It is a great fall day in the wonderful state of Missouri. As we turn the corner into November to round out 2014, I've decided to finally give you guys the FAQ section I promised this summer. It is a time when the "amateur" travelers descend upon the nation's airports and completely forget the it isn't acceptable to pack swords and fireworks in their carry-on luggage. If you are traveling for Thanksgiving or Christmas, I highly recommend getting there early; not to avoid a missed flight but primarily for the entertainment. Feeling blue? You might just catch that guy who managed to pack 65 pounds of clothes for a 4 day weekend and enjoy as he adds layer after layer and stuffs every pocket in an attempt to save $100. If only you could wear two pairs of shoes at once.
I've compiled a list of questions from you and from my experiences. Sit back and enjoy!
"Excuse me, where/why is....?"
Whenever I find myself walking through an airport, I will most undoubtedly get asked a derivation of this question. "Where is my flight? Where is this gate? Why doesn't my boarding card have a gate on it? Where is the smoking lounge? Where is the Chipotle?" I can't help but scratch my head at these native english speakers. For those that haven't been in an airport for awhile, I can assure you that the signage has gotten less confusing and more clear. If you take one minute and look to the ceiling, there are pictures and emoji-like characters giving you instructions on your every want and needs. Need to know a gate? There are flat screen TVs every 20 yards that give you that information. In fact, when you ask me, I'm going to walk over to those TVs to find that information. "But, I thought you might know more than that, like if it was delayed or not."
I will be as helpful as I can and I always am. Just keep in mind, even if this isn't my first time through the airport, we usually park at the same gates in the same area. Please don't scoff at me when I tell you I don't know where the smoking lounge is. If I don't smoke, why on earth would I know where to light up in Houston, Texas? Also, there is one other thing to keep in mind. The people who have the "big picture" of the airline operation don't work at the airport. They work in an office building, most likely across the country. So, when you ask me why your airplane is delayed and I say, I don't know, I honestly don't. I'm not lying. "Well, you're a pilot, why don't you know?" Even though this is a United or a United Express flight, I do not work for that company. I can't call up and ask any operationally related questions. I'm a pilot for a subcontractor airline that, like all regional jet operators, is permitted to paint United colors on its airplanes. I'm sorry sir, I just don't know.
Can you call ahead to hold my airplane?
The easy answer to this is "no." I wish I could say yes. The fact is, we have no easy way to get ahold of anyone who has that power. The people who control whether an airplane is late or not can only be contacted by a gate agent or an operations controller. The operations controller is in charge of assigning gates and ensuring airplanes are operationally ready for flight. When it's busy, they won't be able to make the request. In Chicago, they are always busy. Additionally, because of many complaints to the Department of Transportation regarding delays, airlines are now under very strict performance metrics. If too many flights are delayed, even if it's for connecting passengers, they could receive hefty fines from the government.
Do pilots score a lot of stewardesses? - Jason Klein
First of all, Jason, I think they get pretty antsy when you call them stewardesses. I had a Captain on a trip call back and kept saying, "oh stewardess." It made me cringe all over. Second, I personally would highly recommend against any dipping into that pool. There are so many horror stories of mid-trip break downs to mid-night all-night extravaganzas. If you want to have a private relationship, doing it at work isn't the best place to do it. I live by the mantra, "protect the check." If there is ever a nasty falling out and it comes down to a "he-said/she-said," we are both going to lose. She might only be sacrificing her reputation or a month of training. I have years of training and tens of thousands of dollars at risk. So, the only stick you should be servicing on your trip is the one that makes the airplane go up and down.
If I bought drinks for everybody but the pilots and had that 737 rocking like a G6, would you be pissed? -Angela Durbin
Excellent question! First of all, I don't fly a 737. I'd love to someday, but alas, I'm stuck in a much tinier tube. If you do decide to buy a few rounds for my airplane, you might be able to get away with a mere $500 tab. Don't think about cracking open your Duty-Free bottle of liquor either. It is against Federal Law to consume alcoholic beverages brought onto an airplane. Thinking about pre-gaming at the airport bar? Any passenger appearing to be intoxicated will be denied boarding. You thought playing cat-herder at the local bar is difficult? Imagine trying to safely evacuate the drunk passengers from a burning airplane. Even worse, what if your drunk passenger is a rowdy drunk? You can't exactly quickly 'bounce' him out of your airplane at 35,000 feet.
As far as how I would feel about it, I would say that I would be a little unhappy. An airplane is like a 3D teeter-totter balancing around a single point near center of the wing called the "center of gravity." When a passenger gets up to go to the bathroom, believe it or not, it does have a very tiny but noticeable affect on the performance of the airplane. If you turn the back-end of my ride into Club Jetplane, masses of people moving and jumping and rocking might have undesirable performance characteristics. Plus, when the inevitable brawl takes place, you might end up spending the night in the Omaha, Nebraska drunk tank. Have fun getting off that no-fly list. So, do yourself a favor. If you plan on getting hammered, turn on Hot Tub Time Machine and enjoy that ride.
If the plane was really in trouble, would the stewardesses faces show it? -Megan Mellquist
I think that all really depends on the flight attendant. If the airplane were in serious trouble, the tone conveyed by the pilot would really set the tone for the flight attendant. Whenever I do have to ride in the back, I do find it humorous when we hit turbulence and the entire airplane either leans into the aisle to look at the flight attendant or to look at me. I have to make a concerted effort every time not to fake a panicked expression.
For those of you that are flying and looking for the flight attendant to determine if you will live, from a pilot's perspective, even in the most serious of circumstances, you will be just fine. Did your oxygen masks drop? Don't panic. A cabin depressurization, while not to be taken lightly, is not a life or death emergency. Recently, a Southwest Airlines flight experienced a loss of cabin pressure in flight and CNN couldn't be faster to convey the panic on the airplane. The pilot made an announcement to the flight attendants that they were "going down." Perhaps a very poor choice of words, he really meant to say that they were controllably yet rapidly descending to 10,000 feet where the air contained enough breathable oxygen to sustain life. From a passenger's perspective, the 'emergency descent' as we call it wouldn't feel much different than a normal descent once the maneuver was initiated and would be over in no more than 3-4 minutes.
To be completely honest, the only true life or death emergency is a fire that can't be put out. A dual engine failure, like the famous "Miracle on the Hudson" would be another but is so incredibly improbable that it vaguely even worth mentioning. The only other comparable failure to driving would be if your engine, power steering, and brakes all sudden and for no reason all failed while driving down a winding, icy, mountain pass. Is anyone here worried about that? No? That's what I thought.
Even if you have an engine failure right as the wheels leave the ground, passenger jet aircraft are certified to climb to a safe altitude and return for a normal landing. Ever since I started flying a two-engined aircraft years ago, landing with a single-engine has been practiced routinely. Again, while it is not something we take lightly, it is also not something that you need to lose any sleep over.
I've decided to make this a two part blog entry. The next few answers to your questions got a little verbose. If you read this and think, hey, I have a question! Feel free to add it in the comments and I'll add it to part two (or three if I get enough). Thanks for all the great questions!
Friday, October 31, 2014
Sunday, October 19, 2014
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.
Saturday, August 2, 2014
My First Airline Milestone
I've written a lot of stories in the last several months about life as an airline pilot. In this entry, however, I will stray away from some of the fun stories and more into my progression into the next step of my dream.
