"This is your Captain speaking..."

"Will you be ready to board on time, Captain?" the gate agent asked as the crew and I approached the podium.

I paused for a moment.  No longer did I have to consider what the Captain would want.  I was the Captain.  It is what I want. "Let's board 5 minutes early." 

It really felt no different than any other day.  Of course, it wasn't any different.  Prior to starting this trip, it had been a couple months since I'd last flown.  Besides moving from the right seat to the left seat, there really wasn't much difference in flying the airplane.  When you pull the control wheel, the airplane goes up.  When you push the throttles, you make more noise and burn more dinosaurs. Many tongue-in-cheek pilots like to joke when switching airplanes.

"Hey John, how is she today?" the new Captain would ask the Captain who had just flown. 

"Actually, not bad at all.  Flew fine all day.  Well, actually she does have a tendency to make hard landings from the left seat! *YUK YUK YUK*"  

What, you might ask, does one have to do to be able to make such hilarious jokes?  Well, as I found out over the past 2 months, it is quite the process.  A typical upgrade is broken down into three phases: Ground School, Simulator Training, and Operational Experience (OE).  Each phase has two separate tests to complete before moving onto the next.  Ground school had a final exam and an oral exam.  Simulator training was followed by a Check Ride and a Line Oriented Evaluation.  Operational Experience included an FAA Observation and a Line Check Evaluation.  So, here goes:

Ground School:

I received the phone call in the middle of June.  "Chris, this is Cliff the Chief Pilot.  I had a guy in the July Upgrade class drop out for a family emergency.  I really need a St Louis Captain and you're next on the list.  Will you be ready for a July 1st start date?" 

The phone call was exhilarating!  Was I ready for more responsibility, more pay, more highly valued flight time, and to be based in the city I lived?  Without a  doubt!  Of course, what he was really asking was if I was mentally prepared for the course work of an upgrade.  Some First Officers don't make it through because of a lack of knowledge required to pass the check ride.  

As a missile officer in the Air Force, we were always told that a Deputy's (or in our lingo, First Officer) primary role was as a Commander-in-Training.  Everything we did was to prepare ourselves to be in charge.  The Commanders' primary job was to train their replacements; to create carbon copies of themselves.  Unlike in aviation, you didn't have the luxury of always sitting in the right seat collecting a paycheck.  After 4 years, you had to move on.  

I took this lesson I learned and applied it to my career at the airlines.  Every decision that the Captain made, I would try to figure out why he made it.  When I wasn't sure, I asked.  Some pilots, being Type-A egomaniacs didn't appreciate the "second guessing," as they referred to it.  It didn't stop me from doing it.  At the rate of movement that is starting to happening in the airlines, I didn't have the luxury of being a "gear-slinger," or "window-licker" as some Captains lovingly refer to some of the more disengaged First Officers.  And I wouldn't be happy with my decision making until I was two steps ahead of the Captains I was flying with.  What's almost comical is, some of those same Captains who didn't like me asking questions sure appreciated me being 2 steps ahead of them and getting things done before they even thought to do it. 

So, on July 1st, I showed back up to the training building, lunch bag in hand, and ready to get at it. What followed was only 8 days of classroom and hands on instruction.  What we learned in almost 5 weeks during my initial training was covered in less than two.  The learning curve was steep and the level of knowledge and comprehension required was significantly higher.  As became my routine since 2011 when I first left the Air Force to pursue this career, I found a comfortable seat in a local Starbucks and studied.  And studied.  And studied.  Who needs weekends, right?

Written Final Exam

On the final day of class, there was the written test.  My girlfriend of almost a year now, Nicole, came to visit me at the Starbucks the day before the test.  She sat across from me reading a book while I dug through my manuals and some interactive slide shows.  "You look stressed," she commented almost matter of fact.

"Of course I'm stressed.  The written test is tomorrow.  They are covering systems in 2 and a half days.  In initial it was 3 weeks plus a day of review.  We are doing the last systems lesson tomorrow morning and taking the test tomorrow afternoon.  What if I fail?" I said beginning to panic.

"Relax! You'll be fine," she said in attempt to belay my spiral of anxiety.  The next day, I scored a 97% on the test.  Inadequate as a missile officer but far exceeding standards as an airline captain.  I needed only an 80%.  "See, I knew you'd be fine" she said, almost bragging.

After the ground school, we sat in a highly computerized model of the airplane and did "Systems Integration."  We pushed the touch screen computer screens and pulled up a system diagram to learn about what happens when various malfunctions occur.  It's good to know what your airplane is doing when things start going wrong.  It was 4 days of complex scenario-based training there and then we were released to study for the oral exam.  

Oral Exam

Two days whole days to study.  From 8 am until I literally couldn't take it anymore, I sat in my coffee shop and went over everything.  Memory Items, Aircraft Limitations, Rules and Regulations, System descriptions, There are 27 manuals available to us in flight covering everything from our Standard Operating Procedures to how to accommodate disabled passengers.  I read every one of them, twice.  At one point, after sitting there for a half an hour glazing over one of the manuals, I sent a text to one of my friends who was in my class and would be my partner for the simulator portion.

ME: Dude.  I can't do it anymore.  I don't know what else to study.

FRIEND: I know what you mean.  I just did every single note card in under 10 minutes.  Those things cover every single thing they could possibly ask. 

ME: I just want to get this over with.

I decided to take the night before the oral exam and just relax.  I'd long ago passed the point of diminishing returns and was nearing the asymptote.  At this point, the effort I was putting into it was becoming more frustrating than enlightening.  I tried to relax but it wasn't working.  Nicole was going with a friend to a concert and asked if I wanted to go.  "Are you sure?  Maybe this will help you get your mind off it and relax!"

"Relax?!  How can I relax?  The test was easy compared to this.  They can ask ANYTHING and I just have to know it!"  I exclaimed.  I felt prepared but, at the same time woefully unprepared.  I attribute this test anxiety to missiles.  Thanks Missiles.

"Chris.  Relax.  You'll do fine.  Let me know how it goes when you're done."  She tried to reassure.  It may have helped a little but it would take a miracle to overcome the tidal wave of self-doubt that accompanies tests for me.  

The morning of the exam, we'd heard mixed reviews from other people in our class regarding their orals.  Our examiner, in particular, had recently just failed two Captain candidates in their oral. For some of us, once examiner found that they were prepared and knew their stuff, the orals were fairly brief.  Kyle, my partner, who I felt was more prepared for the oral than I was, went first.  He spent nearly every minute of the two allotted hours in the room.  I paced and paced and paced.  It looked as if I was practicing to reprise the role as Dustin Hoffman's Rainman.  "Crew Oxygen Masks: Don. Select 100%. Crew Communication: Establish. Recirculation Fan: Off." When he came out, he smiled.  "That wasn't too bad.  But he is thorough."  I'd hope so.  After two hours, what was left to ask?

