JetHead Live goes one-on-one with

Boeing Instructor Captain Mark Rubin

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While most veterinarians don’t recommend shipping your pet by air for a lot of good reasons, it can be done safely if you plan carefully and, like you must for your own travel, plan well ahead of time.

When it comes to airlines and pet owners, there are basically two options: fly with your pet in the cabin, or have your pet put aboard in the cargo hold. On this latter option, there’s another choice: pet shippers, professionals who are in the business of shipping pets and will actually come to your door, help prep and consult on (or provide) an adequate shipping container.

But no matter which way you choose to transport your pet, you should know that there are actually regulations covering such transportation by both the United States Department of Agriculture (USDA) and the International Air Transport Association (IATA), and statistics regarding animal mishaps can be found on the Air Travel Consumer Report published monthly by the Department of Transportation (DOT). The DOT also publishes some guidelines for shipping pets that you should review.

Still wanting to fly your pet somewhere? Fine–according to the DOT, over two million pets and other animals are shipped by air annually, so, it can and is done often and successfully.

The best summary of “must-do” items I’ve seen comes from the guidelines for shipping pets linked above. Once you’ve ensured that your animal’s condition, shipping container and travel arrangements meet those basic standards, let’s look at the operational aspect: the airport and the flight.

While some airlines stop shipping animals in the coldest and hottest months of the year, many ship year round. But that should be a warning to you: some airlines believe that the extremes of temperature on the ramp that normally is acceptable for cargo might be too harsh for pets. Can you ship during a more temperate season? Can you change plans if the temperature is extremely hot or cold on your travel day?

Because your pet in a kennel will be subject to hot or cold temps on the airport ramp during both the cargo loading and unloading process, which can easily be up to a half hour each way. The flight line and the ramp are hostile environments: extreme noise (hearing protection required for humans–and many pets have even more sensitive hearing) and harsh temperatures. Now, our cargo guys at American Airlines (and I assume most airlines) really are sensitive to pet shipments, trying to minimize the trauma for the animals. Nonetheless, there’s little that can be done about the extremes of temperature and noise that are the facts of life on the flight line.

So, to minimize ramp exposure, try to book a nonstop flight. That will eliminate a mid-trip necessity for the pet and carrier to be offloaded from one jet and trucked across the flight line to another. In the case of both an origination flight and a connecting flight, a delayed inbound flight can mean a long sit on a cargo vehicle on the ramp–a nonstop flight  eliminates one long round of exposure to heat, cold and noise on the ramp.

And here’s a myth that we can put to rest: no, the cargo compartment is not unpressurized. If it were, everything in your luggage that is even in a mildly liquid state would ooze all over the place at altitude. The cargo compartment is within the pressurized hull of the jet and further, it is also temperature controlled.

But here is a hazard that is below-decks on a modern jet that isn’t in the passenger cabin: fire suppression chemicals. That is, is smoke is detected in any cargo compartment, there is a cargo fire suppression system that discharges “snuff” chemicals–that is, fire retardants that eliminate the oxidants required to support combustion–as well as breathing. Just so you know.

Again, for shipping your pet as cargo, review the DOT guidelines for shipping pets linked above and be aware of the important considerations required on behalf of your pet.

Good dog--in the carrier, not out.

Now, for option two, carrying your pet on board.  Of course, there are government regulations covering that too, and they’re for the benefit of the pets, the pet owners, but as importantly, for those seated around passengers carrying pets. And let’s make an important distinction: pets versus service animals. The latter are covered by a separate set of regulations–which don’t necessarily apply to ordinary pets.

If you’re planning to travel with a pet aboard a jet, know which regulations apply to you–including the limitations–because I can tell you this: the flight crew not only knows what they are, they are charged by the FAA with assuring compliance. Let me highlight some of the more important stipulations here:

• Your pet container must be small enough to fit underneath the seat without blocking any person’s path to the main aisle of the airplane.
• Your pet container must be stowed properly before the last passenger entry door to the airplane is closed in order for the airplane to leave the gate.
• Your pet container must remain properly stowed the entire time the airplane is moving on the airport surface, and for take off and landing.
• You must follow flight attendant instructions regarding the proper stowage of your pet container.

I can’t stress that last point strongly enough, because failure to comply with that last point puts a passenger into the category of non-compliance with the lawful instructions of a crewmember, which is a Federal offense we as flight crew members do not take lightly.

