A Windy Day for This 777 Captain

As we climbed toward our cruise altitude of FL 330, I asked my copilot for a printout of the weather at London’s Heathrow airport, our destination. I wanted a current report for my announcement to our passengers. We had just departed JFK.

Even at 0530 local London time, the metar indicated that a strong wind condition existed from the southwest. Our relief pilot, who had been to the United Kingdom on a recent trip, said the same weather pattern had prevailed over the last several days. Because of a cold front that was approaching the U.K., I would discover that the windy conditions would intensify.

Prior to departure, I had discussed our flight plan with the dispatcher. According to my view of the WSI weather picture, the filed track across the North Atlantic put us on a collision course with an area of turbulence defined by a semioblong blob on the upper-level flight plan guidance chart. The area seemed to indicate that an altitude higher than FL 330 would be a better ride. And a more northern track would avoid the area almost entirely.

I realized that the dispatcher had a dilemma. The wind charts displayed much more favorable tailwind values on the southern tracks. In this day and age, weighing the risk of a potentially uncomfortable ride versus fuel efficiency is a common consideration. But I was still confused about the lower altitude selection. Dispatchers primarily focus on the business of flight planning. They tend to have a more accurate vision of the road ahead. I very often acquiesce to their logic.

As predicted, our dispatcher had sound reasoning. Reports of earlier flights indicated that the lower altitudes were smoother. Regardless, the dispatcher was willing to amend the filed track to more northern latitudes and a higher altitude because of my concerns. Knowing that the airplane was capable
of climbing because of relatively light fuel loads, I could always request higher flight levels once on the route. I elected to stick with the original plan.

Nearing two hours and 15 minutes elapsed flight time, we approached my rest break period. The final instruction for my two copilots before I left the pointy end was to not interrupt my nap in the bunk with a bumpy ride. They grinned and nodded. I would find out later that they took my tongue-in-cheek request with more seriousness than it rightfully deserved.

I had closed my eyes for only a few minutes when the airplane began a semirhythmic shake. The turbulence began to intensify. I kept my eyes closed, attempting to ignore the annoying movement. A few minutes passed and then I felt my ears begin to pop. I smiled. My copilots were climbing the airplane away from FL 330. As a matter of fact, they had decided that FL 400 had the best chance of solving all of the turbulence problems. It did.

In the short period of time that I have flown the 777, I have learned at least one lesson. The airplane has the ability to climb its way out of turbulence. Even when other airplanes are attempting innovative tactics of flying lower to avoid choppy air, the majority of my experiences have proven that the 777 does better at higher altitudes — because it can. And it can do it better at faster Mach numbers. Mach 0.85 and FL 400 are not uncommon combinations.

When I returned to the cockpit at the completion of my rest break, I expressed my gratitude. With a little more than an hour remaining, we reached our oceanic exit point, slightly west of the southern tip of Ireland. The relief pilot asked if I wanted him to load the hold at the Ockham VOR — a position about 10 miles south of Heathrow airport — into the FMS. Most times, the hold is standard procedure in London’s airspace. On average, the delay is no longer than 15 minutes.

In the States, an EFC (expect further clearance) time is always given with a holding clearance. Oftentimes, an EFC is a cruel joke. A high percentage of airline flights would have to divert to their alternates if the original time were adhered to. An EFC is given for the primary purpose of exiting the hold if radio contact is lost. Interestingly enough, the London controllers do not normally issue an EFC time. I never press the issue. Why? When the British controllers advise the delay time, they are accurate to within one minute, sometimes to the second.

Entering the hold on the FMC or not entering the hold on the FMC is often the question. Against my better judgment, I instructed the relief pilot not to enter. I thought it might send positive vibes. Of course, if you bring an umbrella it won’t rain; if you don’t, well … no surprise. I lost the bet. It wasn’t long before we were told to expect a hold at Ockham VOR.

The three of us began the process of preparing the airplane for our arrival into Heathrow. Approach briefing complete. Descent checklist initiated. Fuel requirement calculated. Execute the hold.

As we drew racetrack patterns in the sky, I peered out the cockpit windows. We weren’t alone. A British Airways 747 circled above. A South African A340 circled below. One by one, flights were released from the holding pattern. We were given clearances to progressively lower altitudes until our turn for approach vectors began.

I glanced at the upper corner of the nav data display as we began a descent from 8,000 feet. The wind vector arrow indicated a southwest direction at a mere 78 knots. Ouch. The approach to Runway 27R would be interesting. The airplane began to buffet as it skipped through invisible speed bumps.

The wind would add a little extra fun to the CDA (continuous descent approach). The CDA is a noise abatement procedure that is designed to maintain a glidepath that requires minimal thrust until the beginning of the final approach segment, when the last of the drag devices are deployed. In addition to providing vectors, the London final controller states a precise distance from the runway threshold in order for pilots to calculate their appropriate descent rates in maintaining an idle or near-idle descent on a three-degree glidepath. The monster headwind would force a slower vertical speed rate at the standard 180 knots.

Normally, I like to hand-fly the airplane out of 10,000 feet. On this day, I thought it best to allow the autopilot an opportunity to adjust appropriately for the winds in order to intercept the localizer. That being said, I carefully monitored the descent rate by adjusting the vertical speed dial in the glareshield eyebrow. My scan darted between the glideslope indicator, the localizer diamond and the airspeed tape. The airplane was beginning to rock like the gyrations of a mechanical bull at half difficulty level. I was glad that I had made the announcement to seat the flight attendants early.

Once the autopilot intercepted the localizer and then the glideslope, I glanced out into a dull gray overcast. Moments later, just below 1,000 feet, patches of earth appeared. The runway became visible on the horizon. Not surprisingly, the now 37-knot quartering crosswind placed the threshold at almost our 2 o’clock position. Despite the crosswind, the airplane was tracking within inches of the extended centerline.

I took a deep breath and disconnected the autopilot, preparing to wrangle with the bull. I had briefed the need for a go-around if a wind shear warning annunciated or if someone — mainly me — got scared and didn’t like what he saw.

I did my best to make slow and gradual corrections, resisting the urge to level the wings with immediate inputs. The 777 is a gentle beast in turbulence. Pilots have to allow the beast to lumber. Constant erratic control movements will cause the airplane to jerk through the sky, and they’ll be fighting against themselves.

Our operating manual recommends disconnecting the autothrottles in gusty conditions. Fortunately for us, the wind was blowing at a steady state. The power levers were keeping up with the various pitch inputs that I was providing. My primary focus was to align the nose of the airplane parallel to the white stripes on the runway just prior to touchdown.

As 100 feet agl arrived, I applied a few more pounds of rudder pressure on the downwind side. A brief twist of the rudder trim knob assisted with the required force. Within seconds of the last automated voice call-out of 10 feet, the left main truck made gentle contact with the concrete. I slowly released aileron pressure and allowed the right main truck to slither onto the runway. The nosewheel followed as I relaxed back pressure. With the activation of autobrakes, the airplane decelerated at a comfortable pace. Lucked out again …

Above the diminishing hiss of the reverse thrust, my copilots exhaled an audible sigh. They offered compliments on my performance. Perhaps their kind words were justifiable statements of relief that the event was over. It didn’t matter. Mission accomplished.

We taxied to the gate knowing that a bit of wind is just another day in the life of a 777.