It was my turn.  My heart racing, I took deep breaths and sat down trying to clear my head.  What will he ask?  Will they be hard? Will I screw his up?  And then the rapid fire questioning began.  "What's the memory item for Emergency Descent?  What about Cabin Smoke?  How many batteries?  What are they made of?  How many generators and how many volts?  What about amps?  What happens if one fails?  Two?  Three?  All of them?  What's the max temperature to start an engine?  What starts the engine?  What is the limitation on consecutive start attempts?  When would you abort a start?"  It went on like this for nearly two hours.  And then he paused, flipping through a notebook he had.  "Well, I think I covered just about everything.  Your partner was sharp and so were you.  Never be afraid to stop everything if you feel yourself getting behind or are uncomfortable.  You're in charge out there now.  Good luck in your sims."  

And then it was over.  

Simulator Training

The oral exam was Friday morning at 10am.  We had to show up for our first simulator at 11pm and would spend the following 7 days in "the box" from midnight to 4am.  If there is any one thing I learned during that training, is I could never work the graveyard or mids shift.  FedEx, I appreciate your pay scales but I'm pretty sure I'd be dead at 50.  

Following the briefing, we entered the room supported by hydraulic actuators and sat in our seats.  The first time I sat in the Captains seat was...well, it was weird.  Aside from my primary training in Florida and the occasional flight with a guy I was training to be a flight instructor, I spent very little time in the left seat.  Of the nearly 3000 hours I've accumulated in the last 4 years, less than 300 have been on that side of the airplane.  

The simulator is slightly disorienting as a thing in itself.  It moves as close to the real thing as is technologically possible.  It flips and turns and twists trying to do its best to make you feel what the airplane would actually be doing during a flight.  Inside the simulator, though, is an accurate flight deck.  Everything works, even down to the air conditioning blowing cold air when they are turned on.  

We had only 6 simulators to prepare for our check ride the following Saturday.  We had to do every possible thing the airplane could do as dictated by an FAA-approved syllabus.  Smoke in the cockpit and donning oxygen masks, fires, mountain and ground proximity warnings, total system failures, wind shear, wake turbulence, landing with an engine failure, cabin fires.  There was literally a 4 page grid of tasks we had to be graded satisfactorily on.  

One of the more fun days had us take off out of Colorado Springs and experience wind shear on take off.  At only 200 feet above the ground, the airplane stops climbing and the red warning starts yelling at us "WIND SHEAR! WIND SHEAR!" as it flashes.  We keep the airplane from crashing into the ground and begin a rapid climb away from the ground below.  As we raise the gear and gain altitude, a little screen pops up on one of my displays.  A little diamond in front of us turns yellow then another voice announces "TRAFFIC." A second later, my flight instruments turn green and red and the same voice yells "CLIMB CLIMB" as it tells us and the other airplane how to avoid a collision.  Air Traffic Control gives us a turn to the west to help avoid it and then gives a 777 in the area a descent.  As we roll out on West, we flight through the wake of the 777 and one of our wings violently drops causing us to enter a nearly 70 degree bank.  I yank the controls in the opposite direction to right the aircraft and advise my first officer to notify air traffic control.  Just as he finishes, another display pops up on one of my displays.  "CAUTION: TERRAIN."  The new display shows little green, yellow and red dots ahead of us starting to form the outline of the Rocky Mountain front range.  "Set max thrust," I command as I slam the throttle to the stop and pull the nose of the aircraft up to almost 45 degrees up (note: a typical take off pitch attitude is less than 20).  Just then, the voice turns to a warning.  "TERRAIN.  PULL UP.  TERRAIN.  PULL UP" indicating an imminent collision with the mountains.  As we climb, the red dots turn yellow and valleys begin to appear on the display.  I turn to follow the valley and turn away from the highest peak, Pikes Peak, as the yellow dots turn green and eventually disappear.  Whew.  We survived.  

Of course this is a nearly impossible scenario.  It is highly unlikely to ever occur but its sequence shows a possible rapid devolution of flight in which one event could lead to other compounding problems.  The most important thing we accomplished, though, is what we call the V1 Cut.  All jet powered aircraft are designed to take off with only one engine operating above a certain speed and climb to clear all obstacles.  This maneuver, along with very low visibility landings (less than 2 football fields) were the most practiced during the sims.  My partner and I managed to do very well on the "box checking" part of the sims and were able to run through two mock check rides on days 5 and 6.  That should make me less nervous, right?

Check Ride

Check Ride day.  The night before, I was stressing again.  "I just don't want to fail this.  Just one dumb mistake, like when I failed my Instructor-Instrument rating in 2011, could be another black mark on my record.  I know what I'm doing, but if I lose my concentration on one thing, or misread something, I'm cooked" I explain to Nicole.  

"Stop."  She grabs my face at my cheeks and squeezes.  "Stop it!.  Just chill the F*&& out!"  She says to me, straight faced.  The entire situation makes me laugh.  Here is this petite girl, grabbing my face, squeezing and shaking it and yelling at me.  Maybe I am being hysterical.

When I show up Saturday morning for my check ride, my partner again goes first.  Following another agonizing 2 hours, it's my turn.  Once again, a few deep breaths and the mental imagine of being chastised by Nicole helps me relax.  I enter the sim and perform everything nearly perfectly.  Low visibility take off, steep turns, stall, precision approach to a balked landing and low altitude go-around to a hold.  Fire. Single-Engine Approach into a Single Engine Missed Approach.  Non-precision approach to a landing.  Take-off, engine failure at "Rotate" speed.  Climb out and shutdown the engine.  Single Engine approach and land back under low visibility conditions.

It was deafeningly silent in the simulator as I weaved my way through the various scenarios.  As we taxied up to the gate, the examiner had very little to say, "Well, pretty good job.  Makes my job easy on a Saturday morning that you know what you're doing."  Time to celebrate.

The next day, my partner and I fly two legs of a simulated revenue flight.  In it, there were a few things that were wrong and we were expected to fix them but not nearly as stressful as during the sims.  Following the 4 hour block, my partner and I were released to be Operating Experience.

Operating Experience

My first flight as a Captain was a passenger filled flight from St Louis to New York-LaGuardia.  In the right seat was a check airman.  For the next 25 hours, he would watch me do my job as a Captain, instruct me on any issues and at the end, give me a line check evaluation.  My first landing in the airplane as a Captain would be with people on the airplane and it happened in New York.  Once everyone had boarded and I felt caught up enough to take a breath, I picked up the mic and turned on the PA system. "Ladies and Gentlemen, this is your Captain speaking..."  It sounded weird coming out of my mouth.  What do I say next?  If you would've asked me four years ago to the day as I was packing my bags in Ohio getting ready to embark on this journey that I'd be an International Airline Captain (yes, Canada is a different country) in 4 years, I'd laugh you out of the room.

At the 15 hour mark, an FAA represented sat in my jumpseat and watched me perform as a Captain.  It's another layer of oversight imposed to ensure all airline Captains are safe to operate with people on board.  He had a few critiques but nothing of consequence.  He patted me on the shoulder and wished me luck.

On Sunday night, the night before Labor Day, my check airman and I walked through the gate in Washington-Dulles for our last leg together to St Louis.  This would be my line check; the final leg before being released to the line.

"Will we be ready to board on time?" the gate agent asked as we approached the podium.

