Cockpit Chronicles: Airline de-icing

by Kent Wien on

Not only does the frosty precipitation add weight to an aircraft, but it also disrupts the flow of air over the wings and tail and can cause an accident if the circumstances are just right. The FAA and NASA have gone through great lengths to teach pilots about the adverse effects that snow and ice can have on an airplane.

But the most important lesson pilots learned from was from the infamous Air Florida 90 crash in Washington D.C. in 1982. But snow on the wings wasn’t the only problem that aircraft had to deal with. Even more of a factor was the iced up engine probe that is used to display the amount of thrust the airplane was developing during takeoff. The result was that the 737 was producing much less power than the pilots thought, at a time when the snow and short runway made an accurate power setting vital.

Airline deicing has presented a problem long before the jet age arrived. During the twenties while flying passengers in Alaska, my grandfather not only had to make sure the wings were clear of snow and frost, but he had to preheat the engine oil, usually over a stove in the coldest conditions, before putting it back in the preheated motor that was warmed from below using a custom made stove with large blankets wrapped over the engine.


Noel Wien Photo – 1929

While flying to the Eskimo villages outside of Bethel, Alaska, as a new co-pilot I was tasked with using a push broom to get the snow and ice off the top of the wings of the Twin Otter. Usually it was a simple matter of brushing the cold snow from the wing while crawling across the slick aluminum with a push broom. But sometimes the ice was so thick that it was necessary to break it up as gently as possible with the side of handle. It was during one of these mornings, in the cold dark winter, that I thought to myself that Twin Otters were also flown in Hawaii and that I might want to look into that. I managed to capture some of those ice-cold days in a video from back then.

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Prior to landing a flying job, I worked for Era as a ramper on the night shift and one of the tasks I was trained to do was to de-ice aircraft in the morning. I learned two lessons from that experience. Firstly, that it was very important not to spray the glycol based de-ice fluid into the wind, and second, that this fluid tasted a lot like maple syrup.

How much does it cost and how long does it last?

The De-ice Process

I have a lot of sympathy today for the certified deicers that clean our airplanes. It’s not an easy job.

Before every ‘snow event’ as our base in Boston calls these storms, crews are assigned and trucks are prepared for the day’s worth of spraying. It’s ultimately up to the pilots when and what type of de-icing fluid is to be used, but the deicers do a good job of planning ahead, especially at our base.

Everything is based on what’s called a ‘holdover time.’ This is the amount of time the FAA says the Type I or Type IV fluid can prevent snow, ice-pellets or freezing rain from adhering to the wings.

Years ago, Type I fluid was really our only option. It’s a de-icing fluid that is used to remove the snow and ice from the airplane. But it’s holdover time was then and still is today rather limited; typically between ten and thirty minutes in duration. So by the time you’re de-iced, if there is any delay departing, which invariably happens during a snow storm as the airport opens and closes runways for clearing, the holdover time is often met.

It is possible to takeoff with an expired holdover time, but it involves an inspection by a pilot from inside the cabin or certified de-icer from the outside within five minutes of departure. This might explain why you’ve seen a pilot come back to check on the wings on occasion before takeoff.

This inspection is very rare today, since we now have Type IV fluid, which is an anti-icing fluid. It’s far more common now to use a two-step process using Type I to remove the snow and Type IV to ensure a long holdover time. Our charts show that Type IV fluid can resist snow for as much as an hour and a half.

While the wings must not have snow or ice adhering to the upper surfaces, the fuselage is usually cleared as well, since the added accumulation can add weight to the aircraft.

The whole process isn’t cheap. Currently Type I fluid costs $3.29 a gallon and Type IV fluid runs a rather steep $5.79. Often these fluids are diluted with up to 50% of the solution made up of warm water, but it’s not uncommon for an airline to spend over $5,000 on a single ice-coated airplane.

Even though it’s so expensive, the effectiveness of Type IV fluid is rather startling-it’s not uncommon to fly for a few hours and still have an oily film sticking to the surface of the airplane after landing.