When I changed my blog title from "Chasing a Dream" to "Living a Dream," many of you might have thought that this was the end of the road. It is an important, but far from the last step along my journey to the rest of my career. Someday, I'd like to work for a Delta or American Airlines flying passengers to exotic international locations. Unfortunately, you have to start as the low man on the outsourced totem pole first. So, this is my career progression report card.
What does it take to become a "Major Airline" pilot? Well, I'm glad you asked. I wish it were as simple as, "be awesome" as my friend Rich Young would say. There is certain minimum criteria and competitive criteria:
Minimum Criteria Competitive Criteria
Total Time: 1500 Hours Total Time: 4000 Hours
Jet Time: 1000 FO Hours Jet Time: 1000 Captain Hours
College: Bachelor's Degree College: Master's Degree
Other: ATP License Other: Community Service
Instructor/Evaluator
Military Flight Time Bonus
Other Leadership Experience
Internal Recommendations
As you can see above, there is what they say they are looking for and what they are actually looking for. Many might wonder why, with the looming pilot shortage, such a difference exists between competitive criteria and minimum criteria. The minimum criteria is just that. Insurance requirements for each carrier dictates what the absolute minimum time you must have to fly their airplanes. Because major airlines' airplanes are larger and more complex, the insurance companies require more experience to fly for them. The competitive criteria, though, is higher because of the decade long stagnation created following September 11, 2001. The major carriers like United, Delta, and American did not hire for over a decade while many pilots remained on furlough status. Until every single pilot who was on furlough was given the chance to return to active status, the airlines were not permitted to hire. The last of the pilots were given class dates at the end of last year, opening the flood gates for the largest hiring boom since the end of the Vietnam War. Consequently, since many people were not hired for more than a decade, combined with rampant expansion of regional carriers, there remains a large amount of highly experienced pilots to compete with.
So, where does that leave me? In the middle of July, I hit my first milestone of 500 Jet hours. This is almost half way to hiring minimums and I figure it will take me about 6-7 more months of steady flying to get the minimum required 1000 hours. Unfortunately, at my company, it takes a minimum of 3000 total hours to upgrade to Captain. As of this post, I have 2130 total hours. Below is how I compare to the minimum times.
Minimum Criteria Competitive Criteria Me Next Milestone ETA
Total Time: 1500 Hours 4000 Hours 2130 3000: August 2015
Jet Time: 1000 FO Hours 1000 Captain Hours 500 FO 1000 FO: Feb 2015
College: Bachelor's Degree Master's Degree Master's
Other: ATP License Community Service Some
Instructor/Evaluator No Earliest: 2016-2017
Military Flight Time Bonus N/A
Other Leadership Experience Former Military/USAFA Grad
Internal Recommendations Contacts at Delta/United
There you have it folks. As you can see, I am only 6 months short of being eligible to get hired. Unfortunately, as you can see, if I am to be competitive purely on qualitative factors, I have quite a ways to go. It is my hope that my connections at various airlines combined with a possible large bump being an Air Force Academy graduate/former military officer will push me to the top of the pile when compared to those without. We will all know this spring how much weight being a military academy graduate with connections holds with the hiring boards.
My Logbook with all the things I track near the bottom of the screen
My Logbook with all the things I track near the bottom of the screen
Monday, June 30, 2014
Death and Decay in the Midwest
In the summer of 2001, I visited the US Air Force Academy for a baseball camp It wasn't the first time flying alone but surely it was the most memorable for a variety of reasons. One such reason dealt with the trip to Colorado Springs. I was dropped off at Akron/Canton Regional Airport a short 10 minutes from my home. I walked into the old 1970s style, dingy brick building to board my flight to Cleveland. As long as I could remember, jet service at Akron/Canton was sparse and today would be no different. The single-story terminal was devoid of jetbridges and any boarding was done by walking onto the ramp and climbing the stairs to the tiny prop airplanes. My dad called them mosquitos in reference to their sound, relative size and annoyance as they flew low over our house day after day.
The sun had just begun to rise in its attempt to burn off the low hanging clouds found over northeast Ohio on most late spring days. By the time I deplaned in Cleveland, it was sunny and clear. I walked on the ramp again into the newly constructed D-Concourse and was met with shadowy cinderblock hallways that lead to the main terminal. When I finally made it to the top of the stairs to the second story of the main terminal, I was struck by fascination. The rising sun shined brightly in my face through the massive wall of windows on the opposite side of the terminal. Unlike most of the older airports I'd been to this was unlike anything I'd ever seen. Glass stretched from the floor to the opening of the rectangular cornicopia as far as you could see in any direction. I walked along the invisible wall to the escalator to take me to the spectacular underground walkway and before I descended, I noticed the destinations: Myrtle Beach, Charleston, New Orleans. It seemed like every airplane leaving this part of the airport was going to some vacation destination. This must be the vacation terminal, my under-developed mind mused.
In June, with the announcement that United was dehubbing, the $110 Million terminal closed forever. It is the first airport to ever have been dehubbed by the same company twice.
For most, spending any time in an airport is a miserable experience. It is a reminder of missed connections, angry crowds and an inherent feeling of being at the whim of some faceless company. To them, all airports are the same whether they are large or small and are merely places to anxiously await your next flight.
People often think I'm weird when I tell them I love airports and always have. Some sarcastically joke that it's a good thing I became a pilot. "Well, you'll be spending a lot of time in them" they tease. I love seeing how unique and different each airport is and how they've reacted to the changing airline industry. Some create finger-like terminals that stretch in every direction (Old Detroit Metro, Memphis, Cleveland, St Louis). Others built underground or above ground trains to house a completely remote "airside" terminal (Pittsburgh, Tampa, Cincinnati, Orlando) and others have moved the entire airport away from the city like in Denver or have constructed whole new terminals at a different location on the airport grounds (New Detroit Metro, Hartford, Raleigh-Durham).
While the new architecture is fascinating, so is the unchanged look of the smaller airports in the south. Greenville-Spartanburg in South Carolina, built in the 1960s, has changed very little. It's massive concrete walls and thirty-foot ceilings is a throw-back to the golden days of air travel. They are massive, maze-like cathedrals of aviation. It seems to take longer to get to your gate there than in a place like Chicago.
Unfortunately, the 2000s were not kind to the once booming airline industry and especially unkind to the areas hit the hardest by recession and a post-industrial economy, also known as the "Rust Belt." USAir, hubbed and headquartered in Pittsburgh, expanded rapidly. In the early-90s, Pittsburgh partnered with now USAirways and built a multi-billion dollar terminal featuring the first "Airmall" with over 100 shoppes at the center of the terminal complex. It was designed to be a global gateway for the booming hometown airline. Not more than a decade later, the airline declared bankruptcy and moved its hub operations to Philadelphia. The bills for the new terminal were overwhelming and its contract with the city was terminated by the bankruptcy court. While other operators like Southwest have moved in and added flights, the airport has not recovered. Whole sections of the once bustling airside terminal have been closed off. Many of the 100 shoppes have been boarded up and the terminal, on most days, is a ghost town.
Cincinnati has experienced a similar fate. With Delta Airlines booming, Cincinnati was Delta's 2nd largest hub prior to its merger with Northwest Airlines. The airport built a new remote terminal with three remote concourses to house the massive Delta operation to include a remote concourse that housed the now defunct regional airline, Comair. Following the merger, Detroit was picked to survive and Cincy was placed on the chopping block. Now, terminals 1 and 2 as well as the remote concourse C of terminal 3 that housed the regional jet operation have been boarded up and remain completely vacant. While Delta does maintain a small hub, the operation has gone from over 600 flights per day to less than 140. I flew through many of these hub airports when going back and forth from school in Colorado.