I looked at him and he shrugged. "Let's board 5 minutes early.  It's go-home day," I told her smiling.  It had been over 2 months since I started this process.  I'd been through hours of studying, practicing, simulating, and practical applications of flying people around for the last 7 days.  My landings were mostly all smooth, but on the last leg, perhaps excited to get home for the BBQ or because of the excitement for getting through this arduous process, I really plunked it on.  "Ah shit!" I exclaimed. My check airman laughed at me.

"You can't win them all man.  I don't think anyone will have to see a chiropractor after that," he joked.

We pulled up to the gate, shut the airplane down and I once again reached for the mic to say goodbye to the passengers.  "Ladies and Gentlemen, this is your Captain speaking," I said, although this time without pause or apprehension.  "For those of you who didn't feel it, we have arrived in St Louis.  Thanks again for flying with us and we hope to see you again soon."

Upgrades

It was hot in Daytona Beach in 2013. I had spent virtually every day in the previous one and a half years sweating and stressing over the future.  Months would fly by with as little as 2-3 days free from work and it was wearing on me.  The finish line, moving to an airline, was what motivated me to shun social interaction for the better part of two years (except for the occasional stressful-day pitcher and bitch session with fellow instructors).  It was the dream I'd had since I was a young boy, to sit in the cockpit of an airplane carrying passengers to and from some of the busiest airports on the planet.    

In the late spring of that year, I'd interviewed at a large and prestigious airline known as American Eagle Airlines.  It was a humbling, stressful, yet incredibly rewarding experience.  You can read all about the experience in my blog from May of that year here: A Weird and Wild Week.  I just reread it and all those same feelings came rushing back.  Hopefully, I'll only have to do that one more time in my career.

Following that interview, the regional airlines started hiring in mass.  American Eagle was one of the first to allow me to interview with the second being Trans States Airlines.  I had several other interviews lined up over the course of the summer but something just didn't feel right about many of the others.  I wasn't sold on Trans States, but they offered me a chance to go to class in early September so I just had to jump at the chance.  That decision has literally changed my life.

When I was a flight instructor, the golden ticket was multi-engine time.  Two engines is better than one.  When I received a phone call from Epic Flight Academy asking me to come interview for an instructor position there, I'd never heard of them.  I knew I had sent my resume out like spam to any flight school in the area hoping to get a call but couldn't remember this place for the life of me. When I researched it, there was little to no information about it.  The day I arrived in New Smyrna Beach, I pulled up to the tiny airport and was less than impressed.  The administration building was a single-wide trailer.  Next to it sat a tiny, single story, flight school with not more than 3 or 4 rooms,  After a face-to-face interview and flight skills test in the airplane, I was offered the job.  I asked the chief instructor for a few days to think about it and he was more than happy to oblige.

When I decided to take the job in the small town near Daytona, I had no idea how incredibly fortunate I was about to become.  Less than a few months later, I was one of a small handful of instructors qualified to fly and teach in the multi-engine airplane.  The flight school, as I came to find out later, was one of the best paying flight schools in the country for new instructors.  That combined with the all-you-can-fly buffet of students let me accumulate time faster than I would have at any other flight school.  Even though I continued to chase the rising total flight time requirements of the regional airlines, I eventually caught up.  I became one of the first few to leave the flight school in what became an exodus of flight instructors.

When I arrived at Trans States, it felt eerily similar to Epic.  It was an old "Mom and Pop" operation turned professional airline.  Like Epic, the facilities weren't the biggest or flashiest like at American Eagle.  The airplanes were hand-me-downs from other airlines and purchased at favorable rates.  But also like Epic, I arrived there under incredibly favorable circumstances.  Trans States, a little known airline in the industry, was just recovering its reputation from a heated and contentious labor battle.  It ended with the creation of a new airline, GoJet, and a 5-minutes-to-midnight showdown leading up to a possible strike.  Months before I interviewed, they had recently signed an agreement with United Airlines for an additional 7 airplanes.  The additional airplanes would require a 30% increase in pilots and add to the already projected 10% increase for the new and more stringent rest rules becoming law the following January.

I just happened to be hired right in the middle of this growth and when I became an active pilot in December of that year, I once again benefited from a veritable buffet of flying.  Most 1st-year First Officers have to battle poverty as is the life "on reserve" or a backup pilot flying very little and getting paid the absolute least that the company can pay you.  First year pay at a regional airline is around $22,000.  But as someone thrust into a shortage of pilots, I could make almost 30-40% more than the baseline pay.  Once again, I was incredibly fortunate.  But the fortune doesn't stop there.

In November of last year, my company signed a deal with United Airlines and American Airlines to acquire an additional 35 and 15 airplanes respectively.  This would nearly triple the current fleet and require a comparable proportion of pilots.  How fortunate am I?  American Eagle, the place I first interviewed has taken a turn for the worst.  They began a heated labor battle right as I was hired by Trans States which has resulted in the airline shrinking by almost 50%.  Other friends have gone to places like ExpressJet and Republic.  The former has been informed that many of their airplanes are going to be parked and the latter has entered a heated labor battle with their management as well. This turmoil revolves around the abysmal pay of the pilots during a time of record billion dollar profits by the major airline partners.  At the very least, many would say, the return on a $70,000 investment and years of flying experience required to be hired at a regional airline should be measurably higher than $22,000 a year.

I could have easily ended up at one of those airlines.  In fact, many of the airplanes we are receiving in that 50-airplane deal are coming from other regional airlines, namely ExpressJet and American Eagle (now named Envoy Air).  I feel bad for the pilots struggling at the other airlines as I could have very easily been in their shoes.  One of my friends, who was hired on the exact same day at a different airline is still the bottom of the barrel in seniority.  He is years from getting a decent schedule and even further from upgrading.  For me, in the spring, I was in the top 20% of First Officers in my company.  I routinely averaged 14-15 days off and was able to spend almost every weekend in my own bed.  For me, though, fortune remained in my corner.

I never thought I'd be where I am today.  For those who read my previous blog, I posted a riddle. Starting on July 1st, I began a new and exciting journey.  It's one that only moves me a few feet but opens doors to the world.  On July 1st, I started my upgrade to Captain. Just like as a flight instructor, the golden ticket item for a regional airline pilot is jet Captain time. By the end of the week, I'll be fully certified and ready to head back out to the airport an Airline Captain.  It's an incredible responsibility that I'm honored to achieve and one that I'll continue to share with you all in coming entries.


And now, an explanation of the riddle:

Once upon a time, many lives ago

he sat, angry, in the deep dark below. (ICBM Launch Control Center)

A midnight watchman, inform'lly referred, (Missileer)

A Revelation, a fairy tale, deterred. (End of the world by nuclear annihilation which is highly unlikely) 

Akin to the fiction stated before

 The Titles compare in stories of yore (The titles of people compare to what I'm about to be called)

Jack and I, to be the same although wrong (Captain Jack Sparrow have the same title but he Captains boats)

Is to Kangaroo as is to young King Kong. (Analogy: Captain Kangaroo a ship Captain and Major King Kong, pilot from Dr. Strangelove)

Reality's here, now enrichment due (But on to reality, I have to start upgrade class)

To once again be what was while blue (Blue meaning Air Force.  I was once a Captain, and I'll be one again)

The timing, perfect.  The luck on my side.

Hoping to be in short order, what am I?

