Into the sunset

I flew out to Toronto on Wednesday afternoon and spent the night in a nearby hotel. The shuttle then took me back to Pearson the next morning (far too early), for my first 3-day trip with Jazz.

Sitting behind me on the shuttle was a former flight student of mine. He was scheduled to be in my groundschool but who then got hired by Air Canada instead. How strange it was to see him: he living in Calgary and me in Vancouver now, he at mainline and me with Jazz, to be on the same bus at the same time.

I was met in the crew room by my captain and flight attendant, John and Natasha. Right off the start, I had a feeling this was going to be a entirely easy week. The captain didn’t know that I was only on my third day of line indoctrination. As a result, I did not get a briefing of what was expected, barely knew how to find my way around Toronto airport, and had certainly never gone through security or US Customs as an active aircrew. I felt a bit like I was being dragged by the collar behind my fast-walking captain.

He was younger than I expected he would be. When I hear the term “line check captain”, I imagine someone senior. Perhaps someone mere days away from retirement. Not unlike the ones that fly around YVR, in fact. By contrast, Capt. John appeared no older than 45. I found later he was actually 46. Only 8 years older than I am.

The next 3 days were an odyssey. We flew between Toronto and Baltimore three times, overnighting there. I only saw the hotel there, but John said that Baltimore Harbour and downtown are really great to see if we get the chance. Maybe next time. I would love to see more of the Eastern Seaboard.

The next morning at the ugly hour of 5 am, we headed back to Toronto, then off to Columbus, Ohio, back to Toronto, and back to Columbus. We spent the night there, in a fantastic hotel right downtown. I quite like the city of Columbus, especially near the hotel. Restaurants and shops were everywhere. The buildings had a great old-midwest architecture to them, mixed with the odd shiny bank tower.

The final day was short for me, with just the return to Toronto, followed by a round trip to Pittsburgh (of which I saw nothing except the gate we parked at).

While I felt like I was mostly doing all right, Capt. John didn’t hesitate to tell me when I did something wrong, crashing me back to reality. Most were quite minor. “Watch your speed,” “You entered that fuel quantity incorrectly,” “Careful of the power setting on takeoff,” “You should have set that by 70 knots,” “You’re still not landing on the centerline.” And so on.

He was completely right about every point. Trouble was, it was never countered with what I was doing well.

I mean, yes, I forgot to turn off the bleed air on one takeoff. One. Okay, that was bad. But what about the other 15 where I remembered without hesitation? Give me a break, man.

I guess some captains are just like that. I guess some people are.

He never got emotional or upset; he just stated facts. He cut through extra words and superfluous procedures right to what mattered, and he saw right through me. He flew with a quiet confidence that made me jealous. Whatever he asked that big airliner to do, it did it without question, and made it look easy.

He frustrated the hell out of me… and awed me at the same time.

But in the end, I found I quite liked him. Sort of. Off duty, he had a wickedly cynical and deadpan sense of humour. In Columbus overnight, he talked Natasha and I into visiting a shop that specializes in nothing but brownies. Really, just every flavour of deluxe chocolate brownie you can imagine. Bizarre (but delicious).

After landing our last flight from Pittsburgh to Toronto, he turned to me and said, “Good job. It’s been great flying with you.” I figured this is the closest a man like this gets to a compliment.

So far, I’ve accumulated over 21 hours of Dash-8 time. About half that time was spent as the flying pilot. And what is the coolest thing so far? More amazing that advancing power on takeoff? Cooler than all those buttons and lights arrayed in front of me? More awe-inspiring than the sound of my own voice saying, “Jazz 7382, cleared to land runway zero-six right”?

I would have to say it was during engine start, while I was waiting for the next checklist or radio call. I was idly watching the marshaller waving us to start #2. Behind him, I caught sight of a fuzzy image in the terminal windows: the reflection of our Dash-8, as the big propeller blades slowly started to turn. The turbines hummed, the flight deck shook just the slightest bit in time with the image. I stared at it, all 80 feet of wingspan and 25 feet of tailfin, picturing the 37 people sitting only 6 feet behind me, and could scarcely believe the size of it. It isn’t a picture, or a simulator, or a dream. It’s real.