Why do I even bring that up?

Because other passengers on your flight may be sensitive to allergens associated with your pet–and they have rights too, specified by even more government regulations. As a result, each airline will have their own specific rules for passengers carrying pets which might be even more restrictive than the government regulations. For example, Delta Airlines regulations are more restrictive than the government regulations, requiring that your pet remain in the pet carrier for the entire time it is aboard the aircraft. And most airline policies are similar to that.

Why do I even bring that up?

Because many people have allergic reactions provoked by exposure to your pet. For instance, the above pictured happy guy went head to head with Alex van Halen on a recent flight over the aging rocker’s carried-aboard pet. And basically, Al Roker was right: there is no requirement for any other passenger to endure ill effects from another passenger’s pet on board an aircraft.

Why do I even bring that up?

Because inevitably, there are passengers carrying pets that insist on removing the pets from their carriers in flight despite the airline policies and Federal regulations governing the carriage of pets aboard passenger airlines. Don’t do it–for the sake of others, and for your own sake–because there are serious physical liabilities for others on board, and major legal consequences for pet owners who claim an exemption from the rules they agreed to upon boarding the flight. Sure, your pet is the cutest pet on the planet–in your eyes. But when on board an aircraft, yours are not the only eyes involved and regardless of your pet’s loveableness, they and you must comply with all government and airline directives.

So that’s it: you know have the big picture and as importantly, the associated federal regulations governing the carriage of pets on commercial aircraft. Read carefully, plan accordingly and if you do travel with your pet, enjoy your flight.

Coming Wednesday:

He’s amassed over 20,000 pilot hours in the Boeing 707, 727, 737, 757, 767 and 777: we go live

with Boeing Instructor Captain Mark Rubin.

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What’s it like to ride over 4 million pounds of explosive thrust into earth orbit? Three times?

What’s the future of U.S. manned space flight?

All this and more as we go one-on-one with Astronaut Mike Mullane, author of New York Times acclaimed book, “Riding Rockets.”

To download or listen with your own audio player:

JetHead Live with Astronaut Mike Mullane

_________________________________________________________________

Next week on JetHead Live:

What’s it like to fly the Boeing 707, 727, 737, 757, 767, and 777?

To find out, we go one-on-one with a pilot who’s flown them all–Boeing Instructor Captain Mark Rubin.

So, where does the planning for landing actually begin? In cruise? Near the top of descent?

Nope.

It’s first thing in the morning, as soon as the alarm goes off–you’re thinking about the weather at your destination. That’s the deal: you know the jet, you know your own skills, you can count on your First Officer’s skill level–that’s a given at American Airlines–so what’s the wild card? The weather.

Having said that, let’s clarify this: we really don’t care about the weather–we care about the change. That is, the trend: what is progressing, and how fast?

The weather report is a snapshot, too soon to be history. And the forecast is a guess, really no better than your own–if you can detect the trend and the rate of change. Now, it’s true that pre-flight planning is based on both the snapshot and the prediction–but as a pilot, the only thing that really matters is how the weather is changing. Because real life in flight–unlike plans–is all about change, and so is weather: it’s never static.

So we’re pulling up the destination weather at regular intervals, but not to decide what we’re going to do when we get there. Rather, it’s to compare how the weather changes during the enroute time in order to understand what the weather is doing–how it’s changing, therefore how the air mass we’ll need to navigate is actually behaving.

Because it’s not like “the good old days:”

Halfway across the Pacific Ocean, fill ‘er up again against the possibility of bad weather in Korea. Weather data was harder to come by and so there was little or no way to get a string of accurate weather data comparisons in order to plot the changes and the trends.

When hours and thousands of miles later we did get close enough to Japan to pick up weather data for Korea, decision time: bad weather? Glad we have the extra gas. Good weather? Dump the extra USAF issued gas in the Sea of Japan and land in Seoul lightweight.

Those days are long gone.

And in the airline world, we have other things to tend to enroute anyway.

Well yeah, there’s that: dinner, maybe a sundae to deal with too. But more importantly, it’s time to line up the static facts for landing so as to have them firm in your mind in order to play them against the weather change when you’re finally on approach.

First, aircraft weight. You can predict the enroute burn pretty well, add that to the zero fuel weight and you’ve got the basis for your approach speed. Now, determine the worst case landing distance by taking the weight to the correct chart to determine the best case landing distance.