  

A Riddle

Once upon a time, many lives ago

he sat, angry, in the deep dark below.

A midnight watchman, inform'lly referred,

A Revelation, a fairy tale, deterred.

Akin to the fiction stated before

 The Titles compare in stories of yore

Jack and I, to be the same although wrong

Is to Kangaroo as is to young King Kong.

Reality's here, now enrichment due

To once again be what was while blue

The timing, perfect.  The luck on my side.

Hoping to be in short order, what am I?

Weather, Holds and Ground Stops: What's going on in the cockpit?

It's summer.  The season that is synonymous with beaches, vacation, and sunny days also comes with its own challenges, thunderstorms.  With kids out of school, many families take advantage of the opportunity to take an annual adventure across the United States, and for some, across the globe.  So, as you start your pilgrimage to destinations both foreign and domestic, I'd like to give you a glimpse into what is going on "up-front" when severe weather threatens to dampen your sunny vacation.

 To many people, once that door is closed, pilots sit back and do their own relaxing as they watch state-of-the-art technology fly us from place to place.  "So, do you ever get to land or does it always just land itself?" many people ask in earnest.  "With all those screens, do you ever get to fly the airplane?"  

A simple answer to that question is, of course.  On a typical flight, I'll hand fly (without autopilot) from take-off for the first 15-20 minutes of the flight and for approach and landing.  Most pilots let the autopilot do the boring stuff like straight and level for 500 miles and prefer to do the fun and more challenging things like approach and landing.  Not only does it keep our minds "in the game" but it also helps sharpen our flying skills so that, in the unlikely event we actually NEED them, flying remains second nature and allows us to concentrate on things like putting out fires or fixing malfunctions.  

So, why use autopilot at all?  The autopilot is integral to maintaining situational awareness.  This sounds like a nonsensical buzzword you might hear in a lecture hall but, its application is absolutely critical.  Instead of having one person fully concentrating on the menial task of flying the airplane, we hand that task over to a computer.  Many times throughout the flight, we have far more important things to concentrate on than just pointing the airplane in the right direction.  In the summer, that task is to focus on thunderstorms and fuel conservation.

That's easy, many people might say.  Just, don't fly through them and fill 'er up.  If I were the only airplane in the air, that might be a simple directive.  Unfortunately, it's far more complicated and it starts well before you even get on the airplanes.  So, let's start there:

Ground Stops/Ground Delays/ATC Flow Programs

For the frequent fliers, these terms haunt your dreams.  When weather moves over your destination airport, and most likely, the airport where you have to make a connection, Air Traffic Control can meter the amount of traffic entering the airport's airspace.  This is done to prevent airspace saturation and reduce workload on the human element of the system, the air traffic controller.  When thunderstorms are present, many airplanes are asking to turn off their assigned course to avoid the weather and that creates chaos.  Slowing the amount of airplanes en route or turning off the faucet completely, prevents unneeded delays and diversions.  

Arrival/Departure Corridors  

Around major cities like New York, Chicago, or Atlanta, the heavy demand on air traffic controllers is reduced by organizing the air traffic into corridors.  These "corridors" are limited to a small number and are identified by their navigational waypoints formally or informally by their cardinal (N, S, E, W) direction.   These waypoints are areas where low-altitude approach control will "hand-off" airplanes to high-altitude center control and vise versa   

When weather is approaching a city, some corridors become blocked while others become supersaturated.  In response, the FAA Traffic Management Unit or other independent Air Traffic Control Centers will put restrictions on the amount of airplanes entering their airspace.  When that information gets passed to us, it'll come in different forms:

"Per TMU, your EDCT (wheels up) time is:"

"Center's request, all north departures are stopped."

"Due to weather, flights filed over BACEN have in trail spacing of (usually measured by miles or minutes)." --This means airplanes departing the same direction must have so many miles or minutes between them.

The same thing happens on arrival.  Unfortunately, unlike on the ground, they can't just make you stop moving.  Many of the tools they use include slowing the speed of the aircraft stream, rerouting the aircraft or, everyone's least favorite, holds (burning holes in the sky).  To us, these sound like: 

"Reduce speed to 280 knots for spacing into O'Hare."

"We have an amendment to your route due to heavy to extreme precipitation over WYNDE.  Advise ready to copy." 

...and the dreaded, "Speed your discretion.  Expect holding over Brickyard."

Below I have attached a cool video showing a time lapse of ATC radar showing weather move through Atlanta.  You'll see arrivals entering the airspace at 4 points around the airport (NE, NW, SE, SW).  As the thunderstorms start to block the NW and SE arrivals, you'll notice them start to fly in circles then get rerouted to the other open arrivals of NE and SW.  As the storms approach the airport and the rest of the holding aircraft land, there aren't any more flights arriving.  Once that first group of planes started holding, TMU started sending out flow, delay, and ground stop programs across the country to slow the feed of airplanes into that Atlanta.  Without those programs, airplanes would start getting stacked up over those entry fixes and eventually have to divert due to low fuel.  These diversions cost companies a lot of money and wastes a lot of time whereas sitting on the ground at the departure airport costs only time, sometimes less than a diversion.  

So, you still haven't answered your own question.  What are you doing up there?

Good point.  I had to first give you the why and now I'll give you the how.  I've had many of these experiences dealing with weather and many of them come down to one common factor: do I have enough fuel?  

When we first get our dispatch paperwork, amongst the 27 page behemoth of performance data, weather, and miscellaneous information, is fuel load and fuel burns.  These fuel burns are very specific to altitudes since jet engines burn significantly more gas at lower altitudes than at higher altitudes.  

For example, in my aircraft, the Embraer 145, fuel consumption at take-off is over 6000lbs per hour. That's a gallon of gas every 4 seconds.  Can you hear the dinosaurs screaming?  By comparison, fuel consumption at our maximum altitude, 37,000 feet, is 2400lbs per hour.  That equates to 6 gallons a minute and if my terrible math is correct, 1.25 miles per gallon.  Not quite what your Toyota Prius gets, but your Toyota Prius isn't carrying 55 people from Houston to Chicago in 2 hours.

The dispatchers break down our fuel burn into categories to help us.  They give us en route fuel burn, reserve fuel burn (at least 45 minutes of extra fuel in the event of emergencies), alternate fuel burn (to a second airport if the weather is bad enough at the destination), and holding or contingency fuel.  These fuel numbers added together constitute the legal minimum amount of fuel we have to have to push the throttles forward on the runway.

One more fuel number we get is load plan fuel.  That's the total amount of gas we get from the fuel truck.  Of course, it is always higher than the minimum amount of fuel because we have to use some to get to the runway.  How much extra is a fine balancing act.  In the airline world, weight is money.  In the regional airline world, adding fuel might also bump passengers.  So, while we could eliminate all this nonsense by just topping her off every flight, it would cost much more money.  Heavier airplanes take longer to climb and burn more gas.  Heavier airplanes also can't take as many passengers or cargo.  So, on a balance sheet you would see less revenue and more costs.  

The extra fuel that we get above minimum fuel we refer referred to as taxi fuel.  Yes, we even have to know how much we use while taxing, and here's why.

