What's it doing now?

Aircraft on the descent. Left seat temperature in the climb.

  We have a six leg, two day trip to here, there and everywhere for some VIP types. We are crewed on a new to the company airplane that has been ornery as of late. The logbook seems to have more maintenance pages filled out on it than flights. Ahh, I'm sure it's fine.
  We are burning dinosaurs roaring down the runway:

Me 'Set power'
Cojo: 'Power set'
Cojo: 'eighty knots'
Me: 'check'
Cojo : 'V-1. Rotate'
Cojo: 'Positive rate'
Me 'Gear up'
Cojo: 'Gear's up. Attitudes check'

  It's at this point I notice something. Or at least I think I do. Did the gear handle's red In Transit light just flicker? Hey did it just do it again? I ask the first officer if he saw it. Uhh, no.
  OK, must be me.
  We level off and set up for a fairly short cruise segment. I brief the descent plan and the approach and request a lower altitude. We're cleared down and gently push forward on the control column when it happens again, but this time it's no flicker, it's a solid red light. There's no hiding it, and the passenger behind us comments to his coworker right away.
  Oh, did I mention the autopilot has been MEL'd too? No auto pilot, no yaw dampner. I've probably only logged maybe 10 hours in the last year with the auto pilot off and it's been mostly in straight lines on final in visual conditions. Climbs, turns and descents in IMC while maintaining assigned airspeeds by hand? During bumpy thunderstorm season? Thats crazy talk.
  So now I'm hand flying the airplane and trying to solve this problem all the while trying to finish my coffee. The term task-saturation comes to mind. First things first. I quickly drink the rest of my americano and get down to the business of decision making. It is likely an indication problem because the gear is clearly not in transit, the landing gear hydraulic pump motor is not engaged and the gear doors are closed. So it's Choose Your Own Adventure time: We could go back to base and get maintenance to have a look-see, which could potentially take a couple hours or more. Or we could return to base and have a sub-charter finish the job which could also potentially take a few hours but both those options would likely scuttle the passengers' long planned, action packed 2 day business assault causing them to cancel the whole thing.. OR, we could continue and land as planned and snag the airplane on the ground and have another airplane fly up and take over the trip, or get that sub charter up here (the plan was to wait on the ground for 4 hours while the passengers conducted business so we had a little bit of time to work with). OR, I happen to know there is another operator at this field we're landing at, and they have a fleet of the same type of aircraft we're flying with a maintenance facility. But who knows if they have time to help us out?
  I decide to take the chance on landing at destination (grounding the airplane there). The passengers offload and I get the wheels in motion for plan A, B and C. I walk into the competation's office and ask for the DOM. I'm directed to a back room and guess what, I know the guy! Hooray for blind luck. After shooting the sh!t for a bit, we get down to the problem. He says, man we're in the middle of a hot section on our medevac machine and Billy's on holidays and Jimmey hurt his back etc etc.. 
  Sure we'll do it.

  They throw the bird up on jacks, and sprinkle a little PFM (pure magic) they get it fixed up like new. Paper work completed, hearty handshake and a big thank you, we head over to the terminal building and there the passengers are. 'Waiting long?' I ask. 'Uh we got here only a few minutes ago, Ed is just parking the car.'

  Perfect.

Occasionally you luck out and get it right.

Taxiway T/O

FL250 Southbound for a change.

