Archive for aviation

Airline Crew Confidential

Posted in air travel humor, air traveler, airline, airline cartoon, airline cartoon book, airline delays, airline industry, airline passenger, airline pilot, airline pilot blog, airlines, airport, airport security, flight attendant, flight crew, pilot with tags , , , , , , , , , on February 14, 2017 by Chris Manno

It was inevitable: 80 pages of wicked, insider crew-view airline cartoons:

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Passengers, impress your crew–share the cartoons with them. It’s secret insider stuff, like:

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And many more. Get yours from Amazon.com for $7.99. Just click here.

If you’re  flightcrew: you NEED this. If you’re a newhire flight attendant on my crew, I’m giving you one as my way of saying welcome, and thanks for all you do.

Enjoy!

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Airports, Weapons and YOU.

Posted in air travel, air traveler, airline industry, airline passenger, airline pilot, airline pilot blog, airport, airport security, flight crew with tags , , , , on January 8, 2017 by Chris Manno

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Airports, Weapons, and You.

The tragic shooting at the Fort Lauderdale airport raises several crucial questions that deserve answers–but no one in law enforcement or airport management has thus far asked the right question much less offered an adequate answer.

But here’s the unspoken danger: the baggage claim area in the Fort Lauderdale airport is by city ordinance a weapons-free zone. Here’s the warning sign posted at every airport entrance. In this case, it’s at the baggage claim entrance.

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By law, all weapons–including firearms, as depicted in the warning–are prohibited in the baggage claim area. Which raises the major question: why did the Fort Lauderdale Airport as well as the airline that carried the handgun allow that deadly weapon to be delivered into the hands of the alleged shooter within their own designated weapons-free zone?

That raises more questions: do passengers, crew and airport employees have a reasonable expectation that the airport authority will enforce their own weapons prohibition, keeping the baggage claim and everyone in it safe? Do the airlines have to deliver weapons and ammunition, as was the case in the recent Fort Lauderdale mass shooting, to the alleged gunman at all? 

That’s a two-part question. First, why are airlines in the business of transporting weapons and ammunition in the first place? By doing so, they’re introducing both deadly items into the secure side of the airport where even employees are prohibited from from accessing any weapons–but there they lay among other innocuous luggage items, in the open baggage handling areas at both the origination and destination airports.

The second part is, why carry weapons aboard passenger jets, even in the cargo hold, at all? One major airline no longer ships pets as cargo, period, for a lot of good reasons. Is there a more urgent reason to transport weapons and ammunition, and worse, to deliver them to a passenger in the secure area where weapons are explicitly prohibited? Why would an airline do that, and why would an airport permit that?

Certainly, violence can always be introduced from the outside by force. Sadly, in this case, the weapon and ammunition that killed five people in Fort Lauderdale was delivered by an airline into the hands of the shooter in the airport’s own weapons-free zone with their concurrence.

Those who must transport a weapon can do so by means other than the cargo compartment of an airliner, solving that problem. But besides a radical change in the way airlines and airports regard weapons and weapons-free zones, little can be done to prevent future loss of life like the tragedy in Fort Lauderdale. 

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Air Travel and Anarchy

Posted in air travel, air traveler, airline industry, airline passenger, airline pilot, airline pilot blog, flight attendant, flight crew, passenger, pilot, travel with tags , , , , , , on October 27, 2016 by Chris Manno

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“I say let the world go to hell, but I should always have my tea.” –Fyodor Dostoyevsky

Nothing brings out the worst in people like air travel. Sadly, flying has become the crossroads of selfishness and self-righteousness, a road-rage hybrid unmasked, more akin to mob action as a result of being seated together rather than in isolated vehicles, but angry, loose-tempered and looking for a reason to go off just the same. Throw in a fashionable side order of latent outrage at anything individually determined to be offensive and you have the airborne tinderbox that regularly explodes into passenger non-compliance, misconduct, diversion and ultimately, yet another ruined travel experience.

