- Nov 26, 2006
- 7,628
- Boat Info
- 2008 44 Sedan Bridge
- Engines
- Cummins QSC-500's
Straight Drives
Holy ****h. Holy ****h.
I’ve flown 737’s and MD-88’s to Montreal, Toronto…
I’ve flown 757’s and 767’s to Mexico City, Cancun, San Juan, Bermuda, Nassau, and other island nations.
I’ve flown F-15’s across the Pacific from Anchorage to Japan to Thailand, Korea, to Australia, Singapore, Malaysia and more.
Today, I’ve become an international pilot. I am in Quito, Ecuador, and I am stoked. This is the most hated trip in all of Delta Air Lines, and I volunteered to fly it, and here I am, at 9500’.
The first crisis is planning in the pilot lounge. There are sooooooo many contingencies on this trip that need to be dealt with well in advance. We have to research the satellite coverage in South America before departing. There are at least 8 different charts that need to be referenced and marked up – US Hi charts, Central America Hi’s and Lo’s, South America Hi’s and Lo’s. Several checklists in addition to the daily routine. Have to be full of water. Have to be out of waste. Have to have all of the necessary documents. The aircraft has to be modified for high altitude airports. Weather, water routes, FIR crossings. Cuban clearances…
We board, we prepare, we depart. The first major concern is contacting Havana for Cuban overflight. They don’t control us, but you don’t just go flying over Cuba without asking permission, particularly if you’re a US flag carrier. The full moon rose to the East between cloud layers as the sun set to the West – memorable. Next, we have to contact the next sector’s controllers before leaving the current sector because they don’t talk to each other – don’t F this up, or you’ll turn around and go home. Havanna, Kingston, Panama… We spent 4 hours during flight briefing contingencies. Loss of pressurization routes – descend for oxygen, turn back NW, pick up the airways, divert over the coast to Gyuaquil, check gas, watch the terrain, put on oxygen… Engine failure routes – max continuous thrust, slow descent, turn out of the route, divert through the mountains while descending.
Weather at the destination was at ABSOLUTE MINIMUMS. Landing 35 (north)? Landing 17 (South). In either case, had to steer around the mountains and prepare to divert back up the valleys to safety if required. One runway slopes up, the other down. Both arc up and then down so you can’t see past 2000’ ahead. What if you can’t see to land? What if single engine? What if the controller won’t talk to you? What if you can’t understand them? Dozens of alternate plans were briefed in detail. We spent an hour programming all of the alternate plans of action into the computers. It’s not like a laptop – you have to decide what to put on which page with limited access and dozens of tricks to give you the back ups you need. What if the boxes go blank? Old-fashioned VOR data with bearings and distances that you have to know how/when to fall back on when the worst happens at the worst time.
We start our descent into Ecuador. The controller won’t answer us, but we proceed. A very steep descent into the valley of Quito. We penetrate several lines of thunderstorms which are common in the equatorial region. Deviating left and then right to avoid unacceptable levels of turbulence/lightning, and other scary Stuff. We break out of the weather into the moonlight as we descend through 25,000’. The tops of the layer of clouds below us was at 20,000’. A mountain peak rose up through the clouds ahead and to our left – snow caps and all, and we were getting ready to go back into the weather and descend aggressively through the next layers of clouds surrounded by stark blackness and cumulous granite.
Our controller decides to talk to us and clear us the RNAV 35 (GPS approach with EXTREME accuracy as you wind your way down the valleys into the city with minimum terrain clearance) – stay too high, and you can’t slow down to land – get too low, well, you know – it makes a lot of noise (and fire….). We slow the jet, lower some flaps, use full speed brakes to descend, put the gear down, come around the final turn with a mountain peak in the middle of our turn and an even larger one to the West. You maintain the glideslope and come on down to minimums. Don’t see the runway? Climb into the weather and start steep turns to avoid the mountains ahead while cleaning up the aircraft and deciding what to do next. See the runway? Great! Now all you have to do it increase your descent rate aggressively in order to get down to the beginning of the runway because when landing at 9,500’, your aircraft is carrying 30% more energy than at sea level and you still have to get this thing stopped in the available runway. Dive it down, but swap ends (in the foggy darkness) just in time because the first half of the runway slopes up aggressively before cresting the peak and heading back down the other side – better stop fast.
In the descent, you have to initiate the high altitude landing system. You cruise from Atl to Uio with the cabin pressure at 8,000’. Then, in the descent, you climb the cabin altitude to 9,500’ so the pressure is equalized for landing in the Andes – who’d of thunk?
Raise the nose abruptly, touch the mains, slam the reversers on, fly the nose to the runway, get on the brakes, don’t carry speed over the crest – it’s almost over. Taxi in and then rush through the terminal avoiding eye contact with customs – hit the van, ride through the city to the luxury hotel. Suck down a cold one to help keep your head straight. Just think – tomorrow night, you get to take off HEAVY weight back into the mountains and make your way up the valleys in a slow, methodical climb (hope both engines keep running) until you can clear the peaks and head back north over Bogota, Panama, Havana, and back into friendly territory for a sunrise landing in Atlanta. This is truly wild, but completely controlled and professional. What is it they say? “These airplanes fly themselves?” I can’t wait to ride on one of those.
