Chapter
One
THE LIFE OF A
PILOT
Remember sometimes looking in your
garden and being intrigued by the antics and erratic movements of ants,
endlessly streaming backwards and forwards with no apparent final destination in
mind? Scratch a few lines in the garden and you immediately have a map of
Europe, Australia, or America, and the ants could be aircraft. Most of the ants
will stay inside the confines of your countries, but a few will venture further
afield.
Man is acting out a
similar confusing ritual, darting hither and thither - except we call it air
travel. From outer space the movements of our aircraft would look the same as
the endless streaming of the ants, except that our flying machines are presumed
to have exceptional drivers, imagined by the worker passenger ants to be
superhuman and infallible.
In actual fact, pilots
are just family people like you and me, with all the confusing faults that seem
to be developing in the human brain. A budding pilot really has to have an
ingrained desire to learn to fly, for at the end of the expensive career
training all there is to show for it is a basic pilot's licence and a minimum
number of flying hours.
When I look back on my
early career, I wouldn't have wanted to fly with me, but my friends must have
had faith, as they regularly took to the air with me when I was clocking up the
hours required to obtain my commercial pilot's licence. More study, and luck in
securing any flying job is required before this humble licence can be converted
to the ultimate airline transport licence. However grand it sounds, there are
none of the security features of a regular degree, most of which are elegantly
framed and take pride of place in many offices and medical waiting rooms. Most
of these university qualifications will let you practise until the day you die -
but not so with a pilot's licence.
Medical failure or your
age will have you out the door so quickly into a world of unemployment and
despair that your life will be reduced to chaos, as mine was. Although you can
prepare for the age limit and the resulting loss of your pilot's licence, you
never think that any licence-cancelling illness could happen to you in your
interim years of working your way up the aviation ladder. An expensive medical
loss of licence insurance can be taken out, but my saga is proof that it is not
always successful.
One factor in a pilot's
life similar to others is that they also have family and children, but this is
where it seems to end. A pilot's life is gradually taken over by several small
issues, which, when they accumulate as one, become a mental time bomb,
exacerbated by irregular hours, the absence of family support, and lack of
sleep. As you begrudgingly rise at some ungodly hour to catch that early flight,
just remember that the pilots have most probably been up long before you - so if
you are tired, chances are that they will be too. As you rub your tired eyes on
the way to the airport, be happy that shortly you can take yours off the road
and semi-relax.
In the departure lounge
you may be reading the paper and onto your second cup of wake-up coffee. The
pilot, however, is trying to satisfy his gut feeling on how much extra fuel to
carry should the weather at the destination airport not be as perfect as showing
in the forecaster's crystal ball. Predictions are wrong so many times; you would
think modern technology could be used.
While having your
coffee, if you feel uneasy about some family issues not resolved due to your
early departure, it's likely the pilots may also have similar feelings. Perhaps
these issues will play on their minds during the intervals of lack of
concentration, when the dials and instruments periodically blur into each other.
If their tour of duty covers several days, these snippets of guilt or anger will
build up in a reservoir in the brain, waiting for something to open the valve.
The tour of duty may be several mentally-taxing short hops or an extremely long
boring one, as on flights over the ocean it can be up to a very long forty-five
minutes between reporting points. There is a limit to the tasks that can be
performed during this period, so gradually personal barriers are lowered and
intimate family details are shared between crew members, including alcohol
drinking capabilities - but any symptoms of a mental condition are not for
anyone's ears.
During this time, as a
passenger, you have put your feet up, scoffed a couple of your favourite drinks,
and passed away the time watching a movie. After forcing down the usual plastic
type airline cuisine, a walk around the cabin is necessary to try and disperse
the solid lump in your stomach where the quick-setting gravy has come to a halt.
The pilots eat similar food but, if they stretch to get some relief, the
passengers would be startled by a sudden jerk of the aircraft as a wayward leg
pushed on the rudder pedals.
After what feels like
days, you notice the flight attendants suddenly reappearing with antics of
busyness. You would think their actions must have prompted the captain into
thinking enough is enough as he makes an announcement over the P.A. He doesn't
really need to tell you he has started the descent, as the popping of your ears
has certainly let you know. The cabin is suddenly full of yawning and jaw-
moving antics as passengers try their own methods of obtaining relief.