Occasionally, when the snow fall has slowed a bit, it’s common for the airplane to be de-iced before it’s even boarded, so you won’t encounter the delays from the de-ice process. But the station has to make a determination that the snow won’t be picking up in intensity anytime soon.

If the airplane is to be de-iced after pushing back from the gate with passengers on board, we close off any outside air from entering the cabin during the de-icing to prevent the fluid smell from entering the airplane. A few years back, an Alaska jet had a well publicized incident where de-icing fluid mist filled the airplane while it was getting de-iced. Closing the engine ‘bleed air’ and turning off the air-conditioning ‘packs’ reduces this smell significantly.

Finally, there’s one other anti-icing fluid used to make flying safer and that’s on the runway itself. Airports often add anti-ice fluid in the form of potassium acetate to a runway after plowing the snow in order to keep the braking action fair or better as reported by the airplanes landing there.

The next time you see a de-icer giving your airplane a glycol bath, give ’em a thumbs up. They could use any warm thoughts you might be able to send their way.

Cockpit Chronicles takes you along on some of Kent’s trips as an international co-pilot on the Boeing 757 and 767 based in Boston. Have any questions for Kent? Check out Plane Answers or follow him on Twitter @veryjr.

Cockpit Chronicles: A new year’s eve to celebrate in London

by Kent Wien on

When I was in high school, I got to know a sweet and charming exchange student from Germany named Linda. We hung out together and I did my best to show her around Seattle before she had to go home six weeks later. I regretted not having the opportunity to get to know her ten months earlier when she first came to the U.S.

Five years went by, and we would write an occasional letter. She’d tell me about her life in Germany, which revolved around a constant barrage of tests or how she’d been accepted into a school she’d always wanted to attend and I’d tell her about whatever flying rating I was chasing or what classes I was taking at the time. I always knew I’d see her again, or at least I had hoped I would.

While flying for Era, a regional airline based in Anchorage, I happened to write a letter that would forever change my life. I was in the town of Deadhorse, up on the north slope of Alaska, flying some scientists who were tracking the migration patterns of bowhead whales. For nearly a week, the weather wasn’t good enough to look for these whales from the air, so I wrote to Linda and happened to mention that I could travel cheaply-free in fact, if I were willing to ride on a FedEx cargo plane to Germany from Anchorage-and that I would love to see where she lived.
Before heading out to dinner one night in Anchorage, I checked the mail. A letter from Germany had arrived. I stuffed it in my coat pocket and drove to the restaurant with my sister and a good friend. I couldn’t wait to open it, so after placing my order for beer battered Halibut, I tore open the envelope. Linda hadn’t wasted much time writing back. The letter explained that she’d be in London for New Year’s eve with some friends from school and invited me to join them if that was possible. I was excited to leave right away, but I wondered if we’d have anything in common, since we last saw each other at the age of seventeen.

In London, we stayed at a place called “Ken’s Guest House” in a room that wasn’t much larger than a walk-in closet. The decor included three black and white TVs stacked on top of each other in the corner, no furniture to speak of and a shared bathroom down the hall. We didn’t really mind the spartan room since we wouldn’t be staying there long-we’d be moving to a youth hostel the next day anyway. After ringing in New Year’s of 1991, we talked until 7a.m. For a better idea of what happened to us, just watch the movie Before Sunrise. The next day, Linda introduced me to her parents who were also visiting London.

It wasn’t long before Linda was visiting me in Anchorage and I was spending all of my time traveling to see her in Germany and later in Wales. For two years I commuted from Alaska to Europe. We were married in Seattle just weeks before I landed a job at a major airline that promptly furloughed the bottom 600 pilots. We moved ten times during those next three years, but now we’re happily settled in New England.

