fbpx

Fearing a Fearful Flier

One fearful flier foretells an eventful flight.

Nothing related to preflight preparations offered even a hint that our 10-hour trip home to JFK from São Paulo would be anything but a normal operation. Reflecting back on the flight, a visit from a fearful flier just prior to our gate departure might have foreshadowed the outcome.

With the enthusiasm of a child anticipating a hypodermic needle to the arm (tears included), a young lady stepped into the cockpit. Her boyfriend escorted her. The boyfriend was demonstrating his best Academy Award performance for toleration. Although directorial assistance was not required, we offered sincere compassion for her fears. In addition to stating the standard summary of our combined flight time experience, my two copilots and I reassured the young lady that the ride would be relatively void of turbulence — a declaration that I would regret later.

We pushed back from the gate on schedule at 2110 and took our place in the taxi sequence. São Paulo was experiencing its typical northbound rush hour. The conga line leading to Runway 9L was moving at a moderate pace.

Once airborne at cruise altitude, we settled into our normal routine. With the metallic thwack of the cockpit door accenting his exit, the relief copilot left the flight deck to begin his break. I retrieved a yellow highlighter from my flight bag and began to mark the en route chart over our filed jet airways. (Highlighting the route satisfies my paranoia for terrain situational awareness.)

It was my copilot’s leg home. On the leg south from JFK, he had just passed the 100-hour mark as a 777 copilot. One hundred hours is significant in the airline world from the standpoint that a crew member is no longer restricted from operating in Category III approach weather conditions. Flying with a pilot relatively new to the airplane should have added another layer of wariness. It is a known fact that if something is to go awry it always happens with a new guy. I never learn.

Within a few minutes we began to experience light chop. Much to our dismay, light chop would be the best ride for the entire flight. I thought of our fearful flier. My credibility had probably taken a major hit.

In addition to credibility damage, my comprehension skill with the Brazilian controllers was also suffering. Although the accent with poor fidelity of radio transmissions is notoriously difficult to understand, this evening seemed particularly bad. Unfortunately, despite International Civil Aviation Organization policy, Portuguese is spoken to the native carriers. That fact reduces situational awareness. Their country. Their rules.

Almost seven hours later, as we approached the southern coastline of Puerto Rico, it was time for my rest break. I was grateful. All-night flying is not conducive to my personal body clock. I am certain the cognitive value of that nap was responsible for assisting in the decision process that was required later.

My copilots greeted my return to the cockpit with a piece of ACARS (aircraft communications addressing and reporting system) paper. The paper displayed the printed readout of the latest weather. The New York-area airports were being assaulted by an evil line of thunderstorms. The metar at JFK advertised one-mile visibility in heavy rain. As I plopped back into the left seat, I adjusted the radar. A fat blob of red, yellow and green displayed. Nice wake-up call.

As expected, the New York frequencies buzzed with chatter related to the unwelcome early-morning weather. Holding instructions were being issued. Within moments we were given a clearance to fly oblong circles in the sky with an EFC (expect further clearance) time of 0600. Our position was approximately 150 miles south of JFK. The EFC time raised my eyebrows.

After bringing pen to flight plan paper, a quick calculation indicated that 15 minutes was about all the comfortable fuel we had available to hold before an alternative piece of concrete would be necessary. Why? The combination of a long flight, a heavy passenger load and a forecast that gave no indication that convective weather would influence our arrival had dispatched us with an appropriate amount of endurance.

I made the mistake of inquiring to New York ARTCC (air route traffic control center) as to the realism of our EFC. The response was simply to add another 25 minutes to the original time. Not good. Continuing to hold was certainly an option, but experience dictated another decision.

Dispatch and my crystal ball predicted that the weather would wreak havoc on all New York-area arrivals. Even nearby Philadelphia was beginning to show signs of deterioration. Why not beat the rush?

