Fuel Planning

Fuel is usually a massive expense for airlines. I say usually because right now oil companies are literally giving it away, thanks to Corana virus no one wants it. Normally though there is someone in the airline coming up with increasingly strange ways to save a few million pounds (money not weight) so the management can get their bonuses (cynical? Me?).

Now don’t get me wrong, I am all for saving costs, especially if it means I still have a job to go to next week but we need to be sensible. I am also keen to do the right thing for the environment and the polar bears as well as leaving something behind for my kids and who knows maybe grand kids.

During the pre-flight briefing between the pilots one of the more important things considered is how much fuel to load. The company come up with a figure and any more than this amount will usually have to be justified by the Captain. Reasons for carrying extra will be things such as weather at the destination, weather along the route (thunder storms) or flying at a lower level than expected are just some of the more regular ones. Between you and me, many Captains will try and come up with a reason to take a ‘splash’ more. Unbelievably I have met pilots who try to work out how to take less, although they are in a minority, I think there has been 2 in 30 years.

However there are some pilots, often the new First Officers, who will have been brain washed by the training department and if you ask them how much fuel they think we should take will often just say “company fuel” meaning the computers calculated bare minimum. Which is fine, sometimes. Say the weather is perfect at the destination airport, the aircraft is in good shape and everything is working at the airports you expect to use, so why would you take extra fuel?

Well Palma Majorca on Saturday morning in the middle of August on minimum fuel is not fun. Being vectored all around the Mediterranean as Pedro the air traffic controller who is under training gets his callsigns mixed up and forgets his left from his right as you watch your fuel gauge bouncing against the stop ages you prematurely.

That said the old days of not leaving fuel in the tanker and taking some fuel for the wife and kids are long gone. We now have a new breed of pilots though who will experience the feeling of being pushed into a corner as the fuel gauge turns amber or red for the first time with 300 passengers sat in the back blissfully unaware of the massive amount of pressure the overpaid selfie taking self proclaimed sky gods behind the locked door are feeling because they both paid for their jobs at a budget airline and got to the top because accountants wont leave aircraft parked up if there is a pilot with a pulse who is qualified (on paper) to drive it. Did I say I was cynical? However, there are plenty of very good low experience pilots, honest.

Traditionally your crew would have flown for the military, hand picked for the Queens flying club. These guys are often used to operating in the ‘fumes’ area of the fuel tanks because there wasn’t much choice when flying aircraft like the Lightning, or a Harrier. The non military pilots were often ex general aviation pilots. With experience instructing, banner towing, aerial photography, night freight, glider towing and dropping ‘meat bombs’ before moving onto corporate or small regional airliners. All relevant experience when it comes to making sensible fuel decisions. Then you have guys who joined the airline with some experience of flying small aircraft and then going straight into the airlines who learn their trade sat next to very experienced Captains for many years before sliding into the left seat fully equipped and ready to take charge.

I have been uncomfortably low on fuel maybe twice in my flying career, both times I have set off using ‘company fuel’, on one occasion the company had miscalculated the minimum fuel so I didn’t have enough when I set off (a story for another time maybe). The second instance I couldn’t take extra due to weight limits, this turned out to be one of the more ‘interesting’ flights I have done.

The plan was to fly from Norwich airport to Aberdeen, with a full passenger load. The weather was fairly windy at our depature and forecast to be strong but within limits at Aberdeen. In any case the wind was straight down the runway at our diversion airport. So with no option to take extra fuel due to weight limits and not really technically needing it anyhow we blasted off.

The aircraft had been having issues with its autopilot for a couple of weeks on and off and the engineers were struggling to find the fault. So much so that in the end the manufacturer got involved in fixing it, eventually. Anyway so far so good, it was behaving.

The FO got the weather at Aberdeen and Edinburgh (our alternate) the wind was now gusting strongly at both airports and on a second check it became apparent that Aberdeen was going to be very challenging due to the hill just west of the airfield. Those who know this airport will be familiar with the turbulence this hill causes over the runway and approach path, its not funny! Flying isn’t always fun apparently.

