Funny Story, Sad Story

Sunrise over the North Atlantic

I started working for ATA-then American Trans Air—in the fall of 1989. Prior to that I had worked for Five Star Airlines, a very small charter company in Boston that had two L-1011s it leased from TWA for the winter months, used mainly to do charters out of Boston to the Caribbean and Mexico. It was my first flying job after five years as an aviation writer. That experiment had gone reasonably well, several books published and a few articles, but eventually I got tired of being at home all the time, talking to myself all day, which is really what writing is, and wanted to get back into aviation. Five Star was a great job, so of course it lasted less than a year. But it led to ATA, which meant three very long months of initial training, again on the 1011, and culminated in several weeks of IOE—Initial Operational Experience—the final stage of training before being declared fully qualified and able to fly the line.

IOE is actual line flying with passengers and crew, but done under the supervision of a Check Airman. It is required anytime you are new to an airplane or new to the position—Captain, for instance, after having flown as a First Officer. (The fact that I had qualified on the 1011 once before at Five Star didn’t matter—I had to do it again.) I had already done several IOE flights but hadn’t done a navigation check yet, which was required to fly the North Atlantic, and I still needed a few more hours and another landing. So I wasn’t surprised when I got a call at home one evening from Training, just after Thanksgiving, telling me that they had a flight set up for me, but it was a little bit different than usual and I didn’t have to do it, but I could really help them out, and maybe get all this over with quickly, if I could get to Detroit (from Western Massachusetts) first thing in the morning. They had it all set up, I would get there just in time for the flight, and the reason for the rush was that there was an ATA pilot, Jeremy Hunter, who was checking out as a Check Airman, and he needed to do a navigation check with an FAA examiner observing to qualify, and both the FAA and Jeremy were already set up and since I needed a nav check…. So I said, “Yah, I can do that, but where does the trip go?” and they said, “Las Vegas.” And I said, “How do you do a North Atlantic nav check from Detroit to Las Vegas?” and they said, “That’s the Check Airman’s problem and the FAA is aware of the situation and is okay with it.” This is going to be weird, I thought. Little did I know.

So I got up early, got down to Hartford/ Springfield airport, got to Detroit, climbed on the airplane, already loaded and ready to go, Jeremy in the left seat, FAA examiner on the jump seat behind him, quickly did the Weight and Balance, normally the last item before the pre start checklist, answered some questions from “The Fed”—the FAA examiner—and then, in the few moments while The Fed was out of the cockpit, Jeremy said to me, “Look, this is all a little crazy, but we’re going to treat this as a North Atlantic crossing, we’ll do all the usual checks and double checks of waypoints, even if they are just VORs and airway intersections, we’ll talk about 10 minute checks, midpoint checks, Equal Time Points, diversions, all the things we would do on an actual crossing, and hope he buys it. I’ll be asking questions and you can ask me questions too, in fact the more we are talking the less chance he’ll have to jump in and cause trouble, so be thinking of questions and any time it gets quiet, ask one. Okay?” What could I say? I’ll do my best. The Fed came back and off we went.

It all went well for the first couple of hours, but then we really started running out of things to say and do. I looked over at one point and saw Jeremy, his hand hidden so The Fed couldn’t see it, gesturing to say something, to ask a question. I gave him a look that said, “I’m stuck—I can’t think of anything to ask!” So he said, ”Well, look, you seem to understand how these Omegas [a long range system ATA used that is no longer in existence]are operated, do you have any questions about how they work?” I said, “Well, I have done a little research on Omega, and while I know the basic theory of operation, exactly what goes on inside those boxes is pretty much magic to me, so, yah, I have lots of questions.” Then he said, “Really? Well, I have a book that I picked up in preparation for becoming a check airman that I think you might be interested in,” and he reached over into his bag and pulled out a book and showed it to me.

