Don't Lay Around on Layovers!

The one thing that connects practically every airline crewmember in the world regardless of the company they fly for is the fact that they spend a major portion of their life away from home. Attitudes toward this vary pretty widely. For some pilots and FAs it's the best part of the job, for some it's a necessary evil, some hate it with a passion. I personally find that it's what you and your crew make of it. Four day trips mostly spent in hotel rooms can be pretty boring, lonely, and depressing. It's not always easy to get out and do stuff, though. A lot of layovers are too short for anything but grabbing a bite to eat and getting a few hours of sleep. Many of our layovers are spent in airport hotels with nothing to do in the surrounding area. Ground transportation can be tricky to arrange; the weather's often not conducive to roaming around town, especially in winter. It's not uncommon to fly with a "slam-click" crew that's uninterested in getting together on the layover.

Despite all that, I've had pretty good experiences on layovers. Sometimes it's as simple as getting together with a good crew for conversation over drinks and dinner; often it involves taking advantage of the opportunity to explore an unfamiliar area. Horizon was a great airline for this as the Q400 flew to many smaller mountain towns that had attractions within walking distance of the layover hotel as well as good hiking in the surrounding area. NewCo is a little tougher for layover options. We fly to mostly bigger airports and tend to layover in nearby hotels far from the city center. On the upside, I'm going to a lot of towns where I've never been or have only passed through, so there's a lot of new places for me to explore when I have the time to take public transportation into town.

I had a long Washington-Dulles layover on Memorial Day. NewCo's IAD hotel is located in Chantilly VA, near the airport; all my previous layovers had been too short to venture into DC. I've been to 42 of the 50 states and 13 countries at last count, but had never been to our nation's capitol. My FO and I caught a bus from Dulles that dropped us off at L'Enfant Plaza just south of the National Mall. We arrived just as the Memorial Day Parade kicked off on the east end of the Mall near the Capitol Building. We followed the parade westward along Constitution Ave, stopping in at the Washington Monument. Memorial Day ceremonies were ongoing at the WWII Memorial and the Vietnam Memorial. The day was brilliantly sunny, with a light breeze; crowds sought shelter from the afternoon sun on the steps of the cool, cavernous Lincoln Memorial. After a respite, we moved back east against the parade and ducked north to say hi to George at the White House. From there we walked all the way to the southeast corner of the mall and visited the National Air and Space Museum. I could spend days in that place. I could spend hours in the lobby alone. You enter the doors and look up and it's almost too much to handle: there's the Spirit of St. Louis! And the Bell X1! And SpaceShipOne! And the X15! When you look back down, there's the Gemini IV capsule and Apollo 11 command module! As an aviation and history enthusiast, it was the proverbial candy store for this kid. Alas, we had only a few hours for a cursory inspection of the museum's offerings before they kicked us out and we walked back to the bus stop as the setting sun turned the Capitol Building golden.















That last shot is of the headquarters of everyone's Favorite Aviation Administration.

A week later, I had my first layover in Norfolk VA. Our hotel is actually in between the airport, Norfolk, and Virginia Beach - basically in the middle of nowhere. Fortunately there's a bus stop a few blocks away for a bus that my flight attendants and I took to the beach. The water was too cold for swimming but we walked up and down the beach at surf's edge and people-watched. Later we had dinner at a local restaurant, then got some cheesecake to go for dessert on the beach. Turns out that blowing sand gives cheesecake a distinctly different texture. After that the flight attendants got somewhat bored so they buried me to my neck in sand.





A few days later I had a Kalispell layover. That was one of my favorite layovers at Horizon and remains so at NewCo. Dawn came along with me. One of our flight attendants also brought her husband. They had never been up to Glacier Park before so they went in on a rental car with Dawn and I and we drove up to the Park. Again, it was a gorgeous clear-blue day, perfect for being out doing outdoorsy things. Unfortunately, most of the Going-to-the-Sun road was still closed for snow. We were able to go as far as the Avalanche Creek trailhead, where we did the easy 5.5-mile roundtrip hike to Avalanche Lake. I'd been there a few years ago and forgot how gorgeous and majestic it is - pictures don't do it justice.