As we were being radar vectored for the southerly runway we heard a KLM aircraft go-round and divert to Edinburgh. We descended over the sea and the turbulence started in earnest. Unfortunately this aircraft type was a bag of crap to handle even in calm conditions but our poorly autopilot was doing its best until we got the final intercept heading at which point the aircraft which was already banked at about 30 degrees was suddenly rolled over to about 70 degrees, the autopilot waved the white flag and Brazilian Betty the aural system annunciator started yelling “AUTOPILOT AUTOPILOT” and I’m sure she was sounding more aggressive than normal!

Now those of you who know me will know I am sometimes prone to dropping an odd swear word into the conversation, I grew up in a mining area in the rough end of Yorkshire after all and if you sounded posh you got beaten up, so I may have let an odd expletive pass my lips as I manfully took control of the aircraft (to keep things PC, I only said manfully because I am a man and I took control fully). Things were soon looking more normal and we continued on to the ILS. I tried re-engaging the autopilot but it was having none of it. The old fault had come back, I think I may have cursed the engineers at this point too. At about 1500 feet Brazilian Betty’s next door neighbour started shouting “WINDSHEAR! WINDSHEAR!” and to be completely honest it is probably the only time I have been pleased to hear it because at the back of my mind I knew this wasn’t going to get any easier. Although this particular aircraft type did have a habit of ‘crying wolf’ when it comes to wind shear (not literally crying wolf though, its just an expression, look it up) but rules are rules if it says wind shear we do whatever it says in the manual and get away from the ground, and the wind shear, hopefully.

We had already told the controller that if we went round we would be diverting straight away and wanted to climb to a higher level to get out of the turbulence. I could imagine the vomit and other bodily excretions escaping in the back of the aircraft; I have had a chap shit himself, literally, in what looked like an expensive suit, wonder how the meeting in Paris went that afternoon?

The controller cleared us directly to Edinburgh, we carried out the relevant checks and before I had chance to tell the customers that everything was just fine the controller said he could see a KLM aircraft ahead on his radar screen that had just diverted too and it appeared to be going around at Edinburgh. We asked him to get us an update on the weather, well we were both busy and an extra pair of hands especially as I was still hand flying, manfully, so mine were being used. A quick check of things revealed we were already into our diversion fuel, which is normal that’s what the fuel is for. So far so ….. well not good but OK.

The next call from our new crew member in his bunker back at Aberdeen; the radar controller, wasn’t what I was expecting or wanting to hear, “Edinburgh has just closed, parts of the terminal have blown onto the runway, they don’t have a time for re-opening yet”. I remember this as if it was yesterday, “oh, for fucks sake!” was the expression I used, it is a favourite. So lets do what all modern commercial pilots do and gather and review the information:

• The aircraft is a bit broken
• The winds are much worse than were forecast (I remember 54 knots for some reason)
• We are between airports neither of which we can land at
• There are no other runways suitable in Scotland to land at
• We don’t have a great deal of fuel left

I gave control to my mate and did a little bit of chin scratching. As we had passed on our way up north past Newcastle I’d asked the FO to check the weather, just out of interest. It was seriously windy but almost straight down the runway. Another option according to the company was always the same, Dundee. I say according to the company because every flight plan they generated for Aberdeen had Dundee as the preferred alternate but it wasn’t long enough for this aircraft type. No matter how many times we told them they still put it down on the plan. They operated smaller aircraft that could in certain circumstances use it at a push but not us. A quick look at the remaining fuel and a bit of mental arithmetic we decided we would be going to Newcastle.

The flight there was uneventful and fairly quick (just 100 miles away) a quick chat to the passengers to tell them they were going to Newcastle, not that I think many of them were bothered about after the shaking they had been through and we were on our way down. At some point in the approach into Newcastle both fuel gauges had turned red to let us know we needed to refill at the nearest petrol station, which I fully intended to do, and the turbulence started again so much so that it was hard to read the instruments and with no autopilot it gets quite physically tiring as well as mentally taxing.