When we push back from the gate, we usually run an auxiliary power unit (APU) to supply air to the air conditioning and to start the other engine, and of course, at least one engine.  Airplanes don't taxi well without at least one engine running.  Trust me.  We've tried.  Both of those run on jet fuel.  During normal days, the taxi fuel is relatively inconsequential.  We'll taxi out to the runway, wait a few minutes then take off.  On bad weather days, things get more interesting. 

The ability to taxi out on one engine is a huge benefit that few passengers understand.  We use almost half as much gas and, during bad weather days, might allow us to take a full load of people versus booting two.  Look at it this way, once we reach our maximum takeoff weight, if we had to run on two engines, we would have to remove one passenger and their bags for every 14 minutes of additional taxi fuel.  With one engine, it's only one passenger every 24 minutes.  What often comes into play in places like NYC since obstacles (Manhattan), short runways and high temperatures lowers how heavy we can be at takeoff.  Plus, add in waits for departure over an hour long and you might have to start removing people.  

Eventually you'll get off the ground and to your destination, at least that is the hope.  Your pilots, however, still have to come back to New York.  Most of us hope for days with really bad weather or painfully clear days.  The decisions there are clear.  You take on much more fuel or you just sit there on the ground until it's clear enough to go.  What ends up getting us all flustered are the days with sneaky weather.  Here's an example:

You're sitting back enjoying every single drop of your free can of Coke Zero.  With as much as you paid for your ticket, you're going to milk every penny you can in free stuff.  (I know you do it because, I did too). You hear the engines get really quiet all of a sudden and a few minutes later, the big wing off your left seems to point into the sky.  Am  we turning around?  What's happening?  What's wrong?  

You have entered the hold.  

"Well folks, from the flight deck we've got a little bad news for you.  Looks like weather in New York has deteriorated faster than forecast and air traffic control has put us in a holding pattern over Cleveland.  We are talking to company and ATC to try and get us an estimate of how long we'll be here and an estimate of when we'll be in LaGuardia. We'll let you know as soon as we have more information."

You think, those pilots are just up there staring out the window.  Not so.  Here is the same situation from our perspective:

"I don't know Joe.  The SEC is always strong but Ohio State has more top tier QBs..." I say as I'm cut off by Indianapolis Center.  

"Waterski 3356, contact Cleveland Center on 119.22.  Good Day."

I read back the instruction.  "1922 See you later, Wasterski 3356."  As I dial in the radio frequency and prepare to check in with Cleveland, I finish my thoughts.  "More top tier QBs than the whole conference.  I mean, the 3rd string,3RD STRING, guy put a whooping on Alabama last year."  I pause my rabble rousing. When I hit the button to switch the frequency, the radio waves are filled with talking from another flight.

"...expect further clearance at 2205 zulu. Is that a solid number for United 1176?"  I sit in silence now and look at the Captain.  Both of us look at each other seeming to say the same thing.  I hope that hold isn't for NY traffic.

"United 1176.  New York Approach just told me that all LaGuardia traffic is currently stopped.  All they told me was to expect holding for awhile."

Frustrated, United replies back, "Awhile?  How long is that?  Twenty minutes?  An hour?  Tomorrow?"

"United 1176, I'm sorry.  That's just what I've been told.  I'll let you know if anything changes.  Waterski 3356, was that you trying to check on?"

I jump on the radio.  It wasn't us but I'll take advantage of the opportunity, "No sir, but we are with you 3-7-0."

"Roger, proceed direct Chardon, expect holding over Chardon.  Advise ready to copy," the man in the air conditioned room outside of Cleveland tells us.  As we copy our instructions and read them back to him, he continues on, "I don't know if you heard what I was saying to United, but all arrivals into LaGuarida are stopped.  I just gave you a time because I had to.  In reality, it's going to be awhile."  

As he's telling us this, the Captain who is also flying the airplane this leg begins to pull the throttles way back in an attempt to conserve fuel.  Also while listening to what he's saying, I program the flight computer for the holding pattern.  When he finishes, I confirm that I'm aware the situation and am the first to speak.  "Okay, I've programmed the hold, do you agree?" 

"Looks good to me.  I'm going to calculate bug-out fuel.  Send a message to dispatch and tell them current fuel on board and that we are holding over Chardon (Cleveland).  We have an alternate of Allentown but ask if Pittsburgh would be a better option for a diversion if we can't get beyond Cleveland.  I've got the radios if you'd let everyone in the back know what's going on," the Captain barks out.  

"Well folks, from the flight deck.." I say as I explain the situation.  Once I've stopped, I send my message to dispatch.

HOLD.OVER.CXR.EFC.2205z.FOB.5000LBS.

ATC.SAYS.LGA.CLOSED.HOLD.UFN.

IS.PIT.BETTER.FOR.DIVERT.

Unfortunately, the only punctuation on our flight computer is periods, slashes, and plus/minus. Some days, I wish it was as easy as actual texting. It doesn't even come with a space bar.  Once I'm finished, the Captain hands me the paperwork.  "I've calculated our bug-out fuel.  Do the same and we'll compare numbers."

What does that look like?  I pull out my pen and grab the small magazine-sized release and begin digging through it looking for the information I need.  It has a breakdown of each waypoint along the way and what the computer calculates as total fuel burn from take-off to each point so we can monitor for any anomalies.  We should have burned 4300lbs when we got to Cleveland and 5100 at our destination.  I think to myself as I'm scratching numbers on paper.  

Okay, so it's 800 from here to landing.  Plus...I look for the total fuel burn from NY to Allentown...uh, another, let's round up and call it 1100 to ABE.  Then 1800lbs reserve.  Hmm.  Yeah, I'll throw on 200 for an extra approach.  "Okay, I've got 3900, how about you?"  The Captain agrees.    

Even at the lowest possible fuel burn, we are still using around 2000 pounds of gas per hour.  That only gives us 30 minutes before we have to start considering alternates and diversions.  While we discuss our next move, we get word from the company:

YES PIT LOOKS BETTER FOR A 

DIVERSION FROM CLE.  SENDING YOU INFO NOW.

He has a space bar on his computer.  It makes me jealous.  As the printer spits out ten pages of information about Pittsburgh, we get word from ATC that our hold time has been pushed another 40 minutes into the future.  No way we have fuel for that.  I acknowledge and add on, "If that time holds, we're going to have to divert.  For planning purposes, we're going to go to Pit."  

As you can guess, they never let us continue.  There was nothing anyone could do to make the fog go away in NY and we'd come as far as we could.  It was time to divert.  It's not a fun decision to have to make and an even less fun announcement to make.  Of course, it's way better than the alternative which includes turning a 20-ton piece of metal into a glider.  

Back on the ground in Pittsburgh, the process starts all over again.  Ground stops, ground delays, wheels up times and fuel conservation. Once in the air, we held again for another 45 minutes but took on enough fuel to outlast the weather.  At the end of the day, my 5 hour round trip from St Louis to New York turned into almost 9 hours.  That's a lot of burned up dinosaurs.  It's the least I could do after what they did to Samuel L Jackson on Isla Nublar.  

One Weary Wanderer's Final Stop

This isn't a typical story.  It could almost be said that it is an epic; although one without any of the beautiful, timeless prose with which it is often accompanied.  To the average reader, it might just be another tale of love but do not mistake this for anything ordinary.  This story will be everlasting. It will be eternal.  If you feel even a fraction of what I feel, this story will be a success.