And then there's layovers like this one, where I stay inside blogging. They've been somewhat far and few in between, leading to a darkening complexion but also a dearth of new material on the blog. I'd blog on my days off, but, well, the weather's been too nice to not be riding my motorcycle or playing tennis or walking around the lakes. The harsh MN winter definitely is making me appreciate summer more.

Downgraded!

It's official. The US airline industry is (back) in the crapper. With oil at $130+ per barrel, it's just a matter of time before one or more of our major airlines goes back into bankruptcy, maybe for good. The airlines have finally been able to get most of the fare increases to stick, but they'll need to increase yet more for airlines to make money... and the number of passengers willing to pay that much to fly in a less-than-stellar economy is surely less than the number flying today. Something has to give. United and Continental are taking preemptive measures by significantly cutting their capacity. USAirways and perhaps American will follow suit. The more cynical among us believe Northwest and Delta are holding off on capacity cuts for only as long as they need to secure approval of their merger.

When airlines cut capacity, the pilots most directly affected are those most recently hired. The bottom 10% or so of any seniority list is referred to as "furlough fodder," although there have been furloughs or series of furloughs that have gone halfway up the list and beyond. Getting furloughed is like getting laid off in the non-aviation world. You retain the right to your old position if the company expands again, but that's about it. You might get non-rev benefits for a while. You can get medical bennies through COBRA but it's on your nickel. Some pilots find work outside of aviation while they await recall; others take flying jobs at regional airlines or corporate gigs. Some go back on active duty with the military. Many simply move on with their careers and get hired by another airline, never to return. The ranks of SWA, JetBlue, Airtran, FedEx, and UPS are full of pilots who were furloughed by major carriers after 9/11. When airlines recall furloughees, they often find the acceptance rate to be less than 50%.

Even if a pilot avoids furlough, everyone except the very top is losing relative seniority. Many are displaced to smaller (and lower-paying) equipment. Worse yet is the Captain that gets downgraded to First Officer, sometimes taking a pay cut of up to 50%. This is on top of payrate and benefit cuts of up to 50% that were imposed in bankruptcy after 9/11.

There likely wouldn't be that many furloughs, displacements, and downgrades this time around except that the mandatory retirement age was just changed, from age 60 to age 65. Now there are far fewer retirements to absorb some of the capacity cuts. The irony, of course, is that those enjoying an extra five years at the top of the pay scale are those least likely to be impacted by capacity cuts. A guy on the top 5% of the list isn't going to be displaced, much less downgraded or furloughed. I hope the guys staying past 60 enjoy their extra five years. Their newfound freedom to "fly 'till they die" is going to set back a lot of junior guys' careers at least five years.

I've mentioned in previous posts that I don't see keeping my job beyond a year or so. With recent developments in the industry a downgrade and subsequent furlough is looking more and more likely. It'd only take a few hundred furloughs (flowdowns) from RedCo to kick me off the NewCo list, and that's on the small end of expected furloughs at many companies. The political pressure to avoid cuts until the merger is approved may be my saving grace in the short term.

In the meantime, I'm getting some good practice for my eventual downgrade by flying in the right seat. We're pretty short on FOs right now and I'm on reserve, so crew scheduling has seen fit to use me as a first officer for two weeks in a row now. It's not a super big deal - I'm being paid as a Captain, and I was an FO recently enough that I still know the duties well. That said, by the time I lose my job, I'd really like to have some decent turbine PIC under my belt. I'm seriously contemplating bidding a CDO line for next month to avoid flying as an FO on reserve. True, I'd get less sleep, but it's not like us airline pilots are sleeping that well lately anyways.

Wheels

I've mentioned that we sold our Blazer rather than drive it back to Minnesota. Our experiment in single-car living has mostly been a success. Dawn works about 20 miles from where we live so she gets the car most days. I commute to work via bus and train, and we live within walking distance of stores, restaurants, theaters, parks, and lakes. For a bit of inconvenience, we've saved a lot of money on gas, insurance, and maintenance.

That said, it can be frustrating to be stuck at home with no wheels. The frustration doesn't merit the expense of a second car, but we came up with a workable solution: buy a motorcycle. At least, that's the practical justification. I've been riding my dad's and brothers' bikes since last summer, and have been wanting to get one of my own. The fact that Minnesota has a six month riding season at best means a motorcycle is more of a recreational expense than a practical one.