Then, determine the corrections for degrading factors: runway surface (wet, icy) and winds (tailwind and crosswind). Take the runway headings of the likeliest approaches and determine the wind angles and the tailwind penalties for for each. Now, get those azimuth ranges (deviation from centerline) set in your head and the landing distance incremental additive for each (for example, runway 4, the tailwind starts over 130 degrees  or 310 degrees) so two things you need in your head: what’s the distance per knot, and based on the landing distance (worst and best case) what’s the max number of tailwind knots you can take. Ditto the crosswind.

And what’s your plan if any limit gets even close? Got that all in your hip pocket? Good. Tell the other guy.

I hate the word “brief,” which every aviator uses when they really mean “verbal walk through.” But that’s what you do a hundred miles out, a verbal walk through. By then, the field conditions are about what you can expect for landing because you’re about 30 minutes out.

So your verbal walk-through includes the approach procedure, plus the numbers (weights, stopping distances, penalties and runway options) and what you plan to do. Also, it’s good common sense to ask the other guy to do all the calculations separately and compare.

Now you both have the plan in your hip pocket, you both are following the plan rather than making it up as you go, and both confusion and ambiguity are reduced on approach.

Now, just get the small details firmed up in your head: wet runway? Windy? Firm touchdown? Speed additives for various contingencies? Brake settings? Know what you’re going to do–and tell the other guy.

So there you have it. Plot the weather trends in your head from wake-up to final approach. Know the static factors such as gross weight, stopping distance, wind angles and tailwind values plus the incremental corrections, flap settings and approach speeds, then play them against the dynamic factors such as winds, temperature, precipitations, runway length (prepare for a last second runway change!) and surface conditions.

The landing plan is one big, complex balloon animal: you squeeze one part, another part will balloon out. We know the static parts, the limits and just how far we can squeeze in all cases–if we do our work ahead of time. And we always do.

So there you have it. You’re ready for the fun part, landing the jet. Enjoy.

Coming on Wednesday:

What’s it like to ride 4 million pounds of explosives into space?

My one on one interview with astronaut Mike Mullane.

Subscribe now!

]]> http://jethead.wordpress.com/2012/01/15/airline-flying-101-anatomy-of-a-landing/feed/ 11 JetHead 737 landing crop alarm clockFX WX composite atis 5 air refueling boom dinner 1 perf 1 cockpit pano 1 autobrake 1 Balloon Animal mullane 1 http://jethead.wordpress.com/2012/01/11/podcast-flying-for-the-royal-dutch-air-force-klm-airlines/ http://jethead.wordpress.com/2012/01/11/podcast-flying-for-the-royal-dutch-air-force-klm-airlines/#comments Wed, 11 Jan 2012 18:00:36 +0000 Chris Manno http://jethead.wordpress.com/?p=5966 ]]>

From flying low-level formation in the Netherlands in a Royal Air Force NF-5 to the worldwide flying as a KLM Airlines Captain, Martin Leeuwis shares his flying experiences on this Jethead Live podcast.

Captain Martin Leeuwis

To download and/or save, click here.

To view Captain Leeuwis’s cartoon books, visit www.humor.aero

Next week: Astronaut Mike Mullane, one-on-one on JetHead Live!

That’s always a rush, surfing that gale, especially this time of year. But that’s what it takes, that’s what the 160 folks in back expect; never mind the details of turbulence and winds and fuel flow–those are yours to deal with alone. Just the way you like it.

You catch a glimpse back there now and again, but the view’s better ahead; quieter, a vortex of unseen electrical, pneumatic and hydraulic function, the lifeblood of the jet, blooming through the animated tapestry sprawled from bulkhead to bulkhead and overhead and nowadays you don’t know where the jet ends and you begin. Not that it matters: you’re comfortable in your second skin, aluminum and titanium, blood and bone–it’s one and the same for now.

And in the reassuring light of the cabin, what they don’t know won’t hurt them: through the night, an alabaster glow fires up the undercast ahead, swelling and spreading like a false dawn. The spectral blister swells to bursting and time reels backward for you–the western Pacific; the South China Sea, a world of time and distance ago.

