James May book - landing an A330
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James May book - landing an A330
Apologies if this is in the wrong place, or just too frivolous, but the extract I've pasted below was published in the Telegraph this weekend, from James May's new book "How to land and A330 Airbus...". The extract supposedly tells you what to do should you find yourself in control of an A330.
The question is, is he right?
Thanks,
Steve.
The crew has been murdered or laid out by manky prawns from the in-flight meal, and the aircraft is at 38,000ft, pilotless. It can stay there until the fuel runs out and it falls to earth, or you can seize the controls from the expired captain and bring it in to rapturous acclaim, and probably a refund.
First, make your way to the flight deck and discover that the door leading to it is locked. This has been a requirement since 9/11; even in the midst of this melodrama it is worth pausing for a second to reflect on the deep irony of it all. A cabin attendant should be able to unlock it for you.
Assuming the aircraft is in the cruise, the autopilot will almost certainly be engaged and you can take time to familiarise yourself with “the office”. The captain of a fixed-wing aircraft sits on the left – that is where you should sit.
Now you must make your emergency call to air traffic control and for this you will need the aircraft’s call sign, which will be displayed on the panel in front of you on a small plaque. Let’s say we are aboard G-ABCD. Put on the headset and depress the PTT (Press To Talk) button on the joystick. Now, and in a voice that is calm, level, clipped, clear, unhurried, tinged with icy resolve , say : “Mayday, mayday, mayday. Golf Alfa Bravo Charlie Delta. Pilot and first officer disabled. I am a passenger, I have taken control and I await your instructions.”
The international language of air traffic control is English, so even over the Greek islands whoever is listening will be shaken from his or her diurnal torpor by your textbook professionalism.
While the controller desperately rings around in search of someone who can help you over the radio, relax. Remember – the autopilot is still on and the autopilot is your best friend. At the very least, it is a much better pilot than you are.
You could even press the PA button, talk to the passengers and advise them of the outside air temperature. Don’t worry about getting the temperature exactly right – minus 32C will do – as they don’t actually care, but the calming effect of pilot babble will be welcomed in the cheap seats.
The small screen directly ahead of you shows, from left to right, the air speed indicator, or ASI (how fast you’re going), the attitude indicator (or artificial horizon), the altimeter (how high you are) and the vertical speed indicator (how quickly you’re climbing or descending). Along the bottom is the direction indicator (your compass heading). Keep the speed between the two red “bugs” at the top and bottom of the scale on the ASI. Above the top one the aircraft could fall apart; below the bottom one and it will stall and fall out of the sky, in accordance with Newton. Speeds are in knots.
The next thing you will probably have to do is retune the radio, most likely to the international distress frequency of 121.50.
Airbus Industries’ flawless control logic says that when the knobs are pulled out, control rests with the pilot. When they are pushed in, it rests with the preprogrammed flight computer. Therefore, pull them out when instructed to make inputs, otherwise the aircraft will blithely continue to head where it was already going.
You are now ready to fly the Airbus to an airport, under instruction from the controller, using the autopilot. There are just three knobs to worry about here, and they control airspeed, heading and altitude.
Simply twirl the knobs until the values given by the controller appear on the digital display. By this means you will be able to fly the aeroplane to an airport with no more difficulty than you would have in setting the timer on a microwave oven. But don’t tell anyone.
If air traffic control has any sense – and these people are generally selected for their intelligence and cool-headedness – they will have directed you to an airport that will allow you to use the Airbus’s Instrument Landing System (ILS). If you have been vectored to a remote runway on a disused airbase where you have to land the aeroplane manually, you may as well forget it, because, as one A330 captain put it: “Everyone will be killed.”
As you make your way on autopilot to the airport, you will have to programme the ILS in the cockpit using the Multi-purpose Control and Display Unit, or MCDU, or “McDoo” in the chummy lexicon of real pilots. This is near your right knee.
By now, control will have instructed you to descend using the autopilot and you will be nearing 3,000ft. It is time to slow the Airbus down for the final approach. Using the speed knob on the autopilot, gently wind the airspeed down until it is about 10 knots above the lower red “bug” on the ASI. Now select the first stage of flap, using the conveniently flap-shaped lever.
With the wings now generating more lift, that lower bug on the ASI will move to a lower speed. Repeat the above process for the second stage of flap – slow to 10 knots above the bug, pull the lever.
Control will give you a frequency and heading for the ILS of the airport; in the case of London Heathrow, it will be 109.5/272. On the McDoo, press the button marked RAD/NAV. Enter the frequency and heading with the keypad and, when they appear on the screen, press the little button alongside. The ILS is now programmed but not yet active.