  Finally, I get crewed on a trip that takes us to the lower 48 for a change. It's been months since I've bought myself 'pound cake' at starbucks. Although perhaps someone else had this trip and dumped it off because the daytime high at destination was 30 degrees. Farenheit. Yeah, with the distinct possibility for snow.
  We head first to an airport with Customs service. So we make a quick stop there, get out, get probed, go for a pee and a hot (non airplane water) coffee refill and get going. Further South, but the airport elevation  is over 5,000ft which is not helping with the OAT and snow flurries. That's OK, the coffee is hot.
  We are flying over the Rocky Mountain spine at 28,000ft but are denied any sort of view due to the extensive cloud cover. Milky white nothingness. The copilot comments that he feels like we are in the simulator. The only exception is that there isn't anyone sitting behind us in a folding chair with a mischievous grin and I don't feel especially trigger happy on the fuel firewall valves.
  Rewinding a bit...checking the NOTAMS as per usual in the morning revealed the usual new towers, ammended procedures and... ummm.. a closed runway at destination. Well, there is only one runway there. There is some ambiguous reference to a taxiway so I decied to call up Lockheed Martin FSS down there and get their story. 'Yep she's closed. No problem though, just land on the Taxiway'. Say again? 'Land on the Taxiway. Plenty long enough, but a little skinny, 50 feet wide.'

  Cool.
  We do the descent checks, load the RNAV which contains about 10 stepdown altitudes which I brief at length, do the RAIM check and start the approach. Center comes up 'Hey you in the Beech, you know about that runway, right?'
  You betcha.
  We hit the initial approach waypoint and turn 90 degrees to the left. Descend. Level. Approach flap. Descend and level a few more times. Gear down landing checks. 1000' until minimums. 500'.  Uh oh, I don't see anything. The METAR was 2,200' broken. What's up with this? Then voila, we break out of the cloud horizontally. There's the lake. Oh, and there's the airport. Full flap.
  Remember to land on the Taxiway. Roger. The big equipment tearing up the runway is a quick reminder. Now a 50' wide runway gives the illusion of being terribly high. However, since we are lined up with the taxiway and not the runway, we are much closer to the row of trees on the left side of the airport, which in turn gives the illusion of being too low. Split the difference and squeak it on the taxiway. At least they were kind enough to paint the runway numbers on the taxiway so there was no confusion.
  Backtrack and park. No snow, just some cold rain. We hit the Pancake House for a deliciously oversized breakfast and then hop in the rental car and explore the area for the next four hours before we head back home.
  That was fun.

Fowl weather IFR

Hot coffee in my hand, radio up and feeling pretty good. Everything is better after a good nights sleep.

  We climb easily through the flight levels Eastbound this morning. The air is cool and we have 50 knots on the tail. The sun is just becoming visible above the solid undercast as it begins blazing its daily trail across the Canadian sky.
  We reach 27,000 feet and the autopilot levels us off. I ask for cruise power and plan to settle in for the 2 hour flight which our flight plan shows will take us around one military munitions testing area, and between two others. I forgot to mention our left fuel gauge is MEL'd so I have to do a significant amount of extra calculations derived from flight time during specific phases of flight and indicated fuel flow. We know that if the right fuel gauge is working and the fuel flows to both engines are nearly identical, it makes sense that there should be the same quantity of fuel remaining in both tanks, right? Well, it's the aviation way - if in doubt, do more paperwork....
  Our speed is a decent 325 knots over the ground which is not bad for this tired old airplane. We thread the needle between the last two military zones and then proceed direct to destination for a straight in visual landing. My work for the day is done, the Copilot will take us home.
  6 hours later..
  The copilot asks for cruise power which I set. I make sure the all the engine parameters are set within company limits (not manufacturer limits which are less restrictive) and pull out the logbook to record an engine trend. As I'm doing that I hear something.
   Now, you know when your car is broken and you call your mechanic and you want to convey to him the issue.. you will probably begin using words you've picked up from Monster Garage hoping he buys your 'I know what I'm talking about' BravoSierra (because its embarassing to be a man and call a major automotive component a 'thingy'), but at some point you will resort to making noises with your mouth: humming or scraping or grinding/chugging noises. It's simply the best way.
  So the props are going waahhhhhhhhhhh waaahh waahh wah wah wah waaahh wahhhh waahhhhhhhhhhh. Thats right. Just what I said. Every few minutes. I did some troubleshooting and could not fix the problem. Prop synch didn't help. Power changes didn't help. Prop RPM changes didn't help. Boy that's annoying. So I end up writing down everything the engine gauges are showing me so I have something to help the AME's figure it out when we get back (AKA something to back me up when they sideways glance at each other with that smirk that says 'sure it did that mr. pilot...').
  I tune the ATIS for our arrival back to base. Oh my, RVR 2800 feet. Moderate snow. Light icing. Light to moderate turbulence. Glad I'm not doing the flying. That sounds like work. We get the usual vectors for the ILS, number 6 on the approach. On the descent on downwind we sail by the Towering Cumulus - which is right over the airport giving the aforementioned weather.
  A couple of turns and cleared to land. The airplane is configured and my eyes are mostly outside looking for the runway. 500 feet above. 200 feet above. 100 hundred above.....and runway lights, 12 o'clock. The copilot transitions from instruments to visual cues for landing. We're looking at the rabbit lights, the extended centreline lights, then threshold lights. Then a flock of birds. I utter something to the effect of 'uhhhh' and the copilot mutters 'ehhhh'. We instinctively tense up and wait for the thump of a birdstrike report... but nothing. We continue because there is really not much you can do, and even if you tried, you couldn't actually move the airplane quickly enough to evade birds 50 feet in front of you at 110 knots. The copilot has already begun to flare and the mains touchdown nicely.
  After looking over the plane on the company ramp, seems like we slipped through the flock harmlessly.