I just sat there looking at it. He said, “Do you know this book?” And I said, “Yah, I know that book,” and he said, “Really, how is that?” and I said, “I wrote it.” He said, “You wrote it?” and I said, “Yah, that’s my name on the cover, Donald J. Clausing.” The Fed, meanwhile, was sliding further and further forward in his seat, listening to all this, perhaps suspecting a rat, and said, “You wrote this book?” I nodded and he said, “Let me see that,” grabbed it from Jeremy, sat back and starting flipping through it. And that was essentially the end of the check ride. The Fed read the book, Jeremy and I flew on to Las Vegas, and that would have been that except there was one more twist, and that was I still needed one more landing, one that should have been perfectly routine, a visual approach backed up by the ILS to one of the long east-west runways at Las Vegas. Unfortunately, this was one of the rare days when the wind was so strong out of the north that they had to land to the north, which meant I would have to do a purely visual approach to one of the shorter north-south runways.

A purely visual approach in a turbine powered aircraft is much more difficult than an ILS approach because it is critical that you are on the proper glide path, there is very little margin for error, and your tools for dealing with deviations in airspeed, altitude, descent rate and glide path are limited. A satisfactory landing has to be in the landing zone (“The Stripes”), on speed, you cannot descend greater than 1000 fpm in the last 1000 feet, which means you can’t just push it over and get it on down if you think you are a little high because you are already descending close to 700 fpm, and you can’t just pull the power all the way back and add a bunch of drag—you can pull the power back but fan jets put out some thrust even at idle so the fans don’t create any drag—and if you get too low or slow it takes several seconds for the fans to spool up which may be too late, and without an actual glide slope or at least a PAPI you aren’t going to know for sure if you are too high or two low until close to the ground when it is too late to correct. Your only safe option then is to go around. And while that would be the smart thing to do and show good judgment, it wouldn’t qualify as a satisfactory landing. So I thought, “Well, bad luck, but you got this far, you’re just going to have to make it work.”

I got set up on final okay, 1500 feet or so above the field, fully configured, so far so good, but wasn’t sure about the glide path. I thought I was maybe a little high, but wasn’t sure. Jeremy was starting that squirmy body language stuff that meant something wasn’t right, but I still wasn’t sure, and he said, “So how does it look to you? High? Low? What do you think?” And I said, “Maybe just a little high,” and he said, “Right. Fix it. Fix it now.” So I started aggressively correcting, as much as I could without exceeding the descent or speed limits, and as I got closer I could tell that I had it nailed, but just in time. The landing was good, on speed, in the landing zone, and rolling out I heard Jeremy say, “My airplane”—the airplane can only be taxied from the left seat, and knew I had done it. We parked, completed the checklist, congratulations all around, Jeremy was a fully qualified Check Airman, I was a fully qualified First Officer, and the Fed was off to do a line check on another airplane.

I rode back to Detroit on the jump seat, one very happy and very tired new First Officer, spent the night there and got home the next day. As a new hire in training you have no life and it had been an extraordinarily tough couple of months for everybody, not just me, and the whole family—my wife, Emmy, daughters Nicole and Hilary—were all celebrating with champagne when the phone rang. Emmy answered it, and I could tell immediately that something was very wrong. She turned pale, listened intently, a few short answers, hung up and went over to Nicole, hugged her and told her that her boy friend, Dan, had killed himself.

That was one of the saddest holiday seasons ever. Life, of course, did go on. Jeremy, who was a Boston based Captain, and I flew together many times after that, had great times, and became very good friends. The “I wrote it” story became a part of company legend. A couple of years later I upgraded and he was instrumental in my eventually becoming a Check Airman myself. We became friends with his wife Gail and son Drew and daughter Anjuli, and they with us. Over the years as bases changed and aircraft changed and company politics changed, we went different ways. Drew went to Embry-Riddle and got hired by one of the regional carriers. Anjuli got a Masters in Accounting and was working in Boston as an auditor. Then, five years ago, tragedy again: Anjuli and her boyfriend were killed in a car accident, on their way to Maine to go skiing. Then, unbelievably, a couple of years after that Drew drowned in a white water kayaking accident in Colorado.