Today, I fly to London regularly as a crew member and I can’t help but think of that first meeting with Linda, at the Victoria train station, and how we celebrated New Year’s eve together at Trafalger Square in 1991. Twenty years later, I managed to trade away my Barbados 25-hour overnight for a 44-hour layover to Heathrow. With so much time in London, why not bring my wife along to celebrate twenty years since the date that brought us together. We could swing through the Victoria station and just catch the midnight swarm of people at the square.

I immediately checked the loads, which is to say, just how full the flight was over and back. Three months earlier, I tried to get Linda on one of my trips while her mother was visiting from Germany and was willing to watch the kids. Unfortunately, I found myself waving goodbye to her from the cockpit as we were pushing back from the gate in Boston. Every seat was filled on the 767.

According to the computer, this time we’d have plenty of seats on the flight over. Coming home would be a different story. Should we risk it, I asked? Linda thought there were worse things in life than being stuck in London, a position I’m sure a few London travelers who had been stuck at the airport earlier that week would disagree with.

It couldn’t have worked out better. Linda got a seat in the back but stayed up in the cockpit while the passengers boarded and I explained just how to preflight the airplane, what we checked for and what everything on the overhead panel did. It had been eight years since Linda had been on a flight with me, and I was probably more excited than she was to have her come along.

Let’s face it, layovers by yourself can be boring, repetitive and even depressing. Flying to the same hotel, in the same city over and over, with little energy or motivation to get out-especially in the winter-can leave you wishing you could bring along a friend or loved one. Of course, it’s nice to fly with co-workers you consider friends, as I’ve written about in the past, but it’s a huge treat to bring along a spouse.

It was my ‘leg’ to fly over to London, so of course, anytime you know someone in the back, the pressure is always there to make an extra smooth landing. With a little help from the tower controllers at Heathrow, the touchdown was even better than my usual “landing only a mother could love.”

Typically at Heathrow there is an airplane flying just 3 miles behind you when you touchdown. This means flights are required to spend a minimum amount of time on the runway. That night however, the tower informed us that there was no one behind and we could plan on rolling to whatever turnoff we’d prefer. I touched down in the normal target a thousand feet down the runway and then instead of using a significant amount of brakes and reverse thrust, elected to roll to a slow stop using two thirds of the two mile long runway.

I escorted Linda through the terminal, meeting up with the rest of the crew as they pulled up in the bus that would take us to the hotel in western London.

By this time it was 8:30 p.m., so we decided to get some dinner after changing at the hotel. We made an appearance at the pub downstairs and had just enough time for a drink and visit with a few others from our flight before going upstairs to watch the rumored fireworks from the window of our room. I had heard that most of the fireworks would be near the London Eye, but we were shocked by the spectacular display which broke out directly from the giant wheel. Without a doubt, they were the best fireworks display we’d ever seen. From the BBC:

A 44-hour layover gives you the luxury of sleeping in a bit and staying closer to your home time zone. As much as London has to offer on January 1st, Linda was very much looking forward to not having to set an alarm clock.

We wandered down to a Starbucks quaint cafe for some tea.

“Did you put sugar in my tea?” Linda asked.

“Uh, yeah. Don’t you take milk and sugar?” I said, realizing immediately that she didn’t.

“I’ve never put sugar in my tea!”

This was bad. Linda was actually born in Belfast before she moved as a kid to Germany. The one cultural habit she kept from her years in Northern Ireland was an affinity for tea. And not just an occasional cup of tea, she started the day with tea and she took time in the afternoon for her “wee cup of tea.” After eighteen years of marriage, not knowing how she took her tea was not a good way to start off a romantic weekend getaway.

After retracing some of our steps twenty years ago, such as finding the best book stores in London and eating at a Chinese restaurant where I first got to know her parents, we popped into a cafe (this time not Starbucks) for a pre-theatre cup of tea. I managed to get the order right and we joked about it a bit.

I may have salvaged the tea faux pas with tickets to We will Rock You, which I knew would be the perfect musical to see if we were feeling a bit jet lagged. Linda loved the show and we were certainly wide awake afterwards, so we headed down to Trafalgar Square to see the area where the New Year’s celebration had been-the night before and ours twenty years ago.