Dark as deep space, a cloud deck below, the endless nothing above. Jets everywhere, formations in and out, stacked and you busy with courses and altitudes, your jet’s performance–then that ghostly glow below; angry rising–before you think you say it, as soon as you do you’d beg the words back on your life: “What the hell is that?“

Ivory-bone light melts up through a swirling veil of striated cirrus laid like a blanket on the Korean countryside frozen cold in the dead of winter.

“The moon,” comes the deadpan reply from another aviator. And you just let that smolder and die in the darkness; betrayed by the indifferent moon climbing it’s sky arc just like you did yours. What the hell–we’re pals–we’re going to be, through thousands of air miles over years and skies around the globe.

And it’s the aviation childhood still: less than a thousand hours of flight time; everything’s a wonder, an answered prayer or a silent wish playing out across a thousand miles at Mach speed. Like today: major league tailwind drives the groundspeed up to nearly 700mph.

Unseen from above, the miles past so fast sometimes. And that glow below, now a thousand years later and as many miles hence, you just know. Time to start down–just as your old friend climbs up. We’ll trade spots in the sky, share one more curtain call.

And surely we’ll cross paths again, however many more times we can. No surprise now–but just as stunningly bright as ever. It’s all too familiar, but in a good way: a wing and a prayer and the everlasting moon; the the essence of flight that never loses its brightness.

From flying fighter jets in the Netherlands to the captain’s seat on a KLM jetliner, Captain Martin Leeuwis has done a lifetime of amazing flying.

We go one-on-one with him on our audio podcast next week.

And later this month: 3-time space shuttle astronaut Mike Mullane joins us on JetHead Live.

Subscribe now for updates!

Ever wonder what it would be like to be a Boeing 777 captain for a major airline?

Want to know how the 777 stacks up against the DC-10 and MD-11 from a guy who’s flown all three?

Here it is:

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Don’t have an audio player?  Click here to listen on Pod-o-Matic!

(running time approximately 28 minutes)

Wednesday:

From flying low-level fighters in the Royal Dutch Air Force to the captain’s seat at KLM,

Captain Martin Leeuwis shares his flying stories on JetHead Live!

Also Coming Soon:

What’s it like to fly the space shuttle: my interview with 3 time shuttle astronaut Mike Mullane. Subscribe now!

Take-off? That’s easy, right? You fasten your safety belt, move your seat fully upright and stow your tray table. Ready. Right?

Not even.

But if that’s the full extent you prefer to be aware of, fine. Otherwise, read on as we take apart this very complex, important maneuver.

The planning starts long before you strap yourself into your seat in the back of the plane, and here’s why.

Take-offs come in all sizes and shapes because of several variables–so there’s no “one size fits all” logic or protocol. What are the variables? Well, aircraft weight, runway length, winds, runway surface condition and temperature are the basics, and each has an effect on performance.

You might think runway length is the great reliever, right? Miles of runway, like at DFW or Denver mean simple, low-risk performance, right?

And you might think a short runway or nasty weather are the “problem children” of take-off performance. But let me give you the pilot answers: no, no, and furthermore, no.

Throw out what you’ve been thinking about take-offs as a passenger, and strap in tight (is that tray table up? is Alec Baldwin playing “Words” in the lav while we all wait for His Highness to finish?) because you’re about to test drive some “pilot think:”

I don’t worry about taking off–I worry about stopping.

Why? This sounds so simple that when you think about it, you’ll have to agree: aircraft are made to fly–not drag race.

Huh?

Look, accelerating 85 tons to nearly 200 miles per hour builds tremendous kinetic energy. Not a problem for the landing gear if you take off because it’s simply rolling. But if you must stop, the brakes and wing-located speed brakes have to dissipate that energy within the length of the asphalt ahead.  The runway length is finite, the aircraft weight is unchangeable once you’re rolling. So where is the point of no return, the point after which there’s not enough runway to stop?

Brakes are key--and checked visually before EVERY take-off.

As a pilot–particularly as the captain who makes every go-no go decision no matter which pilot is actually flying–you must know when that instant occurs. That magic point is not a distance down the runway but rather, a maximum speed: “Refusal Speed.” In other words, the maximum speed to which we can accelerate and still stop within the confines of the runway if we choose to abort the take-off.

But there’s a catch, of course.

Refusal Speed is only half of the go-no go decision. Part Two is just as critical: what is the minimum speed I must have in order to take-off if one engine fails, continuing on the other. I can hear this already: why the hell would you want to continue the take-off on one engine?