Maybe in days past there was less opportunity to exact compensation for perceived slights. Maybe there’s righteous consumer outrage over the corpcomm buzzword “inconvenience” overlaid on any type of service disaster. Mix the two well, sprinkle with a litigious seasoning and pour into a social media crust, then bake on the internet for less than thirty minutes. We’re serving up outrage–and selfies–get it while it’s hot.

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That tired, sad urban legend-gone-digitally viral cry for attention would be little more than a Spam-ish nuisance except for one elephantine reality: it’s dangerous as hell in flight.

In a world that prizes personal choice, self-importance, sacrosanct self-image, and the all-important digital self-reflection (“That’s us in ____!”), compliance is a dirty word. Problem is, flying is a difficult, at times risky endeavor that relies on discipline and its ugly stepchild, compliance, from the cockpit all way back to the aft lav.

Unfortunately, the all-important “me” is societally- and media-sanctioned, so individual choices are thereby easily disconnected from consequences in the aircraft emergency crew commands as well as in the midair violence wall-papered over in corp-speak as “passenger non-compliance.” That often starts with choices easily blamed these days on those offering the choice rather than those making the choice itself.

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Crewmembers are attacked, other passengers are physically (or worse) assaulted, but the individual acting, “non-complying,” is seldom held responsible for the consequences of an individual choice.  Sadly, it gets so much worse, so much more dangerous.

But I can hear it already: yeah, but I’m me. That’s a two-headed monster–first, the perception that others are the problem and second, that you aren’t one of the “others,” but you are. The command “take nothing with you” in an emergency evacuation is based on the life-and-death certification of the aircraft: 90 seconds, timed with a full load of passengers from evacuation command to everyone safely clear of an aircraft that had no luggage aboard.

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In real life, enough of the “I’m me” others refuse to comply with the command to take nothing with you (“I’m not leaving without my [fill in self-absorbed priority]!”) at the expense of those seated at the far end of the tested, proven, but now destroyed time to escape a burning aircraft. That can and will be fatal, yet the death of some is lower on the hierarchy of self in an “everybody gets a trophy” legacy of some “others.”

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Airline regulatory agencies like the FAA and NTSB do little to actually enforce compliance. Even beyond the glaring headlines attending an aircraft emergency evacuation sabotaged by passenger non-compliance, there’s little that regulators can and will do to eliminate flight risk factors other than to urge passenger “compliance.”

There again, we careen headlong into the absolution of “I’m me.”  The FAA recently recognized the disastrous inflight potential for a lithium ion battery fire in a very commonplace piece of technology. The remedy? Screening? Enforcement? Legal consequences?

Nope. Just, “we told you not to.”

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Granted,  you’re not one of the “others” who’d readily drag their bags along on an emergency evacuation at the risk of other passengers’ lives. You don’t over consume alcohol and disrupt a flight. And you don’t ignore the toothless “prohibition” and bring your very expensive but hazardous phone on board.

But they’re out there, self-justified, media-enriched, societally excused, and dangerous as hell.

Better hope “they” aren’t on “your” flight.

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Airline Pilot: Paint Me Another Landing

Posted in air travel, air traveler, airline, airline cartoon, airline passenger, airline pilot with tags , , , , , , on October 21, 2016 by Chris Manno

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Passengers experience the approach from the back of the jet: sinking lower, corrections left and right, a wingtip dipping, maybe the mush of a rudder step against the crosswind. Landing soon. Right?

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So much more goes on beyond the locked cockpit door: one part land, two parts fly; a side order of go around–and all are acceptable.

You go to school in your head from ten, twenty miles out: what’s the wind doing? How’s the jet responding? What gets us between the final approach fix steady with all of the markers (pitch, power, roll and track) sinking through a thousand feet? And what will change?

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It’s a moving target: you have to change configuration drastically, but lock in the performance in terms of stable speed and descent rate. Energy management: need to slow AND descend–what’s the best bargain, what drag do you pay out to slow, descend and lock in the 3 degree glide slope?