Last week I bought a 1988 Yamaha FZ600. It's an early light sport bike in the same class as the Ninja 500. It's a lot lighter and more maneuverable than my dad's and brother's BMW sport-touring bikes I've been riding until now, while much friendlier to beginning riders than my other brother's R6. This one's been used and has a few battle scars to prove it, but honestly I wanted a less-than-perfect first bike so I won't be devastated if I drop it. The guy I bought it from put a fair bit of work into the bike's mechanicals. With luck I should get some decent miles of enjoyment out of the FZ600 while building motorcycling experience.

Lost in Memphis

Or, the amusing anecdote of a new captain's dumb mistake....


Although NewCo has been flying to Memphis for several months, I finally made it there for the first time last week. The trip had me deadheading to Memphis, flying to Phoenix the first day, flying to Memphis and Jacksonville the second day, and finally flying JAX-MEM and deadheading home the last day. The first two days went smoothly; the weather was beautiful in Phoenix and Jacksonville, and the thunderstorms stayed out of our way. The last day we had a short connection to our deadhead in MEM, about 40 minutes from block in until our deadhead flight's departure. Fortunately we departed Jacksonville on time and, being lighter than planned, climbed to FL360 and kicked the speed up to Mach .78. We landed 15 minutes before our planned arrival time, despite a long vector for final approach.

We landed on Runway 18L; I took control of the plane from my FO as we slowed through 50 knots and turned right onto taxiway E. I stopped on the taxiway, waiting for tower to tell us to cross 18R. The runway was clear, but the clearance never came. I glanced down at the radios and realized we were already on ground control frequency.

"Hey, did you switch us over to ground?" I asked my FO.

"Yeah, why?"

"Uh, did tower tell us to?"

"Um, no. Don't we just switch on our own?"

"No. You're always supposed to wait for tower to tell you to switch, that's in the AIM." I flipped back to tower frequency; sure enough, the controller was saying irritatedly "Newco, if you're listening you're cleared to cross 18R and contact ground." I shook my head as the FO read back the clearance. He wasn't a bad FO at all, but quite new to the JungleBus and with somewhat low total time, around 1400 hours. I don't know, maybe I didn't know that either at 1400 hours. I'm still learning plenty with over 5000.

Ground control told us to taxi northbound on Charlie, then turn left on Papa and hold short P2. I glanced at my airport diagram. I wasn't very familiar with Memphis' layout but located the relevant taxiways quickly. We were going to gate B31, which is located in Memphis' west alley. Memphis has three gate bays: the west alleyway between the A and B concourse, the east alleyway between B and C concourses, and "The Courtyard," a broad V-shaped space between them formed by a split in the B concourse.

As we approached P2, ground cleared us to "continue on Papa and then follow the A320 northbound on November, contact ramp." I slowed my taxi to allow the A320 to pass well in front of us, then turned right on November. The A320 turned right onto Tango, and I suddenly realized I wasn't quite sure if I was still supposed to be following him. I slowed to a near stop at the intersection and looked across what I thought was the alleyway; I squinted at an open gate and thought I read "B31" above it. I turned right onto Tango and then left on P2 and waited for my FO to call ramp control. I glanced over at him and he was giving me a strange look. "Call ramp control," I said impatiently as I stopped short of the ramp.

"Uhhh...is this the right place?" he queried.

I was about half way through rolling my eyes when I realized he was right. Something didn't look right. That gate I thought read B31 actually said B21. And now that we'd turned the corner, it was apparent this ramp was way too wide to be the narrow west alleyway. It suddenly dawned on me that I'd taken a wrong turn and was now at the entrance to the Courtyard. "Oh, crap!" I exclaimed. Just then, the ground controller spoke up: "Uhh, NewCo, where are you going? You did say B31, right?"

I thought it over for a split second. There really wasn't any way to talk my way out of this one; best to simply fess up. I keyed the mic. "Heh, sorry ground. I took a wrong turn there. We need to head back over to the west alley."

"Uh, okay. Contract ramp control for the Courtyard, he'll get you headed back this way."