There are some losses that are so unfathomable we don’t have words for them; this has to be one of those cases. My wife and I were back East recently and stopped in to see Gail and Jeremy. They are managing as well as anyone can. Gail told us that she said to Jeremy at the time of Anjuli’s death, “The only way we are going to get through this is to try to do good for others.” So she and Jeremy started a foundation called Goodwill Hunters ( www.goodwillhunters.org ). Very clever name, in a couple of ways, but that is also exactly what it is: a group hunting for goodwill. They do fund raisers and use the proceeds for local food banks, cleanup projects, anything of goodwill in their area along the shore south of Boston. Only now their efforts are doubled.

This all started with a phone call from Training in November of 1989. It is now August 2011. This is a good part of my life. I’m sorry it has had to be so bitter sweet.

Quick Reference Handbook

(Double click on image to enlarge.)

I have written previously about adapting professional lessons in cockpit management to single pilot operations (October 2009, November 2009 and December 2009 posts), and this is a specific application of those techniques: creating a quick reference handbook.

One of the main differences between a three man cockpit (okay, three crewmember cockpit) and a two man cockpit is that with a three man cockpit you can designate one pilot to fly the aircraft, while the other two work on the problem. With two crewmembers to work on the problem, one can do the research—get out the aircraft operating manual, go through the various problem solving trees to identify the specific problem, and then, with the help of the non-flying pilot, run the appropriate checklist and attempt to solve the problem. (I review this process in some detail in the October 2009 post, “Single Pilot Cockpit Techniques, Part I.”)

With only two crewmembers, you just can’t do this. You are either going to have one pilot doing the research and running the checklist by himself, with no one to monitor and assist him, or worse, you’re going to have both pilots working on the problem and no one watching the airplane. But the airlines knew problems will occur with any airplane and that they have to be fixed, so a solution was needed and the result was the creation of something called a Quick Reference Handbook (QRH). So what’s the difference between a QRH and just using common sense, training and aircraft knowledge to solve the problem from memory, and how can a QRH be applied to single pilot operations, where one pilot has to both fly and solve the problem?

A QRH is essentially a problem solving checklist associated with a specific indication. That indication could be an annunciator light, a message on a multi function display (MFD), or a warning light. It could even be something not specifically annunciated, but indicated, such as electrical smoke or fumes. In each case, something specific has happened and the QRH, following a prescribed format, will note the indication (to make sure you have the right checklist), briefly describe what has happened (you would have to get into the operating manual for a detailed description), repeat any memory items to make sure they got done, and then tell you what to do often following an “if, then” format, the “if not” choice leading to the next step.

The example above comes from the ATA Boeing 757 QRH for failure of one or more fuel pumps. The annunciation in this case is a message on the MFD for the specific pump that has failed. If that isn’t the correct message, you have the wrong checklist. The condition describes what has happened. (It’s obvious in this case, but won’t always be.) Under that is a warning, taken directly from the Boeing operating manual, not to reset any fuel pump circuit breakers: you can manage the loss of a single pump, but you do not want to take a chance that the breaker popped because of a feeder fault—an ignition source. Then it says, “IF either center pump PRESS light illuminated”, turn it off: you look overhead to the pump switches, if either has a PRESS light illuminated, a part of the switch, push it which turns it off. Very simple. If not, neither center pump press light illuminated, go to the next step. (Note that if both center pump switches are illuminated, now you have a bigger problem because you have no way to pump the fuel from the center tank which is essentially an aux tank for the 757.) If that is not the case, then one of the wing pump press lights must be on—something triggered the message—so identify which one, turn it off and proceed. (As a matter of interest, there isn’t a warning for both main pump press lights being on because the engines will suction feed from the wing tanks, so you just turn them both off it that is the case. But if I had written this QRH entry, I would have made a note of that.)

So that’s how a QRH checklist works. It is designed to be as simple and direct as possible so that one crewmember can find it, read it, and then accomplish it without backup, assistance, or verification. And the same thing can be developed for whatever aircraft you fly. Your “pilot flying” will have to be the autopilot, leaving you free to find and accomplish the checklist, but the principle is the same. (I’m assuming you are flying IFR; VFR is a little more tolerant and you should be able to hand fly and consult the QRH at the same time if you don’t have an autopilot.) It will take a little work to create a complete QRH, but it will be worth it, if for no other reason than that it will get you back into your operating manual in some detail.