To which I’d answer back, what if the failure happens above Refusal Speed? In other words, there’s not enough runway ahead to stop your high-speed tricycle.

Okay, that minimum speed–the speed you must have in order to continue the take-off in the remaining runway on one engine–is called “Critical Engine Failure Speed.”

All of the performance numbers for each unique take-off are computed, with corrections for the many variables to be made by the pilots.

Now you have the two controllers of the go-no go decision; one a minimum speed (you must have Critical Engine failure Speed achieved to continue safely into the air) and one a maximum (if you attempt to abort in excess of Refusal Speed–you ain’t stopping on the runway).

So which is the deciding factor? Well, in modern day jets under average circumstances, the “max” speed is normally way in excess of the “min” speed. In other words, you normally achieve the min required for single-engine continued take-off before you reach the max allowed for stopping. So, in ordinary circumstances, Decision Speed–which we call V1–is Refusal Speed.

In other words, we know we’ll secure adequate flying speed for a single-engine take-off before we hit the max abort speed. So we use the max abort speed–Refusal Speed–for V1.

Pilot-think lesson one: it’s easier to deal with a single-engine aircraft in the air than it is to stop a freight train on the runway. Which goes back to my earlier point: airliners fly great but make only adequate drag racers, stopping on the drag strip remaining being the challenge.

Add to that the wild card: the captain must decide in a split second as you’re rolling toward V1 if any malfunction that occurs will affect the ability to stop the jet: did an electrical system failure kill the anti-skid system required for max braking? Did a hydraulic failure eliminate the wing spoilers figured into the stopping distance?

Some jets require very little system support to fly–but a lot of factors to stop: the MD80 will fly all day without hydraulics, electrics or pneumatics–but it ain’t stopping on a “balanced field” without electrics and hydraulics.

Get my pilot-prespective regarding my preference to take a wounded jet into the air rather than wrestle it to a stop on a runway?

And remember, those speeds are “perfect world” scenarios. But on your flight–like every flight–despite the engineering numbers from which the stopping distance is computed, there are the real life factors which screw them up: wet or icy runway, tailwind, old tires, old brakes, rubber on the runway because of aircraft touchdown on landings.

Not a problem on an average day, but corrections to the numbers and your pilot-think must be made if any of those variables are present.

Now, have you deduced the worst-case scenario with the two controlling speeds, Critical Engine failure Speed and Refusal Speed? That is, you will exceed the max speed for stopping before you attain the minimum speed for single-engine flight?

That’s simple: you can’t take-off. In practice, we adjust the flap setting or even reduce the gross weight: back to the gate–some cargo and/or passengers must come off. Hardly ever happens that we return to the gate because we plan ahead–and that’s why you hear of a flight being “weight restricted,” meaning some seats will be empty by requirement before you even board. Now you know why.

But really, that’s not even the worst case scenario from a pilot’s perspective (sorry about your trip, if you’re one of the passengers left behind on a weight restricted flight–but you probably got some compensation for it). Rather, it’s when the two numbers are the same.

That is, the minimum speed required for flight is equal to the max speed for stopping.

That’s called a “Balanced Field:” the runway distance required to accelerate to minimum single-engine take-off speed is also the maximum velocity from which you can safely abort and stop on the runway.

That’s a “short runway” problem, like in LaGuardia, Burbank, Washington National or Orange County, right?

Wrong–it’s everywhere, like Denver’s 14,000 feet of runway (compared to LaGuardia’s 7,000) on a hot summer day; ditto DFW; also Mexico City even on a cool day because it’s at 7,500 feet elevation. And it can occur anywhere due to rain, ice or snow.

So here’s your plan, and as pilot-in-command, you’d better have this tattooed into your brain on every take-off: once you enter the high-speed abort regime (by definition, above 90 knots), know what you will abort for–or continue the take-off. Be ready for both–without hesitation.

LaGuardia: 7,000' between you and Flushing Bay.

It’s easier to decide what you will abort for than won’t–because the “must stops” outnumber the “can stops” and remember your pilot think: it’s often safer to continue than stop. And here are my Big Four Must Stops: engine fire, engine failure, windshear or structural failure.

So rolling past 90, I’m thinking over and over, “engines, engines, engines,” zeroing in on any malfunction in order to assess if it’s an engine problem–if not, it’s likely not a “must stop” situation; I’m aware of windshear but don’t even start the take-off roll with any of the conditions present; structural damage we’ll deal with as necessary. Otherwise, we’re flying, folks.