Next, control will direct you to intercept something called QDM, which is the heading to the runway. Again, this is a simple matter of twiddling the knobs on the autopilot. Once flying straight and level on the right heading, you can initiate the ILS you programmed earlier. Just press the button marked APPR (for “approach”) on the autopilot and the Airbus will make its own way to the runway.
But there is still much work for you to do before attaining glory. Lower the undercarriage using the lever over on the first officer’s side. Three green lights on the display above will confirm that it is down and locked. Next, and after reducing the airspeed to around 15 knots above the lower bug, deploy the final two stages of flap. The aircraft will seem to you to be travelling absurdly slowly towards the runway, which should now be visible. Resist the urge to push the throttles open or pull back on the joystick.
At the runway threshold, the nose will also seem to be pointing too far down. Again, do not interfere. It will “flare” automatically; that is, lift its nose to increase lift just before touchdown and lower the rate of descent. As soon as the main wheels make contact with the runway, pull the two throttles back until they will go no further, the “idle” position. The end of the runway will tilt into view and the nose wheel will touch down.
All that remains is to stop. Press with your toes on the rudder pedals to work the wheel brakes. At the same time, lift the small levers on the back of the throttles, which will allow them to move further backwards. This triggers reverse thrust from the engines. Once the aeroplane has slowed to a brisk trot, return the throttles to idle and come to a halt using your feet.
Apply the parking brake, shut down the engines by lifting and twisting the knobs marked ENG 1 and ENG 2, press the PA button and say: “Cabin crew, doors to manual.” If you have landed at Barcelona it is permissible to say “Cabin crew, doors to Manuel.” It’s an old joke, but tensions will be so high that you’re guaranteed a laugh.
The question is, is he right?
Thanks,
Steve.
The crew has been murdered or laid out by manky prawns from the in-flight meal, and the aircraft is at 38,000ft, pilotless. It can stay there until the fuel runs out and it falls to earth, or you can seize the controls from the expired captain and bring it in to rapturous acclaim, and probably a refund.
First, make your way to the flight deck and discover that the door leading to it is locked. This has been a requirement since 9/11; even in the midst of this melodrama it is worth pausing for a second to reflect on the deep irony of it all. A cabin attendant should be able to unlock it for you.
Assuming the aircraft is in the cruise, the autopilot will almost certainly be engaged and you can take time to familiarise yourself with “the office”. The captain of a fixed-wing aircraft sits on the left – that is where you should sit.
Now you must make your emergency call to air traffic control and for this you will need the aircraft’s call sign, which will be displayed on the panel in front of you on a small plaque. Let’s say we are aboard G-ABCD. Put on the headset and depress the PTT (Press To Talk) button on the joystick. Now, and in a voice that is calm, level, clipped, clear, unhurried, tinged with icy resolve , say : “Mayday, mayday, mayday. Golf Alfa Bravo Charlie Delta. Pilot and first officer disabled. I am a passenger, I have taken control and I await your instructions.”
The international language of air traffic control is English, so even over the Greek islands whoever is listening will be shaken from his or her diurnal torpor by your textbook professionalism.
While the controller desperately rings around in search of someone who can help you over the radio, relax. Remember – the autopilot is still on and the autopilot is your best friend. At the very least, it is a much better pilot than you are.
You could even press the PA button, talk to the passengers and advise them of the outside air temperature. Don’t worry about getting the temperature exactly right – minus 32C will do – as they don’t actually care, but the calming effect of pilot babble will be welcomed in the cheap seats.
The small screen directly ahead of you shows, from left to right, the air speed indicator, or ASI (how fast you’re going), the attitude indicator (or artificial horizon), the altimeter (how high you are) and the vertical speed indicator (how quickly you’re climbing or descending). Along the bottom is the direction indicator (your compass heading). Keep the speed between the two red “bugs” at the top and bottom of the scale on the ASI. Above the top one the aircraft could fall apart; below the bottom one and it will stall and fall out of the sky, in accordance with Newton. Speeds are in knots.
The next thing you will probably have to do is retune the radio, most likely to the international distress frequency of 121.50.
Airbus Industries’ flawless control logic says that when the knobs are pulled out, control rests with the pilot. When they are pushed in, it rests with the preprogrammed flight computer. Therefore, pull them out when instructed to make inputs, otherwise the aircraft will blithely continue to head where it was already going.
You are now ready to fly the Airbus to an airport, under instruction from the controller, using the autopilot. There are just three knobs to worry about here, and they control airspeed, heading and altitude.