When I have to wait in places like Cincinnati, Pittsburgh and Cleveland, instead of hiding in a corner like most pilots, I explore. I walk to areas that once housed busy gates and to newly constructed false-walls that, behind them, house thousands of square-feet of unused terminal.
My last story is from my new hometown airport of St Louis-Lambert. As a reserve pilot, I often had to spend 10 hours a day sitting in the bowels of the airport on "airport reserve." Should a need for a pilot come up, I'm there to the rescue in a matter of minutes. As that need is rare, instead of hiding in the concrete dungeon that is our crew room, I get out and explore. In the 90s, St Louis was a massive and important airport. It housed the operations of Trans World Airlines, one of the largest and most successful airlines of the 20th century. In 1985, St Louis built a brand new terminal for Ozark Airlines. A year later, the two companies merged making St Louis the largest hub in the TWA system. Due to mismanagement, however, American Airlines performed a hostile takeover of TWA in the early 2000s, liquidating much of its assets, and reducing St Louis traffic by more than three quarters. The D-Concourse, built for Ozark Airlines, is now completely closed to passengers but open to crew and employees. I often take time during my 10-hours of airport appreciation to explore the ghost airport.
The sun had just begun to rise in its attempt to burn off the low hanging clouds found over northeast Ohio on most late spring days. By the time I deplaned in Cleveland, it was sunny and clear. I walked on the ramp again into the newly constructed D-Concourse and was met with shadowy cinderblock hallways that lead to the main terminal. When I finally made it to the top of the stairs to the second story of the main terminal, I was struck by fascination. The rising sun shined brightly in my face through the massive wall of windows on the opposite side of the terminal. Unlike most of the older airports I'd been to this was unlike anything I'd ever seen. Glass stretched from the floor to the opening of the rectangular cornicopia as far as you could see in any direction. I walked along the invisible wall to the escalator to take me to the spectacular underground walkway and before I descended, I noticed the destinations: Myrtle Beach, Charleston, New Orleans. It seemed like every airplane leaving this part of the airport was going to some vacation destination. This must be the vacation terminal, my under-developed mind mused.
For most, spending any time in an airport is a miserable experience. It is a reminder of missed connections, angry crowds and an inherent feeling of being at the whim of some faceless company. To them, all airports are the same whether they are large or small and are merely places to anxiously await your next flight.
People often think I'm weird when I tell them I love airports and always have. Some sarcastically joke that it's a good thing I became a pilot. "Well, you'll be spending a lot of time in them" they tease. I love seeing how unique and different each airport is and how they've reacted to the changing airline industry. Some create finger-like terminals that stretch in every direction (Old Detroit Metro, Memphis, Cleveland, St Louis). Others built underground or above ground trains to house a completely remote "airside" terminal (Pittsburgh, Tampa, Cincinnati, Orlando) and others have moved the entire airport away from the city like in Denver or have constructed whole new terminals at a different location on the airport grounds (New Detroit Metro, Hartford, Raleigh-Durham).
While the new architecture is fascinating, so is the unchanged look of the smaller airports in the south. Greenville-Spartanburg in South Carolina, built in the 1960s, has changed very little. It's massive concrete walls and thirty-foot ceilings is a throw-back to the golden days of air travel. They are massive, maze-like cathedrals of aviation. It seems to take longer to get to your gate there than in a place like Chicago.
Unfortunately, the 2000s were not kind to the once booming airline industry and especially unkind to the areas hit the hardest by recession and a post-industrial economy, also known as the "Rust Belt." USAir, hubbed and headquartered in Pittsburgh, expanded rapidly. In the early-90s, Pittsburgh partnered with now USAirways and built a multi-billion dollar terminal featuring the first "Airmall" with over 100 shoppes at the center of the terminal complex. It was designed to be a global gateway for the booming hometown airline. Not more than a decade later, the airline declared bankruptcy and moved its hub operations to Philadelphia. The bills for the new terminal were overwhelming and its contract with the city was terminated by the bankruptcy court. While other operators like Southwest have moved in and added flights, the airport has not recovered. Whole sections of the once bustling airside terminal have been closed off. Many of the 100 shoppes have been boarded up and the terminal, on most days, is a ghost town.
The longest parts of the bottom two terminals have been boarded up
Cincinnati has experienced a similar fate. With Delta Airlines booming, Cincinnati was Delta's 2nd largest hub prior to its merger with Northwest Airlines. The airport built a new remote terminal with three remote concourses to house the massive Delta operation to include a remote concourse that housed the now defunct regional airline, Comair. Following the merger, Detroit was picked to survive and Cincy was placed on the chopping block. Now, terminals 1 and 2 as well as the remote concourse C of terminal 3 that housed the regional jet operation have been boarded up and remain completely vacant. While Delta does maintain a small hub, the operation has gone from over 600 flights per day to less than 140. I flew through many of these hub airports when going back and forth from school in Colorado.
Terminals 1, 2 and Concourse C are closed permanently and remain vacant and deteriorating
My last story is from my new hometown airport of St Louis-Lambert. As a reserve pilot, I often had to spend 10 hours a day sitting in the bowels of the airport on "airport reserve." Should a need for a pilot come up, I'm there to the rescue in a matter of minutes. As that need is rare, instead of hiding in the concrete dungeon that is our crew room, I get out and explore. In the 90s, St Louis was a massive and important airport. It housed the operations of Trans World Airlines, one of the largest and most successful airlines of the 20th century. In 1985, St Louis built a brand new terminal for Ozark Airlines. A year later, the two companies merged making St Louis the largest hub in the TWA system. Due to mismanagement, however, American Airlines performed a hostile takeover of TWA in the early 2000s, liquidating much of its assets, and reducing St Louis traffic by more than three quarters. The D-Concourse, built for Ozark Airlines, is now completely closed to passengers but open to crew and employees. I often take time during my 10-hours of airport appreciation to explore the ghost airport.
All of Concourse D, the entire arm, is closed.
Long-removed advertisements on carpeted walls
All the extra chairs hide out here. The terminal was reopened for a year after the C Concourse was nearly destroyed by a tornado in 2008...hence the LCD departures and arrivals board.
Plaque commemorating the opening of the D Concourse
The now barren hallways of a dusty and dirty once packed concourse
The remains of a food court now hold storage for the remaining food vendors
From along the back wall, the moving walkways are silent and gates long-ago vacant.
Sunday, May 18, 2014
Battling Giants
Night has settled on the Windy City of Chicago. For the first time since I began this job, walking outside is rather pleasant if not a little humid. Spring is here and it brings a bit of relief from the stress of winter: the low visibility, the snow, and the bitter cold. The relief, though, is short-lived.
"What does it say," I ask the Captain after he returns to the airplane following our short trip from St. Louis.
Frustrated, he tosses the paperwork between us and exclaims, "How the hell am I supposed to tell? They give us 25 minutes to review this 60 page behemoth of a dispatch release. Am I supposed to plot the thunderstorms by hand? That could take hours."
Winter is gone but spring has arrived with a vengeance. This is the latest in the spring season that an EF-3 or greater tornado has failed to develop according to The Weather Channel. A massive subtropical system has formed just east of the Rockies and severe weather now stretches from the Dakotas to Southern Texas. Tornado watches and warnings have been popping up all day but anything serious has yet to materialize. The National Weather Service and The Weather Channel agree. Tornados will form and they have a high likelihood of being deadly.