This was a different ramp controller than the one we'd been expecting to speak to; we fumbled for the frequency a few moments and then found it. We got permission to turn right onto the ramp to taxi to P1, where we again called ground and got clearance to taxi via Tango and November to the west alley, and finally called that ramp controller. He cleared us to our gate, which we taxied down to...and then waited for several minutes until rampers showed up! I figured I'd better explain the situation to the passengers. But what to say? "This is my second time to Memphis and I got lost!"? The situation called for a white lie.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Memphis. I trust you've enjoyed your tour of the airport today. There was some confusion about which gate the company wanted us at, but now they've assigned us B31, which we'll be pulling into in just a few minutes. Thanks for your patience."

While the traveling public never found out their Captain got lost on the Memphis airport, everybody on ground control heard my escapades. It was a pretty embarrassing mistake but easy enough for an unfamiliar pilot to make given ground control's somewhat ambiguous instructions to "follow the A320 northbound on November" and the fact that a RedCo A330 at the end of the B concourse was blocking our view of the west alley's entrance. The bigger issue was that I didn't simply set the parking brake and consult the airport diagram or query ground as soon as I had any confusion whatsoever about where I needed to go. There's a lesson learned for next time.

We still made the deadhead flight, but barely!

Four Striper

My fed ride on Monday went very well. It was a short flight from Minneapolis to Madison, with pretty good weather on both ends, and everything was working on the airplane, so it wasn't especially challenging; I just had to refrain from screwing up. I mostly succeeded, at least enough to convince the check airman and ADP that I'm safe to unleash upon the general public. The return flight to Minneapolis was a deadhead for me so they could check another Captain candidate. It was my first time riding in the back of the JungleBus. Overall it's a pretty nice ride, albeit a little noisier than I expected. Also, the ride in mid-cabin - on top of the spar - actually seems a little rougher than the cockpit. I didn't realize the extra length of fuselage had such a dampening effect. That's something to keep in mind when deciding whether to turn off the seatbelt sign or not.

Today I had my first flight as a line-qualified Captain, from Minneapolis to San Antonio, TX. I wasn't very apprehensive beforehand. After all, during the latter half of my OE the check airman was just acting as a normal FO with little instruction involved, so this should be the exact same, right? I guess it was in execution, but it felt surprisingly different. The closest thing I can compare it to is my first solo. Nothing quite prepares you for the eerie sight of an empty right seat on your first solo, and "play-acting captain" on OE certainly isn't the same as being in charge. It's not that I haven't thought of the responsibility of command before, I've done a lot of thinking on the subject. I guess I just didn't realize how jarringly aware of it I'd be as I taxied onto Runway 17 and pushed the thrust levers up.

This being my first flight off of OE, I was hoping I wouldn't get a new FO fresh off their IOE. Normally, captains with less than 75 hours in type have a restriction against flying with FOs who have less than 75 hours in type, a condition known at my company as "green-on-green." However, our operations specifications actually have a waiver that allows green-on-green flying. As the company gets bigger and expansion slows, the FAA will likely take away this waiver. Thankfully, today crew scheduling gave me a FO who's been on the line a few months and knows what's up. It helped when San Antonio Approach slam-dunked us into the airport today.

It was actually fairly entertaining to watch the FO do my former job. Because I flew with a lot of different captains both at Horizon and NewCo, I got a pretty good feel for the different techniques used by various captains. At Horizon, I jumpseated on the Q400 enough to also see other FOs in action. It was a valuable experience: I picked up some tips and tricks and it also made me aware of bad habits I didn't even know I had. I haven't had the chance to ride the jumpseat on NewCo yet so today was my first chance to see a line FO at work. There were a few minor differences in technique but for the most part it felt like watching a play of a script I know by heart. I'm interested to find whether FO technique is more uniform here than at Horizon. If so, I suspect it's because all the FOs are relatively new. As an FO, I found Captain technique to be almost as varied here as it was at Horizon (although, I should make clear, adherence to standardization is excellent at both companies).

