12/21/06

Moving cargo requires a team effort. You quickly realize this when starting a job. This is especially true when you discover that you need something. It could be fuel, directions, or just making a phone call to the company flight following. You are one part of the process, albeit an important part.

Sometimes you realize that the team depends on an individual effort. One which lasts a moment, a few minutes, or longer. It is in those moments we gain our "fifteen minutes of fame", as artist Andy Worhol phrased it. It is the stuff about which movies are made, books are written, poems composed, and dreams are made. The imagination is a wonderful thing.

Here lies the partnership, if you will. The team, the individual players, and the analogies abound to describe the relationship. Some use sports, some music and refer to the orchestration process of getting something done. I often find such analogies confusing, amusing, and the model often breaks down while trying to explain the very thing for which it exists.

The calendar marks December 21 as the astronomical time when the sun shines the shortest time in the Northern Hemisphere. We note it as the shortest day, or the converse: the longest night. If the time passes in difficulty then we moan, "It's been a long day.". Or in the case of night cargo operations, "It's going to be a long night." Tense is adjusted to the story, past, present, future, but the meaning is nearly the same. Time will pass and the work endured. Nothing more needs to be said.

Departing from South Bend on time, a cloudy sky covers the area and a light rain falls. This is in contrast to the ten days of clear skies, calm winds, and temperatures just at or below freezing. No frost tonight. Just the rain, wet, cold, and a reminder of a winter which has not completely set in, but has come and will remain for quite awhile.

The plane climbs into the eastern sky, departing from runway 9L(eft). At 500 feet above the ground and at the initial safe altitude, a gentle turn is started to the south towards the destination of Indianapolis. Little air traffic happens at the departure station. A radio call from the radar controller is received, clearing the flight right up to the planned cruise altitude of 6,000. "Right ho", I muse and continue the journey.

Checking the outside air temperature gauge frequently, I'm watching for signs of icing. Instead, I find the temperatures warms from 1 degree C to about 5 degrees. "Is great mystery", I ponder for a moment, but realize that this is a combination of warmer air to the south, and a temperature inversion aloft. The bottom line is, no ice.

Arriving into Indianapolis brings a welcome touchdown and a short taxi. Airplane tie down is quickly accomplished with the assistance of the local maintenance staff and we pile into the shuttle van. Here is where the evening news is shared. The driver begins the revelation. "I have to go over to the terminal and pick up the F.A.A.", he says. We have unexpected visitors on the ramp this evening. I wonder what they want, Hmmmm.... ?", I think, ever suspicious of an authority poking around late at night.

The shuttle van parks at the break room offices and I exit. The driver bids farewell. It's a long day for him, or long night if you prefer. His co-worker called in sick and his task load is correspondingly increased. He now has to pick up the authorities and then who knows what they want? I bid him a farewell, walk inside, pick up the phone and close out the flight with the company.

Company flight following also alerts me to the F.A.A. expected presence, but they are unable to explain why we have visitors. Perhaps just to see what is going on as a routine part of the job. But why would anyone want to be up at this hour, especially out in the rain? I head for the quiet lounge and fall asleep.

Three hours later and I awake and head out. No word from our visitors and they are no where to be seen on the ramp. A side feature is the weather. It is now continuously raining and windy and dark and unpleasant. If the visitors needed an excuse for a brief stay then this is it. I never did see the authorities.

Loading begins about :45 minutes before scheduled departure time. This is going to be a big morning for cargo I am informed. The plane will bulk out in volume before meeting the weight capacity. I provide the weight maximum anyway to Enid, the ramp supervisor. He has a heart of gold. I tell him this before I leave, adding that "not everyone has one, but you have one". He takes it in stride and beams a smile. He says, "I get to work at night and have my days free." It is a wonderful attitude to have. His ground crew is one of the best to work with.

Being the oldest of five children I learned early about going first. I've found myself in groups where I'm often the oldest and therefore going first. The early morning departure is delayed by :14 minutes and a takeoff occurs at 4:45AM. I'm of the first to depart and there is something welcome in this. I know that rainy weather can delay things and getting out first is a great idea.

Returning to South Bend, the plane has the benefit of a 20 knot tailwind. Our ground speed tops 173knots and the journey home will conclude about 5:30. This is a magic number because the local air traffic control tower opens and provides service beginning at 5:30. "Will I get there before they open?", I ask myself. I hope the answer is "Yes!" and I'm going to try. The tailwinds make this a promising outlook.

Arriving into the South Bend terminal area about 25 miles out, I have new weather. Clouds are low and rest at a mere 400 feet above the ground, and visibilities are down to 2 miles in light rain. It is definitely low Instrument Meteorological Conditions. The plan is to make an approach from the west using the ILS to runway 9R. Minimum altitude is 250 feet. That is 150 feet below the current ceiling and a manageable margin.

Starting the approach about seven miles out, I have the choice of using the autopilot or hand flying the approach. The autopilot is engaged for the duration of the flight since takeoff. Monitoring the approach and letting the autopilot fly is often desirable and I start out this way. But when the time for a descent comes, I note that the plane is too high. Not a lot, but enough. I have to make my command decision for the morning. Will the autopilot correct this altitude difference, or shall I do it myself?

Taking manual control of the airplane, I continue the descent correction. Reducing power, lowering the nose, and maintaining course get the glide path back to normal. I ponder the last weather report. Approaching minimums and I sense that this is old news. The clouds may be lower.

"Things are seldom what they seem, Skim milk masquerades as cream; Highlows pass as patent leathers; Jackdaws strut in peacock's feathers. Very true, So they do. " from H.M.S. Pinafore, Gilbert and Sullivan

The countdown begins. The early reference to a team and it's individuals comes to mind. This is now the moment that the pilot has to perform. Ground crews, managers, and others have done their parts. It is in this moment that 8,500 pounds of aluminum has to be converted from a glide at 130 knots to a runway and a safe touchdown. It is the longest night, part one.

At just 300 feet above the ground and a scant 50 feet above minimum altitude, I note ground contact. Then the runway lights appear. But they are dimmed, set at the standard low level. A pilot control allows lighting intensity to be raised to medium or high. Getting the lights at high setting would be helpful in a low approach. I make a mental note to do this the next time.

Continuing the approach, the altitude alert chimes at 250 feet as expected. With the runway in sight and a stabilized approach, a landing is made. The time is noted: 5:30AM.

A taxi off the runway is completed and then a radio call to the Chicago Center controller to close out the flight plan. No reply is received. It is the time of transition. The change between Center and Local radar control. Being a part of the transition, observing it as it occurs, living it, is a small pleasure. I've beaten the clock and made the arrival before the tower opens. Then as the taxi continues, the radio transmission is heard, "South Bend tower is now open.".

I make a pilot weather report to the controller, updating on the clouds which are now down to 300 feet. Another 50 feet remain to minimums and then the airport would not be useable below that. But this is not my concern anymore. I'm on the ground. Besides, a rain might increase the cloud ceiling when the cloud moisture is converted to precipitation.

Unloading the packed plane is accomplished in about :20 minutes. As an added bonus, the ramp agent invites me to stop in the office before I leave. I plan to do this anyway to phone in the closeout. But the invitation comes with the message, "there is a (Christmas) card for you." It's been a good morning.

Scott