Time is never your friend. You’d better know how the thousands of pounds of jet fuel on board translate into not only minutes, but miles: where you gonna go, and when, captain? Used to ask new captains I checked out, one hand over the fuel gages (you need to know this stuff, not look for it when I ask), how much time do you have?  When do we need to get the hell out of Dodge, and where will you go?

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Watch the jets ahead. What are they fighting? The widebodies on final and in the traffic pattern are a great visual aid: what are they doing? See those big old, tired pilots step on that rudder; watch the tentative wing-low; go to school–you’ll look smarter through 500 feet because they gave you a cheat sheet.

Think-feel-fly: be the solution, at 180 knots across the ground. Don’t just operate the flight controls–fly the jet.

Never mind the tower-reported winds–look around: smoke? Trees? Ripples on the water? And the living windsock you’re flying in–what does it take? Never mind what it should require, what the reported winds said it would take. Put it where you want it. Have those few extra knots in your pocket, the ones so easily pick-pocketed by faithless winds; carry the big drag (give me 40) in order to carry the big power. Your TOGA “get out of jail free” card is that much more readily cashed in, you’re actually driving through the wind to the runway rather than surfing the gusts.

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Match the cross-track to the steady state wind, ignore the gusts heckling to no good end. Believe in what you know, what the jet’s telling you–there’s more power than you’ll ever need hanging on the wings, manage it; just fly smart.

Small correction rates, as big a correction as is necessary–don’t be shy. The jet’s like a horse: she needs to believe you believe in yourself if you’re going to make the jump, to know you can handle the landing.

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It’s a weird conundrum, landings: you’ll never get credit for what you don’t do, never be forgiven for what you do. The answer is simple: perfection, then neither extreme alternative applies.

Taxi-in is the payoff. Silence is best, in my opinion. No need to reflect on what you just accomplished, just own it, bank it, quietly. You’re only as good as you last flight, and the next one’s waiting. Doesn’t have to be a masterpiece, but it damn well better be pretty.

Humble up, and let’s go do it again.

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The REAL Captain’s Guide: How To Fly That Crap Weather Approach.

Posted in air travel, airline, airline passenger, airline pilot, airline pilot blog, airline safety, fear of flying, flight crew with tags , , , , , , on September 30, 2016 by Chris Manno

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First, let’s define “real” captain. I don’t mean “real” in the sense of physical, tangible, bad-layover-clothes, mouth-breathing captain, although I’ve been one at a major airline for 25 years and counting. You’re “real” as a captain on Day One when you’re turned loose with the rating.

What I mean by “real” is as in, “get real.” That’s because we know there are several things you face as captain with the dogshit weather approach. First, there’s what you’re told. Second, there’s what you know. Finally, there’s where the reality plays out: from the final approach fix inbound at 180 knots across the ground. There’s stuff you need to do to be ready for that.

The first item, “what you’re told,” includes the OpSpec that allows you to do what you’re about to do: fly a big jet with a lot of folks–including your crew–into minimally adequate weather for landing. OpSpec includes a minimalist element (what’s the least we can send you into the most challenging weather?) that allows airlines to earn revenue for what you’re about to do.

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What you’re told also includes the prevailing weather at the time they told you, which is nowhere near the time at which you’ll actually fly the approach. If I sound like a captain who’s had that detail bite him in the ass–it’s because I am.

So, here’s the BTDT viewpoint that goes beyond the classroom and the manuals. Not interested in stuff beyond the books? Don’t need the BTDT captain viewpoint? Please close this blog page now. No harm, no foul. Best of luck.

Okay, still here? The others gone? Good.

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First, your approach starts in the chocks before pushback. No, I don’t mean “be the dork who starts stressing or worse, briefs the approach before engine start.” Rather, I mean be the captain the FO can rely on as soon as you sit down. Stay the hell out of his way as he (or she)  works. Respect–but check–the setup of the cockpit for takeoff. You ain’t perfect, so don’t expect your FO to be, and let him (or her) know YOU can be counted on as a team member to be sure you both do well from the first checklist. That’s what you want later: a collaborative, respectful environment where your FO knows you’re relying on each other step by step. The FO needs to be looking for and free to point out your screwups.