As an FO, you get good at being a chameleon. You constantly adapt to the different Captains you fly with, within reasonable limits. They all have their quirks and preferences; the way I saw it, adapting to those was one way I could make the flying part of their job easy and free them to focus on Captainey things. Now that I'm a Captain myself, I have the leadership role; I set the tone and the pace in the cockpit. Just like observing different FOs made me a better FO at Horizon, having flown with lots of Captains will make me a better Captain. I can incorporate the best of what I've observed into my own cockpit. That said, I think Captains need to retain a certain amount of flexibility with their FOs. I hated flying with guys who nagged me over every nuance of technique when both of our methods were completely within the boundaries of standardization. It's worthwhile to pass along tips and tricks to FOs - indeed, mentoring FOs is an integral part of a Captain's job - but you need to make a clear distinction between technique and holy writ.

Like I said, I've recently thought a fair amount about what being a Captain really entails, and I'll write about it more in upcoming posts. That is, what little I'll have the time to write this month: I finished OE too late to bid, so the company built me a schedule with 11 days off and 97 hours of credit!

The Left Seat

It was a strange feeling, to be entering the flight deck as I had many times before but then to turn left instead of right and to sling my flight bag beside the captain's seat. I took off my blazer, fourth stripe newly attached, and hung it up on the jumpseat folded along the cockpit wall. Then I reached across the seat to press the lateral tracking lever so I could get the seat out of the way enough to sit down. It didn't budge. I tried again. Nothing. I finally just climbed across the center pedestal and awkwardly plopped into the seat. Egh! How was I going to pass captain OE if I couldn't even work the danged seat!?

At most airlines, upgrading to captain is a fairly long process that involves classroom training, an oral exam, simulator training, a checkride or two, and then operational experience, or OE. This last step involves flying the line, with paying passengers on board, under the supervision of a check airman. At NewCo, I did all the previous steps as a newhire; most training and checking was done with me in the left seat, acting as Captain. Because I'd passed my checkride within the previous six months, the FAA allowed NewCo to upgrade me by sending me straight to Captain OE. It's an unusual situation at the airlines.

I'd been studying for the last several weeks. Most OE candidates have the benefit of having come straight out of training, so everything is fresh in their mind. For me it had been nearly six months since I did Captain flows in the sim, and I'd flown the line for 300 hours - more than enough time to gain some bad habits. Mindful of this, I spent hours in cruise flight reading the AOM and FOM. I started studying harder when I found out that a string of OE candidates had been washing out and getting sent back to the right seat. The night before my OE started I stayed up late, feverishly studying my flows. I still worried that I'd seem unprepared to the check airman.

Now, seated at last, I realized that the Captain's seat levers were reversed from the FO's, so the tracking levers were on the right rather than the left. That mystery solved, I set about doing the Captain's duties and flows I'd seared into my brain over the last few weeks. First, I read the dispatch release and flight paperwork, checking critical items, separating and folding the individual parts. Then I reached down for the aircraft logbook ("the can"); I verified that the required servicing had been completed, that the few items deferred had been done so correctly, that there were no open write ups, and any recurring write ups noted. I launched into the Captain's preflight flow, starting with the overhead panel and flowing down across the glareshield, main panel, and center pedestal. I initialized the FMS, entered the flight plan, and set up the performance parameters. I listened in while the check airman copied the ATIS and clearance, and then called for a clearance brief and preflight check. The flight attendants brought the passenger count and the rampers brought up the bag count; the check airman added up the weights as I worked the balance computer to figure our mean aerodynamic chord (MAC) and trim setting. That complete, we handed the paperwork to the gate agent, she shut the cabin door, the flight attendant closed the cockpit door, and I ran my before start flows and called for the before start check. The inbound flight had arrived late, so I had about 20 minutes to do all this; we blocked out on time.

After we pushed back and started up, the check airman called for taxi clearance. Moment of truth! Other than a few flights in light aircraft, I haven't taxied an airplane in years. The reason is that most airliners only have a steering tiller on the Captain's side. I pressed down the tiller and gingerly added power. To my surprise, the tiller was fairly smooth and easy to use (I was later to discover that the first several planes we took delivery of have extremely sensitive, jerky tillers). The main difficulty in taxiing was switching between the tiller and the rudder pedals. The pedals are easier to use on straightaways, whereas tiller use is necessary around turns. The tiller is active only when pressed down, and the pedals are only active when the tiller is released. It's one or the other. You get jerked around when you try to switch between them when they're not aligned with each other. Also, I found that you need to slow below 10 kts to make a smooth turn.