An ACARS printout of Boston weather was the best story. Boston would not be affected by the ugly blob of red for at least another couple of hours. I conferred with my copilots. They agreed. Let’s be first in line for gate space. We confirmed the decision via an FMC (flight management computer) text message to our dispatcher.

My request to proceed to our alternate was answered with a simple “cleared direct Boston.” That was easy. Of course our subsequent handoff to the next sector involved a clearance for an actual published arrival, but that was effortlessly complied with via an FMC database selection after I had activated our deviation on the Alternate page.

The silence over the frequency that followed our request was an indication that other cockpits were considering similar scenarios. As a matter of fact, a company 767 returning from Rio followed us all the way to Boston’s international terminal.

Although the cockpit becomes a flurry of activity during an off-schedule operation, delegation of duties provided a seamless performance. My copilot focused on flying the airplane. I kept to the tasks of ATC communication and computer entries. Our relief copilot coordinated directly with our Boston operational personnel for gate assignment possibilities and communicated via the interphone to the flight attendants.

With my best captain’s voice, I advised our passengers of the situation over the public address system. We completed checklists and briefed the approach. ATC was kind enough to inquire as to our fuel status, aware that deviating aircraft from an international destination may be unable to sustain a delay. Since we had left the holding pattern early, we were not critical. Of course that prompted approach control to fit us into the normal morning rush arrival flow for Runway 22L. At least we were rewarded with a scenic view of the Cape.

We parked at the international terminal as though it were an everyday occurrence. Thanks to our communication efforts prior, company ground personnel were available to guide us in to the gate. We had only one small problem. U.S. Customs didn’t open for business for another hour. Our passengers would have to remain on the airplane until we were redispatched and refueled back to JFK. That fact proved problematic for a handful of passengers. Their final destination was actually Boston.

On the jet bridge, I confronted a rather indifferent port authority cop as to the possibility of segregating the Boston passengers in a waiting area until such time that Customs opened. Nope. Logic or extra effort wasn’t part of the cop’s repertoire. The passengers would have to fly back to JFK, miss their connections because of the weather we had just avoided that would soon appear in Massachusetts, and then spend the rest of the day at the airport attempting to return to a place they had already been. Wonderful.

Meanwhile, back in the cockpit, preflight preparations continued in anticipation of completing the mission that had begun more than 12 hours ago. The thunderstorms were already moving out of New York. All was progressing well until Boston clearance delivery slapped us with a departure hold. No problem … except for one issue. Our crew duty day would expire at 0858. Pushback had to commence before that time.

Magically, at 0800, ATC released us to JFK. Relieved, we began our checklists. With surprisingly minimal delay, we were airborne into a thickening gray sky.

And just when it appeared that a landing at JFK would actually be part of our future, we were thwarted again. A holding clearance was issued over the Calverton VOR on Long Island. Fortunately, as quick as the holding clearance was given, it was rescinded.

Weather radar had become an integral part of our primary scan for the short flight. The arrival route was peppered with various splotches of green, yellow and red. Despite the menacing picture, we experienced nothing worse than light chop.

The ILS approach greeted us with a 500-foot ceiling and the necessity to operate the wipers on the “high” setting. The sound of the clacking blades remained in our ears all the way to the gate. A translucent sheet of streaming water engulfed the airplane as we emerged from the billowing, charcoal overcast. My copilot’s touchdown was worthy of applause.

With the parking checklist complete, I shook the hands of both copilots. They had performed at their professional best. I wished them a safe journey home.

What about the fearful flier? I inquired on her condition to one of the coach cabin flight attendants. She had never uttered a peep. She had not only slept through most of the first leg to Boston but had returned to slumber on the second leg to JFK.

Either we had been successful in calming our fearful flier’s nerves or just maybe her trepidation was a ploy — a subtle hint that our flight would encounter difficulty. No matter. Mission accomplished safely. But with my next fearful flier, I’ll be more cautious.

Login

New to Flying?

Register

Already have an account?