"Hang on," I tell him as I grab my equally ridiculous smartphone and open my favorite radar app. Being a meteorologist could come in handy today. "Looks like there are a few cells left just west of St Louis. They appear to be dissipating but, depending on how high we get, still might not be able to get over them."
"We're filed at 3-6-0. That should be plenty high enough, you think?" he says "confidently."
"It could be but some of those storms had tops in excess of 45,000 feet not more than 3 hours ago when I left my apartment. Surely some of them will still be above us. This isn't a convective storm, it's frontal. I'd bet this thing still packs a punch through the night." The Captain looks out the window in contemplation as I pick up the flight plan and begin to program the computer. "Did they really file us over Memphis? There was a hole there when we left St Louis but that's the northern edge of the most severe line now. No way man."
"Let me see that radar," he says as he grabs my phone. For whatever reason, he still owns a flip. "Okay, well, once we check on with Center, let's ask for direct St Louis if they don't give us a reroute before."
The banter goes back and forth as we begin to make a contingency plan for our last leg to Oklahoma City. It's the first day of a 4 day trip and it isn't starting out great. Once we leave the ground, I won't have the luxury of my "state-of-the-art" phone to show me the weather; I'll have to rely on an onboard radar with technology older than most college graduates. It's helpful but it'd be like driving your car in reverse down a busy city street using only your review camera. In other words, the clarity is poor, and the blind spots are many. Unless the weather is directly in front of us, there's no way to see it.
Here is a picture I took as we were approaching the storm. You can see that it already started to get a little bumpy.
Our path through the storm. You can see the severe weather we passed through near St Louis and the tornadic cells to the east of Oklahoma.
"What does it say," I ask the Captain after he returns to the airplane following our short trip from St. Louis.
Frustrated, he tosses the paperwork between us and exclaims, "How the hell am I supposed to tell? They give us 25 minutes to review this 60 page behemoth of a dispatch release. Am I supposed to plot the thunderstorms by hand? That could take hours."
Winter is gone but spring has arrived with a vengeance. This is the latest in the spring season that an EF-3 or greater tornado has failed to develop according to The Weather Channel. A massive subtropical system has formed just east of the Rockies and severe weather now stretches from the Dakotas to Southern Texas. Tornado watches and warnings have been popping up all day but anything serious has yet to materialize. The National Weather Service and The Weather Channel agree. Tornados will form and they have a high likelihood of being deadly.
"Hang on," I tell him as I grab my equally ridiculous smartphone and open my favorite radar app. Being a meteorologist could come in handy today. "Looks like there are a few cells left just west of St Louis. They appear to be dissipating but, depending on how high we get, still might not be able to get over them."
"We're filed at 3-6-0. That should be plenty high enough, you think?" he says "confidently."
"It could be but some of those storms had tops in excess of 45,000 feet not more than 3 hours ago when I left my apartment. Surely some of them will still be above us. This isn't a convective storm, it's frontal. I'd bet this thing still packs a punch through the night." The Captain looks out the window in contemplation as I pick up the flight plan and begin to program the computer. "Did they really file us over Memphis? There was a hole there when we left St Louis but that's the northern edge of the most severe line now. No way man."
"Let me see that radar," he says as he grabs my phone. For whatever reason, he still owns a flip. "Okay, well, once we check on with Center, let's ask for direct St Louis if they don't give us a reroute before."
The banter goes back and forth as we begin to make a contingency plan for our last leg to Oklahoma City. It's the first day of a 4 day trip and it isn't starting out great. Once we leave the ground, I won't have the luxury of my "state-of-the-art" phone to show me the weather; I'll have to rely on an onboard radar with technology older than most college graduates. It's helpful but it'd be like driving your car in reverse down a busy city street using only your review camera. In other words, the clarity is poor, and the blind spots are many. Unless the weather is directly in front of us, there's no way to see it.
****
Checking on with Chicago Center, we were issued a reroute before I even got a chance to ask. Just as we had planned, they were sending us direct to St Louis instead of the more southerly route where most of the severe weather was. Climbing through 18000 feet, the flight was still pretty bumpy but by cruise, it had mostly smoothed out. Normally this would be comforting except within minutes of leveling off, we become surrounded by clouds. We've entered the cirrus shield.
Downwind of most thunderstorms exists a layer of clouds that gets "blown off" the top of a system. In a small system, this shield can present itself as an anvil-shaped cloud. In more massive systems, high clouds get blown hundreds of miles down range. If you've ever heard your grandma say that the wispy clouds indicate storms are coming, they aren't entirely incorrect. Those wisps are the remnants of the cirrus shield that we were entering.
As a pilot, this shield presents certain challenges. The benefit of jet aircraft over prop aircraft is that we are often capable of getting over the weather. If you can't get over it, you can usually just go around it. The primary method for avoidance? Seeing it. Now that we've entered the clouds, we have to rely on our radar or air traffic control. As it turns out, air traffic control is far less useful than I thought they'd be. "Waterski (our callsign), a line of moderate to extreme precipitation from your 10 o'clock to your 3 o'clock in 5-0 miles. Advise me if you need to deviate left or right." In other words, acceptable yet uncomfortable and unacceptable conditions exist in every direction you are trying to go.
The Captain acknowledges the warning and ask, "Do you have a best route through it?"
"Unfortunately no. You are the first one to fly this route this evening. I have no reports within 20,000 feet of your altitude. If you could, please let me know what you find so I can advise the guys behind you." Great. We are the guinea pig.
I speak up, "well, it looks like the worst of it is to the south. What if we go about 10 degrees to the left get around to get around the southern edge of that guy and then bend it around to the north to get around the rest," I say pointing at my onboard radar. There was a gap there when we left Chicago and, while it is closing, there still appears to be a gap."
The Captain agreed and ATC approved our request as we slowly banked the airplane left and right to avoid the weather. The silence on the radio and in the airplane was deafening. Occasionally the airplane rattled as we entered small pockets of turbulence. And then the clouds began to light up. Above us and around us, every few seconds, lightning filled our cockpit. Between bumps, I'd look out the window and an even more unsettling sight appeared, St Elmo's Fire. Passing through areas of charged air has caused our windshield to come alive with electrical tentacles, moving like a sky kraken that has blocked our path.
Then the occasional bumps turned continuous and began to worsen. It was bordering on the edge of uncomfortable, and as soon as the lightning started to pick up, so did the turbulence. The radios were beginning to turn to static. "Waterski....shhhh....Center...shhhhh...3 point 5 shhhhh." The static continued.
"Did you hear what he said," the captain asked me. I just shrugged and shook my head. He had to ask several times to get the full message as the bumps continued to get worse. Checking on with the next controller proved to be equally difficult as checking off with the last. As the last bit of yellow and red disappeared under the digital representation of our airplane, the bumps become more than uncomfortable.
The computer screens in front of me, once a crisp, clear representation of every important detail of our airplane were fuzzy and unrecognizable. The turbulence was making everything hard to read. I looked down at the controls and watched the autopilot struggle to control the airplane. I pulled the power back to slow the airplane so that the turbulence couldn't damage jet. And then, with one swift violent bump, the autopilot gave up. "Autopilot....Autopilot...Autopilot," the computer calmly announced not quite conveying the urgency of the situation. I grabbed the controls.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the captain look at me before he spoke. "Did you do that?"
I chuckled. "No. I think the autopilot called it a day. I'm pretty sure I just heard him say, 'fuck this, your airplane.'" I quipped as I now battled the bucking bronco. Within a few seconds, it was over. "What do you think," I asked. "Wanna give him another shot?" I asked the Captain. He smiled and reached up to turn the autopilot back on.