I’ve flown 737’s and MD-88’s to Montreal, Toronto…
I’ve flown 757’s and 767’s to Mexico City, Cancun, San Juan, Bermuda, Nassau, and other island nations.
I’ve flown F-15’s across the Pacific from Anchorage to Japan to Thailand, Korea, to Australia, Singapore, Malaysia and more.
Today, I’ve become an international pilot. I am in Quito, Ecuador, and I am stoked. This is the most hated trip in all of Delta Air Lines, and I volunteered to fly it, and here I am, at 9500’.
The first crisis is planning in the pilot lounge. There are sooooooo many contingencies on this trip that need to be dealt with well in advance. We have to research the satellite coverage in South America before departing. There are at least 8 different charts that need to be referenced and marked up – US Hi charts, Central America Hi’s and Lo’s, South America Hi’s and Lo’s. Several checklists in addition to the daily routine. Have to be full of water. Have to be out of waste. Have to have all of the necessary documents. The aircraft has to be modified for high altitude airports. Weather, water routes, FIR crossings. Cuban clearances…
We board, we prepare, we depart. The first major concern is contacting Havana for Cuban overflight. They don’t control us, but you don’t just go flying over Cuba without asking permission, particularly if you’re a US flag carrier. The full moon rose to the East between cloud layers as the sun set to the West – memorable. Next, we have to contact the next sector’s controllers before leaving the current sector because they don’t talk to each other – don’t F this up, or you’ll turn around and go home. Havanna, Kingston, Panama… We spent 4 hours during flight briefing contingencies. Loss of pressurization routes – descend for oxygen, turn back NW, pick up the airways, divert over the coast to Gyuaquil, check gas, watch the terrain, put on oxygen… Engine failure routes – max continuous thrust, slow descent, turn out of the route, divert through the mountains while descending.
Weather at the destination was at ABSOLUTE MINIMUMS. Landing 35 (north)? Landing 17 (South). In either case, had to steer around the mountains and prepare to divert back up the valleys to safety if required. One runway slopes up, the other down. Both arc up and then down so you can’t see past 2000’ ahead. What if you can’t see to land? What if single engine? What if the controller won’t talk to you? What if you can’t understand them? Dozens of alternate plans were briefed in detail. We spent an hour programming all of the alternate plans of action into the computers. It’s not like a laptop – you have to decide what to put on which page with limited access and dozens of tricks to give you the back ups you need. What if the boxes go blank? Old-fashioned VOR data with bearings and distances that you have to know how/when to fall back on when the worst happens at the worst time.
We start our descent into Ecuador. The controller won’t answer us, but we proceed. A very steep descent into the valley of Quito. We penetrate several lines of thunderstorms which are common in the equatorial region. Deviating left and then right to avoid unacceptable levels of turbulence/lightning, and other scary Stuff. We break out of the weather into the moonlight as we descend through 25,000’. The tops of the layer of clouds below us was at 20,000’. A mountain peak rose up through the clouds ahead and to our left – snow caps and all, and we were getting ready to go back into the weather and descend aggressively through the next layers of clouds surrounded by stark blackness and cumulous granite.
Our controller decides to talk to us and clear us the RNAV 35 (GPS approach with EXTREME accuracy as you wind your way down the valleys into the city with minimum terrain clearance) – stay too high, and you can’t slow down to land – get too low, well, you know – it makes a lot of noise (and fire….). We slow the jet, lower some flaps, use full speed brakes to descend, put the gear down, come around the final turn with a mountain peak in the middle of our turn and an even larger one to the West. You maintain the glideslope and come on down to minimums. Don’t see the runway? Climb into the weather and start steep turns to avoid the mountains ahead while cleaning up the aircraft and deciding what to do next. See the runway? Great! Now all you have to do it increase your descent rate aggressively in order to get down to the beginning of the runway because when landing at 9,500’, your aircraft is carrying 30% more energy than at sea level and you still have to get this thing stopped in the available runway. Dive it down, but swap ends (in the foggy darkness) just in time because the first half of the runway slopes up aggressively before cresting the peak and heading back down the other side – better stop fast.
In the descent, you have to initiate the high altitude landing system. You cruise from Atl to Uio with the cabin pressure at 8,000’. Then, in the descent, you climb the cabin altitude to 9,500’ so the pressure is equalized for landing in the Andes – who’d of thunk?
Raise the nose abruptly, touch the mains, slam the reversers on, fly the nose to the runway, get on the brakes, don’t carry speed over the crest – it’s almost over. Taxi in and then rush through the terminal avoiding eye contact with customs – hit the van, ride through the city to the luxury hotel. Suck down a cold one to help keep your head straight. Just think – tomorrow night, you get to take off HEAVY weight back into the mountains and make your way up the valleys in a slow, methodical climb (hope both engines keep running) until you can clear the peaks and head back north over Bogota, Panama, Havana, and back into friendly territory for a sunrise landing in Atlanta. This is truly wild, but completely controlled and professional. What is it they say? “These airplanes fly themselves?” I can’t wait to ride on one of those.