A few blocks south was the Thames, so we headed down there to look at the London Eye across the river. We headed back toward another tube station, and just passed Big Ben as the clock struck midnight and the bells wailed.

The next morning we still had plenty of time to tour the city, so we set out to walk in front of Buckingham Palace and then to take a peak into the famous department store Harrods, during their one and only annual sale. Harrods turned out to be absolutely packed, and honestly there wasn’t anything there that either of us were interested in. But it was a spectacle to be seen, that’s for sure.

With just a couple of seats open for the flight home, we were a bit worried about Linda getting a seat. Fortunately the loads improved and the flight ended up with ten open coach seats. The flight attendants, some of whom I hadn’t worked with before, gave Linda a little extra special attention without making her feel like a burden on them.

So while being married to a pilot may have a few significant drawbacks-Linda often feels like she’s a single mother-there are occasionally some times when a really good deal like this comes along.

Thanks Linda for putting up with twenty years of this often turbulent career. It looks like a smoother ride is ahead, I think. But maybe we’ll just leave the seatbelt sign on.

London Travel Guide

Cockpit Chronicles takes you along on some of Kent’s trips as an international co-pilot on the Boeing 757 and 767 based in Boston. Have any questions for Kent? Check out Plane Answers or follow him on Twitter @veryjr.

Cockpit Chronicles: Nearly a near midair collision

by Kent Wien on

“Traffic, Traffic!” Announced the computer voice from the speaker on the ceiling just above me.

This is something we hear frequently enough, perhaps once every three or four flights when an airplane in close proximity is climbing rapidly with a clearance to level off 1,000 feet below us. The TCAS (Traffic Collision and Avoidance System) is just giving us a warning that, should the airplane not level off, we may have to take action.

We were at FL390 (39,000 feet), an altitude where the traffic warning was far less likely. The captain and I looked down at the TCAS screen to get a quick idea where we should be looking for the other airplane. It was 800 feet lower than us and at our 2 o’clock position. It was easy to spot, with huge puffy contrails billowing out and slightly below it. A 737 for sure. We were both satisfied that it would pass behind us, since it was moving from left to right across the windscreen. A stationary position in the sky would mean it was coming right at us.

But before we could discuss this passing airplane, the computer voice came on once again.

“Climb, Climb now!”
Our procedures dictate that we should honor thy TCAS request, known as a Resolution Advisory or RA, by disconnecting the autopilot and following the rate of climb commands computed by the TCAS system.

Since it was my leg, I immediately disconnected the autopilot, while glancing down at the vertical speed indicator to find out just how many feet per minute of a climb would be needed. It wasn’t much, in fact. Just 200 feet per minute, hardly even noticeable to the passengers. It commanded a level off when we were at 39,100 feet and shortly after allowed us to settle back down to our original altitude.

All this was done in a matter of seconds, with no input or guidance from Air Traffic Control. In fifteen years using TCAS, this was only my second resolution advisory-the other one having occurred while on approach just east of Port-Au-Prince Haiti years ago.

“Center, confirm we were cleared from 380 to 400?” The other aircraft asked.

The controller said yes, which made us think this could have been an error on the part of the controller.

“Can you explain then what just happened?” The 737 pilot queried.

There was no answer from the controller.

We let the controller know that we had also just responded to a resolution advisory. The other pilot asked for a phone number of the Air Traffic Control center that he could call. We copied this number down as well.

There was some discussion between the captain and I whether we needed to report this as a near midair collision (NMAC). I pulled my manuals out, now conveniently located on an EFB equipped iPad (Electronic Flight Bag) and searched for the NTSB criteria for a near midair collision. Nothing came up.

But I did find an interesting recent change to our procedures. The NTSB (National Transportation Safety Board) requires that any flight responding to a TCAS resolution advisory above 18,000 feet must pull the voice recorder circuit breaker after completing the parking checklist. This would allow the NTSB to analyze the tapes from ATC and the aircraft involved in the loss of separation incident.