Simply twirl the knobs until the values given by the controller appear on the digital display. By this means you will be able to fly the aeroplane to an airport with no more difficulty than you would have in setting the timer on a microwave oven. But don’t tell anyone.
If air traffic control has any sense – and these people are generally selected for their intelligence and cool-headedness – they will have directed you to an airport that will allow you to use the Airbus’s Instrument Landing System (ILS). If you have been vectored to a remote runway on a disused airbase where you have to land the aeroplane manually, you may as well forget it, because, as one A330 captain put it: “Everyone will be killed.”
As you make your way on autopilot to the airport, you will have to programme the ILS in the cockpit using the Multi-purpose Control and Display Unit, or MCDU, or “McDoo” in the chummy lexicon of real pilots. This is near your right knee.
By now, control will have instructed you to descend using the autopilot and you will be nearing 3,000ft. It is time to slow the Airbus down for the final approach. Using the speed knob on the autopilot, gently wind the airspeed down until it is about 10 knots above the lower red “bug” on the ASI. Now select the first stage of flap, using the conveniently flap-shaped lever.
With the wings now generating more lift, that lower bug on the ASI will move to a lower speed. Repeat the above process for the second stage of flap – slow to 10 knots above the bug, pull the lever.
Control will give you a frequency and heading for the ILS of the airport; in the case of London Heathrow, it will be 109.5/272. On the McDoo, press the button marked RAD/NAV. Enter the frequency and heading with the keypad and, when they appear on the screen, press the little button alongside. The ILS is now programmed but not yet active.
Next, control will direct you to intercept something called QDM, which is the heading to the runway. Again, this is a simple matter of twiddling the knobs on the autopilot. Once flying straight and level on the right heading, you can initiate the ILS you programmed earlier. Just press the button marked APPR (for “approach”) on the autopilot and the Airbus will make its own way to the runway.
But there is still much work for you to do before attaining glory. Lower the undercarriage using the lever over on the first officer’s side. Three green lights on the display above will confirm that it is down and locked. Next, and after reducing the airspeed to around 15 knots above the lower bug, deploy the final two stages of flap. The aircraft will seem to you to be travelling absurdly slowly towards the runway, which should now be visible. Resist the urge to push the throttles open or pull back on the joystick.
At the runway threshold, the nose will also seem to be pointing too far down. Again, do not interfere. It will “flare” automatically; that is, lift its nose to increase lift just before touchdown and lower the rate of descent. As soon as the main wheels make contact with the runway, pull the two throttles back until they will go no further, the “idle” position. The end of the runway will tilt into view and the nose wheel will touch down.
All that remains is to stop. Press with your toes on the rudder pedals to work the wheel brakes. At the same time, lift the small levers on the back of the throttles, which will allow them to move further backwards. This triggers reverse thrust from the engines. Once the aeroplane has slowed to a brisk trot, return the throttles to idle and come to a halt using your feet.
Apply the parking brake, shut down the engines by lifting and twisting the knobs marked ENG 1 and ENG 2, press the PA button and say: “Cabin crew, doors to manual.” If you have landed at Barcelona it is permissible to say “Cabin crew, doors to Manuel.” It’s an old joke, but tensions will be so high that you’re guaranteed a laugh.
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Sod it, I'll bite – it's a long standby today.
Your cut out and keep guide to landing a Dash 8 – Q400 series
So both pilots were foolish enough to eat the crew food, and are now reduced to – as Dr. Rumack from 'Airplane!' would say - a quivering wasted piece of jelly. The cabin crew make a PA asking if anyone can fly a plane, and with James May's wise words ringing in your ears, a steely glint in your eye and a bulge in your trousers, you put down your copy of The Telegraph and stride purposefully to the front of the cabin. To be confronted with your first challenge – how to access the flight deck. Unfortunately the door can only be opened from the inside – by one of the pilots. You could try breaking down the armoured door, but the other passengers would probably assume you're a hijacker and give you a right good kicking. A crash axe would be useful for gaining access, but it's locked away in . . . the flight deck. Of course, the pilots could give you one or two alternative suggestions for getting around the door, but they've both succumbed to the vegetable 'pate' and are consequently about as much use as mammary glands on a fish. So, having failed at the first hurdle, the most sensible course of action would be to break out the duty-free bar and have a massive party, preferably with the attractive young lady in row 10 who doesn't wish to die alone. However, as that makes for a very short article, let's have some fun and pretend that the captain or FO – with his dying breath – has managed to unlock the door for you.