Ear-piercing screams let you know that there is a snuffy baby on board, as the
poor little mite has no control over the painful experience. All you have to do
now is fuss around getting all your scraps of paper together and, on your return
from standing in the endless queue for the toilet, you find the culprit for your
discomfort during the flight was your pen tucked in a fold of the seat
cushion.
In the flight deck the
pilots are about to earn their salary. Seat backs are straightened, shoulder
harnesses are tightened, and the thrust is reduced to near idle. Most airliners
use idle power for the descent, which can start from 110 nautical miles or 125
statute miles (200 kilometres) away from the destination airport. A rough
rule of thumb being used when I flew was to divide the cruising altitude by
three and add 10%, and that figure was the distance in nautical miles to start
the descent. If you were cruising at, say 30,000 feet, dividing that number by
three and using poetic licence with the extra zeros would be 100, plus the 10%
would make the distance 110 nautical miles.
On the original climb
the workload was easy, as the point where you reach your cruising altitude is
not critical but, for the descent, the calculation had to be precise. The news
often reported on pilots who were not good at arithmetic and didn't make their
intended airport! On the descent the pilot has to work at maximum mental
capacity, as all the way down he is performing these little sums to make sure
that he is flying at the right combination of distance and height.
At some time leading up
to the landing, the pilot flying the sector would have to prove how good an
actor he was to the other crew members. Between doing the little sums and
guiding the aircraft down, he would have to study and memorize the approach and
landing charts, and recite a practice scene so that everyone knew their part -
just like a sketch in a TV show. Very soon, with everyone's concentration
focused on the instruments, there would be no time for the luxury of a re-take
if he had messed up his lines.
If a pilot did need a
re-take of his approach and landing, serious questions would be asked and he
would need to show that there was good cause for his blooper. How many times
have you hit the kerb with your car tyre when parking and kept it as your little
secret? Imagine the number of times the local authorities could send you a
notice to report for more driver training!
Eventually, at the
crew's hotel, the Captain Mother Goose and her ducklings following behind are
now in a new time zone, tired and wanting to wind down, but the
recommendations for a great new watering hole are too tempting. After a
welcome change of clothes, and if you still had something new to talk about with
the other crew, then the satisfaction of the first cold drink made the trip
worthwhile. I'm sure that some pilots know their colleagues far more intimately
than their families do. As sleep gradually consumes their bodies and they
return to the hotel, they are posed with one last hard question. What room am I
in tonight? Fumbling with the key in the lock, memories of the safety lecture
flash through your head, but you are too tired to pace out - or crawl as you
should do - to your nearest fire exit. You won't remember anyway, and surely
someone will come and show you!
While undressing, you
subconsciously look for the clothes basket and other familiar objects of your
own bedroom. The only item familiar to you for the next few days will be your
suitcase, which you are now so attached to it can be spotted two carousels away
in the arrival hall! After waking some nights in pitch darkness, completely
unaware of where on earth I was, I would leave the bathroom light on and the
door ajar to provide my brain with a reference point for the routine toilet
visit. At home, not wanting to wake your partner, it is no trouble to find your
way in the dark. The familiar feel of the bed-end, a position fix from the
illuminated numbers of the bedside clock, and a lit path on the floor from the
street light penetrating through a gap in the curtains make it a breeze.
Imitating a dog going
round and round in circles preparing to find the right spot to lie down, you
fight your way under the super-tight sheets to find your normal sleeping
position, but without luck. It must be the pillow you think, so, after
unsuccessfully beating the hell out of it, you give up and hope that the drone
of the air-conditioner will lull you to sleep.
From now on your body
is not sure what is happening to it. Your reservoir has more tributaries flowing
into it - the stress from home, the memories of the flight, and what you could
have done to improve your performance. On waking, you are initially oblivious to
where you are, but the stiffness and tiredness from your fight with the strange
bed jog your memory. There is no getting up in your jimmies here and eating your routine
breakfast in peace. A full personal wash and dry service is required before you
can take up a position in the hotel's posh restaurant. Normally one cup of
coffee will set you right for the day, but now you've had two before the chef
has even looked at your over-indulgent order. After the final top-up, you have a
caffeine high and the extreme cost of the bill makes you think - did I really
need all that? The temptation was there, you weakened, and now you have to pay
the consequences by continually adjusting your belt and catches.