Second, “what you’re told” versus what you know can be tricky. Weather forecast versus delays you’ve seen versus altitude restrictions and the list goes on: variables, unreliables, despite “what you’ve been told.” But what everyone knows is this: fuel equals time. When that sixth sense picks at the back of your brain saying we might could use more fuel–you really do so get it before release. If you’re wrong (trust me, you won’t be–the only time you can have too much fuel is when you’re on fire) then you land with more time options. But if you’re at minimum fuel you’ll have to tear the seat cushion out of your ass after landing because your butt cheeks ate it up like horse’s lips do while you stressed about weather delays.

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Finally, downwind. If you’re flying, relax: you’re not that asshole captain showing how it’s done (okay, you really are) but rather, you’re doing what you know to your core you’re damn good at. So, be humble, be quiet, be methodical, procedurally correct and do exactly what’s called for. Show your FO how you want the approach flown.

FO flying? Even better: relax, back up everything done, think ahead of the jet and while you do, let the FO do the flying exactly as it’s supposed to be done. Getting slightly off track? Guide back to best practices with suggestions, positive affirmations and last resort–LAST RESORT–directive, which sounds like “Let’s go ahead and ____” or “I’m not comfortable with ____.”

Remember, if what you’re told hours ago before takeoff matches what you encounter at the final approach fix, that’s a coincidence. You fly “real” based on what you know, which includes every experience and subsequent intuition derived therefrom–apologize to no one, get the fuel you need and decide for yourself if OpSpec minimums are adequate to meet the challenge facing you in realtime. We don’t fly on paper, on a spreadsheet, or on a chart of minimums page. Remember the horse’s lips/seat cushion metaphors: get fuel, think ahead, respect your FO, believe what you know (school of hard knocks) and fly smart, conservative and REAL.

Then, from Final Approach Fix to touchdown or go-around, you’re smart, confident, safe, and real. No one can ask you for more and as captain, you cannot do anything less, nor accept anything but the best you can do, by leading, coaching and most of all, being real.

Fly safe, compadres.

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Why NOT remotely piloted airliners?

Posted in air travel, airline, airline industry, airline passenger, airline pilot, airline pilot blog, airline safety, airliner, airliner take off, flight attendant, flight crew, German wings 9525, jet flight, passenger, Remotely piloted airliners, security with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , on April 16, 2015 by Chris Manno

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In the wake of several recent airliner losses, talk in the media once again turns to the futuristic concept of remotely piloted passenger jets.

A very bad idea, as I explain on Mashable.com. Just click here to read, or use the link below.

 

http://mashable.com/2015/04/16/aircraft-accidents/

 

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Flying a Jet in the Los Angeles Storms, December 12, 2014.

Posted in air travel, airline pilot blog, airliner, airlines, airport, flight crew, jet, passenger, pilot, travel with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on December 13, 2014 by Chris Manno

 

“That’s some catch, that Catch-22.” –Captain Yossarian, Catch-22

Here’s the deal, captain: you’re flying a 65 ton jet into Orange County airport, the famously short 5,700 foot runway. The stopping distance required there is increased drastically if that runway is wet–and yesterday, “wet” was an understatement: Los Angeles was drenched in a ten-year storm dumping inches of rain in a matter of hours.

And here’s the catch: you want to have the least amount of fuel–which is weight–on board for landing to permit stopping on the short, rain-slicked runway, but at the same time, as much as possible for a divert if necessary to Los Angeles International Airport or to Ontario Airport, both of which have long runways.

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But it gets worse. The best bet for a diversion is Ontario, because the inbound air traffic is light compared to always busy LAX. But you’ve been watching on radar two thunderstorms sitting exactly on the top of Ontario, hardly moving. LAX is reporting heavy rain which means inbound delays and you know from experience that the inbound LAX air traffic flow includes many long-haul flights from Asia, Europe and points beyond. You don’t want to elbow into their already depleted fuel reserves.

