It’s Christmas Day in San Juan and I am here, working. Actually it hasn’t been too bad – there is more holiday spirit than you could shake a stick at, and everyone is on their best and brightest behavior. Crew scheduling called and blessed me with a long day consisting of five legs of holiday excitement ending with an overnight in Tortola.
Time: 2120, 5 minutes ahead of schedule.
Position: Passing St. Thomas on the right, descending towards Tortola with 56 passengers in the back.
I listen into the weather at Tortola and immediately hear expect NDB approach runway 7. Ugh! The NDB (Nondirectional Beacon) instrument approach was invented somewhere between Orville and Wilbur’s third and fourth flight on the dunes in North Carolina. Simple in theory, just make the needle point to the airport, the NDB is subject to all kinds of errors resulting from lightning, the curvature of the earth, and passengers in the back sneezing too loudly. Back when I was a student pilot we practiced these approaches, mostly I think for nostalgic reasons, but I haven’t flown one in years. It’s so antiquated that many U.S. based aircraft have removed them to save weight, space, and confusion. Yet, in the Caribbean and many underdeveloped nations, the NDB is still heavily used. Tonight we are navigating ourselves to the Tortola NDB, which sits just to the southeast of the runway. We’re smack in the middle of a thick layer of cumulus clouds that is extending almost down to the tops of the mountains, making it impossible for us to come in visually. Any decent student pilot will tell you that cumulus clouds mean moderate turbulence, and we’re definitely getting our fair share. It’s pitch black outside, but along with the bumps I can hear the roar of heavy rain against the windscreen mixed in with the engine noise. The captain is flying this leg, so I call back to the flight attendants and tell them to sit down and strap in before starting to read the approach checklist.
Over the airport we are in and out of the clouds and we start a turn to the south over the water, away from the island, and begin descending. The captain is moving quickly, and he makes it look easy. It’s times like this when it really doesn’t hurt to have logged a few thousand hours in this plane. As he turns further to the right we pop out of the clouds and see Roadtown and then the airport to the east. Disconnecting the autopilot he calls for flaps 30 degrees, before landing checklist. On final the wind is stiff from the north and is rolling over the mountains creating quite a bit of windshear and turbulence. We’re really having to work for it tonight. The runway at Tortola is short with ocean at the end. It dictates a utilitarian “just get it on the ground” type of landing. There’s no time to float down, feel for the runway, and make a soft touchdown. The captain knows this, but gives it his best and as the wheels touch and he pulls the power levers into reverse I can hear applause coming from the back. Nice, this guy is good!
Twenty minutes later we are in the taxi on our way to the hotel and I remark to the captain how much fun that was; it’s nice to have a challenge once in a while. He smiles and agrees. Four more days on reserve and I’m out.
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