****

It was during the deepest dark of the Great Depression that she was born, a daughter of a Campbell by the name of Barbara Jean.  She was born into a typical lower-middle class family and lived her childhood years in the shadow of the great rubber plants in Akron, Ohio.  Her mother spent her days during World War II baking pies and eventually became known throughout the city as having some of the finest pies around.  Eventually, she became enamored by a man named Robert, a handsome U.S. Air Force Sergeant who bears a striking resemblance to the author of this story. 

As a military wife, she began her travels to bases across the United States.  In two of them, her children were born.  Jeff, her first, was born in Buffalo, New York and Connie in Great Falls, Montana.  It was almost exactly 50 years later I unknowingly chose that exact location in Montana as my first operational base.  During my tour there, my parents came to visit.  We toured Barbara's stomping grounds, relaying what we saw via cellphone to the 76 year old woman.  We even found the house they lived in on base.  When we took a picture and sent it to her, she was confused. "That's not my house.  It didn't have such a big tree in the front yard."  Of course it didn't.  Fifty years ago, when the house was first built and their first occupants, the Boyes', moved in, it was merely a sapling.  Not more than 2 months after their visit, the house was torn down.

Robert retired and they moved back to Ohio to raise their children, to be closer to family.  It was not long after the kids were out of the house that Robert, the love of her life, passed.  With her daughter traveling the country as a flight attendant and her son and daughter-in-law raising kids of their own, she left the state again.  She didn't join the masses of the Great Generation in their migration to Florida.  She did something far more unique when she moved to Turkey.  She lived there for a few years, as a base of operations for her tri-continental travels visiting Egypt's Great Pyramids, Istanbul, and Russia.

Once she had used up Eurasia, she moved to Jamaica where she spent another several years.  On one particular Easter when I wasn't much more than 10, my family and I flew to the island nation to visit.  We toured the beautiful forests and climbed the famous water falls.  It was my first glimpse into traveling and an experience I will never forget.  

Apparently tired of the warm tropical climate, she moved again but this time to Canada.  She lived hours north of Lake Erie for another stretch of time.  Just like the last, the Boyes clan made the trek around around the lake and to her house for Thanksgiving.  My sister and I were much older by this time and I think she began to realize what she was missing.  She wanted desperately to be closer to family.  

One Christmas when she had been away for a time, my sister and I had been opening presents.  We spent the morning playing with our toys when the doorbell rang.  Confused, we ran to the door to see my grandmother, Barbara, standing on the steps with presents filling the porch.  She had returned and this time for good.  Not long after, she moved into a house almost exactly a mile from us and thus began the start of some of the greatest memories of my life.  

I don't know that there's a good way to write about her.  She was really the only grandparent I'd ever known.  When I was younger, I played on a traveling baseball team and she was there for me.  Every. Single. Tourrnament.  She drove behind my family, almost in an identical van, to baseball diamonds and hotels as far away as 5 hours.  She never missed a game and was the exact same way with my sister.  During High School, she was known by all the parents and all the players as the "Team Grandma."  She was there, hooting and hollaring during every at bat, after every pitch.  "That's my boy!" she would yell following every home run. After especially devesating loses, she never broke a smile.  "Christopher.  Your grandmother is so proud of you," she would say.  With a big hug and a bigger smile, she would almost always make the sting that much less.  

She flew out for Parent's Weekend my freshman year at the Academy and was there for me the day I walked across the stage to get my diploma.  She gave me my first job and never failed to sneak a $20 in my pocket whenever I came to visit.  "Look at your grandmother," she would say.  "You know how much I love you.  If you ever need anything, never be afraid to ask.  I would give you the moon if I could."  Even when I wasn't around, she would stop strangers to talk about her grand children.  She was just so proud. 

Exactly 10 days ago, I brought my girlfriend Nicole home to meet my family.  Of course, a stop had to be made to see my grandma.  She was having problems getting water out of her system and had spent a week in the hospital but that was no strange scene for her.  I'd visited her many times over the last 3 decades in the hospital.  To me, it was just another visit.  It also just so happened to be her 82nd birthday.  

My aunt pretended to surprise her with me.  "Look who I brought," she said.  

As I walked into the room I saw her face light up, like it always did when I walked into her room.  "Well hello there!  It's so good to see you!"  Her tired smile seemed to stretch across her entire face and her eyes filled with love.  It was the way she looked at you that made you feel the most adoration.  It was as if you were the only one in the room and she seemed almost sad she couldn't love you harder.  "Grandma.  I want to introduce you to my girlfriend Nicole."  

She was so happy to meet the girl she'd heard so much about.  Really, it was the girl she found out about before even my parents knew.  I always like to tell her last even though she managed to find out first. She always got so excited when I talked about girls and wanted so badly for me to find happiness.  It was finally time to let her meet the girl she pried about every time I came home and during every phone call.  To see the look on her face when they finally met was priceless and a memory I'll never forget. She looked at Nicole, then looked back at me and said, "I like this one" while shooting a wink in her direction. 

 She sat there next to her bed, in her chair, making faces at her cup of semi-solid drink. We told stories and laughed at the ridiculous things she always said.  She winked at me to show that she was joking.  Even though I'd been there for an hour, it felt like minutes. As we said our goodbyes, I gave her a big hug and told her I'd see her soon.  Then told her that she will probably be seeing Nicole around more too.  I kissed her white haired head and whispered in her ear, "I love you Grandma."  

"I love you too, more than you'll ever know."  

On May 18th, 2015, sometime between the middle of the night and early in the morning, the tired and weary woman made her last trip around the clock and slipped silently away to meet her husband.  He was the only person whom she loved more.  Her memory will forever linger in my brain.  There were the ping pong games in her basement, the spaghetti dinners in her dining room and the hours spent just hanging out on her couch whenever I'd come and visit.  

She was always talking about this blog and how much she loved it.  "Chris, I just loved the one about the girl" or "That one about the flying thing was just so good!."  Well Grandma, this one is dedicated to you.  I'm not sad about my last memory with you.  It was a great visit.  It was full of happiness and laughter.  I wish I could have said goodbye to you one last time, hugged you for 30 more seconds and heard you tell me how that I'll never know how much you loved me one last time.  I'm not sad because you're gone.

I'm just sad I couldn't have loved you harder.

An Open Letter to the Passenger in 23D

I'm sorry.  I don't know if that's good enough.  My heart is broken.

Where should I begin?  I really haven't the slightest clue.  It all started as they always do; on a beautiful, sunny day.  Passing over the city of New Orleans, there wasn't a cloud in the sky.  The Gulf Coast was visible all the way to Florida, I mused at the time.  When the flight attendant called, I had just begun to tell the Captain my story of the man with the seizure.

The message was brief.  You needed oxygen.  While there is plenty of oxygen in the cabin, sometimes more concentrated amounts are needed.  There are portable containers available for just this occasion.  I assumed that's all that it was.  I remember feeling bad for the flight attendant and Captain.  Using the oxygen meant filling out paperwork before the end of the night.  Poor them.