You're in – and boy, are you in for a disappointment. Firstly, the flight deck is around the size of a downstairs loo (often with smells to match) and the pilots are generally qualified contortionists to even get into their seats. Now you have to get one (or both) of them out, and, as sure as eggs is eggs, you'll be confronted by the fattest flight crew in the entire company. Still, with assistance from the cabin crew (wearing hygienic gloves no doubt) you manage to heave the captain out of his seat, without disconnecting the autopilot or breaking anything with his size 12s. Leaving them to administer first aid (or secure him in the forward baggage hold, as appropriate) you now clamber into his still warm – and possibly somewhat damp – seat. Without disconnecting the autopilot or breaking anything with your size 12s.
Safely ensconced, your consider your first move. Otto the autopilot is happily flying the aircraft, and as luck would have it, it's a lovely day with no nasty weather around to complicate things. At the flight planning stage, the crew took one look at the plogs, fell about laughing and elected not to take minimum fuel, so there's no immediate panic and you're not going to fall out of the sky. Happily, LNAV is engaged, rather than HDG, so with aviating and navigating taken care of, it's time for some communication – time to ruin ATC's day. Ah, but how to speak to them? Naturally you'll be wearing the captain's headset (having first wiped the dribble off it) so you look at the control column and – remembering that this job is all just pushing buttons - you consider which button to push. There'll be at least six to choose from, so choose wisely. Not the red one marked "A/P DIS" as that will disconnect the autopilot – and it's a sod to re-engage. Nor the two sliding switches marked "NOSE UP" or "NOSE DN" as they operate the pitch trimmer – which will disconnect the autopilot. Or the one marked "TCS" – that overrides the autopilot. Christ, is there a button on this thing that doesn't disconnect the autopilot? Of course there is – you could press "ATC IDENT" which would cause your little dot to 'ping' on the controller's radar screen, and draw his attention to the fact that some poor sod is wobbling around at 25,000', desperately trying to re-engage the autopilot. Eventually you locate the switch marked "PTT" and "INPH". Naturally you'll press it the wrong way, and nothing will happen, but remembering James May's advice, you finally press it in the direction marked PTT and declare a mayday.
Mayday? What the hell is that? Well, apart from being the Russian New Year, it will signal ATC to launch into a well drilled operation, clearing the skies beneath you, and hopefully finding somewhere nice and quiet for you to go and practice your first ever landing in an airliner. (Helpful hint – they are unlikely to vector you right across central London for an approach to Heathrow 27L, however spectacular the views). They may well ask you to change to the international distress frequency of 121.5MHz. Being a clever chap, you'll already know that to change frequencies, you have to go down to the ARCDU (radio box in English), press the line select button next to "COM 1" to highlight the standby frequency, dial in the new frequency, then press it again to switch the standby to active. For extra points you could twiddle the volume control knob at the bottom of the ARCDU to a more soothing level, but whatever you do don't press it, as you'll deselect it and won't be able to talk to anyone. Anyway, job done, you re-establish communication on 121.5, only to hear some annoying yank half-way across the Atlantic telling you "You're on guard".
ATC meanwhile have been busy, trying to find someone who can talk you down to a safe landing – something of a challenge, as there are people out there who have been flying the Q400 for years and still can't land it properly. Still, they've pulled out all the stops and found you an ace training captain. He instructs you to press "HDG" on the autopilot panel, and the aircraft immediately turns left 30 degrees, as the captain had forgotten to align his heading bug last time he got a direct routing. No matter, you can now steer the aircraft left and right, it's time to go down.
Luckily there are no mountains in your part of the world, so ATC can clear you straight down to the platform altitude for the approach – let's say 3,000'. You dial in 3,000' in the altitude selector, remembering that selected altitude isn't actually displayed anywhere near the altitude selector, and only appears on your Primary Flight Display (PFD). "What a silly design" you think to yourself, not forgetting to press "ALT SEL", which also only appears on the PFD. Because without "ALT SEL", the aircraft will descend right through your selected altitude and continue descending until it hits something hard. Now you press "VS" and dial in a sensible rate of descent, say 1,800fpm, and down you go - having forgotten to close the power levers. The airspeed goes racing away, causing the overspeed warning to start beeping at you and flashing red on your PFD. You smartly close the power levers and the speed reduces. However, the reduced torque effect from the props has now yawed the aircraft's nose, and the autopilot – not having a rudder channel – compensates by rolling in the opposite direction. "MISTRIM" is now cheerily flashing away in yellow on your PFD and you start sliding out of your seat. Somehow you locate the rudder trim switch and manage to operate it – ah, but which way, and in fast or slow setting? Or even better, you could stick in a big bootful of rudder. The aircraft now weaves drunkenly across the sky, and the attractive young lady in row 10 is becoming less impressed by the minute. All this with the autopilot engaged – wouldn't it be fun to hand fly?
