Juniority

I came off medical leave and was released back onto the line at the beginning of April, which means that I didn't have the opportunity to bid an April schedule in mid-March. Instead, crew planning built me a schedule for the remainder of the month from a combination of trips in open time and reserve days. There wasn't much flying in open time, which meant that I sat on reserve for 9 days. It was the first reserve I've done in nearly 5 years.

Roughly two of my 3.5 years at Horizon was spent on reserve, a function of their stagnant seniority list. Because NewCo was growing so rapidly when I came here, I was on reserve for less than a month both as a FO and as a new captain. Since sixty of our pilots flowed up to WidgetCo in 2010, our list has become fairly stagnant, and we now have pilots who have been stuck on reserve for nearly two years. We have quite a few senior FOs who have bypassed upgrade for this very reason. Some people don't mind reserve, but a lot do. It's not so much the uncertainty of not knowing what you're doing day-to-day; it's moreso the fact that you typically get minimum days off, don't make more than minimum guarantee pay, the schedule is hard to commute to, and you're generally called upon for all the crap duty that nobody else wants to do. For example, at NewCo reserves often get called in for checkride seat support in the sim. Pilots sitting seat support, even though the checkride isn't for their sake, are checked and can fail the ride. Imagine that: being forced to take a checkride with your job on the line with two hours notice, without studying beforehand. No wonder nobody wants to do it.

I didn't mind my half-month bout of juniority. I don't think juniority is actually a word, but it ought to be, because it describes a real condition much better than seniority does. Senior pilots live somewhat normal lives; junior pilots work odd hours, weekends, and holidays. Whenever I move on from NewCo, I know I'm going to be junior for a long time, and probably a commuter to boot. That's one reason I've been enjoying my two-year blip of regional-pilot seniority, and perhaps getting a little too comfortable waiting for flowthrough to WidgetCo.

I was used eight out of nine reserve days, two of which were spent on airport jail, i.e. ready reserve. I normally avoid the crew room at all costs, but having just returned from a four month absence, I was eager to meet up with friends I hadn't seen in a while, and was able to withstand the typical crew room negative energy most of the eight-hour shifts. I was informed about most of the other assignments the night prior, as opposed to a two-hour callout. Considering I live a quick 25 minute jaunt from the airport, and didn't get used for anything too silly, it wasn't too far removed from a normal schedule. And I got to bid for May with my old 14% seniority, resulting in a very nice 19-day-off line.

My bout of reserve got me thinking, though - why is it always automatically left to junior people? Being brand new at a regional airline is hard enough, what with the ludicrously low first-year pay - why force people to endure reserve as well, particularly commuters? I know a few places overseas, as well as some flight attendant groups in the US, where crews do 6-8 weeks of reserve a year, regardless of seniority. If this was the rule among pilot groups in the US, I suspect some of the more onerous reserve work rules would get fixed in a hurry. And in any case, it's not like my seniority at NewCo is the result of dozens of years of faithful service. In many cases, I got here mere months before captains who are far below me on the seniority list. Seniority here was largely luck of the draw. That said, I rather doubt I'm going to have much luck persuading my fellow senior pilots to make our contract more equitable between the seniors and the juniors.

Homecoming

Yesterday, I flew my first revenue flight since December 21. The three and a half months in between are the longest I've gone without work since I started flying professionally in 2001. As noted, I at least had the Cub to occasionally putter around the wintry skies, so I wasn't completely grounded, and I managed to keep myself busy through most of the downtime. I partook in the various family Christmas festivities, journeyed to see friends in LA and Alaska, had a grand adventure dirt-biking down Baja California for three weeks, and even worked on a few side projects - one of which will be hitting newsstands near you in a week or so. So the break was pretty nice, and wasn't the downer I feared it would be when I left the line in December.

But it was time to go back. I've actually had my medical back for over a month, as the FAA approved the special issuance more speedily than expected. But because my landing currency was about to expire and my annual line check expired in January, training was required to return me to the line, and it took NewCo a while to fit me in. When they finally scheduled the training, they decided to wait another week and a half so I could combine the landing currency simulator session with my regular six-month checkride on April 1 (the first day of my "early grace" month). I used the intervening time to return to Mexico and ride solo from Loreto to Cabo San Lucas via some interesting backroads & trails. When I got back, I had a few days left to study for the checkride, during which I wondered just how much I had forgotten in 100 days away from the JungleBus.