I discovered midway through the taxi that I hadn't turned on the taxi light. It is required during aircraft movement on the ground, even during the day. The switch is on the overhead panel and is easy to miss if you're not in the habit of flipping it every time you start or stop taxiing. I forgot it again several times on subsequent flights until I got used to doing it.

I'd been chair-flying the takeoff run the last several days because I really wanted to nail it. At most airlines, the Captain takes the thrust levers during the takeoff run regardless of who is flying. The philosophy is that it's the Captain's decision to abort or not and therefore he should have his hand in a position to do so. When the FO is the pilot flying, they set takeoff power but then withdraw their hand to allow the captain to guard the thrust levers. By now it's such a force of habit for me that I knew I'd have to consciously choose to keep my hand on the thrust levers after setting takeoff power, and take my hands off when the check airman called V1. The chair-flying paid off; the takeoff run went flawlessly.

Once airborne, the pilot flying and pilot not flying duties are the same regardless of which seat you occupy. Everything looks different from the other seat so you need to be conscious of exactly which buttons and knobs you're reaching for, but reprogramming your hands doesn't take that long. Likewise, flying the plane with my left hand felt awkward at first but the novelty wore off after a few legs.

My first landing in the left seat was embarrassingly hard; I pretty much just failed to flare. I don't think being in the left seat had anything to do with it, I just didn't pull back aggressively enough. It happens. Bad landings in the JungleBus are still a whole lot nicer than bad landings in the Q400. My taxi in to the gate at Dulles was smoother than my taxi out at MSP.

I got smoother and more comfortable over the next several days of OE. Day three, on my birthday, was a 13.5 hr duty day with 5 legs. Our auto-throttles were inoperative that day, which doesn't sound like a big deal unless you've flown with them - then you know how you miss them when you don't have them. I try to do at least one approach per trip without auto-throttles so I don't get dependent on them, and that paid off on the long day. After the four day trip, I had two day trips: one to Vancouver yesterday, and one to Salt Lake City later today. That will bring me up to the required 25 hours; my line check and "fed ride" is scheduled for Monday. Assuming I pass, at that point I'll be a fully qualified Captain.

The Divert

Spring has, it seems, finally decided to show up and stay a while. There've been many reported sightings and tantalizing clues of its return over the last month, hopes always brutally squashed by another fierce winter storm dumping another nine inches of snow on the winter-weary citizens of Minnesota. This time I think it's real, although should winter decide to make a curtain call in May it certainly wouldn't be the first time.

Yesterday it was 70 degrees in Minneapolis and everyone was out and about, in shorts no less. There were people on the beach at Lake Calhoun despite it being ice-free for less than a week. Swarms of motorcycles cruised up and down Hennepin Ave, blowing off the winter cobwebs. Dawn and I made an ice cream run to Dairy Queen at dusk and it was hopping.

Winter took its last big swipe at the Twin Cities, and much of the upper midwest, the Thursday before last. I was flying the day the storm hit. It wasn't without warning - the 10 o'clock newscast was full of doom the night before, and the crew room was abuzz when I checked in for my day trip to Vancouver. The weather was still decent when we left, but the MSP aerodrome forecast was calling for high winds and heavy snow around the time of our return. Even before we landed in Vancouver, we were negotiating extra contingency fuel for the return leg with our dispatcher.

On the way back from Vancouver - which appeared to be in the midst of a fine Pacific Northwest summer - we monitored the deteriorating weather in Minneapolis. The winds were howling out of the northeast and increasing in velocity. Minneapolis usually uses its two parallel runways for most arrivals and departures, but they are oriented northwest-southeast. The crosswind component on those runways was approaching 31 kts, the JungleBus' maximum crosswind limitation for a wet runway. It must've posed a problem for other aircraft types as well, because ATC made runway 4 the active runway when we were an hour from landing. Although this eliminated the crosswind problem, it cut Minneapolis' arrival rate in half. Runway 4 also lacks a precision approach; the localizer approach to that runway has a minimum visibility of 3/4 mile, which was exactly what the airport was reporting. Even before Minneapolis Center issued us holding instructions 60 miles northwest of the airport, we were preparing for a possible divert.