Passing 10,000 feet you've finally sorted out the rudder trim, and the speed is stabilised at 250kts. If you're in rural France you'll now be about 6 miles from the runway, and the approach controller - despite knowing full well that not even the space shuttle could get the height off in the remaining miles – will transfer you to the tower and go for lunch, with an almost audible gallic shrug. Let's hope you're not in rural France then, and it's actually more like 30 miles to run. The controller has you on a nice intercept heading for the ILS, and the chisel-jawed training captain has got you to dial in the ILS frequency, select the inbound course and change from pink needles to blue on the PFD. All is well.
Now the aircraft decides to have a bit of fun. Because it was designed in North Americaland, where everyone is speed-limited below 10,000', it has an airspeed limitation of 245kts below 8,000. So, despite you maintaining 250kts and not accelerating at all, the high speed warning marches down the speed tape and starts bleeping at you again. As it won't go down and slow down at the same time (no speed brakes), the only option is to reduce your descent rate to get the speed back. Your lovely 3 degree constant descent approach goes out of the window and ATC are forced to give you extra track miles. One cheeky orbit later, you're back on the intercept heading , the ILS localizer becomes alive on the course bar – and the aircraft sails straight through without capturing it. Cursing the training captain for not reminding you to press "APPR" and arm the approach mode, you re-establish on the localiser from the other side, albeit after a couple of hilarious 'S' turns as the autopilot struggles to cope with a 5kt crosswind.
Finally localizer established, the speed reduces below 200kts, and you select flap 5 and gear down. The autopilot captures the glideslope, and now we're fully established. Below 172kts you can select flap 15 and run the landing checks. Remember though, if you're planning to land with the bleed air selected off, operate the bleed air switches by 500', and not the identically sized and shaped AC generator switches which are located about two inches above them – unless you want an impressive display of Christmas tree lights 30 seconds from touchdown.
Now, as Maverick would say, it's time for some of that pilot sh1t. The aircraft can't autoland (no rudder channel, see) so it's over to you for the last 100 feet or so. Aim for the touchdown zone, start a gentle flare at around the 30' radio altimeter callout, (remembering you're already at a pitch angle of +2 or 3 degrees, and it'll tailstrike with just a few more). Look to the end of the runway, don't plant it, keep her flying, the 10 feet call was a few seconds ago – any moment now she'll grease on, and – BANG! It crash lands from 2 inches above the runway. Any remaining hope of bedding attractive girl in row 10 has now vanished. With hindsight you'd probably have been better off leaving the autopilot in until impact – few people would notice the difference.
Bring the power levers back to "DISC", apply gentle pressure on the toe brakes. Nothing happens, so apply firmer pressure. Still nothing, so stand on them. Brakes now go from "OFF" to "ON" and aircraft shudders down the runway as the antiskid does its stuff. Eventually come to a halt, select parking brake, condition levers to "FUEL OFF" and light yourself a big cigar. For extra hero points, give the punters a quick PA, thank them for travelling with you and tell them you realise they had a choice of airlines today (that's if you can wrestle the PA off the cabin crew, who'll no doubt be directing them towards our hire car partners, AVIS). It's an old joke, but luckily no-one ever listens to the PAs anyway. Finally, extricate yourself from the captain's seat, trying not to put your back out in the process.
Congratulations – you have what it takes.
Your cut out and keep guide to landing a Dash 8 – Q400 series
So both pilots were foolish enough to eat the crew food, and are now reduced to – as Dr. Rumack from 'Airplane!' would say - a quivering wasted piece of jelly. The cabin crew make a PA asking if anyone can fly a plane, and with James May's wise words ringing in your ears, a steely glint in your eye and a bulge in your trousers, you put down your copy of The Telegraph and stride purposefully to the front of the cabin. To be confronted with your first challenge – how to access the flight deck. Unfortunately the door can only be opened from the inside – by one of the pilots. You could try breaking down the armoured door, but the other passengers would probably assume you're a hijacker and give you a right good kicking. A crash axe would be useful for gaining access, but it's locked away in . . . the flight deck. Of course, the pilots could give you one or two alternative suggestions for getting around the door, but they've both succumbed to the vegetable 'pate' and are consequently about as much use as mammary glands on a fish. So, having failed at the first hurdle, the most sensible course of action would be to break out the duty-free bar and have a massive party, preferably with the attractive young lady in row 10 who doesn't wish to die alone. However, as that makes for a very short article, let's have some fun and pretend that the captain or FO – with his dying breath – has managed to unlock the door for you.