As it turned out, not much. As soon as I was in the simulator and sank down into the familiar captain's seat, each control was exactly where I'd left it, my hands flew through the flow patterns and the callouts dropped from my lips like they were natural instinct, and I moved through the intricate steps of low-vis takeoffs and Cat II approaches and V1 cuts as though I'd never left my old dance partner's side. I don't note this to brag, but rather to show that I've been flying the JungleBus for too long! After five and a half years and over 4000 hours, during which I've taken 13 simulator checkrides, it would be more noteworthy if I didn't ace the ride after a mere three months away. This airplane's behavior and quirks and procedures have been deeply imprinted on my brain over time, to the extent that I worry about learning another airplane - almost certainly one far less automated - when the time comes to move on from NewCo. I haven't had to learn anything thing new in some time, and I wonder if that part of my brain has atrophied.

The fact that the checkride went so well eased my mind, and yesterday's two legs of Supervised Operating Experience with a check airman became less of a test to be passed, and assumed more of the flavor of a homecoming. For once, I enjoyed ironing my uniform and driving to work and even the drudgery of updating my Jepp plates. Where I usually avoid the crew room, I lingered there yesterday, visiting with old friends who were excited to see me back to work. As I sat in our airplane's first class and reviewed the maintenance logbook, I happily eavesdropped on our flight attendants' latest crew gossip and workaday chatter. Such a simple chore as tearing the flight release into its constituent parts and placing each in its usual spot around the flight deck brought a smile to my face. When we rolled down the runway, I called "rotate," the nose lifted off, I felt the wings load up, and the dirty brown grass of MSP just smoothly faded away, I suddenly realized just how much I'd missed this. I talk a big game about the drudgery of airline flying and how much more fun flying small planes is and how nobody should give up a good ground-bound career to jump into the insane airline business, but the simple act of lifting off in the pointy end of a small jet for the five thousandth time is still enough to give me goosebumps. Either I'm really easily amused, or this flying business I've been immersed in since the age of 13 is pretty seriously ingrained in the very core of my being. I suspect the latter.

So, losing my medical and being grounded for three months, rather than making me consider what I might do if I couldn't fly, has further convinced me that I must fly, come what may. It's one of very few things in this world that I can't do without. That doesn't square very well with the diagnosis of an incurable, unpredictable, and perhaps eventually career-ending disease like Crohn's. So I'll just take each day as it comes and do what I can. If I can't fly professionally, I'll fly small planes. If I can't hold a medical, I'll fly light sport. If I become too ill to do that, I'll hitch a ride with friends. In the meantime, as long as I can, I'll continue to practice the time-honored profession of Airline Pilot. And while I can't ignore airline industry turmoil and the various challenges facing my profession, I'll do my best to focus on the positive and appreciate what I get to do on a daily basis, for as long as I'm allowed to do it.

Baja Video Blog - Episode 5

Last one, I promise. At least for the two weeks that Brad and I did. Last week I returned to Baja for six more days of riding from Loreto to Cabo San Lucas, this time alone. I got some pretty great footage, especially from my nearly 100 sometimes-treacherous miles of dirt riding to the tiny isolated fishing village of San Evaristo. I'll put that together for one last video blog, eventually. In the meantime there's (gasp!) aviation activity to write about, I'll get that up soon.

Episode 5, wherein the Big Red Pig gets fixed, Sam and Brad make the best of a long stretch of pavement on Highway 1, and we explore a bit in the mountains above Loreto before stashing the bikes and flying up to LAX on Horizon Air.

Baja Video Blog - Episode 4

Wherein I do my best impression of a TV talking head due to a lack of footage and photos from our 5 nights in San Ignacio, we attempt to rebuild Brad's bike in a small town far from anywhere, and we have an incredible encounter with two very friendly Gray Whales.

Baja Video Blog - Episode 3

Wherein I go an entire day on dirt without dropping or somersaulting my bike, we stay on a ranch and discover where beef comes from, and Brad's Big Red Pig suffers its most serious breakdown yet.



Also, I realize that Google Maps' coverage of Baja is quite scant and it's difficult to find many of the places and routes I've been talking about. I modified the GPS routes we used for navigation to reflect the routes we actually took, converted it to a KML file, and uploaded it to Google Maps. Because these are off-road GPS routes, each leg won't follow the trail or road we took perfectly, but each turning point should be pretty close to right on our route. You can access the Google Map of our entire trip here [new window].

Baja Video Blog - Episode 2

Baja Video Blog - Episode 1