Wiping sweat from my brow, I leaned back in my seat and looked out the window. The clouds were beginning to part and I could finally see the lights from the land below. There was still an hour left in our flight but the worst was now behind us. To the south, a lightning show performed like none I'd ever seen before. The Captain and I watched in silence as the electrical storm lit up the towering giants not more than 100 miles to our left. Several lightning bolts flashed every second. The streaks looked like the bulging white veins of an attacking monster as they arced from left to right and top to bottom. It was incredible.
****
I landed the airplane without incident in Oklahoma City. Once everyone had left, I pulled my bags out and put them in the jetbridge where 20 of the passengers were still awaiting their carry-ons. Seeing everyone staring at me, I expected to get glares or snarky comments. The weather had delayed us several hours and I had no doubt they were cranky. Instead of just ignoring them, I figured I'd try a little levity to cut the tension. I smiled and said, "Well, I think we hit a few bumps up there. You guys didn't feel it, did you?"
A man walked right up to me and put out his hand. "Thank you so much for getting us here safely. We really appreciate what you did tonight." As I reached up to shake his outstretched hand, the rest of the people lining the walls of the jetbridge clapped. Others chimed in with "good job" or "yeah, thanks a lot." All I could do was thank the man. Their sentiment had left me silenced and I hurried out the door to inspect the airplane. In the entirety of my life, I'd never experienced such an overwhelming outpouring of gratitude. It was beyond humbling.
When I returned to the jetbridge, the crowd had already dispersed. I gathered my bags and, with the flight attendant and the Captain, walked up into the terminal building. As a result of being the last flight in for the night, it was completely empty. A TV, tuned to The Weather Channel, played for no one. As the Captain walked into the restroom, I stopped to watch for a second to see how powerful that storm that seemed so beautiful from the air looked like on radar. Instead, all I saw was images of destruction. Dozens of people were missing and buildings turned to rubble as a late night tornado ripped through Arkansas.
Later, in my hotel room, I would come to find out that our passengers had been watching breaking news of the tornado sightings in northern Arkansas while the Captain and I were finishing up discussing our plan. I can only imagine the fear and helplessness they felt as they knew we'd come very close to those storms on our route to Oklahoma City. Once we were airborne, there was nothing they could do but hold on....
The April storm would end up producing 2014's first EF-4 tornado and took the lives of 15 people. The devastation stretched along a 40 mile path just to the north of Little Rock, Arkansas.
Our path through the storm. You can see the severe weather we passed through near St Louis and the tornadic cells to the east of Oklahoma.
Monday, April 7, 2014
A Day in the Life
Over the years, I've been abruptly jarred to consciousness by any number of sounds ranging from the trumpeting of Reveille and banging on doors to the gentle nudge of a parent. Today, it's the soft sweeping sounds of an acoustic guitar coming from my cell phone that brings me out of the dream world to reality; from darkness to light.
As I stumble to the shower, my brain in boot-up mode, I glance at the time and pretend to comprehend. It's 3:50 AM. No matter what time I wake, my routine hasn't changed much since the Academy. There's always some iteration of shower, breakfast and coffee. Just before I leave the apartment a few miles west of St Louis, I stuff my cooler full of plastic containers, Cliff Bars, bagels and various other dry foods and snacks that I'd prepared the night before in anticipation of my 3-day trip.
With my car packed, I get in and check the time. It's 4:30 AM. It'll take me 30 minutes to drive to the parking lot, ride the bus, and walk through the airport to the gate where my airplane is sitting. As planned, I'll arrive about 15 minutes before my scheduled check-in time of 5:15 AM. The highway is nearly empty at this time of the morning, and even with the patchy fog, I manage to arrive earlier than planned. Once I get off the bus at the terminal, I check my mail to see if any of the manuals need updated (for my missile friends, think T.O. changes). Today there are none.
I leave the mailroom and walk toward the security checkpoint. At this time of the morning, the line is long but I walk around to the back where there is a special crew checkpoint. After my credentials are verified, I bypass security and make my way through the airport to gate where my airplane is parked. Approaching the podium, I see that the flight is "On-Time" with a scheduled departure of 6:00 AM. The boarding area is full of passengers and most look up and stare at me as I approach the door. I can imagine some are sizing me up, trying to determine with a glance if I'm qualified for the task at hand. Their empty looks make me want to smile and wave. Instead, I walk to the door, input my code, and walk down the jetway to the airplane. When I reach the end, it is clear that I'm the first one to work this morning because the airplane is completely dark and cold. Well, time to get to work, I say to myself.
After stowing my bags, I hop into the front of the airplane and begin flipping switches and pushing buttons. Have I ever mentioned how much I enjoy pushing buttons and turning switches? Well, I do and there are plenty of good heavy buttons to push here. I run through the power-up sequence or "flow" as we call it to bring the airplane to life. I turn on the batteries, fuel pumps, lights, and do a quick Fire-Detection test. On batteries, the airplane would go dark again in minutes so I reach up and start the auxiliary power unit (a mini jet engine in the tail of the airplane) to provide power and heat/air conditioning to the airplane.
Once everything is up and running, I grab my checklist and run outside to do the external inspection. I shine my flashlight in the wheel wells, at the engines, on the wings, and various other places to ensure nothing is broken. Once I make it all the way around, I walk underneath the terminal to grab the Release paperwork before heading back to the airplane.
Back in my seat, I glance at my watch. There are still 45 minutes before departure so I take some time to scour through the aircraft documents. This is where I review any deficiencies to the aircraft and verify that all required maintenance was completed. Once I determine everything is signed-off and in order, I sign my name to the document saying that I am "accepting" the airplane. The Captain will do the same thing once he arrives. I'm not going to wait for him though. The more I get done now, the more I can enjoy my coffee before we leave. I pull out the Dispatch Release, a 50-page document with all the details for our flight, and look it over. To the casual observer, it's completely cryptic. There are letters and numbers seemingly smashed together in a nonsensical format. To me, it's everything I could ever need and more. It has routing, fuel planning, altitudes, weather, navigational aid outages, and so-on.
Since this is the first flight of the day for this airplane, I have to do extra tests and checks that I normally don't do if the airplane had been flying. I test the auto-pilot for proper function and disconnection. The stall detection system is checked and tested. I run a few computer tests to ensure that all the sub-routines inside the Air Data and Inertial Reference Computers work correctly. I check for all the required manuals, fire suppression systems, and safety equipment before finally getting back to preparing for this particular flight.
With the checks and tests complete, I start to configure the airplane for departure. I configure our anti-icing system appropriately and move on to configuring the environmental control systems. The passengers have already started to board and the flight attendant informs me that it's still a little cold in the back. I push a few buttons and our air-conditioning/heating units screech to life. Once that's complete, I move to the flight computer. This is the most time-intensive task. It takes a little time to load the performance data and flight plan into the computer. Once complete, I start to pull up the weather in St Louis and our destination. There's a mini-printer that we use to print various things like weather and organize it for future reference. The last thing I have to do is pull up the clearance to verify that Air Traffic Control wants us to do what the company has filed in the system. I print it, set up the transponder (the oh-so-controversial piece of equipment from the Malaysia crash), and finish setting up the automatic pressurization computer.