It was the second call, not more than a minute later, that got our attention.

"She's not breathing.  I gave her oxygen and she's not breathing!"

As before, we both sprung to action and decided to turn around and land in New Orleans.  It was only 30 miles away, much closer than the last time I had to do this.  The Captain declared a medical emergency, and I, almost identical to the month prior, did my best to get us in a position to land.

This time, it was our turn to call.  We informed the surprisingly calm woman in the back that we were headed for New Orleans.  I wasn't prepared for her update.  "She's just 10 years old.  She has cancer.  She's not breathing."

A lump filled my throat.  I don't know why it mattered more that you were so young but I felt the need to get down faster.  It took less than 12 minutes for us to land in New Orleans from an altitude of 37,000 feet.  A feat that is normally done in over 40, those 12 minutes dragged on for what felt like hours.

We had no navigational charts for the airport.  There was no calling over the radios.  Just a simple text to our dispatcher in St Louis.  You'd think it would be chaotic but it was eerily calm and quiet as we both stared out the window at the airport growing beneath us.  As we pulled up to the gate, the paramedics were there ready to spring to action.  We turned the airplane off and opened the door to the waiting flight attendant.  Both of us looked back at her, hoping for good news.

She shook her head.  "I just used the oxygen bottle.  The father told me she had a Do Not Resuscitate order so I didn't do CPR."

A wave of grief washed over me like the waves I watched washing over the shore not more than 20 minutes prior.  As the paramedics rushed onto the aircraft, I finally felt the gravity of the situation resting firmly on my chest.  I was short of breath and my eyes began to burn.  I saw your tiny body, just barely old enough to attend school, carried lifelessly off the airplane by the paramedics.  Behind you, your parents and infant sister.  I truly wish I hadn't turned around to see you, to look into your eyes.  I wish I could have been a coward in that moment and stared out the window instead.  I'm even more sorry that I feel that way. As tears began to drip over my cheeks, I saw that rest of the airplane was looking forward.  I quickly turned and faced forward, turning knobs and pushing buttons pretending to be busy.

The Captain turned on the PA to make an annoucement but stopped after the introduction.  I looked over and could see his cheeks glistened under the dark sunglasses he still had yet to remove.  "God, this is hard," he choked.  I quickly turned and leaned into my corner, trying my hardest to bury the emotions.

You were taken from us to the firehouse and eventually the morgue.  Your parents were trying their hardest to get you to your home in Jacksonville where you could die in peace. What's the hardest for me is all the ways I failed you.  When I learned of your distress, I couldn't save you.  No matter how hard I could have tried, and tried hard I did, your time on this Earth had ended.  I feel terrible that we left you and your family in New Orleans, a strange city far from your final resting place.  We couldn't keep going no matter how much your father begged us to continue on.   I'm sorry we left you.  I'm sorry we couldn't save you.  I'm sorry you had to die so incredibly young.

My heart breaks for you, little girl in 23D.  I can only hope that what little life you had to live was great and full of wonder.  I hope you felt no pain as you slipped away from us.  I can only hope that when you finally gave up you were looking out your window at the endless expanse of the Gulf of Mexico, its shores, and in awe, like I was, at its beauty. I wish I could at least give you that.

Sometimes, It's About Life and Death

"Here's the load sheet.  Can I pull the jetbridge?" the gate agent asked us after we had finished boarding the flight.  It was a cool December morning in Oklahoma City but not nearly as brutal as the single digits that we had just left behind in Chicago.

"Uh, not yet," I answered while dutifully plugging the bag count and passenger distribution into the computer.  "This should only take a second." As the server crunched the numbers somewhere in St Louis, I made small talk with the Captain.  "Forty people and 82 bags seems a bit high."

The Captain returned from his blank stare. "It's the holidays.  People are bringing all of Santa's gifts back from Grandma's house.  We're just lucky we aren't completely full.  I doubt we could take all 50 with as many bags as they brought."

A few squeaks and squawks from our computer let me know the weight and balance data was being received.  When it popped up on our screen, I reviewed the information and turned back to the Flight Attendant.  "Okay, we're good to close."

The bell on the mobile bridge rang out across the ramp as it creeped slowly away from the door allowing the brisk air to make one last attempt of filling the cabin.  Somewhere deep inside the airplane, a hydraulic accumulator released pressure to raise the airstair door.  With a loud thud followed by the sound of metal pins scraping against metal anchors, the door was firmly secured.  

"Alright, I'll see you guys in Houston.  You're buying me lunch, right John?" the flight attendant teased for the tenth time in as many legs as she closed the door. 

"Before Start Checklist," John commanded.  Once I finished reading through the checklist and we both verified the airplane was secured and ready for departure, he let the ground crew know that we were ready for them to push us away from the gate. "Start number two."

I reached up to initiate the start sequence.  "I'm beginning to think she isn't joking," I mused while carefully monitoring the engine instruments for any sign of an abnormality.  

"Man, you have no idea.  She hit me up for $50 while you were in the terminal getting coffee.  When I told her no, she accused me of being racist.  I wasn't sure how to react," he confessed sounding almost defeated.  

Electrical relays clicked and clacked loudly behind us.  "Start complete," I announced then turning to John laughed, "No way! She has to be joking. There's no way she's being serious!"  

"Set your brakes," the tug driver said in our ears then weighed-in on the discussion. "Normally I ask if you want to trade places.  Not today guys.  Good luck."

It was a short taxi to the runway.  While John taxied, I checked to ensure the airplane was ready for take-off and reached up and pushed the button to call the flight attendant to ensure everything was secure in the back. Ding-dong. The chimes rang loudly in the cabin; loud enough for us to normally hear them with headsets on and air rushing at the window at 350 mph.  Once she confirmed that everything was secured in the back, we took the runway.

It was my turn to fly.  I advanced the throttles and the jet engines roared to life.  "Set thrust," I commanded.

"Thrust set," John replied. I stared straight ahead as the runway began to accelerate below us.  "Eighty knots."  The end of the runway was now clearly visible ahead.  We raced toward the end at 130 MPH, playing chicken with the red lights that were warning us we were running out of room.  "V1.  Rotate."
  

I pulled back on the controls and the nose lifted off the ground followed quickly by the rest of us.  We were airborne.  In seconds, we were engulfed by clouds and just as quickly, we were spit out the top now flying at nearly five miles per minute.  No more than four minutes after defying gravity, we were passing through 10,000 feet.  Ding-dong.   This time John reached up to call the flight attendant and released her to begin her service.  "Okay, you are released and it looks like we have about an hour left." 

"Yo Chris, buy me lunch.  John won't do it.  It's because I'm black," she replied.

I laughed a little and made up an excuse, "You know I would but I'm broke.  I only have like $200 to my name."

That didn't stop the onslaught.  "Sounds good.  I'll take $175 then."  She was clearly joking.  Wasn't she?

That was the last exchange as she hung up the phone and began her service.  John and I began to make small talk.  I told a story about the baffling exchange at the coffee shop/restaurant/bar.  Ten minutes passed with us telling meaningless stories and jokes.  Then in our ears unexpectedly rang the chimes. Ding-Dong.  I looked up at the overhead panel and confirmed that it was the flight attendant calling again.  I looked and John and smiled, "It's all you man.  I'm flying."