  Lucky us.
 
  Lucky them...

What Diff does it make?

Snowy and -19C. And very dark.

  I hit the button on the wall inside my garage and the overhead door creaks and groans as it reluctantly labours to open. The cold swirls of air and snow scurry into the relative warmth the insulated garage offers. I back my four wheel drive onto the snow piles on the driveway - which I hate doing. It just means more work later when I shovel the driveway and have to chip off the compacted parts.
  The moderate snow falling has me and the only other person blundering around on the highway at this ridiculous hour driving well below the speed limit. The snowplows must not be able to keep up.
  I get in the office and start the routine flight planning of a routine trip. The weather north of here is actually much better in every respect other than the temperature. Clear and cold.  -36C.
  Circumstances dictate that today I have to do all my flight planning from the cargo offices. I haven't been over to 'this side' of the airport for quite some time. I may not have been over here since I was a freight dog myself last year. I take the time to catch up with old coworkers who are still 'building time' on the cargo runs so they can get apply for a job on a nicer airplane that has a better schedule. The standard jokes are made to me about my nice shirt and tie and 'all my shiny bars' etc etc. I make the standard jokes about the old birds they fly and whether or not the heaters are working today etc etc.
  Eventually, I head out to the airplane and the First Officer tells me she can't get the oxygen system to arm. The handle will not budge. She says 'you're a guy, maybe you can move it'. I take it as a compliment. She obviously hasn't seen me with my shirt off. I head over and give it a shot. The only thing I end up dislodging is my lower back.
  Give maintenance a call - 'just try harder' is what they say. I describe to them what I look like with my shirt off and they say they'll be there right away. They show up and aha! they can't move it either. They  pull out some lubricant and work their magic and 2 minutes later we're good to go. Load and blast off.
  Now I really should have known that starting off on the wrong foot usually indicates more trouble is on its way, especially when the temps are what they are today. When I say 'usually', I mean 'always'.  Sure enough, on the second leg during the 10,000ft checks we spot a problem with the pressurization. Looks like the cabin is climbing nearly as fast as the airplane. Now oxygen requirement regulations state we must provide enough oxygen to the passengers to keep them conscious. I don't necessarily agree with that but I must comply. If the cabin altitude exceeds 10,000ft we have to restrict the time to 30 minutes. I ask the FO to request 14,000ft as final altitude from ATC. We are showing a Diff (the ratio of pressure inside the aircraft to the pressure outside the aircraft) of 1.8. Doing a little mental math 14,000 puts us at a cabin altitude of about 8,000ft. So we could go to 16,000 ft and still be under a cabin alt of 10,000ft but I don't know what the pressurization is going to do and the fuel savings in 2,000ft is quite minimal so I decide to stay there. But increase in fuel burns at this altitude to what we were flight planned at is not minimal - so long story short, it means we have to get gas at a remote airport  (read - pump it yourself in  -36degrees) and I have to re-do the rest of my paperwork.
  ATC approves it without asking 'how come?' like some controllers like to do so they can file a CADORS. But this guy must have filled his quota already and offers nothing more than an 'approved'.
  Now from experience I know this item can be deferred under the MEL with certain conditions, so we will not be grounded after we land. We carry on with the rest of the trip.
  What was supposed to be a relaxing wait time at the hotel with a free breakfast and some recreational reading has been soured a little with the extra work required to change flight plan information and MEL paperwork.

