Just Say 'No'
By Les Abend
October 2008
 It was late fall. An unusual weather system had impacted the New York area. The system brought with it some scattered convective activity and high winds blowing almost directly from the east. The disturbed air was a turbulent nightmare. Our 727 was being battered as though it was a rowboat that had been set adrift in the North Atlantic. At times, the entire gray instrument panel shook on both sides of the cockpit with such tenacity that individual flight instruments were almost impossible to discern. The autopilot was doing everything within its capacity to keep the airplane level and at the commanded altitude.
During a moment that I diverted my direct attention away from the task of flying the airplane, I glanced at my crew. The copilot's face was an intense mixture of concentration and concern. The flight engineer's expression, shadowed by the dim glow of his panel lights, bordered on sheepish. He shrugged his shoulders in a gesture that indicated he was powerless to do anything but ride out the choppy seas with the rest of us. I just shook my head in silent resignation.
La Guardia was vectoring airplanes for arrivals to the ILS Runway 13, an unusual circumstance in and of itself. Periodic rain showers had moisturized the concrete. It was nighttime. The weather was bordering on MVFR. Despite the nasty conditions, airplanes were landing without incident. No missed approaches were being broadcast on NY Tracon frequency.
I was 33-years-old and a brand-new captain. I refused to be defeated by turbulence. The mission would be completed. Our passengers would accept nothing less. It was my turn to be a hero.
I was an idiot.
As we intercepted the localizer, the view of my flight instruments vibrated to such an extent that I couldn't tell whether it was the gauges or my eyeballs that were actually bouncing. With the glideslope needle centered, I configured the airplane until we were in a stabilized condition with full flaps and the gear down. I had to consciously remind myself to relax my wrought-iron grip on the control wheel. Moisture seeped into the palm of my left hand. I used my uniform pants as a hand towel.
We bumped down the glideslope, interrupted by a few moments of relative calm. With the orange glow of the runway lights in sight, I assessed the intensity of the crosswind by adjusting the crab of the airplane accordingly. The crab wasn't bad ... maybe about 10 degrees to the right. We blazed over the last row of approach lights. The right main gear kissed the concrete first as if the runway was a sponge. The left main gear made contact in the same manner. I smiled as I reached over the top of the power levers and snapped the reverse levers rearward. A wet runway can be your friend ... sometimes.
With the airplane slowed to a safe crawl, we exited onto a high-speed turnoff. I exhaled a long sigh and realized that the rest of my crew was doing the same.
"Nice job, Captain," was all that was said. And that was enough.
Approximately one week later, I ran across a friend in our La Guardia operations area. The friend was also a 727 captain. He had been my check flight engineer for my OE (Operating Experience) flights back when I was a new hire. He had flown through the same nasty weather that evening. While being vectored for the approach he decided that La Guardia was not the place he wanted to land. Instead, he chose JFK. The active runways were longer. And as it turned out, the turbulence was not as intense. His passengers and crew were bussed to La Guardia. End of story.
I mulled through my friend's decision for quite some time. It didn't take me long to realize who was the real hero. The decision to just say 'no' takes real guts. I applauded the man's fortitude. He was the epitome of a captain.
Seventeen years later, I would be presented with similar circumstances. But this time, as a check airman. And this time, it was my job function to allow someone else to make the decision.
As is normal custom for most check airmen, I had called the upgrade captain that was to be flying with me on his OE trip. It was to be his first experience flying the actual airplane. The trip consisted of one evening leg to Bermuda from JFK and a return home early the following morning.
The phone call to the pilot flying the OE trip serves two purposes. First, it alleviates any expectation anxiety. A relaxed pilot is more likely to absorb the lessons of his or her experience than an uptight pilot. No matter how professional crews try to minimize it, flying with a check airman still holds the connotation of a check ride. In a way, that's true. If a new pilot is having difficulties that go beyond the normally allotted OE time, it is my responsibility to ensure that further training is given. But I like to consider myself a coach. I am there to help refine some of the skills that were taught in the simulator. In addition, normal operating procedures and the nuances of the airplane are not emphasized during the intensity of the initial training environment. It is my job to familiarize the upgrading pilot to these items.
The second reason for the call is to offer some reference materials that are helpful preparation. Between our flight manuals and our airline's pilot website, the upgrading captain has a handful of resources he or she can choose to review before we have the opportunity to fly together.
Discuss this article in our forums
| 