We'd been conserving fuel the whole way back by flying higher than planned and throttling back to Mach .74 to take advantage of a tailwind. Our dispatcher had assigned Brainerd, MN as our alternate airport. Our fuel planning was contingent upon one approach at Minneapolis followed by a missed approach and subsequent diversion to Brainerd; this, plus the legally required reserve of 45 minutes gave us minimum landing fuel of 4500 lbs. The Captain added on several hundred pounds of fuel for delays we'd likely experience while being vectored for the approach, and from this calculated our "bingo" fuel for every point on our flight plan. When we were assigned holding, we already knew our minimum fuel to leave the hold: 5600 lbs. We entered the hold with 7500 lbs fuel, enough for about 45 minutes of holding. We were told to expect a hold for at least an hour.

We were holding quite near Brainerd, our alternate airport, so we listened in to their ATIS. They were reporting 1 1/2 miles visibility in moderate snow. That's well above the minimums for the ILS approaches to runways 23 and 34, but barely above the minimums for the GPS approach to runway 5, which the winds were strongly favoring. The winds were barely below the crosswind limits for runway 34...assuming it was merely wet, and not yet contaminated by snow or slush. This was setting off all sorts of alarm bells in my head, and I was happy to find the Captain on the same page. I text-messaged our dispatcher requesting a new alternate, and, mindful of their lack of assistance during my last divert, started pulling up weather for potential airports myself.

This time the dispatcher did return our message promptly, but we didn't like his suggestion of LaCrosse for a new alternate. Once again, the winds strongly disfavored the single runway serviced by an ILS approach, the marginally better runways have much higher minimums, and the one (rather short) runway that the winds favored most has no instrument approach at all. Besides, the storm was coming from the south and LaCrosse was right in the thick of it. I suggested to the Captain that we take a look at airports further to the north, ahead of the storm. I recalled from long-ago experience that Duluth's main runway has an ILS in its easterly direction, so I checked the weather there. Sure enough, although the winds were even stronger than Minneapolis, they were aligned with the 10,000 ft runway and the weather was otherwise excellent. Duluth isn't much further from Minneapolis than Brainerd so changing our alternate wouldn't greatly impact our fuel. I messaged our new plan to the dispatcher; he quickly agreed and sent us our new fuel numbers. Our new bingo fuel was a few hundred pounds higher but we realized it wouldn't matter in the end; it was obvious that rather few arrivals were making it into MSP.

When we decided on Duluth we still had about 20 minutes of holding fuel remaining, which we passed along to Minneapolis Center along with the change of alternate. The controller said he was doubtful we'd make it but he would put a bug in Minneapolis Approach's ear. While we waited we used a company frequency to talk to another NewCo flight holding 1000' above us; they were on the verge of diverting to Fargo. When we had five minutes holding fuel remaining, we again informed the controller and he told us to fly heading 360 - away from the airport - while he made one last entreaty to approach control. Shortly thereafter he told us we could expect the turn direct to MSP in two minutes, but one minute later reversed himself and said they weren't accepting any more arrivals from the north. He turned us direct to Duluth, now less than 50 miles away.

A divert is one of the more stressful things airline pilots do (short of actual emergencies), especially when the airport is nearby. The key is to slow down and give yourself time to do everything without rushing so much that you make mistakes, and to have a clear division of duties between the pilots. While the Captain flew and set himself up for the approach, I text-messaged our dispatcher to confirm the divert, briefed the flight attendants, made a quick PA to the passengers, and attempted to contact Duluth station operations. When I came back the Captain brought me up to speed on what had changed since I was gone, such as ATC clearances and his setup for the approach. I gave him a quick rundown of what I'd done, set up my instruments for the approach, and then we briefed the approach plate together. At this time we were rapidly approaching the final approach fix, so the Captain requested a 360 degree turn so we could complete the descent and approach checklists in an unhurried manner. We were finished by the time we were halfway through the turn, and then we broke out of the clouds and saw the airport. It was a rather leisurely visual approach since we had a 70 knot headwind at 3000 feet. The last few miles were pretty turbulent but the Captain made a graceful landing.

