Early tomorrow morning, when the rays of the sun are still a hundred miles or so east of the continental US, I’m going to be rotating a fully loaded (hopefully) CRJ 200 off of the runway in Dayton and heading eastbound. Actually, it will probably be the FO who will be flying as I tend to give them the first leg, but either way, if everything goes according to plan, we’ll be passing through 20,000 feet over Columbus, just as the mass of commuters are leaving their garages to start another day at work. Hopefully we’ll break out of the overcast (the surface weather is currently calling for light snow) and into a rapidly lightning sky with the runways at Philly 300+ miles away and getting closer every minute.

The interesting thing is that I did this exact route but in reverse on Friday night. We’d made it into Philly, coming up the coast from Columbia, despite having to hold twice (see previous post) and then after a quick turn, I took over flying duties and pointed us west bound towards Dayton and three days off for me (and two days off for the FO and FA). It’s interesting that I’ve flown back and forth and up and down the east coast so much now that at any given point I can look out the window and know roughly what city is passing underneath us or what major lake or river that is. Of course, when sitting up front I have the moving map display to help me out but even sitting in the back, I can normally pick out landmarks.

On Friday night, once we crossed over the Susquehanna River south of Harrisburg, PA the scattered layer of clouds below us disappeared and visibility became limited by only the human eye. During daylight hours the horizon often becomes a brown smudge where ground meets sky. This is especially true when the terrain is flat (is it is in most places I fly) with not vertical features to break up the transition. However, at night when it is very clear and there are very few contaminants in the sky for the ground lighting to reflect off of the line divide ground and air is a defined hashmark across the horizon.

As we turned westbound and towards home (actually, towards a point in space somewhere just north of Columbus, OH and then southwest towards Dayton and home) the line of lights formed by Interstate 68 stretched out in front of us. Below us the Allegany’s rose from the ground, where thousands of years ago shifting tectonic plates thrust them upwards. I’ve driven that road so often that there was a time I could have almost down it with my eyes closed. But now, several years later, 28,000 feet higher and in the dark I couldn’t tell the curves in the road apart.

As we came over the top of Hancock, MD, where Interstate 70 heads north, before turning west and passing through Wheeling, WV, Columbus then just 8 miles north of my apartment and then farther west until it dumps into I15 just past Fishlake National Forest in central Utah, a faint white glow formed on the horizon. Most lighting at night takes on a slight orange tint due to all the sodium vapor lights that are commonly used for street lighting. However, this light was bright white and arced up and away from the horizon line. The bottom part of it looked round, sort of like the bottom of a sphere and at first I thought maybe it was the moon rising. Several things didn’t add up though as it was way too big to be the moon (my thumb held up in front of it didn’t block it out completely) and there were no clouds anywhere else so the rest of the sphere couldn’t be obscured. Finally, I put our location together with what I was looking at and realized it was a ski area, lit up for night operations. The rounded shape was due to the lights going uphill. Even though it was dark, the terrain below was still illuminated.

10 minutes later we passed directly overhead and I was able to look down and identify it was Wisp. I’d skied there a few times while in college and the memories of those trips provided enough nostalgia to carry be farther west, over Washington, PA and across the Ohio River. By then the lights of Columbus were in sight and the knowledge that Dayton was 10 minutes beyond was enough to bring a smile to my face.

I started getting worried after I finished breakfast in the hotel in Columbia. I’d just brought up the weather for Philly, where we’d be heading 7 hours later and it was showing 3 miles and snow. The good news was that at our time of arrival (around 8:30 that evening) it was supposed to be nice. The bad news was, this being Philly, we’d probably still run into problems. Later that day, after a lunch at a nearby Japanese place as we headed over to the airport to start our day I called dispatch to see how bad the news was. Somewhat surprisingly it wasn’t all that bad. Or plane was actually going to be in on time and they were only projecting a 30 minute delay for our departure.

It ended up working out even better than that. The plane came in on time and we taxied out (with 50 passengers) just 3 minutes late. We got to the end of the runway and just like that we were air born. Because the weather was better they’d given us enough fuel to get up there and then just our normal 45 minute reserve. For planning purposes that looked like it would work out ok as we’d gotten right off and after a slight turn to the west to clear some local traffic we were heading north towards Philly.

Stuff started going poorly almost immediately. Climbing through 13,000 feet the ride started getting rough. After leveling off at 29,000 feet I asked Washington Center if they had any ride reports and the news wasn’t good as they had nothing reported smooth below 37,000 feet, and in the 200 we can’t get up there. In attempt to find a bit better ride we started up to 31,000 but were stopped just short of it and sent back down to 29,000 because an aircraft higher up needed to start down due to the rides up there being so bad. And that’s pretty much how it went.

About 50 miles south of Washington DC the ride started to finally smooth out. One problem dealt with, another one popped up. ATC advised us that we could slow down if we wanted because the next controller had holding instructions for us. And on that note handed us off. The hold we were set up for was about 100 miles from Philly, just about 30 miles south of Baltimore. When assigned to a hold we get, among other things, an “expect further clearance” or EFC time which is the point in time when we can EXPECT to get released and be able to continue on our way. These times are subject to change (and they often do) but at least are useful for planning. The EFC we had for this hold was about 30 minutes in the future.