Got all that? Good deal: now you understand the important interrelationship between Critical Engine Failure Speed, Refusal Speed and the all important concept of V1.

And now that you understand the complex, split-second conditions surrounding the go-no go decision on your next take-off, you can relax and just put all of those crucial factors out of your mind.

Because rest assured, they’re at the forefront of mine, or that of whatever crew into whose hands you’ve entrusted your life.

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There are many, many good reasons why you should NEVER fly into Reagan National Airport in Washington DC. And I’ll tell you why you shouldn’t, and I mean fly–not sit on your butt in the back of the plane. Of course, it goes without saying that if pilots shouldn’t fly there, neither should passengers. And here’s why.

1. The Postage Stamp Effect: like LaGuardia in NYC, the airport was built in the early days of commercial aviation, when the defining factors in aircraft design were slow air speeds, light weights, agile propeller aircraft. Fine.

Maneuvering this thick-winged, lumbering prop job on final was routine at a relative crawl compared to today’s heavier swept wing jets, which need lots of room in the air and on the ground to operate safely. But Washington National is a postage-stamp sized airport from a bygone era, and the serpentine “approach” hasn’t changed:

Look closely at the approach and notice the approach course–145 degrees, right? The runway heading is 194, so do the math: there’s an almost 50 degree heading change on final–and look at where that occurs. It’s at 424 feet above the ground. Which brings up my next point:

2. Extraordinary low-altitude maneuvering: The wingspan of the 737-800 is over 130 feet long, and the jet is normally sinking at a rate of 700 feet per minute on short final. Thirty degrees of bank at 400 feet with seconds to touchdown, with each wingtip dipping up to 75′ in a turn less than 200′ above the ground? And while a 20 degree offset is considered a challenge, the final alignment on such a typical offset approach happens early–but this turn is after the minimum descent altitude, and you get to finalize the crosswind correction at the last second landing on a marginally adequate runway length:

Look at the runway length of the “long” runway: that’s right, 6,800 feet–200′ shorter than LaGuardia’s aircraft carrier deck, and often on final approach, the tower will ask you to sidestep to the 5,200 foot runway instead. So before you even start the approach, you’d better figure and memorize your gross weight and stopping distance corrected for wind and in most cases, you’ll note that the total is within a couple hundred feet of the shorter runway’s length.

Then figure in the winds and the runway condition (wet? look at the numbers: fuggeddabout it) So the answer is usually “unable”–but at least half of the time I hear even full-sized (not just commuter sized) jets accepting the clearance. I accepted the clearance (had a small stopping distance margin and the long runway was closed for repairs) to transition visually to the short runway one night and at 500 feet, that seat-of-the-pants feel that says get the hell out of town took over and I diverted to Dulles instead.

"Do you fell lucky today, punk?"

If that wasn’t hairy enough (get the pun? “hairy,” “Harry?”) from the north, approaching from the south, you’ll also get the hairpin turns induced because they need more spacing to allow a take-off. Either way you get last second close-in maneuvering that would at any other airport induce you to abandon the approach–but that’s just standard at Washington Reagan. And once you’re on the ground, stopping is key because there’s no overrun: you’re in the drink on both ends. Is the runway ever wet when they say it’s dry? Icy when they say “braking action good?”

And with the inherent challenges at the capitol’s flagship airport, you’d expect topnotch navaids, wouldn’t you? Well not only do they not have runway centerline lights or visual approach slope indicators (VASI) from the south, plenty of the equipment that is installed doesn’t work on any given day. Here’s the airport’s automated arrival information for Thursday night:

Just a couple things to add to the experience, right?

So let’s review. If you’re flying into Reagan–and I’ve been doing it all month–to stay out of the headlines and the lagoon, calculate those landing distances conservatively. The airport tries to sell the added advantage of a “porous friction overlay” on the short runway that multiplies the normal coefficient of friction, but accept zero tailwind (and “light and variable” is a tailwind) and if there’s not at least 700 feet to spare–I’m going to Dulles (several deplaning passengers actually cursed at me for diverting) without even considering reentering the Potomac Approach traffic mix for a second try at National.