However, resolutions
that you won't eat rubbish will disappear tomorrow as soon as the flight
attendant brings the crew meal list into the flight deck. Eating has become a
time filler for you and the scene is set, guaranteeing an extra five kilos
excess baggage when you arrive home.
Now that breakfast is
finished, you must use the rest of your off duty time to prepare your body for
the long night flight ahead. On an
airline that has daily long haul flights, say from Sydney to London, for
the crew it's like following the leader. You will be flying out on a similar
service to the one you flew in on, except tonight you have to trick your body
into staying awake all night.
But how can you get
more sleep when you have just woken up?
On a Sydney to London
flight, when I had a night stop in Singapore, arrival in Singapore would be
approximately 8.00 pm local time. With the time change it would be 10.30 pm
back in Sydney, and no way would I have gone out for a drink at that time of the
night - or even contemplated one at home. When taking over a flight, the crew
need to be at the airport when the aircraft arrives. Allowing for time to
get dressed, travel to the airport, and organise the flight plan, the wake-up
call would be at about 6.30 pm.
After your piggy
breakfast a brisk walk is required, but your thoughts are centred on how to get
enough sleep that afternoon to carry you through the long night flight
ahead.
A favourite haunt for
crew in Singapore was the Mayfair Hotel, which had an excellent Chinese
restaurant. The bar frequented by crew was kept in total darkness, so, when
anyone entered, the patrons inside accustomed to the darkness could recognise
the new arrival and escape detection by scurrying out through the restaurant if
need be. The reason for this was
that the civil aviation rules stated that a pilot could not drink within eight
hours of duty; however, rumours were that the medical section preferred a pilot
to have a little alcohol instead of the sleeping pills that were available in
the '70s and '80s. With a gathering of pilots and flight attendants between
midday and 1.30 pm, the pre-sleeping alcohol was consumed in the darkness away
from prying eyes.
As though purer than
thou, crew members would eventually amble from the bar into the restaurant, now
with a soft drink in hand to fill whatever voids the beer had missed. It was a
very fine line to tread in this case, as the consumption of any alcohol after
midday was against the rules when working this particular flight - but which
would have the safest end results? A bright-eyed and bushy-tailed pilot with a
little alcohol in the blood stream, or a bleary, red-eyed yawning grump,
wondering how he is going to last the night without a
micro-sleep?
Some crew would
light-heartedly verbally change the rules.
Not smoking within 150 feet of the aircraft and no drinking within eight
hours of flying became no smoking within eight hours of flying and no drinking
closer than 150 feet from the aircraft!
Reports on the internet show that some pilots seem to have adopted this
rule, as many have been convicted of being well over the legal limit.
Presuming that the
other crew will always be alert was proved false to me on one extended flight.
We had departed London, bound for Tehran, but on our arrival found that it was
snowed under. Our alternative airport was New Delhi, and it was a tired crew
that were faced with the unfair choice of whether to carry on or not. By law we
were entitled to a ten-hour rest period, which necessitated the passengers being
put up in hotels, but the overriding plea put to us was that our aircraft was
due to arrive in Sydney on New Year's Eve, and so many families would be
affected if it was late. By refining our duty times and optimistic estimates of
a flight time to Bangkok, where a new crew could be available, we satisfied on
paper that we could do it within the sixteen-hour tour of duty.
On this sector I awoke
with a guilty jolt and waited for a reprimand from the captain. When I looked in
his direction, there he was - seat reclined, tired old face now unshaven
from the extended duty, and mouth wide open - certainly not sounding off his
normal words of wisdom! From his overseeing position behind the pilots, the
flight engineer had the added comfort of being able to rest his sleeping head on
his table. I will never forget the boyhood look of guilt on their faces when I
called them back to reality. My call to the galley to order coffee all round
broke the ice and normal flight deck duties resumed, with each crew member
thinking of the possible consequences of their involuntary desertion of duty.
How many airliners have we heard of wandering into strife with no logical
explanation? Autopilots can only do so much!
During the flight from
Singapore to Bahrain, the effects on the body of constant time change, and also
those of sleep deprivation, would now be feeding more problems into the brain.
