushed, but the key to a safe flight is not allowing yourself to be pushed into what is know as a “rush to comply.” Pilots are proud beings...and an inability to comply with a clearance in what is perceived as a timely manner is an attack on that pride. We must resist the temptation to rush. There has never been an accident or incident that was not made up of many links in a chain. Allowing yourself to be rushed may be the quickest ways to add links to your flights chain of events. Breaking any one link could very possibly prevent a tragedy. On a good day, only checklists are completed between the gate and the runway. On this day, we had much more to do, but we took each step as it came and completed it in a safe and timely manner.

Forgive me while I paraphrase…A pilot lives in a world of perfection, or not at all. Not sure who said it, but I like it.

Cat III approach

2010-03-07T17:15:00.003-06:00

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

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

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

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

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

First Post

2010-03-07T10:58:00.002-06:00

I have been encouraged by friends and followers on twitter (www.twitter.com/AAFO4Ever) and YouTube (www.youtube.com/contrail777) to start a blog...so here it goes. My posts may wander a bit at first until I find my voice in this forum, but will always center on my thoughts and experiences as a pilot for a major US airline. Thanks for reading along.