Think through the last minute alignment maneuver and never mind what the tower says the winds are, go to school on the drift that’s skewing your track over the river and compensate early: better to roll out on final inside the intercept angle (right of course) because from outside (left of course) there’s no safe way to realign because of the excessive offset and low altitude. A rudder kick will drag the nose back to the left inside the offset, but from too far left, you’re screwed.

Once you’ve landed, now you face reason number 3:

3: The northbound departure procedure. Noise abatement in places like Orange County-John Wayne are insanity off of a short runway with steep climb angles and drastic power cuts for noise sensitive areas. But DCA has an even better driving forces: the runway is aimed at the national mall which is strictly prohibited airspace.

Again, no problem in a lumbering prop job–but serious maneuvering is required in a 160,000 pound jet crossing the departure end at nearly 200 mph: the prohibited airspace starts 1.9 miles from the end of the runway. We’re usually configured at a high degree of flaps (5-15 versus the normal 1) so you’re climbing steeply as it is–in order to prevent violating the prohibited airspace, you must maintain the minimum maneuvering speed which means the nose is pitched abnormally high–then you must use maximum bank to turn left 45 degrees at only 300 feet above the ground.

What do you think will happen with the nose high and the left wing low if you take a bird or two in that engine? Are there any waterfowl in the bird sanctuary surrounding the airport? Would the situation be any different with a normal climb angle with wings straight and level?

So what’s the payoff for this complicated, difficult operation?

It’s a nice terminal. Congressmen like their free parking at National. And they’re way too busy to ride the Metro to Dulles, despite the bazillion dollars appropriated to extend the metro line from the Capitol to Dulles, adding another twenty minutes to the airport travel time is too much for our very sensitive congressmen to endure.

I think that’s about it as far as pluses and minuses. Fair trade, considering all the factors?

That’s for you to decide for yourself, but hang on–we’re going anyway. Just don’t chew my ass when I land the jet at Dulles instead of Washington Reagan National. Because for all of the above reasons, you probably shouldn’t have been going there anyway.

For me, there’s one hands-down winner. I’ll get to that.

But first, looking at it from a hands-on pilot perspective, let me say what I think are the crucial factors in both jets, then compare them. And I’ll do it in order of importance from my line-swine pilot view:

1. Power: never mind the technology difference between the General Electric JT8D turbo fans on the Maddog and the CFM-56 high-bypass fans on the 737. It’s the thrust difference I want in my right hand when I’m trying to lift 170,000 pounds off a runway. And technology aside (I’ll get to that), the three full power options (22,000, 24,000, and 26,000 pounds of thrust) plus the bonus kick up to 27,000 pounds per engine on the 737 for special use beats the snot out of the 19,000 flat rated and standard de-rated engines on the MD-80. Yes, the -80 weighs less than the 737 (max of 150,000 vs. 174,000 pounds), and no, I don’t have each plane makers’ specs, but the thrust-to-weight performance from the left seat feels substantially more secure and significant from the 737.

You notice that right away when you do a static takeoff with the 737 at all weights: you’ve got buttloads of giddyup (I think engineers call it “acceleration,” but then they don’t actually feel it on paper versus in the cockpit blasting forward–that’s “a buttload of giddyup”) shortening  those critical moments of vulnerability between brake release and V1.

I have no idea what engineers think of when they look at thrust and take-off advantages, but any pilot with experience knows that those seconds before reaching flying speed are the most vulnerable, particularly close to max abort speed, because I’d rather take any problems into the air than have to wrestle them to a stop on a runway. The MD-80 has good smash at mid to light weights, but in crucial situations (Mexico City, for example, or on a short runway on a hot day) the 737′s CFM56′s rule. I need the shortest possible period of on-runway vulnerability; I know engine hot-section limits and longterm life are important too, but the CFM56 achieves better on-wing engine endurance in operation than the JT8Ds, year over year.

Ditto for a go-around or windshear options: the MD-80 is famous for it’s slow acceleration–I’ve been there MANY times–and when you’re escaping from windshear or terrain, I can promise you the pucker factor of the “one, Mississippi, two Mississippi” on up to six to eight seconds will have your butt chewing up the seat cushion like horse’s lips. Not sure if that’s due to the neanderthal 1970′s vintage hydro-mechanical fuel control (reliably simple–but painstakingly slow to spool) or the natural limitation of so many rotor stages. But the 737′s solid state EICAS computers reading seventy-teen parameters and trimming the CFMs accordingly seem to give the performance a clear edge. And a fistful of 737-800 throttles beats the same deal on the Maddog, period. Advantage, Boeing.