First you need to identify the annunciations for your aircraft. Do you have an annunciator panel? If you do, each light should have a corresponding QRH checklist. What other warning lights do you have? Low oil pressure, vacuum failure, generator/alternator failure? Finally, what are the non-annunciated failures? Most of these you will get by going through your operating manual, particularly the emergency section, and listing problems that have no annunciation, like the electrical smoke or fumes previously cited, engine failure, gauges out of limits with no other indication, and so on.

Once you have your list, you are ready to make up your QRH responses. Remember to start with the annunciation, indication or condition, to make sure you have the right checklist. State in as simple a sentence as you can what it means: “Engine driven pump failure”; “Vacuum pump failure”; “Gear not confirmed down and locked,” etc. If there are any prohibitions or warnings, they should come next, not at the end when it may be too late: “Gear must remain extended after manual extension. Do not reset any handles, switches or circuit breakers.” Then go through a step by step procedure, using an “if, then” format as necessary, to solve the problem.

Here’s how one might look for a Beech Baron 58P vacuum pump failure:

VACUUM PUMP FAILURE

Indication: A left or right red button in vacuum pressure gauge indicates pump failure.

Condition: Left or right vacuum pump has failed.

IF one button visible:

No action required. Attitude and heading gyros, pressurization, and deice boots will operate normally on remaining system. Vacuum system redundancy lost: Monitor remaining system.

IF both buttons visible:

Attitude and directional gyros lost. Control attitude and heading with turn coordinator, airspeed, altitude and compass.

Pressurization control and safety valve control lost. Descend as soon as possible to 12,500 or less.

Surface deicing boots will not operate.

Land as soon as possible.

The only difference between an annunciated checklist and an un annunciated checklist is that the later won’t have an “Indication” or “Message” heading, because there isn’t one. Here is an example of a QRH checklist for Engine Fire In Flight, memory items in red, again for the Beech Baron 58P:

ENGINE FIRE IN FLIGHT

Condition: Fire in the engine compartment.

Fuel selector—OFF

Mixture—IDLE CUT-OFF

Prop—FEATHER

Cabin Press Air Shutoff Control—PULL

Fuel Boost Pump—OFF

Magneto/Start Switch—OFF

Alternator Switch—OFF

Oxygen—AS REQUIRED

Air Cond/Press Air Cool Switch—OFF

Refer to Single Engine Checklist

Land as Soon as Possible.

One of the most important attributes of a well thought out QRH checklist is that the order in which items are accomplished is based on the priority of the item: most critical items first, least critical last. Working entirely from memory, this won’t always be the case: I’ve had a fire, I shut down the engine, now what? What else should I turn off and in what order? Magnetos off next or fuel pump? Should I turn the alternator off? Will I lose half my electrical system if I do that? The QRH tells you what to do and the order in which to do it. What has to be done from memory has been done, the immediate emergency is over. Now follow up in an orderly, methodical and complete way using the QRH checklist. When you’re safely on the ground you can get back into your manual and figure out why you didn’t lose half your electrical system when you turned the alternator for the damaged engine off or why the manufacturer thought it was better to turn the fuel pump off first and then turn the magnetos off. In the air you just want to do the right thing.

The fun part about all this is you can be as creative as you want: do you want colored borders to separate emergencies from abnormals, for instance; do you want laminated, individual checklists collected in a packet or pocket, or do you want them tabbed ,in a binder; how do you want to organize the information, and how will you use caps, bold print, italics, different font sizes and color to highlight that organization?