You're in – and boy, are you in for a disappointment. Firstly, the flight deck is around the size of a downstairs loo (often with smells to match) and the pilots are generally qualified contortionists to even get into their seats. Now you have to get one (or both) of them out, and, as sure as eggs is eggs, you'll be confronted by the fattest flight crew in the entire company. Still, with assistance from the cabin crew (wearing hygienic gloves no doubt) you manage to heave the captain out of his seat, without disconnecting the autopilot or breaking anything with his size 12s. Leaving them to administer first aid (or secure him in the forward baggage hold, as appropriate) you now clamber into his still warm – and possibly somewhat damp – seat. Without disconnecting the autopilot or breaking anything with your size 12s.
Safely ensconced, your consider your first move. Otto the autopilot is happily flying the aircraft, and as luck would have it, it's a lovely day with no nasty weather around to complicate things. At the flight planning stage, the crew took one look at the plogs, fell about laughing and elected not to take minimum fuel, so there's no immediate panic and you're not going to fall out of the sky. Happily, LNAV is engaged, rather than HDG, so with aviating and navigating taken care of, it's time for some communication – time to ruin ATC's day. Ah, but how to speak to them? Naturally you'll be wearing the captain's headset (having first wiped the dribble off it) so you look at the control column and – remembering that this job is all just pushing buttons - you consider which button to push. There'll be at least six to choose from, so choose wisely. Not the red one marked "A/P DIS" as that will disconnect the autopilot – and it's a sod to re-engage. Nor the two sliding switches marked "NOSE UP" or "NOSE DN" as they operate the pitch trimmer – which will disconnect the autopilot. Or the one marked "TCS" – that overrides the autopilot. Christ, is there a button on this thing that doesn't disconnect the autopilot? Of course there is – you could press "ATC IDENT" which would cause your little dot to 'ping' on the controller's radar screen, and draw his attention to the fact that some poor sod is wobbling around at 25,000', desperately trying to re-engage the autopilot. Eventually you locate the switch marked "PTT" and "INPH". Naturally you'll press it the wrong way, and nothing will happen, but remembering James May's advice, you finally press it in the direction marked PTT and declare a mayday.
Mayday? What the hell is that? Well, apart from being the Russian New Year, it will signal ATC to launch into a well drilled operation, clearing the skies beneath you, and hopefully finding somewhere nice and quiet for you to go and practice your first ever landing in an airliner. (Helpful hint – they are unlikely to vector you right across central London for an approach to Heathrow 27L, however spectacular the views). They may well ask you to change to the international distress frequency of 121.5MHz. Being a clever chap, you'll already know that to change frequencies, you have to go down to the ARCDU (radio box in English), press the line select button next to "COM 1" to highlight the standby frequency, dial in the new frequency, then press it again to switch the standby to active. For extra points you could twiddle the volume control knob at the bottom of the ARCDU to a more soothing level, but whatever you do don't press it, as you'll deselect it and won't be able to talk to anyone. Anyway, job done, you re-establish communication on 121.5, only to hear some annoying yank half-way across the Atlantic telling you "You're on guard".
ATC meanwhile have been busy, trying to find someone who can talk you down to a safe landing – something of a challenge, as there are people out there who have been flying the Q400 for years and still can't land it properly. Still, they've pulled out all the stops and found you an ace training captain. He instructs you to press "HDG" on the autopilot panel, and the aircraft immediately turns left 30 degrees, as the captain had forgotten to align his heading bug last time he got a direct routing. No matter, you can now steer the aircraft left and right, it's time to go down.
