The Coldest Flight of the Year

Log Entry 1975 - B727 S/O - CYWG Departure Gate

Arctic air gripped the prairies as Winnipeg's overnight temperature sank to minus forty. A frigid wind sucked heat from everything it touched including our Boeing 727. I peered through the boarding lounge windows to where it sat gleaming and cold in pools of feeble yellow ramp light. Blowing snow-streams snaked across the concrete and swirled around the tires. During the night small drifts had formed. I could easily imagine it was an icy sculpture rather than an aircraft and mostly I wondered why it was still dark, cold and dead.

I made my way down the bridge, tensing against the cold. By now I'd expected the ramp crews to have the lights on and the heat turned up full blast. The ramp door suddenly swung open and a burst of cold snow blew in along with the lead ramp agent. He approached me still holding the bare heel of a mitted hand to his frozen cheek as he explained. The ramp equipment wouldn't start. None of it. Not the GPU (ground electrical power unit); nor the heater; and so far not even the push-back tractor. I thought briefly of my warm bed at home and wondered if I'd see the warm Pacific ocean today after all.

"Maybe the APU will start," I said doubtfully. He followed me into the dark flight deck where I fumbled in my flight bag for a flashlight. The APU (pronounced Aaay-Pee-Yew which stands for auxiliary power unit) is a small turbine located in the wheel well. Its' sole job is to produce electricity and air and so render us self-sufficient. But before I could start it, I had to comfirm the integrity of the fire protection system. Many such systems, including those on our main engines, pass an electrical current through the sensor wires to ensure integrity. But for some reason the Boeing 727 APU designers had another idea. This system actually has to sense heat to prove itself. Not a good idea in a frigid Canadian winter. No test. The loop simply couldn't get hot enough.

I thought about hitting the start switch anyway. But as a newbie-pilot on probation, I realized setting a perfectly good airplane on fire might be frowned upon. Airlines are so fussy about stuff like that. I asked the lead agent to call the mechanic. A big burly fellow soon tromped into the flight deck pulling back his hood and heavy mitts. He looked irked at having yet another cold-related problem thrown his way.

"I just got the push-back tractor started. Now what did you break?" I explained the problem and he immediately reached over and hit the start lever. "When it's warmed up, we can try the test again..." He apparently was not on probation and had no fear of fire. But the frozen APU battery could not even crank the turbine fast enough to engage the starting sequence. We were stumped.

We retreated into the semi-warmth of the bridge to confer. Captain Dal and FO Bear arrived with our flight attendant crew close behind and we huddled around taking stock of the problem. No external electrical power. No external heaters. No APU. The Shell driver also joined in. Without electrical power he couldn't load the fuel.

Our much-coveted layover in San Francisco was in jeopardy. But apparently the prospect of California in February is a powerful motivator to get out of Winnipeg. No one voiced my own fleeting thoughts about that warm bed back home.

"If we can just get pneumatics," I finally offered. "we could do the 'Battery Start Procedure' and then use one of the engines as big APU..." I trailed off. Even as I said it, it seemed like a strange idea. The mechanic turned to our lead and consulted for a moment, then turned back to captain Dal who nodded enthusiastically.

"Someone really wants to dangle their toes in the ocean today, don't they? Well, let's try it. We have one last pneumatic cart over by the main hangar. Let's see if it starts." He spoke to the the lead who then headed off into the bitter cold.

A short discussion followed about the best engine to start. We decided the center engine was our best choice because its air inlet is above the fuselage posing the least risk to ramp personnel. It could easily give us electrical power and heat so we could finish our ramp preparations, then after push-back it would provide pneumatic pressure to start the other engines.

Meanwhile the cabin was frozen and dark. We couldn't board the passengers so our flight attendants trailed back to the warmth of the passenger lounge. The rest of us moved into the flight deck, shivering in our skimpy airline overcoats which we kept on along with our hats. It's the only time other than in a B-movie that I actually saw pilots wearing hats while seated at the controls. Anything to ward off the cold.

I opened the manual to the abnormal procedures pages and in hope we began preparing. That solitary start-cart somewhere on the other side of the field probably half-frozen into a snow bank represented our only chance of seeing California that day.

Songs of San Francisco swelled and faded in my frozen brain... Tony Bennett then Eric Burden who faded to Scott McKenzie, followed by the Mamas and Papas and even the Beach Boys. I know there's not much sand around San Francisco, but I was getting desperate. Minus forty will do that to you.

(to be continued...)