2. Wing: let me go back in time. I also flew the F-100 for a couple years as captain. That was a great jet, with a simple wing: no leading edge devices. Coming from jets with slats the feel was clearly different on take-off, where there was a distinct (if you’re a seat-of-the-pants guy, and that’s all I’ve ever been) translational period between rotate and lift-off due to the hard wing. Ditto in the flare and in some reversals in flight like on a go-around. Not a bad thing, just something you had to anticipate, but not a warm-fuzzy in the seat of your aerodynamic pants.

Stretched jet, stretched wing.

That’s a good analogy between the Boeing versus the Douglas wing: you feel the generous lift margin in the 737. That’s because when Boeing stretched the jet to the -800 length, they expanded the wing as well. That wing was already loaded much lighter than the DC-9 wing which Douglas didn’t enlarge when they added to two fuselage plugs plus about 15,000 pounds to the MD-80. Longer and with better cambered  (look at the DC-10, and no dihedral) airfoil is the Boeing design and I’m grateful for their foresight and superior engineering–especially at the top end of the performance envelope: you need anti-ice? No problem–turn it on. The Maddog? Better be 2,000 feet below optimum, or prepare for stall recovery–and anyone on the -80 fleet knows I’m not exagerating. Wing performance? No contest: Boeing.

3. Handling: again let me go back in time. Flew the T-37 like every new Air Force pilot up until recently–then moved on to the T-38. Using standard Tweet inputs on The Rocket would bang your helmet off the canopy because of the boosted flight controls, giving you 720 degrees of roll in a second at full deflection.

That’s the 737 compared to the MD-80: no aileron boost on the -80, and little help from the powered rudder–because of the long fuselage length and relatively short moment arm between the vertical fin and the MAC (Mean Aerodynamic Chord), the rudder seems to only impart a twisting moment that’s pretty useless. So it’s a wrestling match for roll control, in and out of turns with the -80.

I still tend to over control the 737 in acute roll situations (e.g., the 30 degree offset final at 300′ AGL required in and out of DCA) due to previous brain damage caused by years of arm wrestling the MD-80 around tight corners. But with the 737, the seat-of-the-pants security of that generous wing is apparent at all speed and altitudes and the hydraulic aileron boost gives you the muscle to command a smooth and prompt response. Handling? It’s all 737 for me, including on the ground: new MD-80 captains will need Ibuprofen to counter the wrist strain of the nosewheel steering, two-handed in tight spots. I don’t miss that at all.

4. Cockpit layout: okay, give the -80 its due–that was one comfortable nest once you got settled. But that’s as far as it goes for me. Yes, I know the 737 kitbag position is inaccessible. But American Airlines is the first airline certified by the FAA for iPad use from the ground to altitude. Kitbag, what’s a kitbag?

MD-80 left seat–HSI? Where is it?

Trade-off? The MD-80 HSI is obscured by the control yoke. Are you kidding me? Like you might need lateral situational awareness for trivia like, navigating? Flying an approach? I spent 20+ years working around that human factors engineering failure–I’m grateful for the Boeing engineers who gave me seven 9″ CRT flat plate displays with every parameter I could want displayed digitally and God bless them all–a Heads Up Display! Lord have mercy, even a simpleton has a crosscheck in that jet thanks to the God of HUD.

The 737 doesn’t have the elbow room you might like and everyone who I fly with who has come off the big Boeings (757, 767, 777) gripes about that. Fine. I’m all about performance and the flight displays, computers, communications and advanced Flight Management Systems in the 737 avionics suite beat the pants off of the 75 and 76–and the HUD tops the 777 as well. Nuff said: gimme the Guppy cockpit over the Maddog. Boeing put everything I need at my fingertips, and it’s all state-of-the-art, whereas Douglas engineers threw everything they could everywhere in the cockpit and slammed the door.

My 737 home.

So there you have it: power, wing, handling and even by a narrow margin, the cockpit too. I’m a Boeing guy, back from wayward days flying Douglas metal from the DC-10 to the MD-80. In my experience as a pilot, in my hours in both Boeing and Douglas jets, I’m grateful to be flying the best jets in the sky. Now you know which are which.