Luckily there are no mountains in your part of the world, so ATC can clear you straight down to the platform altitude for the approach – let's say 3,000'. You dial in 3,000' in the altitude selector, remembering that selected altitude isn't actually displayed anywhere near the altitude selector, and only appears on your Primary Flight Display (PFD). "What a silly design" you think to yourself, not forgetting to press "ALT SEL", which also only appears on the PFD. Because without "ALT SEL", the aircraft will descend right through your selected altitude and continue descending until it hits something hard. Now you press "VS" and dial in a sensible rate of descent, say 1,800fpm, and down you go - having forgotten to close the power levers. The airspeed goes racing away, causing the overspeed warning to start beeping at you and flashing red on your PFD. You smartly close the power levers and the speed reduces. However, the reduced torque effect from the props has now yawed the aircraft's nose, and the autopilot – not having a rudder channel – compensates by rolling in the opposite direction. "MISTRIM" is now cheerily flashing away in yellow on your PFD and you start sliding out of your seat. Somehow you locate the rudder trim switch and manage to operate it – ah, but which way, and in fast or slow setting? Or even better, you could stick in a big bootful of rudder. The aircraft now weaves drunkenly across the sky, and the attractive young lady in row 10 is becoming less impressed by the minute. All this with the autopilot engaged – wouldn't it be fun to hand fly?
Passing 10,000 feet you've finally sorted out the rudder trim, and the speed is stabilised at 250kts. If you're in rural France you'll now be about 6 miles from the runway, and the approach controller - despite knowing full well that not even the space shuttle could get the height off in the remaining miles – will transfer you to the tower and go for lunch, with an almost audible gallic shrug. Let's hope you're not in rural France then, and it's actually more like 30 miles to run. The controller has you on a nice intercept heading for the ILS, and the chisel-jawed training captain has got you to dial in the ILS frequency, select the inbound course and change from pink needles to blue on the PFD. All is well.
Now the aircraft decides to have a bit of fun. Because it was designed in North Americaland, where everyone is speed-limited below 10,000', it has an airspeed limitation of 245kts below 8,000. So, despite you maintaining 250kts and not accelerating at all, the high speed warning marches down the speed tape and starts bleeping at you again. As it won't go down and slow down at the same time (no speed brakes), the only option is to reduce your descent rate to get the speed back. Your lovely 3 degree constant descent approach goes out of the window and ATC are forced to give you extra track miles. One cheeky orbit later, you're back on the intercept heading , the ILS localizer becomes alive on the course bar – and the aircraft sails straight through without capturing it. Cursing the training captain for not reminding you to press "APPR" and arm the approach mode, you re-establish on the localiser from the other side, albeit after a couple of hilarious 'S' turns as the autopilot struggles to cope with a 5kt crosswind.
Finally localizer established, the speed reduces below 200kts, and you select flap 5 and gear down. The autopilot captures the glideslope, and now we're fully established. Below 172kts you can select flap 15 and run the landing checks. Remember though, if you're planning to land with the bleed air selected off, operate the bleed air switches by 500', and not the identically sized and shaped AC generator switches which are located about two inches above them – unless you want an impressive display of Christmas tree lights 30 seconds from touchdown.
Now, as Maverick would say, it's time for some of that pilot sh1t. The aircraft can't autoland (no rudder channel, see) so it's over to you for the last 100 feet or so. Aim for the touchdown zone, start a gentle flare at around the 30' radio altimeter callout, (remembering you're already at a pitch angle of +2 or 3 degrees, and it'll tailstrike with just a few more). Look to the end of the runway, don't plant it, keep her flying, the 10 feet call was a few seconds ago – any moment now she'll grease on, and – BANG! It crash lands from 2 inches above the runway. Any remaining hope of bedding attractive girl in row 10 has now vanished. With hindsight you'd probably have been better off leaving the autopilot in until impact – few people would notice the difference.
Bring the power levers back to "DISC", apply gentle pressure on the toe brakes. Nothing happens, so apply firmer pressure. Still nothing, so stand on them. Brakes now go from "OFF" to "ON" and aircraft shudders down the runway as the antiskid does its stuff. Eventually come to a halt, select parking brake, condition levers to "FUEL OFF" and light yourself a big cigar. For extra hero points, give the punters a quick PA, thank them for travelling with you and tell them you realise they had a choice of airlines today (that's if you can wrestle the PA off the cabin crew, who'll no doubt be directing them towards our hire car partners, AVIS). It's an old joke, but luckily no-one ever listens to the PAs anyway. Finally, extricate yourself from the captain's seat, trying not to put your back out in the process.
Congratulations – you have what it takes.
Join Date: Apr 2010
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G-SXTY - A superbly well written and humourous piece of prose!
Biggest giggle of the day by far!! I somehow get the impression you are not that well enamoured with the venerable DHC-8-400
30.......20.......10..................CRASH!!!!!!!
Biggest giggle of the day by far!! I somehow get the impression you are not that well enamoured with the venerable DHC-8-400
30.......20.......10..................CRASH!!!!!!!
Supercharged PPRuNer
Join Date: Nov 2000
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The Q400? Queen of the skies . . .
This question comes up every now and then, and it's always good for a laugh.