  Wonder what will break tomorrow..

Chinook

  Mid-morning. Starbucks drive through. Tall Americano and a lemon poppyseed loaf.

  Typically I have to be in the flight planning room busily smacking at the computer keyboard and fretting about fuel loads long before the guy who unlocks the Starbucks in the morning has even had his morning pee. Today is a noon check-in and I think I will take advantage.
  Four hours later at FL270 we're crossing the 49th parallel northbound in smooth air which is unusual considering the crosswind that is roaring from the west. Our track over the ground is 013 degrees yet we are steering almost due (magnetic) North. That is about thirty degrees to the left. The associated mountain wave activity has our airspeed and pitch rolling up and down like a ship at sea. I select the 'soft ride' mode on the auto pilot to mitigate discomfort in the back end of the airplane.
  As we pass over an airport enroute, I can just make out a company airplane far below parked on the ramp all tented up and plugged in for the day. My eyeballs move just slightly and I see some long white treeless blocks of snow looking unnatural relative to the rest of the mountains in the area - a ski hill. I'm sure business is good for them these days with the tremendous amount of snow they've received so far this winter. I can't actually make out any riders but the parking lot is half full so they must be down there somewhere.
  We're coming up on the arrival now and the ATIS states in its indifferent monotone manner to expect turbulence all quadrants. Wind is 260 degrees, 24 knots gusting to 38 knots. I guess that airflow has made its way to the surface.
  We get cleared to a lower altitude and are warned again of the impending churning chaos awaiting us 10,000 feet below reported in 'all quadrants' by 'all types'. I can't help but think they must be wrong, it is such a smooth ride at the moment and everything looks pristine from our perch. I turn around and tell everyone in the back it's going to get rough and to put everything away and tighten their seatbelts. Well, time to slow down to 'turbulence penetration speed'. I pull the power levers back while holding the gear horn silencing button and slow the rate of descent slightly. A few minutes later we're at a crawling pace and I start to get impatient and wonder if I'm wasting time with this, its probably not that bad. I then look out my window and see this one little cloud that gets my attention. Generally I'm not afraid of clouds, but this little one is all rolled up into a ball and I can watch it rotating. That's bad. Five seconds later, there it is. Bang. We hit the s**t storm. The punches come one after another. I feel like a speedbag.
  We get changed over to arrival frequency and check-in. Everyone other than ATC who is talking on the radio sounds like they're beating their chests with their fists while they speak, us included. We're given vectors and advised to expect the bumps 'all the way to the gate'. Nice.
  Finally we turn the 180 degree corner to final and watch the ground speed bleed off wildly - at least we're still going forward. Cleared to land. I brief that we're going to land with some extra airspeed (for mom). 1000 feet and we're configured for landing. We hear a Boeing ahead of us inform tower that they experienced negative performace windshear in the last 800 feet. Then tower says 'hey you in the beech, did you catch that?' Sure did thanks.
  Well, they were telling the truth, we got it at about 900 feet. Airspeed bleeding off, groundspeed and sink rate increasing. My right hand pushes on the power levers. Push more. More. My mouth was just forming the words go-around when, with all that power in there, the airplane's descent rate slowed and I got it back on glideslope. Two red and two white lights on the left side PAPI's before we crossed the company mandated stable approach threshold of 500 feet AGL.
  The two behind us landed, but the two after that went missed due to windshear.