Just knowing that the NTSB would be listening to our conversation for the next two hours tends to make you aware of every word you’re saying. In fact, I debated with myself about getting into a discussion during our approach briefing about wind and gust additives that we would be applying for the approach.

I recognize that there’s value in allowing the NTSB access to the conversations that led up to an incident. They’ll hopefully study the procedures and policies that could prevent this kind of situation. There’s still a big brother feel to it.

I couldn’t help but feel bad for the controller on duty. While the captain and I were waiting for the employee bus, he phoned the air traffic control center. The controller explained that a clearance was given to the Trans-Siberiana 1701, but that Trans-Siberiana 1790, who had also asked for a climb, had accepted the clearance instead. All airline names have been changed to protect the innocent.

I looked up the FAA definition of a Near Midair Collision:

A near midair collision is defined as an incident associated with the operation of an aircraft in which a possibility of collision occurs as a result of proximity of less than 500 feet to another aircraft, or a report is received from a pilot or a flight crew member stating that a collision hazard existed between two or more aircraft.

It turned out we were just a 100 to 200 feet away from the NMAC definition. So I guess it was “nearly a near midair collision.”

We both filed a report detailing the events. I recently received the response. We did everything by the book and it obviously wasn’t our fault, which meant that the case was closed as far as our involvement.

Someday I hope we’ll have a third layer of safety in addition to the protection offered by ATC and TCAS in the form of a two-lane airway using a half mile offset to the right. Ever since GPS was invented, we have reduced the normally 8-mile wide airways down to just a few feet thanks to the precise nature of the technology. But with that came greater reliance on TCAS to keep us out of trouble. I wrote about an inexpensive offset airway proposal previously and I’d love for the FAA to take another look at it. Adding layers to our safety net is what has made air travel so much more safe than in the early years of flying.

Cockpit Chronicles takes you along on some of Kent’s trips as an international co-pilot on the Boeing 757 and 767 based in Boston. Have any questions for Kent? Check out Plane Answers or follow him on Twitter @veryjr.

Cockpit Chronicles: How to bypass U.S. Customs with Global Entry

by Kent Wien on

Sometimes it seems like there’s more time spent standing in line than actually flying when you’re traveling. There’s a line at check-in, security, customs and immigration, the gate, and on the other end while deplaning, going through customs and immigration and finally baggage claim. International travelers know that the U.S. immigration line that forms when coming into the United States can be one of the longest lines they’ll experience.

Fortunately for crew members while at work, we’re given either an employee line for security or allowed to move to the front of the line. Customs in many other countries are abbreviated for pilots and flight attendants, but back at home, the crew line can be even slower than the line for passengers.

After flying for many hours to get to the U.S., overseas pilots and flight attendants, experience even longer delays while going through our immigration lines. Each time they come here, which can be as much as five times a month, they have to submit fingerprints and have their photo taken. And for some reason, the computer takes quite a few minutes to process for each crew member. It’s especially irksome for them, since U.S. crews arriving in their country experience little or no customs interrogation at all.

So we cringe anytime we see a 747 that has just arrived before us in Boston, since it often means we’ll be behind the 18 crew members coming from France or Germany. But we’ve discovered a way around these lines that’s available to all U.S. travelers.
The best way to bypass all this hassle is by using the new “Global Entry” program. This almost secretive ‘line-skipping’ club is available to frequent travelers as well. Imagine arriving from your trip, and instead of waiting in line, you simply walk up to an ATM style kiosk and after just 60 seconds, you’re on your way.

But the first step to be registered for Global Entry is to sign up at their website and answer a few questions in preparation for the background check.

The process took me about 15 minutes, mostly because because I had to list all the countries I had visited in the past year. After submitting a fee of $100 to be in the program for the next five years, I was told that I’d be contacted when the checks were complete, after which, I could then schedule an interview with a Customs agent.

I never actually received that notification, but I looked up my status after a few days and discovered that my background check was complete and I could schedule an interview online.