Seriously, and without wishing to sound patronising, the chances of a non pilot - or even a PPL – pulling off a successful landing in an airliner are pretty slim. Back when I had zero flying experience but millions of hours on MS FlightSim, I really did think it was just a question of pressing the right buttons. When I got a PPL (like our friend James) I realised there was a bit more to it than that, but I'd still have fancied my chances at landing an airliner.
Now I actually fly one for a living – albeit one without the sophisticated automation of the A330 – I've got more appreciation of the gulf between flying light aircraft and commercial air transport. IMHO, the challenge would overwhelm most PPLs, particularly given the stress of knowing you'll kill yourself it you get it wrong. Everything happens very quickly, and it's very easy to get behind the aircraft. And when you do, it's one hell of a job to catch up with it again. And, as I've hinted, that's on a good day. Throw in some dodgy weather, a few degraded aircraft systems, unhelpful ATC etc, and the challenge would become nigh-on impossible.
It's an entirely different kind of flying.
Altogether.
This question comes up every now and then, and it's always good for a laugh.
Seriously, and without wishing to sound patronising, the chances of a non pilot - or even a PPL – pulling off a successful landing in an airliner are pretty slim. Back when I had zero flying experience but millions of hours on MS FlightSim, I really did think it was just a question of pressing the right buttons. When I got a PPL (like our friend James) I realised there was a bit more to it than that, but I'd still have fancied my chances at landing an airliner.
Now I actually fly one for a living – albeit one without the sophisticated automation of the A330 – I've got more appreciation of the gulf between flying light aircraft and commercial air transport. IMHO, the challenge would overwhelm most PPLs, particularly given the stress of knowing you'll kill yourself it you get it wrong. Everything happens very quickly, and it's very easy to get behind the aircraft. And when you do, it's one hell of a job to catch up with it again. And, as I've hinted, that's on a good day. Throw in some dodgy weather, a few degraded aircraft systems, unhelpful ATC etc, and the challenge would become nigh-on impossible.
It's an entirely different kind of flying.
Altogether.
Dir. PPRuNe Line Service
It's an entirely different kind of flying.
Although not being an airline pilot, I was lucky enough to get about 12 hours in a big jet sim many years ago. Even with an experienced pilot in the right hand seat, my first landing was not exactly successful - although unlike some, I did manage to keep the debris on the runway
PPD
Although not being an airline pilot, I was lucky enough to get about 12 hours in a big jet sim many years ago. Even with an experienced pilot in the right hand seat, my first landing was not exactly successful - although unlike some, I did manage to keep the debris on the runway
PPD
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@G-SXTY - I have just p***ed myself laughing all the way through that, getting some very funny looks from people in the office - way to go 
More of that please!!
More of that please!!
Job description
Many years ago my (then) young son was describing to a friend of his what being an airline pilot entailed-as he'd recently travelled in the flight deck on a trip with me.
He described the job as "essentially sequential button pushing". Noticing the stern look I was giving him he amended this to: "Of course if you get the sequence wrong it's usually fatal".
S
He described the job as "essentially sequential button pushing". Noticing the stern look I was giving him he amended this to: "Of course if you get the sequence wrong it's usually fatal".
S
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Brilliant
Several lifetimes ago I flew 1000 hours on the Dash 8 300, and loved it. Then moved onto the shiny jet world and discovered the ease of operation and peace and quiet that I'd never experienced before. Being nostalgic, in a fit of madness I bought the Dash 8 add on for FS. (did I say I was a closet anorak as well?). Also being an expert I tried going from cold with the dark cockpit. Took me nearly an hour just to get the APU going, let alone start the blooming engines.
Having also read JM's extract, he picked the right aircraft. Hats off to you turbo prop guys. I enjoyed my time, but wouldn't want to go back.
Now for a really difficult recovery, he would have started down the back in one of Britten Norman's finest mini tristars
Several lifetimes ago I flew 1000 hours on the Dash 8 300, and loved it. Then moved onto the shiny jet world and discovered the ease of operation and peace and quiet that I'd never experienced before. Being nostalgic, in a fit of madness I bought the Dash 8 add on for FS. (did I say I was a closet anorak as well?). Also being an expert I tried going from cold with the dark cockpit. Took me nearly an hour just to get the APU going, let alone start the blooming engines.
Having also read JM's extract, he picked the right aircraft. Hats off to you turbo prop guys. I enjoyed my time, but wouldn't want to go back.
Now for a really difficult recovery, he would have started down the back in one of Britten Norman's finest mini tristars