The final passenger has boarded and with him, the Captain. He hops in his seat and starts running through his checks as I brief him on what I've done and read. The parade of people into the flight deck starts as the Gate Agent, baggage handler, and flight attendant all hand us over various pieces of paper that we look over. While the Captain looks over the paperwork, I put in the bag count into the computer and shortly after, the passenger count. We send the information and a computer somewhere crunches the data. It spits out various speeds, altitudes and headings which we need for both normal and emergency operations. I finish setting up for take-off and, once we verify that we are within weight and balance limits, tell the Gate Agent to pull the jet-bridge and the flight attendant to close the door. The bell rings as the bridge pulls away from the airplane and shortly after, our door slams shut. After a 30 minute long crescendo, it's quiet.
The flight deck door is closed, locked and parking brake released. With the drop of the handle, the clock starts and we are now getting paid for our work. The Captain calls for me to run a few checklists to ensure we accomplished everything we were supposed to and within a minute, we're being pushed away from gate. "Rough morning, eh?" I ask the guy next to me, the first non-canned interaction we've had since he introduced himself as he sat in his seat.
"You wouldn't believe how bad it's been," he replied. The moment was brief as we clear the gate area and are told to start our engines. Back to the practiced routine of call-outs, checklists and briefings. Even as we taxi to the runway, we run more tests and checks that we haven't been able to do since the engines were off. Everything is running and operating normally. I finish reading the "Taxi Checklist" when the Tower gives us our take-off instruction. I rush to call the flight attendant, unlock the flight controls, run the last test and turn the transponder to its flight mode. As we pull onto the runway, I finish the last checklist with a quick, "Before Takeoff Checklist, complete."
The lights of the runway are bright as the Captain lines up on the centerline. He awakens the engines and we roar down the concrete toward a wall of black. At 140 MPH, he pulls back on the controls and we quickly fly into nothingness. It's quiet and dark as we race into the still-night sky. "Waterski, Contact Departure. Good Morning," the tower tell us. "Departure. Good morning." I confirm.
Within a minute, we've turned back toward the east as we climb higher into the pre-dawn sky. At 6:10 AM, the rest of Missouri is just beginning to stir from the warmth of their beds. We leave the light-polluted area of St Louis behind and instantly the stars become visible, a white-paint splatter on a black canvas. It's beautiful. The rural lights on the ground and the stars meld together and I imagine myself flying through the blackness of space. Its beauty is simple but pales in comparison to what happens next.
When we reach 4 miles above the earth, the blackness is parted by a deep blood red streak on the horizon as if our takeoff had nicked the night sky. I slide my chair back, grab my coffee and just stare out the window to enjoy the show. It's still early and the radios are quiet. I sit in near silence as I enjoy the panoramic, unobstructed view of the sun rising over the East Coast.
As the earth turns toward the sun, the sky above the bleeding horizon begins to change. At first it's a barely a hint of a blue streak resting above the growing red light but soon begins to spread. I watch a deep blue sea surge over us as it battles the retreating blackness with its army of stars. Between sips of coffee, I look in every direction and witness the daily war between night and day. I glance back toward the still black horizon where the deep cherry smear is oozing in every direction creating an almost crimson backlight against the charcoal-blue backdrop of the sky.
Where the sun will rise, the red is the brightest. Like a volcano's lava spilling onto the rounded sides of the mountain below, the red bulges as it spreads to my periphery. Above the bubbling lava, the dull blue sea, successful in its objective against the night, has now begun a transformation to beige; a newly spawned bright layer of orange has perched itself on top of the deep crimson contaminating the blue ocean above. The purest of blue only remains high in the sky as it mixes below with the orange and red. My eyes follow the seemingly unnatural colorful spectrum of light as it changes from shadowy black to red to orange to beige to deep blue. This journey brings my gaze behind the airplane where a hazy, hanging wall of red is now visible as if we had literally flown into the deepening wound of the night sky. Between the wispy hanging red tendrils I can still see the blackness, the last remaining vestige of night as we fly through the solar terminator. I chuckle to myself as I consider the term and mouth "I'll be back."
In an instant, the entire cockpit fills with a bright red light. Up until this point, the sunrise was merely colors on a canvas. Like the flipping of a switch, the sun has decided that it has waited long enough and begins to launch itself from behind the horizon. I watch as it emerges from the volcano an oddly flattened crimson ball. The beige buffer between the blue and orange has widened and is nearly filling the windshield as it just now begins to illuminate the terrain. Blackness below has transformed into shadowy rivers, lakes, and a three-dimensional landscape of clouds. The sun continues to accelerate into the sky, moving at a perceptible pace. Its effort appears to be changing its chemistry as the now tangerine colored orb bathes everything in the cockpit in orange. Minutes later, the sun is clear of its night prison and basks us in early morning light. The crisp, clean white light nearly blinds us as it chases away every shadow in the airplane.
The show is over and with it, our flight. The Captain brings the power back as we begin descending toward the now colorful land below. When we pull up to the gate, the engines are shut down and final checklists are run. Once the last passenger has left, I hop out of my seat to begin the process again. It'll be repeated three times today. Following the final iteration, we will park the plane or give it to someone else so they can begin their day. By the time we get to the hotel at any number of cities across the country, the sun will have already begun to set.
Tired from a long day, I'll walk into my hotel room, take off my uniform and reflect on the day. Some days are stressful and frustrating, others are monotonous and boring. One thing I can't deny is that I have the most beautiful office in the world. I get to watch the sun rise over the east coast from well over 6 miles in the air. I get to fly over the tallest buildings of Chicago, DC, St Louis, Houston, Cleveland and others missing them by a mere few thousand feet. It's a perk that I will make every effort to appreciate. To just sit in silence, no matter how bad the day, and appreciate the natural beauty that most will never get to see.
As I stumble to the shower, my brain in boot-up mode, I glance at the time and pretend to comprehend. It's 3:50 AM. No matter what time I wake, my routine hasn't changed much since the Academy. There's always some iteration of shower, breakfast and coffee. Just before I leave the apartment a few miles west of St Louis, I stuff my cooler full of plastic containers, Cliff Bars, bagels and various other dry foods and snacks that I'd prepared the night before in anticipation of my 3-day trip.
With my car packed, I get in and check the time. It's 4:30 AM. It'll take me 30 minutes to drive to the parking lot, ride the bus, and walk through the airport to the gate where my airplane is sitting. As planned, I'll arrive about 15 minutes before my scheduled check-in time of 5:15 AM. The highway is nearly empty at this time of the morning, and even with the patchy fog, I manage to arrive earlier than planned. Once I get off the bus at the terminal, I check my mail to see if any of the manuals need updated (for my missile friends, think T.O. changes). Today there are none.
I leave the mailroom and walk toward the security checkpoint. At this time of the morning, the line is long but I walk around to the back where there is a special crew checkpoint. After my credentials are verified, I bypass security and make my way through the airport to gate where my airplane is parked. Approaching the podium, I see that the flight is "On-Time" with a scheduled departure of 6:00 AM. The boarding area is full of passengers and most look up and stare at me as I approach the door. I can imagine some are sizing me up, trying to determine with a glance if I'm qualified for the task at hand. Their empty looks make me want to smile and wave. Instead, I walk to the door, input my code, and walk down the jetway to the airplane. When I reach the end, it is clear that I'm the first one to work this morning because the airplane is completely dark and cold. Well, time to get to work, I say to myself.
After stowing my bags, I hop into the front of the airplane and begin flipping switches and pushing buttons. Have I ever mentioned how much I enjoy pushing buttons and turning switches? Well, I do and there are plenty of good heavy buttons to push here. I run through the power-up sequence or "flow" as we call it to bring the airplane to life. I turn on the batteries, fuel pumps, lights, and do a quick Fire-Detection test. On batteries, the airplane would go dark again in minutes so I reach up and start the auxiliary power unit (a mini jet engine in the tail of the airplane) to provide power and heat/air conditioning to the airplane.