After some quick number crunching the FO (a downgraded captain) and I figured that if we held that full amount of time we would have just enough fuel to make it up to Philly and land with our required 45 minutes of reserve. That’s legal and all, but a little close for comfort. The other option was, when the fuel got low, was to head up to Baltimore (35 miles away with 4 miles and snow) or Harrisburg (70 miles away with 9 miles and light winds). Both those options were slightly better than PHL but would still have us landing with minimum fuel. The decision was made for us when, after two turns in the hold we were cleared on towards Philly but told to expect more holding down the road.

That didn’t really sound too appealing but at least now we were heading in the right direction again. 10 minutes later we were holding again, this time down at 12,000 feet, just 30 miles from the airport. In fact, we could clearly see both the airport and the city. The numbers now worked out that we could hold until our new EFC and make it to PHL but if the time stretched passed that we’d have to go somewhere else. The options were still Baltimore and Harrisburg and neither looked too appealing as far as fuel went. We decided to wait until the top of the hour (just 5 minutes before our EFC) when there’d be new weather on which to make our decision on where to go.

Once again ATC solved the problem for us by clearing us out of the hold and to the airport after just one turn in holding. 10 minutes later we were joining the final for 35, where my FO made a nice landing before I took the plane to taxied in, glad to be parking at the gate in Philly and not somewhere else.

Time: 11:10pm

Location: 35 miles east of Charlotte

Altitude: 9,000 feet and climbing

Speed: 250 knots

We are heading east out of Charlotte. 150 miles away, the beacon at the Jacksonville, NC airport is reaching out into the sky, but as it is still way over the horizon and beyond our view we are relying on the plane’s GPS system to keep us headed in the right direction. Behind the locked cockpit door, 69 passengers and 2 flight attendants are strapped into their seats.

Several minutes ago as we climbed through 3000 feet and started the turn to the east, I went to dim the cockpit lighting a bit. I was surprised when the switch stopped moving at it’s full dim position and yet there was still a whole lot of illumination. I then realized it was the moon that was the problem and there wasn’t much I could do about it.

Now, as we climb through 10,000 feet, we head under a higher cloud layer. The full moon blinks in and out through holes in the layer, creating something of a disco effect. I haven’t flown in over 2 weeks, and it’s things like this that I miss when I am stuck on the ground. Part of the lack of flying is through my own doing. I routinely request “late reserve, last out” which means, in theory” I am assigned a late reserve shift (normally 12noon or 10am) and am the last person they call for a trip. Some times it works and some times it doesn’t, but as of late, it’s kept me at home more often than not.

Today they called me at 4pm to deadhead down to Charlotte at 7:35pm and fly a single leg to Jacksonville. A pretty easy day for me, but when I meet up with the crew in Charlotte I find that this is leg 6 for them, after finishing a 3 day trip yesterday with 6 legs as well. Needless to say they are ready to be done for the night.

Through 12,000 feet on our way to 17,000 feet we finally get the ok from ATC to speed up. As the plane accelerates the climb rate falls off a bit. We enter the clouds at 15,500 and by the time we get to 16,000 the ice sensor on the nose has detected ice. With the wing and cowl anti ice switches on, hot air is bled off the engine and routed through ducting to the leading edge of the wing and engine cowl. Once there it heats the surface to a balmy 80 degrees to prevent ice from forming. The ride roughens as we pass through the top of the clouds but by 16,500 feet we are out of them and surfing along the top of the layer. I throw the anti ice switches back to the off position.

10 minutes and 80 miles later we start are descent. The clouds have gone away and the North Carolina countryside is a patchwork of darkness and splotches of light. Despite the apparent lack of population during the day, the lights stretch pretty much everywhere at night.

Now 30 miles out we are down to 10,000 feet. Jacksonville has no control tower, but at this hour of the night it’s very unlikely that there will be any other traffic to worry about. Despite that, at 20 miles out my FO starts making position reports. Not surprisingly there is no reply. At 15 miles away I click the mic 7 times on the local traffic frequency, which brings the lighting on to full bright. Several minutes later, while dropping through 1000 feet I’ll regret that decision and have the FO bring them down a level, but for now the lighting is just right as it guides us to the runway.

With the airport in sight, ATC clears us for a visual approach and I take over flying duties from the autopilot. Despite my somewhat rusty skills the plane is slowed and configured by 800 feet. At 500 feet the lights are brought down to a more bearable level. At 300 feet I double check we have the gear down and it’s showing 3 green indications. At 200 feet I mentally remind myself I’m in the 700 and not the 200 and need to leave the power in until about 20 feet. At 100 feet I start to get the nose about where I want it. By 50 feet the runway numbers are passing under the nose. At 20 feet I bring out the last of the power and start pulling back on the yoke. As the airplane calls out “10″ I feel the plane settle into ground effect and a second later the main landing gears start to spin up 45 feet behind me. The nose settles to the ground as the thrust reversers deploy and then stow as the plane slows to 80 knots. The wheel brakes take over stopping duties at that point and by 30 knots I’m starting to look for a runway exit. Mission accomplished.

Although it’s not really. My responsibility doesn’t end until the plane is parked at the gate. With the parking brake set. And the engines off. And the door open. And the last passenger off. And the plane shut down. And the rest of the crew off the plane. And we are walking away through the airport to catch the van to the hotel. Then, and only then am I done with flying for the day. At least until tomorrow.