There would not be the same enthusiasm and alertness among the crew as on the
first sector out of Sydney. In the subdued lighting of the flight deck, usually
filled with cigarette smoke and serenaded by the monotonous droning of seemingly
millions of things whirring around, everyone embraces their own thoughts
and problems while waiting in anticipation for the lights of Bahrain. At
this stage in the flight everyone has said as much as they are going to say
about their families and hobbies. Now, apart from the occasional new joke, the
only conversation is to do with operating the aircraft, or a quick chat to the
crew of an aircraft going in the opposite direction.
You know you are about
to pass another aircraft, as on a clear night one particular star keeps winking
at you. When you realize that it is an aircraft's white strobe light flashing,
you lean forward, cup your hands to the side of your head to stop any reflection
on the windscreen, and peer at the light. As you can't see a horizon at night,
there is no way, apart from radio contact, to tell if the aircraft is going to
pass above you or below you. Navigation equipment and autopilots are so accurate
that, if by some misfortune you are at the same altitude, then (as the
newspapers often report) you are destined to collide. History has shown
that air traffic controllers as well as pilots do make mistakes that cause major
catastrophes.
The landing in Bahrain
is at around 3.00 am, but what time does your body think it is? Singapore
time at 7.30 am? Or 9.30 am in
Sydney where you started? All you know is that it's dark and you're bloody
tired. There is no talk now of which haunt to unwind in like there was in
Singapore. It's straight off to bed for most but, due to the large numbers
of crew staying in the hotel and the ungodly hours of their arrivals, those
die-hards can make use of the twenty-four hour 'Crew Bar'. The sensible ones who
took the sleep option awaken several hours later, but are not sure if they are
getting up for breakfast, lunch or dinner.
Now for
tonight/tomorrow's departure. Your duty will start at about 2.00 am and the
drinking rule means that your happy hour should stop at 6.00 pm. But you haven't
had dinner yet and the night is young. Anyway, you will have time to sleep it
off a bit tonight before call time. But when you go to bed early, at say 9.00
pm, your Sydney body clock says … hang on a minute, it's 3.30 am, so you can
only sleep for a few hours. The quiet drinks with dinner, as well as the very
long happy hour, give you the recipe to drift off to sleep, but for how long?
You wake from time to time thinking, 'I must sleep', but what clock do you
believe and how much time do you have before call time? All you can think is, 'I
must sleep … I must sleep', for you know only too well the consequences. Alas,
you feel that you have only been asleep for a minute when the phone rings with
your wake-up call.
The shower doesn't seem
to wake you, resulting in a very quiet trip to the airport, but you are brought
back to life by a sudden sunrise. Oh - it's not the sunrise but the
overpowering airport lighting.
Now comes the stressful
part for the sun-drenched Aussie pilot. This sector becomes more alive, but who
is good at doing sums early in the morning? Your destination in Europe
could be covered in snow, which in turn is hidden by fog. It's like someone
trying to tell you that you're not wanted. Now your flight becomes a scenario of
'what ifs?' with the fuel calculations depending on which airport you end up at.
Unfortunately, history shows that pilots have got it wrong several times, with
fatal results.
There is now some
debate on whether your body knows it is morning, but it should, as the darkness
outside is changing to light. If only you didn't have such an
alcohol-induced headache, this contest against the weather would be more
even.
On my check flight for
becoming a first officer I was commanded by the check captain to report to his
room after each flight, and was required to drink the major share of a bottle of
whisky. It seemed to be a ritual that check captains encourage a pilot on a
final check flight drink to excess, and then observe if he could survive on the
next sector, as celebrations were a certainty on a first officer's inaugural
flight in his new rank. I was very uncomfortable in this confined situation, as
I wasn't sure if it was just 'pilot talk' on the captain's mind or whether the
alcohol was used to loosen me up.
Red double-decker
buses, bobbies, and people dressed for a polar trek indicate you have achieved
your original task and arrived in London. It's bleak and dull, and it must be
morning, as all the people with foggy breaths seem to be flooding out of the
underground. Oh my God, I am so tired and, even though it's 4.00 pm in Sydney,
all I want is a bed. Any bed will do! Breakfast is foregone, and eight wonderful
hours later it is chosen from the restaurant's dinner menu. Strange, why is it
getting darker as you are having your breakfast? That body clock of yours
is playing tricks on you again.