Once everything is up and running, I grab my checklist and run outside to do the external inspection. I shine my flashlight in the wheel wells, at the engines, on the wings, and various other places to ensure nothing is broken. Once I make it all the way around, I walk underneath the terminal to grab the Release paperwork before heading back to the airplane.
Back in my seat, I glance at my watch. There are still 45 minutes before departure so I take some time to scour through the aircraft documents. This is where I review any deficiencies to the aircraft and verify that all required maintenance was completed. Once I determine everything is signed-off and in order, I sign my name to the document saying that I am "accepting" the airplane. The Captain will do the same thing once he arrives. I'm not going to wait for him though. The more I get done now, the more I can enjoy my coffee before we leave. I pull out the Dispatch Release, a 50-page document with all the details for our flight, and look it over. To the casual observer, it's completely cryptic. There are letters and numbers seemingly smashed together in a nonsensical format. To me, it's everything I could ever need and more. It has routing, fuel planning, altitudes, weather, navigational aid outages, and so-on.
Since this is the first flight of the day for this airplane, I have to do extra tests and checks that I normally don't do if the airplane had been flying. I test the auto-pilot for proper function and disconnection. The stall detection system is checked and tested. I run a few computer tests to ensure that all the sub-routines inside the Air Data and Inertial Reference Computers work correctly. I check for all the required manuals, fire suppression systems, and safety equipment before finally getting back to preparing for this particular flight.
With the checks and tests complete, I start to configure the airplane for departure. I configure our anti-icing system appropriately and move on to configuring the environmental control systems. The passengers have already started to board and the flight attendant informs me that it's still a little cold in the back. I push a few buttons and our air-conditioning/heating units screech to life. Once that's complete, I move to the flight computer. This is the most time-intensive task. It takes a little time to load the performance data and flight plan into the computer. Once complete, I start to pull up the weather in St Louis and our destination. There's a mini-printer that we use to print various things like weather and organize it for future reference. The last thing I have to do is pull up the clearance to verify that Air Traffic Control wants us to do what the company has filed in the system. I print it, set up the transponder (the oh-so-controversial piece of equipment from the Malaysia crash), and finish setting up the automatic pressurization computer.
The final passenger has boarded and with him, the Captain. He hops in his seat and starts running through his checks as I brief him on what I've done and read. The parade of people into the flight deck starts as the Gate Agent, baggage handler, and flight attendant all hand us over various pieces of paper that we look over. While the Captain looks over the paperwork, I put in the bag count into the computer and shortly after, the passenger count. We send the information and a computer somewhere crunches the data. It spits out various speeds, altitudes and headings which we need for both normal and emergency operations. I finish setting up for take-off and, once we verify that we are within weight and balance limits, tell the Gate Agent to pull the jet-bridge and the flight attendant to close the door. The bell rings as the bridge pulls away from the airplane and shortly after, our door slams shut. After a 30 minute long crescendo, it's quiet.
The flight deck door is closed, locked and parking brake released. With the drop of the handle, the clock starts and we are now getting paid for our work. The Captain calls for me to run a few checklists to ensure we accomplished everything we were supposed to and within a minute, we're being pushed away from gate. "Rough morning, eh?" I ask the guy next to me, the first non-canned interaction we've had since he introduced himself as he sat in his seat.
"You wouldn't believe how bad it's been," he replied. The moment was brief as we clear the gate area and are told to start our engines. Back to the practiced routine of call-outs, checklists and briefings. Even as we taxi to the runway, we run more tests and checks that we haven't been able to do since the engines were off. Everything is running and operating normally. I finish reading the "Taxi Checklist" when the Tower gives us our take-off instruction. I rush to call the flight attendant, unlock the flight controls, run the last test and turn the transponder to its flight mode. As we pull onto the runway, I finish the last checklist with a quick, "Before Takeoff Checklist, complete."
The lights of the runway are bright as the Captain lines up on the centerline. He awakens the engines and we roar down the concrete toward a wall of black. At 140 MPH, he pulls back on the controls and we quickly fly into nothingness. It's quiet and dark as we race into the still-night sky. "Waterski, Contact Departure. Good Morning," the tower tell us. "Departure. Good morning." I confirm.
Within a minute, we've turned back toward the east as we climb higher into the pre-dawn sky. At 6:10 AM, the rest of Missouri is just beginning to stir from the warmth of their beds. We leave the light-polluted area of St Louis behind and instantly the stars become visible, a white-paint splatter on a black canvas. It's beautiful. The rural lights on the ground and the stars meld together and I imagine myself flying through the blackness of space. Its beauty is simple but pales in comparison to what happens next.
When we reach 4 miles above the earth, the blackness is parted by a deep blood red streak on the horizon as if our takeoff had nicked the night sky. I slide my chair back, grab my coffee and just stare out the window to enjoy the show. It's still early and the radios are quiet. I sit in near silence as I enjoy the panoramic, unobstructed view of the sun rising over the East Coast.
As the earth turns toward the sun, the sky above the bleeding horizon begins to change. At first it's a barely a hint of a blue streak resting above the growing red light but soon begins to spread. I watch a deep blue sea surge over us as it battles the retreating blackness with its army of stars. Between sips of coffee, I look in every direction and witness the daily war between night and day. I glance back toward the still black horizon where the deep cherry smear is oozing in every direction creating an almost crimson backlight against the charcoal-blue backdrop of the sky.
Where the sun will rise, the red is the brightest. Like a volcano's lava spilling onto the rounded sides of the mountain below, the red bulges as it spreads to my periphery. Above the bubbling lava, the dull blue sea, successful in its objective against the night, has now begun a transformation to beige; a newly spawned bright layer of orange has perched itself on top of the deep crimson contaminating the blue ocean above. The purest of blue only remains high in the sky as it mixes below with the orange and red. My eyes follow the seemingly unnatural colorful spectrum of light as it changes from shadowy black to red to orange to beige to deep blue. This journey brings my gaze behind the airplane where a hazy, hanging wall of red is now visible as if we had literally flown into the deepening wound of the night sky. Between the wispy hanging red tendrils I can still see the blackness, the last remaining vestige of night as we fly through the solar terminator. I chuckle to myself as I consider the term and mouth "I'll be back."
In an instant, the entire cockpit fills with a bright red light. Up until this point, the sunrise was merely colors on a canvas. Like the flipping of a switch, the sun has decided that it has waited long enough and begins to launch itself from behind the horizon. I watch as it emerges from the volcano an oddly flattened crimson ball. The beige buffer between the blue and orange has widened and is nearly filling the windshield as it just now begins to illuminate the terrain. Blackness below has transformed into shadowy rivers, lakes, and a three-dimensional landscape of clouds. The sun continues to accelerate into the sky, moving at a perceptible pace. Its effort appears to be changing its chemistry as the now tangerine colored orb bathes everything in the cockpit in orange. Minutes later, the sun is clear of its night prison and basks us in early morning light. The crisp, clean white light nearly blinds us as it chases away every shadow in the airplane.
The show is over and with it, our flight. The Captain brings the power back as we begin descending toward the now colorful land below. When we pull up to the gate, the engines are shut down and final checklists are run. Once the last passenger has left, I hop out of my seat to begin the process again. It'll be repeated three times today. Following the final iteration, we will park the plane or give it to someone else so they can begin their day. By the time we get to the hotel at any number of cities across the country, the sun will have already begun to set.
