Jumpseat: A Brazilian Turnaround

The trip was manned with a third pilot. Our rest breaks were just under three hours. Having the option of using the crew bunk or the designated first-class seat was an added bonus. Perhaps I could grow accustomed to the life cycle of a fruit bat … or not.

In any case, my South America flying has been infrequent. The opportunity to operate a new jet in new territory would be a worthwhile experience. The trip left from JFK at 9:35 p.m. and arrived in São Paulo approximately 10 hours later. Once at the layover hotel, the typical routine for most of us is to sleep for a few hours. It's just enough time for the 80-grit sandpaper to fall out of our eyes. The objective is to maintain the fatigue factor at a level where enough energy remains to hunt for food and a frosty beverage while still being tired enough to sleep that evening. The following day, the schedule involved a 10:30 a.m. departure to Rio de Janeiro and a return to São Paulo that night.

It appeared to be an easy turnaround of approximately 35 minutes in both directions — except for the fact that somebody must have seen me coming.

Problems were encountered even before we left the hotel for the airport. The normal equipment for the trip was the inbound airplane that arrived from JFK — just like the one we had flown the night prior. Unfortunately, the airplane departed JFK late. The late arrival delayed our departure to Rio. Our reward for the domino effect was that an hour would be subtracted from our flight pay due to the reduction of our contractual on-duty-time pay rate. (It's a simple formula that only a computer can manage. I still scratch my head after 26 years of employment.) The upside of the reschedule was that we had limited exposure to São Paulo rush hour traffic, which can make the Grand Central Parkway at 5 o'clock look like the Indianapolis Speedway.

As I reviewed the flight plan in São Paulo Operations, I discovered that our fuel load didn't leave us with a lot of options if the trip didn't go quite as planned. My comfort level is not so much dependent on a fixed quantity remaining in the tanks upon landing but that we have just enough extra to burn in the event of any unforeseen contingencies. Because of current fuel prices and the economic climate, my airline has focused a lot of effort on conservation. Investment in winglets for some fleets, airplane performance reviews and historic trip analyses are some examples of this conservation campaign. Unfortunately, the campaign places a lot of pressure on dispatchers and captains to accept less fuel.

Considering the fact that the weather was IFR in both São Paulo and Rio, with each airport having special procedures for engine-out scenarios because of terrain, I elected to add a few extra minutes of fuel. With barely 50 hours of flight time on the airplane, my personal comfort level was not quite up to Chuck Yeager status. My decision would prove to be worthwhile.

Because of weather conditions, the wind was not behaving with its usual easterly flow. Untypical of São Paulo, the runway configuration was a west departure from 27 Right. The untypical departure required a different SID. No big deal, except for the fact that my well-seasoned copilot remarked that he had never experienced such an operation. I reminded him with a grin that he was flying with me.

Considering the limited amount of time available en route to reprogram the FMS course to Rio and the fact that numerous waypoints had specific altitude crossing restrictions and speeds, we collectively predicted the logical arrival before we left the gate. That, of course, sealed our fate.

It wasn't long after our quick climb to our low cruising altitude of 27,000 feet that ATC cleared us via a new arrival. Rio had changed its configuration from a normal Runway 15 operation to a west landing on Runway 28. A few finger pushes later, my copilot completed the appropriate entries into the FMC. I rebriefed new altitudes and a new approach and made a welcome/goodbye PA to our customers. Once again, we sealed our fate.

Almost at the halfway point, air traffic control pitched a curveball. We were given holding instructions. My fingers danced across the FMC keypad as I entered the hold parameters. With the entries complete, I designated supervision of the airplane and the autopilot to my copilot. I had fuel numbers to crunch. My rough crunching indicated that we had only about 15 minutes to make circles before we would have to change course for our alternate, which just happened to be São Paulo.

As the digital display of fuel on the EICAS screen counted down to lower numbers, air traffic control indicated that three more turns would be necessary. Three more turns would bring us to the fuel limit that I had calculated. I directed my copilot to just say no. He cringed, knowing that communication of nonstandard requests that are off the script can sometimes be difficult in Brazil. A few moments of long silence permeated the frequency. And then we were directed to proceed back on the arrival to Rio. Cool. My strategy had worked.

As we continued the untypical theme of the trip, we were faced with a new challenge … well, maybe a new-old challenge. In the States, ATC uses specific clearance verbiage for an arrival that contains step-down crossing altitudes. The clearance language is something to the effect of "cleared to descend via the such and such arrival." In Brazil, that instruction is not always stated. Often, ATC will simply offer an instruction to descend to a specific altitude. The altitude may or may not correspond to the altitude printed on the chart.

As we navigated the STAR into Rio, we were given descent clearances to specific altitudes, which left us unclear as to the authorization for continuing lower. I stuck with the conservative tack and descended no lower than the last clearance. At the moment in time when a descent would be conducive to not being high for the initial approach, ATC took the opportunity to have a long conversation with another airplane. Of course, the conversation was in Portuguese. And the conversation seemed to be a chat rather than a function of controlling air traffic.

When a language foreign to a pilot's ear is utilized, situational awareness all but disappears except for activity in the cockpit. Many countries speak to their national airlines in the local tongue, but Brazil seems to do so more frequently. The ICAO standard is, of course, English.

Once the chat ended, we were given an approach clearance almost immediately. Better late than never. Considering the fact that the weather was 800/1 in light rain, I had thought it best to reduce our speed even before the rambling conversation began. It's a good strategy on the 777. The airplane is almost impossible to descend and slow simultaneously.

When we were changed to tower frequency, the controller issued a warning for birds at various altitudes on the final approach course. The bird warning is not unusual for Rio, nor is it unusual for any airport near open water. We all heed the advice, but other than awareness, not much is operationally changed.

Once we descended into visual conditions, I realized just how accurate the bird report really was. Black dots peppered the space between us and the runway. Great. Why would an animal 1/100th the size of a jumbo jet consider competing in the same airspace? Suicide perhaps …?

In any case, I did my best to roll and duck with gentle movements. Luck or skill prevailed. No evidence of my winged friends was found on the aluminum later. We landed without incident.

Prior to the landing, my copilot had briefed the typical taxi route, but on par with the trip, it was not meant to be. The normal entrance to the ramp was blocked ‐ not stated, of course, anywhere within the appropriate notam messages. It didn't matter. We found the gate despite the obstacles.

The time between the scheduled arrival and the scheduled departure from Rio is just over six hours. Normally we walk through the concourse to the layover hotel located just inside the terminal, but our tardy day had condensed the time. The consensus from the crew was a desire to remain on the airplane. The agents were initially resistant because of local security procedures, but they relented when I agreed that we would vacate the airplane in order for the ground crew to complete its cleaning.

The plan worked right up until the time that the agents left the scene. They apparently forgot about us and locked the door to the jet bridge. Attempting to negotiate with other airport personnel in allowing my crew access to the airplane that we had just parked became an effort in futility. A young agent that was boarding an Air France flight at another gate considered our request to utilize his jet bridge to gain access to the ramp tantamount to an act of terrorism.

The copilot and I prevailed however. We found an unlocked jet bridge at an adjacent gate and descended the stairs to the ramp. Once on our airplane, we had to beg private security personnel to allow the flight attendants entrance from the other side of the door at our gate.

When the trip ended that evening with a frosty beverage in my mitt, I smiled. Not everybody is given the opportunity to fly a 650,000-pound jet around Brazil. Easy turnaround? Sure … but it might just be a little less stressful with another couple of 777 hours in my logbook.