There is no denying that developing a QRH for even a non-complex single engine aircraft will take some doing, and for a pressurized twin quite a bit of doing. But here’s a suggestion for making it easier and possibly even a little bit more fun: don’t try to do it all at once. Once you have a pretty good list of emergencies and abnormals, both annunciated and unannunciated (and remember it doesn’t have to be 100% complete, you can always add checklists later as you become aware of the need), then work on how you want it organized and assembled. Then decide which one you want to work on first. I would suggest doing either one of the most critical emergencies first, like engine fire, or one of the most common faults, like vacuum pump failure. (That’s part of the reason I used those as examples.) Take that one to the airplane and then, over time, keep adding to your collection. This gives you an immediate reward for your effort up to that point, and as you fly around, knowing that your QRH is not complete and hoping nothing comes up before it is complete, you will be motivated to keep working on it.

There is one final good reason for having a QRH . One of Lockheed’s most famous test flight engineers for the L-1011 was asked what the most important thing to do was following any emergency or abnormal situation in that aircraft. He said, “Start the clock, then put your hands under your seat for 60 seconds.” The L-1011 was an incredibly well designed airplane, and almost anything that could go critically wrong with its systems had a built-in, automatic initial fix. It was the flight engineer’s job to then get the book out and fix what remained, see what parts could be restored, and deal with what was lost. The way to do that was to go slowly, and the way not to do that was to start pushing switches, closing valves, disconnecting drives, elbows flying, hands and fingers all over the panel. First, just sit on your hands.

The QRH does the same thing for you. There are a few memory items for any pilot flying any aircraft, critical steps that must be taken immediately, from memory, to prevent catastrophic failure or damage. But there aren’t many. And once those items have been taken care of, that’s when you need to sit on your hands. And the first thing you want them to touch after that is a QRH.

Ski School

Photo courtesy of Ray Hubbe.

I just got back from another ski trip with my buddies, this one to Jackson Hole, Wyoming. (See “Big Sky, Montana,” January, 2008, and “Amazing,” December, 2007, for posts on previous trips.) As always, linking a ski vacation with aviation is a bit of a stretch, but, as always, I have found a way. This time it involved riding up the ski lift.

There are two main lifts at Jackson Hole, the big one a tram that takes a hundred or so skiers all the way to the top of the mountain, some 10,000 plus feet above sea level, with all expert terrain starting down. (The base of the resort is 6300 feet MSL, giving a drop of approximately 4000 feet, one of the highest in North America.) This particular day my buddies were riding that lift, but I had opted for easier terrain for awhile and was skiing by myself, going up the second major lift, a gondola, going up to about 9000 feet and taking about 10 minutes to get to the top. They hold up to eight skiers, but it wasn’t a real busy day so none were full, and on this particular ride I was joined, somewhat to my surprise for a weekday morning, by two young kids, a boy of about 10 and a girl of about 8. They were very polite, well behaved and friendly, and seemed amenable to chit chat, so I asked them how it was that they were so lucky to be skiing instead of in school. The boy said, “Homeschooling.” I said, “So you’re pretty lucky. You get to ski and go to school at the same time,” and the little girl said, “Our dad teaches us on the gondola.” I wasn’t sure how much teaching could be done on a 10 minute gondola ride, but I didn’t say that. I did say, “So where is your dad?” and the girl said, “He’s one or two gondolas back with our older sister.”

So I just looked at these two very outgoing and precocious kids and said, “So we need to have a lesson. Do you want to learn about airplanes?” They both burst into big smiles and said simultaneously, “Yes!” Scrambling quickly, I thought, well, let’s just start with Day One of flight training. I told them that the first thing you were normally taught when you were learning to fly, after you had been taught to preflight the airplane, was straight and level. I explained what straight meant, maintaining a heading, and that level meant to maintain a constant altitude, that you have a compass to tell you your heading and an altimeter to tell you your altitude, and the basic control inputs to correct for each. Then we talked a little bit about learning to fly in general, that you had to be 16 to solo airplanes and 14 to solo gliders, and that it didn’t take too long to reach that point so it didn’t make too much sense to start early, but that when they got close to those ages that was the time to think about it. At that point we were at top, said our goodbyes and got out.

We were all still pretty much together getting our skis on and the little girl said to me, “That’s our dad,” pointing out a very fit looking 30 something guy moving away from the gondola and talking to a 12- or 13-year-old girl. The older girl came over and said, “I love your hat,” and we all skied off in our own directions.