The options were wide open for times and dates, so I picked the soonest available slot. I was anxious to sail through customs after my next trip, while waving at the rest of my coworkers as I passed by.

The interview took place at the airport, not far from where we normally exit the terminal after our screening. After collecting all ten fingerprints and answering a few simple questions, I was good to go. No card was needed-my passport would serve as the key.

At the interview, they took a moment to demonstrate the steps involved when I used the ATM style kiosk next to the customs line. First, I had my passport, a non-RFID chipped older style version, scanned while a camera looked at my face. Then I placed my fingers over a scanner before answering a few questions. In the future, if I’m carrying less than the maximum exemption of goods for crew members, I won’t have to fill out any declarations paperwork, a nice bonus I hadn’t expected.

The kiosk knows which flight you were on and, after confirming the flight information, it prints out a piece of paper that you then take to the customs officer just before leaving the terminal.

I’ve now been using Global Entry for almost a year and I have yet to stand in line for a kiosk in Miami, New York, San Juan or Boston. In the beginning, there was a bit of confusion as to how much was required of someone using Global Entry, but they now just look at the receipt before letting me pass.

It seems to be the best kept secret for frequent international travelers, since I’ve never encountered anyone else in line.

If you fly more than three times a year, I’d recommend taking the time to get registered with Global Entry. I only wish it could be made available for foreign crews and travelers as well.

Cockpit Chronicles takes you along on some of Kent’s trips as an international co-pilot on the Boeing 757 and 767 based in Boston. Have any questions for Kent? Check out Plane Answers or follow him on Twitter @veryjr.

Cockpit Chronicles: Avoiding bird strikes

by Kent Wien on

On the season finale of the TV show 30 Rock, Alex Baldwin says to a pilot, played by Matt Damon:

“You’re a pilot, huh. I should pick your brain. I’m developing a daytime talk show with Sully Sullenberger.”

“Yeah, I met that guy. He’s not that great.” Matt Damon, the pilot, says.

“You know what a great pilot would have done? Not hit the birds. That’s what I do every day, not hit the birds. Where’s my ticket to the Grammy’s?”

For U.S. readers, Hulu has a free clip of the exchange.

After I wiped the tears from my eyes from laughing so hard, I realized Captain Damon had a point. In fact, avoiding birds has been a big part of my job for the past two months.

While so much attention is focused on the migratory birds in New York and even Boston, the pterodactyl sized birds of Caracas, Venezuela and Panama City, Panama were appearing far too often. I began to notice a trend. On nearly every arrival and on most departures I flew during the two months of flying down there from Boston and through Miami, we had seen these large turkey vultures and, in Panama City we even had pelicans cross our flight path.

Not Hitting the Birds

Every pilot has had, or at least will see, a few bird strikes in their career. Typically they involve small birds that merely splatter on the windshield or radome without leaving much of a mark. I do feel sympathy for the little creatures with which we share the sky. They were certainly here first, and I’m sure an airliner approaching at five times their own speed has to come as a surprise and significant annoyance to them. There’s just no avoiding these smaller birds.


Small Bird Strike in Barbados

But when it comes to the larger birds, what I jokingly refer to as pterodactyls, we can occasionally see them as much as ten seconds prior to impact. When they’re no longer moving left or right, or up or down across our screen, and instead start out as a little dot on the windshield that rapidly grows in size, you know you’re on track for a possible impact.

We were determined to have a smooth, event-free arrival into Panama City on this trip after the controller confusion fiasco I talked about last week. And it should have been; the weather was looking good, the more senior weekday controllers were sharp and there wasn’t a bump in the air. Surely this would be an uneventful flight.
As is common, to change things up a bit, it was my turn to fly the leg from Miami to Panama City, Panama. Once again, the weather was advertised as 2000 feet scattered and 10 kilometers, exactly the same weather we had on the last trip. During the next five trips to PTY, the reported weather never changed, but the actual weather certainly did.