Now, with some time off
to reset the clock, you think of home. Here you are, practically on the opposite
side of the world from home, and you wonder if one day someone will construct a
tunnel to Australia, like the channel between England and France where everyone
can travel by train. No cramped seats, turbulence or airsickness, but a smooth
comfortable straight ride in a dining car.
It is about now in
Sydney that the decision is being handed down on whether your delinquent son is
to be expelled from school. No wonder your wife left you a note of
her misgivings in your suitcase. She was the
one being taken over by your children as soon as your authority left the house
for a jaunt with all those attractive flight attendants. Well - that's the way
she saw it!
Once again silent
stress is infiltrating your brain. One pilot said on an internet forum that, for
every promotion you have, you lose a wife.
Naturally, just to
confuse your body clock even more, your return flight to Australia starts at
5.00 pm in London. I was told that
as a general rule the body can adjust up to two hours a day, but in the
three-day trip to England you have had a time change of ten hours. While your
body is catching up it doesn't know whether to keep following you to England and
get further behind, or take a short cut and meet you somewhere in space for a
brief reunion. Like a stopped clock, it's right twice a
day!
As the years pass, some
pilots become annihilated by the overflow of emotions from the reservoir, which
now has reached bursting point, in the same way as any other person in the
community. Pilots are not superior beings as some people might be led to
believe, and if it's depression affecting them, they might take the easy option
of numbing the feelings. Alcohol. Easy to obtain duty free and easy to
consume in the solitude of their resort style accommodation. Eventually,
for those to whom a drink or two has lost the desired effect, there are the
antidepressants such as Prozac, as right and wrong don't seem to play a part in
keeping one's job. If the lawyer next door takes them and feels great, then why
shouldn't you?
In 2002, at least three
airline pilots were tested on duty and found to be over the legal limit of 0.04.
Others have been arrested on their way home from the airport
(www.pprune.org/forums). They all know the rules of the air, as motorists
know the rules of the road, yet some pilots - like drivers - ignore the rules,
choosing to take the risk of being caught rather than admit to the stigma and
persecution of having depression or symptoms of a mental
disorder.
One saving factor for
air travellers is that in most airliners there are two or three pilots. All is
not lost if one is incapacitated as I was, but the fact is that when passengers
step onto an aircraft they presume and expect that all the pilots are in
complete control of their faculties. If alcohol hasn't succeeded in relieving
the indescribable pain of depression, a pilot may resort to tranquillizers as I
did, which in hindsight I realize was completely wrong and dangerous. But what
was I to do?
Many alcoholic pilots
have successfully taken time off for treatment and have fully recovered,
resuming their flying duties unimpaired - but not so for those with a mental
illness. Now, once admitted, mental illness is a stigma and is attached to you
permanently, making the task to regain a pilot's licence practically impossible.
When control and relief
is not achieved by alcohol or drugs, some pilots accept the irrational call of
suicide, and unfortunately take innocent passengers with them. This action
results in a cruel imbalance, as the grief and pain endured by the families
of passengers must surely outweigh those that the pilot might have been
suffering. Pilot suicide is a most probable cause for the disastrous crashes of
Silk Air, Japan Airlines and Egypt Air.
The world news reports
that there have also been several cases of suicide by pilots in light aircraft,
one of the recent cases being in Milan. A pilot is no different to any other
professional who is driven into taking their own life. I knew two Qantas pilots
who committed suicide during the turmoil of the collapse of Ansett. This must have been so traumatic to the
two captains that they took their own lives, possibly because they had no one to
confide in for understanding and help. Unfortunately, when these obsessive
thoughts take over, other people and the surroundings are of no consequence. If
these pilots' final thoughts had taken over while they were in flight, a more
devastating collapse of Ansett would have blackened our history books - perhaps
with a small mention of you as a deceased passenger!
When discussing with my
GP my compulsion to drive a car head-on into a semi-trailer, she would tell me
to think of the trauma that would be inflicted on my family and the truck
driver. Her advice never came into my thoughts when faced with the
temptation; it was always my over-riding desire for self-survival that
saved the day.
Look at the statistics
on the number of cars that crash head-on into a truck on a straight road in good
weather conditions. Surely not all of them are driver fatigue?
I'm not alone in my obsessional thoughts.