Here’s your set of decisions: who will fly the approach at SNA? It must be done perfectly, given the conditions, which are reported as 1 1/2 mile visibility in fog and heavy rain, with 200 foot ceiling. The touchdown must be exactly on the right spot–neither too early nor too late–and exactly on speed, if we’re to stop on the remaining runway.

What is your plan: SNA, and then what? No holding fuel–on a missed approach, you can either try again, or divert to Ontario (thunderstorm overhead) or LAX.

You already know landing in a thunderstorm at Ontario is a poor choice. And you know, realistically, you don’t have the fuel to handle the air miles entry into the LAX landing sequence will require. A second try? Not even.

Okay, captain–DECIDE.

Here’s what I chose on each question. First, I had the F/O fly the approach. Why, when it had to be done exactly perfectly under bad conditions? The answer is, because he damn well knows how to fly an ILS, in any circumstances. If he flies the approach, fully investing in the stick-and-rudder attention demands which are large, I can focus on the big picture: what’s the Ontario storm doing? Watching LAX too on radar. Updating SNA winds, our fuel, our position.

Above ten thousand feet, we talk. I tell him what I’m thinking, then ask: what am I missing? Tell me your ideas? And as importantly, are you okay flying the approach? Because a bad night of sleep, a sore shoulder, anything–if you’re not up to this, I’ll do it.

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And we have one shot, I tell him, then I’m putting clearance on request (actually did that as soon as we were switched to tower frequency) to Ontario. If the storm looks impassable on radar, option 3 is declare an emergency for fuel and barge into the LAX landing sequence. Don’t like that idea, but if we’re down to option 3, there is no other choice.

I also plot the magic number for SNA winds: 110 degrees and 290 degrees. For the precision landing runway, any wind beyond those two cardinal points strays into the verboten tailwind area. Asked about landing the other direction and the answer was: long delay. Not possible, for us.

Already requested and had the data linked chart for our landing weight sent up to the aircraft: we require 5,671 feet on a wet runway, good braking, zero tailwind. Each knot of tailwind adds 150 to the distance required, so even one knot of tailwind exceeds the runway length.

I switch my nav display from a compass arc to a rose: the full 360 display. I’m getting wind checks all the way down final and watching my cardinal points, alert for an excedence.

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There’s a wind display on my HUD, too, but I realize that’s a calculation that is at least 15 seconds old. Eyeballs and experience tell the tale: he’s glued mostly to his instruments to fly a flawless ILS, but I’m mostly eyeballs-outside, monitoring speed, azimuth and glide path through the HUD, but paying attention to the realtime wind cues. He knows if I don’t like what I see, I’ll say, “Go-around” and we will be on to option 2 immediately. I know that if he doesn’t like the way the approach is going, he’ll announce and fly the go-around without any questions from me.

I tell him that if everything is stable on approach, let’s make a final wind analysis at 200 feet. If we’re both satisfied, silence means we’re both committed to landing.

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I review in my head the rejected landing procedure. That is, if we touch down but I judge we can’t stop, throttle max, speed brakes stowed, flaps fifteen, forward trim, back into the air.

Clear your mind, focus on the plan: hate math, but I can sure see the compass depiction that means a verboten tailwind. Poor viz in heavy rain, but once I spot the VASIs, I can tell what the wind is doing to us. He’s flying a hell of a good approach. One final wind check at 200 feet. “That’s within limits,” I say, just to let him know that component is fine. He’s flying–if it doesn’t feel right, I want him to feel free to go-around immediately.

I don’t want to see high or low on either glide path or speed. No worries–he’s nailed it, both are stable.

A firm touchdown, then my feelers are up for hydroplaning: none. Speedbrakes deploy, but we’re not committed until reverse thrust. The MAX brakes grab hold, good traction; we’re fine, reverse thrust, I take over at 100 knots.

Silence in the cockpit. “Excellent job,” I say as we clear the runway, glad we didn’t have to execute either backup plan. Relief, Boeing has built us a damn fine, stable jet for this weather, this day, this runway.

Now, put that all behind–we still have to fly out of here in less than an hour. And do it all again tomorrow.

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