This time, ATC vectored us out a bit further, and perhaps because they were more senior controllers working the weekday shift, their English seemed much better.

While at a flap setting of 25 and just as I was ready to call for the final flap setting of 30 degrees, Dave said, “There’s a bird.”

I had been looking down at my speed and altitude, to ensure I was fully configured by the 1,000 foot requirement. (See the previous Cockpit Chronicles about FOQA.)

I looked up to see another pterodactyl directly in our flight path. It was flying at first, and then it must have noticed the massive jet bearing down on it, since it began to almost freeze in the air and flail its wings in a very cartoon-like fashion.

I instinctively pulled back on the yoke, not abruptly but with some urgency and managed to clear the spasmodic turkey vulture by just a few feet. We got the last of the flaps out at 1,100 feet and landed without incident.

I wondered if the flight attendants and passengers felt the adjustment to our flight path.

“Did you notice anything on final?” I asked one of our South American based flight attendants.

“Yes!” She said. “What was that?”

So much for no one noticing. Apparently she had been collecting last minute cups and glasses and was actually standing in the aisle at 1,000 feet, a fact that scared me a bit, since it’s usually safe to assume the flight attendants have completed their duties by that point.

Once again at the debrief dinner with Dave, we discussed the approach. He thought it may have been better to continue on the path and hope the bird could maneuver out of the way.

“Worst cast scenario, you hit him. But the impact at 150 knots is much less than at 250.” He speculated.

Dave had a point. We’ve all seen pictures of some nasty bird strikes in the past, but most of the significant ones were while the airplane was climbing and had already accelerated to 250 knots, our speed limit below 10,000 feet.

We had some close calls on takeoff the following week, and so we decided to take Dave’s theory on speed and put it to use.

The “European Climb”

When climbing out of any European airport, we’re required to maintain a slower speed, approximately 20 knots faster than the speed at which we lifted off the ground until 3,000 feet above the airport elevation. We’re still using the same power setting-exchanging the extra speed for a quicker climb.

Since most birds fly below 3,000 feet, why not limit our speed while operating around these areas prone to large numbers of pterodactyls? We could reduce the impact forces since high school physics taught me (or was it drivers education?) that twice the speed results in four times the damage.

The next day, we had a plan. We would fly the European-style climb, which would get us up and away from the ground quicker, and also limit our speed to just 160 knots. A quick crunching of numbers told us that this would be 58% of the energy that we’d have at 250 knots.

On came the weather radar as well, since there has been speculation that birds can actually hear or sense the radar on an airplane and that it may help prevent bird strikes. It couldn’t hurt, I figured.

Sure enough, while climbing through 2,200 feet, we encountered two of the turkey vultures we had seen the day before. This time they passed 20 feet above us and to the right.

I continued to use the European climb technique when flying from Caracas, Venezuela and San Pedro Sula, Honduras over the next few months. It’s a technique that seems to make sense and I hope it’s adopted at airports with significant bird populations.

Much attention has been given to the rounding up of geese in the New York area to limit the exposure to birds. I suspect this is a rather futile measure, but I understand the need to do something to reduce the exposure. The steeper angled, slower speed climb that Dave came up with just might be one way to accomplish that goal.

Addendum:

Just as I was finishing this post, I saw the story reported two days earlier that a garbage dump had been approved for construction just 2,206 feet from the approach end of runway 31 in LaGuardia. And where there’s garbage, there are birds, generally. But Harry Szarpanski, deputy commissioner at New York City’s Sanitation Department, explains in the report that the new design will prevent any smells and trash from escaping the facility. We’ll see.

Even at the slower speeds that airplanes operate close to the airport, birds can still cause problems, as seen in this riveting video by Simon Lowe of a bird strike and subsequent engine fire on a Boeing 757 taking off at the Manchester airport in England.

Cockpit Chronicles takes you along on some of Kent’s trips as an international co-pilot on the Boeing 757 and 767 based in Boston. Have any questions for Kent? Check out Plane Answers or follow him on Twitter @veryjr.