We were all set to land and about 3 miles out when Bettys friend woke up again with his now familiar WINDSHEAR! wake up call, a quick look at the fuel gauges to confirm we had fuck all fuel and I said “continue”, thankfully my first officer was an experienced guy and understood we were taking the safest option at this point and didn’t question the decision. The landing as they say was uneventful (which is technical for the aircraft was not broken) and we taxied to the stand and rang the company to tell them we had failed to get the passengers where they wanted to be. All in all stressful and even writing it now I am having palpitations (don t tell my doctor though).

Could I have done anything different? I haven’t thought of anything but maybe you are reading this thinking different? Feel free to get in touch if you come up with anything.

I have also been uncomfortably low on fuel on a piece of farm machinery. It was scary but obviously less so than the story above.

Aged 21 I was given the task by my boss, a farm contractor to drive my bale loading fork truck from near Barnsley up to North Yorkshire near Scarborough. As it happens a similar distance to Aberdeen to Newcastle, but in a 3 cylinder Manitou forklift truck somewhat slower, probably 10 hours or more. It turned out to take longer.

Being young dumb and full of …. I said OK. The sensible, but more expensive option for my boss would have been to put the thing on the back of a lorry and have it delivered, but like I say it would have been expensive and because I was on piece work of 25 pence for each bale of straw I loaded on a lorry my time would cost him exactly 0 as I wasn’t putting bales on lorries. It would cost a bit of fuel, which was tax free (and illegal for what I was about to do) and a bit of tyre wear which didn’t bother him because it was a hire vehicle.

I launched off early in the evening and to say progress was slow is an understatement, this thing was built for pottering around farm yards shovelling shit and moving bales, it had 3 cylinders, maybe 3 gears forward and a lever that put it in reverse so it had 3 gears backwards as well. It was old, there was no cab or heater, the lights didn’t work and if it had been fitted with a radio you couldn’t have heard over the roar of the broken exhaust. In fact the only entertainment was the fact that all the steering bushes were shot and trying to keep it straight was like trying to handle a shopping trolley with dodgy casters. So no cruise control or autopilot for our younger readers.

About halfway through the night I was getting concerned about the amount of fuel I had left. The fuel gauge didn’t work and I had been driving the thing all day (no duty hour restrictions in this job). Fuel level was calculated by kicking the tank with a steel toe-capped boot and listening to how empty it sounded. I saw a garage so pulled over. It was probably around midnight and although I didn’t really know where I was going (no GPS or map, just a scrap of paper with some basic instructions) I knew this would probably be my last chance to fill up. I didn’t have a credit card so had a fish around in my chaff filled pockets to copper up. I had about £4.90 in change so put £3 in diesel bought 10 fags and a pork pie that was on offer (it was over 30 years ago!) and set off into the dark with about 2 candle power of head lights to light my way as I passed the last street lights. At least at 5mph any crash would happen in slow motion.

We rejoin the epic journey somewhere near Driffield progress was now at snails pace and interestingly enough I had discovered that it was easier to steer in reverse. The reason the old girl had lost power was due to the fact that it had got water in the fuel system. A common fault on old tractors and dodgy fuel supplies and is an easy fix if you have the know how and the tools. I had one but not the other, my tools being back in Barnsley in my van. I was on my own here, there was no radio, no other crew near by and no mobile phone to call for help. I was also getting bloody cold which was helped somewhat by driving backwards as the radiator fitted to the back of the truck gave some heat to the airflow when going in reverse.

I decided to stop under a street light and eat my emergency pork pie ration. It tasted odd, a bit earthy, looking at it I noticed is was one of those posh ones with stuffing or something on the top. As I munched the last bit I was idly reviewing the packet and noticed it was indeed a normal pork pie that was a week out of date and the fur on the top was probably mould. Still, its all antibiotic isn’t it? My immune system is probably capable of fighting off most things thanks to that pie.

It was daylight and the first lorry was waiting in the field for me as I limped into the farm after about 13 hours of noise cold and swearing every time the engine threatened to stop. After a quick fill up and fuel filter change my mate Jim very kindly offered to load the first lorry so I could have 30 minutes sleep in our old caravan! Thanks Jim!

Could I have done anything different? Hell yes; I could have told the boss to fuck off or do it himself, I could have taken my tool box, I could have put a coat on and I could have checked the date on the pork pie.

Life is so much simpler these days, and dare I say safer? But not as much fun!