I have the next few days off, maybe I'll take a drive and check out that ski hill..

Night Flight

Sunset in our six. FL270 Eastbound.

  -28 degrees. Normally we don't use a Ground Power Unit for a whole lot on the airplane I fly. Only very few fellow pilots who fly this type use a GPU regularly and for reasons I can't quite pinpoint,  I find it a little too pretentious. However, today we're going to pull a little juice off of one to fire up the electric heat and preheat the cabin. You see, for some unknown reason the airplane was left outside for an indeterminate period of time in pretty frigid temperatures and everything is cold soaked. Now normally a warm butt and some idle chatter from the passengers is enough to soften things up until we have the engine fires burning, but today we will have to go with option B - preheat. Our passengers happen to be super-ultra VIP - that translated means 'No Cold Bums'.
  So the First Officer takes care of the GPU and the walkaround and the fuel order - but more importantly the commissary and liquor. I take my seat and program the FMS and grab an IFR clearance so we are ready to go when the kings and queens finally arrive.
  I'm just finishing up when the passengers begin to board. I quickly recognize the telltale signs of loud boisterous chatter punctuated with abrasive and irritating laughter. They've already been in the sauce. Super. This should be fun..
  With the safety briefing complete we taxi out. We can hear the loud crunching of snow as we pivot on the right main gear to make a tight exit off the company ramp - every Canadian knows when the snow is noisy like that, it means it is very cold. Too cold to even be slippery.
  We blast off into the cold twilight. We are going against the flow of the evening inbound rush hour traffic on climb out. We are quickly cleared to our planned altitude and  then direct to destination. The visibility tonight is fantastic and we can see the lights of all the major cities for over 100 miles. We level off and I trim the airplane and reluctantly transfer control to the autopilot. There is another plane 50 miles ahead of us on the same airway at the same altitude and their contrail is hanging lifelessly just a few hundred feet off our left wing - illuminated by the last few rays of the setting sun.
  My attention is drawn back inside the airplane as I hear the clinking of glasses. The passengers are knee-deep in the onboard booze. One guy closest to the flight deck taps my shoulder so I make sure the FO  has the airplane and I take off my headset. Turns out this guy is a pilot and owns his own Cub - cool little airplane - and we get into a discussion of this disease we call aviation. Some of the other guys and gals start to join in and turns out these people are all right. They're not the snooties I thought they might be. Super nice and friendly.
  As we're chatting away the FO motions for me to put my headset back on. I do and he tells me we have some interesting traffic going to cross at 1000' above in about 2 minutes. There is an F-18 on its way back to base from a training mission and is on the airway at FL280. I spot him in the distance and closing fast. I turn all the interior lights in the airplane waaayy down and tell the rosy cheeked Cub owner what's up and a few of the others seem interested as well. First thing we see are the red and green nav lights, then a big fat contrail, then the dark silhouette of a military jet just starts to become distinguishable. I'm thinking to myself this is very cool (Canada does not have a huge military presence and seeing them in action is fairly rare, especially in flight). Then just as he's about to cross overhead he pulls the nose into a kind of high alpha and wags the wings. Then he's gone. Wow. Very cool.
  Centre come up and asks if we got a nice view. Thats a big 10-4. Thanks for the show.

Wonder where we'll be and what we'll see tomorrow..

The Rocks

28,000’  Northwest bound.

 We have a quick trip to the mountains to pick up a couple heli-skiers who have had their fill and just want to go home. The two ladies (sisters) have a rather arduous journey ahead of them this cold day in January. They will hop in an A-Star helicopter from a remote camp and fly VFR over to the small 4,000 ft runway tucked far inside the Rocky Mountains where we will meet them with the Beech and shuttle them IFR over to an international airport where they will catch an Airbus that will carry them back to their home country across the pond. 