We weren't alone in thinking Duluth made an excellent diversion spot; several other diverted RedCo flights landed just before and after us. Seven airplanes quickly found themselves in competition for the airport's three gates. The ground controllers obviously weren't used to this and got pretty flustered rather quickly, giving us taxiing instructions that would've put us nose-to-nose with a A320 on a narrow taxiway. We challenged their instructions three times, becoming increasingly strident until they realized their clearance would've resulted in total gridlock in the terminal area. We requested and received clearance to taxi clear of the terminal ramp and await an open gate from a ramp across the airport. When the gate opened up an hour after landing, ground control gave us clearance to taxi to it as soon as a DC-9 under tow passed us on the taxiway; however, the tow crew was intending to drop the DC9 at our spot on the ramp and refused to tow further until we moved out of the way! The ground controller came to the verge of hysterics in compelling the tow crew to get their plane out of our way, and the comedy of errors had the Captain and I laughing to the point of tears.

By the time we got to the gate, the passengers had been on board for six hours; they were anxious to get off the plane. Then the ground crew told us that TSA had gone home so nobody could go outside the secured area, and there were no restaurants, shops, or even restrooms inside security. The Captain was told them that was utterly unacceptable; with Minneapolis' weather still down there was no telling when we'd be able to depart, and in the meantime we could have a JetBlue situation on our hands. The station manager said he'd call the TSA manager and try to get some screeners back to the airport; meanwhile we called the chief pilot and he said he'd make some calls. In the meantime we had to wait for our dispatcher to generate our release for the return to MSP; he was pretty overloaded so it took quite some time. Once we got the release, we called ground control for our IFR clearance and were told the earliest departure slot to MSP was in 90 minutes. By this time the winds had died down somewhat in MSP so they were back to 2-runway operations but they had a huge backlog of arrivals to get in. The Duluth station manager called the ATC liaison at RedCo's system operations control (SOC) and asked him to intervene on our behalf for an earlier slot time; he said he'd try but he was doubtful it'd make a difference. At an hour before our slot time, the TSA manager said he could have a security checkpoint open in a half hour, but by that time it wouldn't make sense to deplane because we'd be just about ready to depart - and if we missed this slot time there was no telling when another would be available. It was a pretty miserable choice to make but the passengers took it in stride when we told them. We'd been giving updates at 15 minute intervals ever since the diversion, and they seemed to appreciate being kept in the loop.

Fortunately, the flow control to MSP was cancelled 30 minutes before our slot time; we quickly completed our paperwork and closed up for pushback. It was Duluth's first time handling a JungleBus. They'd received the appropriate towbar only 2 days earlier and it was sitting in a box, disassembled, when we arrived. They did an admirable job getting us out quickly and smoothly. We fired up, taxiied to runway 9, and took off in winds gusting to 47 knots just as it began snowing. Two hours after we left it was 1/4 mile visibility in heavy snow.

The hop to MSP was just about the longest 45 minute flight of my life. It was turbulent, the radar was filled with yellow returns, heavy snow alternated with a deafening rain of ice pellets, St. Elmo's fire danced up and down the windscreen, and ATC was barely audible above all the static in the radios. We kept the cockpit floodlights up high in case we took a lightning strike. We diverted around the heaviest precipitation and then ATC turned us around and vectored us for a 40 mile final. It was rather anti-climactic when we spotted the approach lights several miles out and made an uneventful landing on a mostly uncontaminated runway.

I logged over 10 hours of flight time that day, which is legal since the 8 hour limit only applies to scheduled flight time. I really got off rather easy, as I only had two scheduled legs that day and was done when I got to MSP. My roommate Dan was the FO on the flight that diverted to Fargo, where his crew went through a saga rather similar to our experiences in Duluth. When he finally returned to MSP, he still had to fly a leg out to Kalispell, and logged even more flight time for the day than I did.

In the end it worked out for me. The extra flight time would've made me illegal for my scheduled start of Captain OE the next week, so crew scheduling dropped my scheduled day trip on Saturday, giving me the whole weekend off. My last day as a first officer was a Salt Lake City roundtrip that Friday, and I started Captain OE last Tuesday. More about that in my next post....