A One Year Anniversary

It's hard to believe it was only a year ago when I showed up at the Trans States Holdings Headquarters building.  Looking back, while it has seemed so short, it has been such an incredibly busy and rewarding year.  Aside from flying over 700 hours since my hire date, I've also done so much more. 

So, what all have I done in a year?  Outside of flying, I've traveled all over the globe.  Being a former Air Force Officer, I have friends all over that need visiting.  I've visited family in Akron and Tampa.  I've hitched rides on airplanes to Colorado, California, Michigan, Montana, DC, Nashville, and Daytona to visit friends.  For my first vacation, I hopped on a flight to Europe for an epic European road trip.  I'd like to send a special thanks to that guy in first class who didn't show up for their flight from NY to Belgium.  Your lay-flat seat was wonderful and I slept like a baby. 

Here is a photo of everywhere I've flown in the last year.  The lines in Florida are the ones from flight instructing job.  

At an airline, a year is a big deal.  First of all, I received a significant (almost 50%) raise.  Most airlines consider the "first year" reduction in pay as training reimbursement.  It is estimated that the training I received to get a Airline Transport certificate in addition to my airplane specific training costs the company tens of thousands of dollars.  

The other big benefit is union membership.  The first year is considered a "probationary" year.  While a probationary member of the union, you have no real protections.  Had the company violated my contract, something that happens every so often, I would have no recourse to ensure I was paid or otherwise compensated properly.  As a probationary pilot, if thou dost protest too much, thou dost find thouself flying the unemployment line.  There actually doesn't even need to be a reason for termination especially since Missouri is an "At Will" state.  Now, as a member of the Air Line Pilot Association, I could be fired but would have to be negligent in my duties in order for them to do so.  

I originally intended for the blog to come out a long time ago, and I know many people have complained that it has been awhile since I wrote one.  For that, I do apologize.  Following my epic Eurotrip, I spent most of my coffee shop time working on annual training.  Yes, that's another bonus you get at your year mark.  You have to get recurrent.

Over the course of the year, I've gotten very proficient at my day-to-day job.  In the course of the year though, there really isn't anything other than "day-to-day" flying.  The passengers think that's a good thing but, unfortunately, your other and more important skills can atrophy.  To prevent this, the FAA has created extensive annual (or every 9 month) training programs which include ground school and 8 hours of simulator evaluations.  Here's an example of such a scenario:

You depart Chicago fully loaded enroute to Roanoke, Virginia.  It's a cool calm night when you depart but the forecast is calling for lower clouds upon arrival in the heart of the Appalachians.  It's my, the First Officer's, turn to fly and as we launch ourselves out over the midwest, the sky continues to get darker as night settles on the east coast.  The first indications that things might not go well are no more than 100 miles from the airport on the initial descent.  Within 100 miles, we are merely 20 minutes from landing.  The Captain, now termed the "pilot monitoring" since he is just monitoring how I'm flying, is getting the weather for Roanoke while I'm talking to Air Traffic Control regarding the descent.  

"Okay Chris, here's the weather.  Winds are 320 at 10 knots.  You've got a broken layer (of clouds) at 500 and overcast at 800 feet.  They are currently advertising the ILS for runway 34."  I open my approach plates to the approach and begin to review it.  Most ILS approaches will get you to 200 feet above the ground before you have to be able to see the runway.  This one only gets us to 450 feet and for a very good reason.  This is what surrounds our airport (actual picture of Roanoke airport).  

"This is only going to get us 50 feet below the clouds.  Any chance for for the other approach?  It gets us about 100 feet lower.  That should get us plenty of room."  I begin to pull the throttles back and slow the airplane down.  If we are going to change runways, we are going to need some time.  The airport is now racing at us at 300 miles an hour and we are within 10 minutes of landing.  

After reviewing the outages in the paperwork, he calls ATC.  "Approach, Waterski 3340, any chance for the LDA?"  

"Waterski, that approach has received several alerts in the last hour.  We are about to take it out of service."

Air Traffic Control is essentially telling us that the accuracy and reliability of the equipment is in question.  They didn't specifically say we couldn't have it but, in an area like this, at night, in the clouds, it really is best to err on the side of caution.  We both decide that the original approach is still adequate.  

Now we are 6 miles from the airport and handed off to the tower.  As we contact them to get the landing clearance, tower has notified us that the last 3 airplanes have diverted to other airports because they never got the airport in sight before reaching the minimum altitude.  I review the procedure again in the event that we also don't see the runway.  

It's quiet, almost eerily so.  The Captain calls out "1000 above."  That's my indication that we are only 1000 above the airport elevation.  I look over at my terrain display.  Peaks are beginning to show up to my left and right.  Directly below and ahead of me, we are still in the clear.  Second by second, the mountains begin to envelop us.  

"Two hundred above" the captain calls out as his eyes strain against the white nothingness in front of us.  

"One hundred above" I call out not more than 10 seconds later as the Captain's primary job is to look outside for the approach lights.  

The seconds crawl by.  On edge, I'm waiting for him to call the airport in sight but I hear nothing as I see the minimum altitude pop up on my screen.  I call out "Minimums" as I gently advance the throttles to the firewall, "Set max thrust.  Flaps 9."  I pull the nose up and begin an immediate 180 turn away from the mountains.  

I notice my heart racing.  It's the first time I've done a missed approach since my initial sim almost a year ago.  I'm more surprised than anything that it went as smoothly as it did.  Not that I ever have doubted my ability, it's just been a long time since I practiced it.  I guess that's why we do training.  As we are climbing out, I take some calming breaths as I engage the autopilot.  The approach is over, but we are still in the air.   

I look over at the Captain.  "Did you get ground contact?"  I ask referring to being able to see the ground below even though we couldn't see the airport ahead.  He shook his head.  That tells me that we weren't even close to popping below the clouds.  "Well, we could give it one more shot since they are reporting broken.  How's the fuel look?" 

After some quick mental math, he tells me that we don't have enough gas for another attempt.  We have to head to our alternate, Washington DC.  The remainder of the flight goes normally.  It's calm and clear in the nation's capital and the landing and approach are just as uneventful as usual.  Looking at the gas as we taxi in, he was right.  When we touched down on the runway, we had a little less than 45 minutes of fuel remaining (the legal limit when flight planning).  Had we made another attempt, we would have had no room for error when reaching DC.  

There's one more detail I left out.  This wasn't training.  This was a real life situation and a real life conversation.  A training scenario would look something like this (with possibly some malfunctions), and are designed to look like real life.  

As we taxi up to the gate, the Captain calls the company operations center to determine what to do.  After some discussion, we both determine that the weather will not improve until tomorrow and it would be best to cancel the flight.  I stand out on the ramp as the passengers climb down out of the airplane and wait to collect their bags.  One older woman approaches me and starts saying how she's lived in Roanoke her whole life.

"Those mountains scare me every time we go in there.  I'm really glad you guys didn't even try to land there,"  she says to me as she grabs her bag and walks away.  I just smile politely and wish her a good night.