The weather at destination is not reported, but the helicopter pilots say it’s ‘decent’.  Decent to a fling-wing pilot differs somewhat from a fixed wing pilot, but I decide to launch based on that professional assessment anyways.  As we start out it is an absolutely gorgeous morning – good vis and no bumps. Did someone say coffee? Why yes, I think I will have a cup with my smile today.

Of course as we near destination, the clouds start to gather in the valleys threatening us pilots with actual work (in the form of a full approach procedure). Now there seems to be more stratus than granite so we reluctantly load up the approach and request a clearance to the initial approach waypoint. This airport is served only with a GPS approach, and the minimums are quite high as it sits low in a valley protected on 3 sides by sharp looking mountains reaching to 11,000 ft. We hear some static and then some silence. We repeat our request. Static then silence. Even at this altitude we are out of range of ATC. Then, crisp and clear from a Boeing high overhead comes ‘Hey you in the Beech, Center clears you outta high level controlled airspace in the vicinity of XXXX’. Roger dodger. Thanks for the relay. We’re on our own now.

  As we pass just south of the airport enroute to the initial waypoint, we spot a hole in the undercast. Should we? It is the siren call of shortcutting – drop through the hole and we can avoid a long slow IMC approach... Not gonna happen though. I hear they make those hills out of some pretty hard stuff.  

So we continue on. Descend. Level out. Turn. Descend. Slow down. Approach flap. Level out. Turn. Descend into the stratus. Light to moderate icing. Descend again. We break out of the clouds and we are staring down the barrel of the runway, but thousands of feet too high to make it a straight-in landing, as expected due to the type and location of the approach. Gear down to slow us down. We fly overhead and see the runway is mostly cleared of snow and join the downwind in a continuous descent all the way around until final. Speed checks - flaps all the way down, flick a couple more switches and the landing checklist is complete. Vref and touchdown. Maximum reverse then light braking and we make the taxiway.

The weather in the mountains really does change rapidly. We were on the ground for about 20 minutes, and in that time that hole we passed on our way in infected the air around it and went viral which enabled a nice VFR departure and an even nicer ride home.

Who knows where we’re going to be tomorrow...

#2 Starter U/S

  I can sense it coming. I am overtired and desperately need some deep - a slap in the face probably couldn't wake me up - kind of sleep. Guess I was just trying too hard. My left eye is cracked open, unlike my right eye which is squished closed under the weight of my exhausted head, and is trying to identify my whereabouts. Then anxiety creeps in - what day is it? Where am I supposed to be? Am I late? Why is it so dark?
Oh yes, it's 3:30am. Actually its 3:28, and my subconscious internal clock has alerted me to the fact my cell phone that doubles as my daily alarm will ring in two minutes. If I would like to preserve to some degree the peaceful state the beautifully curved body next to me is experiencing, I had better turn it off before it anounces the morning I wish I could sleep through.
Shower. Shave.
License, wallet, spectacles and (rhymes with spectacles) - and out the door I go. Pick up my $1.70 habit and straight to the office. I'm in luck, the VIP computer (that is - the one in the far dark corner) is free. Click. Click. Click. Print. Sign and photocopy. March out to the beast through the icy december wind. My flashlight betrays no obvious mechanical problems. Cargo is already loaded. Let's get rollin'!
Chocks pulled. Door closed. Power on. Lights on. Swing my hand in a circle and stop with two gloved fingers pointed up: the guy with the glowing orange wands seems to understand my non verbal language - starting number two...
Uhhh, cough ahem. Starting number two...
OK, quick re-check of all necessary start items. Good to go.
Hand swirl with the fingers aaaand starting number twoooo....

Lights off. Power off. Door open. Chocks in.

Maybe my side of the bed is still warm.