"Yes?" John asked in an almost singsong tone.  

She barked into our ears.  "I have a passenger back here having a seizure.  I have to go."  The line went dead.

I paused, coffee mug to my lips and sat in silence for a second.  Still trying to process what I'd just heard, I looked over at John who was also sitting there frozen in time.  I broke the deafening silence  "Did she just say someone was having a seizure?  Was she joking?" In my mind, a person was sitting in their chair seizing, foaming at the mouth.  Jesus Christ.  

"Yeah, I think she did," John confirmed.  I leapt into action.  Pulling my route binder onto my lap, I looked for the page of the nearest frequency to a network that would allow us to talk to what is called Medlink, an on-call doctor that could help us with a medical emergency.  "What are you looking for?" John asked. 

"The ARINC frequency.  We are right on the border.  I just wanted to check to see if we were in the Midwest or South sector," I explained.  

John sat in silence for a second thinking.  "Okay, we have a passenger who is supposedly having a seizure."  Looking at the digital map and our current altitude, he made a decision.  "No, I think we just turn around and go back to OKC.  What do you think?"

I followed his logic.  We were passing through 23,000 feet and climbing at a rate of nearly one mile every three minutes.  There was still at least 45 minutes before we got to Houston.  If he was willing to just turn around and land, now would be a good time.  "Yeah, I'm on board.  Let's go back to Ok City."  

"Center, Waterski 33-45.  We need to immediately return to Oklahoma City.  We have a passenger on board having a seizure," John announced on the radio.

"Waterski 33-45, turn right now heading 360.  Descend and maintain 1-6 thousand feet, Standby for your clearance" Air Traffic Control instructed.  

Now, it was time to do some quick mental math.  By the time we got cleared to turn around and descend, we were over 27,000 feet.  I cranked the heading to north, pulled the throttles to idle and turned my 2000 feet per minute climb into a 2000 feet per minute descent.  

"Waterski 33-44.  Cleared to Oklahoma City via direct Oklahoma City.  Descend and Maintain 1-0 thousand feet," we were instructed by the Center.

I quickly reprogrammed the flight computer and saw that we were only 60 miles from the airport.  As a rule of thumb, at 50 miles, you'd want to be around 15,000 feet.  We had just passed through 27,000 feet.  Idle throttles alone wouldn't do it.  I opened the speed brakes and a low frequency rumble reverberated through our seats as the small "flaps" opened on top of our wings to add drag.  With the strong tailwind, we were eating up a mile every 7 seconds. I increased the rate of descent to one mile a minute.  At 450 mph forward and 60 mph hour down, we were as close to falling out of the sky as I ever cared to get. 

It was mostly silent except for the shuffling of papers as each of us went about our duties to prepare the aircraft to land.  John spoke up.  " Boy do I hope he wasn't just asleep."  

I replied, "I just hope he's still alive.  I wonder what's going on back there."  As I finished my thought, she called us. Ding-Dong.

John answered again, this time all business. "Okay, what's going on back there?"

"Here's the situation.  I was doing my beverage service and when I was about 3 rows from him, he let out a loud yell, lurched back in his seat and his eyes rolled into his head," she detailed.  That answered John's question.  "I'm back here with him now.  He has a pulse but he's completely unresponsive."

It was the Captain's turn to speak. "Okay, we are headed back to Oklahoma City and should be there in about 15 minutes.  Does he appear to be stable?"

"Yeah.  His eyes are open but he isn't responding to anything I say.  Like I said, he has a pulse but he's just staring straight ahead.  I'm going to sit back here with him for landing.  He's in 21C"

As we raced toward the airport, we were handed off from controller to controller.  Once on approach, the man on the other end asked, "will you be needing any assistance on the ground?" 

"Affirmative.  We'll need medical personnel to meet the aircraft.  He has a pulse but is not responsive," John answered.  

"Roger," then went on to an airplane landing ahead of us. "Cessna 57T, I may have to break you off this approach.  We have an Embraer inbound with an emergency.  Be prepared to go-around."  

It felt like an hour before we were finally in a position to land.  Through my mind raced dozens of possibilities.  Then, the emotions and memories nearly two decades old came flooding back into my consciousness.

***

As a Freshman in high school, I had worked and clawed my way to the Varsity baseball team.  It was an incredible feat, at least in my own mind.  All the hard work and effort that I had put in over the years was finally coming to fruition.  In the 5th inning, beating our rival Perry High School by ten runs and merely 6 outs from being a part of a school record number of wins, the head coach walked up to me.  He put a hand on my shoulder, looked me in the eye and said, "Chris.  Great job today.  I'm taking you out and putting Greg in right field.  He's a senior and I think deserves to be part of this win."

Then, in an instant, the man fell backwards against a wooden shelf and collapsed onto the ground.  He let out a snort and his eyes rolled into the back of his head.  I stood there, hopelessly, frozen in time as my mentor, the man I'd grown to respect, lay on the ground dying.  I wanted to help but couldn't move.  What could I do even if I could?

 We were corralled to the outfield but not far enough away to hear a parent and nurse relentlessly giving CPR.  The rhythmic counting of chest compressions echoed across the completely silent crowd.  The screams of despair as one parent yelled to no one in particular, "Why is it taking so long for the paramedics to get here?"

The other team joined us in the outfield and together we prayed and I cried.  Was it me that pushed him?  Did I make him die?  Why couldn't I do anything to help? The paramedics eventually showed up to the field, put him on a stretcher and took him to the hospital.  He was pronounced dead on arrival.

****

I pushed the old memories to the back of my mind. "Gear Down," I commanded.  At this point, even with the thought of a man in the back that may or may not be in serious trouble, I had to concentrate on landing the 42,000 lb airplane. For once, there was something I could do.  I was not helpless. 

Once on the ground, the Captain took over the airplane and I went back to handling the radios.  We were instructed to taxi to the gate and once we were clear of the runway, I called operations on a back frequency.  "We are on the ground.  The passenger is in 21C."

"Okay, the ramp personnel are waiting for you at gate 12.  EMS will meet the airplane there."

I turned on the PA.  "Ladies and Gentlemen, from the flight deck.  We have a passenger on board who is in distress.  Paramedics will be meeting the aircraft to attend to the individual.  Once we park, please stay seated and allow them to get to him."

With the airplane parked, I leaped up to open the door.  The paramedics came on board and spent about 5 minutes in the back of the airplane.  The man was able to walk off under his own will.  As he passed the flight deck door, his eyes were glazed over as he stumbled forward and off the airplane.

For us, though, it was again business as usual.  The Captain was on the phone with dispatch and I began to reprogram the airplane for our second attempt to get to Houston.  It is easy to get distracted by the repetitive nature of airline flying.  You forget that sometimes, the job is about life and death.  When you read articles about bad decisions leading to worse outcomes, you can't help but think, "if I was in that situation, would that have been me?"

This isn't the time for reflection.  There'll be plenty of time for that drinking coffee and watching the sunset.  Now we have a job to do.  The gate agent peeked her head in the door and said, "Here's your loadsheet.  Can I pull the jetbridge?"

"Uh, not yet.  This should only take a second..."