Tired from a long day, I'll walk into my hotel room, take off my uniform and reflect on the day. Some days are stressful and frustrating, others are monotonous and boring. One thing I can't deny is that I have the most beautiful office in the world. I get to watch the sun rise over the east coast from well over 6 miles in the air. I get to fly over the tallest buildings of Chicago, DC, St Louis, Houston, Cleveland and others missing them by a mere few thousand feet. It's a perk that I will make every effort to appreciate. To just sit in silence, no matter how bad the day, and appreciate the natural beauty that most will never get to see.
Saturday, March 1, 2014
A Moment of Self-Reflection
This time of year was always the worst. The winters of Montana left much to be desired. At its worst, the days were short with the sun setting at 5pm and the temperatures persistantly below zero. We used to be glad when the wind stopped even though it was -10 degrees. It felt warm.
In all honesty, it was the most difficult time of my life. The Air Force Academy was the most challenging but there was always a light at the end of the tunnel and we were all sure it wasn't a train. In Montana, there was no light. It was perpetually darker the deeper into the tunnel we went. The job was stressful and infuriating. The city was depressed and aging. The music I listened to was increasingly angry and dark.
So, in the early part of 2010, I set out looking for something to help me out of my spiral. It had always been a dream of mine to fly and, in the depth of the most depressing time of my life, I looked for something to help me climb out of it. Coincidently enough, it was an airplane that brought me out of my deep funk. I devoted every minute of my free time to flying and studying. Once I had my private license, I spent time just going up and flying around Montana. My friends and I would take short day trips to places that once required a weekend.
It wasn't unheard of for my roommates to be able to tell immediately when I'd spent the afternoon flying. "You're in a good mood. I take it you flew today," they would comment. It was true. Days I flew were my happiest days in Montana. This played a huge role into my eventual career push to aviation.
Once I left Montana, I devoted my life to flying through total immersion. I left my worldy possessions in Ohio and took only those things that would fit in my car to Florida. I lived and breathed flying for 4 months. If I wasn't at the airport flying, I was sitting in a Starbucks studying. I'd take a day off to spend time with my family, but I was on a mission and there wasn't anything getting in my way.
Shortly after finishing training, I moved again to get more experience. The more I flew, the faster I would reach the magic number needed to get hired by an airline. I continued to spend every waking moment thinking about aviation. It wasn't unheard of to take only 3 days off each month. The days I did have off, I spent studying for my Airline Transport Pilot certificate, making resumes, or researching potential employers. This was my dream and there wasn't a force in this world that would take this away from me.
It took only two years in Florida to get to where I'm at now. I once again packed my car and headed to another new city further from the known and deeper into the unknown. I was so close to my dream that I could taste it. I went back to the familiar routine at the local Starbucks where I spent on average 4 hours each night. It wasn't unheard of for me to spend 6 to 7 hours on weekends in coffee shops and studying. As you all know, I would go on to finish training and pass my check ride.
It is now that my life has come to a grinding halt. Now that training has finished, I find myself lost in life. For the past 4 years, I've devoted my life to aviation because it made me happy. Today is no different. Each day I take the runway and command my engines to roar to life, I smile inside as we accelerate down the two mile long concrete pad. It is just as exciting as it was when I left the ground in central Montana. Unfortunately, my ability to push forward has stopped. I've reached a fixed timeline where begging for work would be futile. I'm forced to take 11-13 days off each month, nearly trippling my days off from the past 3 years.
After devoting my life to this dream, I now live it. On my days off, however, I feel aimless. I no longer need to use it as an escape from my depressing Montana life. I no longer need to immerse myself in it to accelerate my journey to the end. I'm at the end. I've finished the race. There's one more big hurdle to clear before I'm completely satisfied with who I've become but for the most part I've entered stasis. What do I do now? As I look in the mirror each morning during my mandated 12 days off, I wonder who I am. I've turned my life-saving hobby into an incredible career. They say if you love what you do, you'll never work a day in your life. I have found this to be true, but what about the days you don't work? No one ever talks about what you do once you've reached your goal. I put my head down to charge to the finish line. I stand here, at the end, victorious. Unfortunately, a lot has changed in 4 years and I don't know where I am. Even worse, I don't know where to go from here.
In all honesty, it was the most difficult time of my life. The Air Force Academy was the most challenging but there was always a light at the end of the tunnel and we were all sure it wasn't a train. In Montana, there was no light. It was perpetually darker the deeper into the tunnel we went. The job was stressful and infuriating. The city was depressed and aging. The music I listened to was increasingly angry and dark.
So, in the early part of 2010, I set out looking for something to help me out of my spiral. It had always been a dream of mine to fly and, in the depth of the most depressing time of my life, I looked for something to help me climb out of it. Coincidently enough, it was an airplane that brought me out of my deep funk. I devoted every minute of my free time to flying and studying. Once I had my private license, I spent time just going up and flying around Montana. My friends and I would take short day trips to places that once required a weekend.
It wasn't unheard of for my roommates to be able to tell immediately when I'd spent the afternoon flying. "You're in a good mood. I take it you flew today," they would comment. It was true. Days I flew were my happiest days in Montana. This played a huge role into my eventual career push to aviation.
Once I left Montana, I devoted my life to flying through total immersion. I left my worldy possessions in Ohio and took only those things that would fit in my car to Florida. I lived and breathed flying for 4 months. If I wasn't at the airport flying, I was sitting in a Starbucks studying. I'd take a day off to spend time with my family, but I was on a mission and there wasn't anything getting in my way.
Shortly after finishing training, I moved again to get more experience. The more I flew, the faster I would reach the magic number needed to get hired by an airline. I continued to spend every waking moment thinking about aviation. It wasn't unheard of to take only 3 days off each month. The days I did have off, I spent studying for my Airline Transport Pilot certificate, making resumes, or researching potential employers. This was my dream and there wasn't a force in this world that would take this away from me.
It took only two years in Florida to get to where I'm at now. I once again packed my car and headed to another new city further from the known and deeper into the unknown. I was so close to my dream that I could taste it. I went back to the familiar routine at the local Starbucks where I spent on average 4 hours each night. It wasn't unheard of for me to spend 6 to 7 hours on weekends in coffee shops and studying. As you all know, I would go on to finish training and pass my check ride.
It is now that my life has come to a grinding halt. Now that training has finished, I find myself lost in life. For the past 4 years, I've devoted my life to aviation because it made me happy. Today is no different. Each day I take the runway and command my engines to roar to life, I smile inside as we accelerate down the two mile long concrete pad. It is just as exciting as it was when I left the ground in central Montana. Unfortunately, my ability to push forward has stopped. I've reached a fixed timeline where begging for work would be futile. I'm forced to take 11-13 days off each month, nearly trippling my days off from the past 3 years.
After devoting my life to this dream, I now live it. On my days off, however, I feel aimless. I no longer need to use it as an escape from my depressing Montana life. I no longer need to immerse myself in it to accelerate my journey to the end. I'm at the end. I've finished the race. There's one more big hurdle to clear before I'm completely satisfied with who I've become but for the most part I've entered stasis. What do I do now? As I look in the mirror each morning during my mandated 12 days off, I wonder who I am. I've turned my life-saving hobby into an incredible career. They say if you love what you do, you'll never work a day in your life. I have found this to be true, but what about the days you don't work? No one ever talks about what you do once you've reached your goal. I put my head down to charge to the finish line. I stand here, at the end, victorious. Unfortunately, a lot has changed in 4 years and I don't know where I am. Even worse, I don't know where to go from here.
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