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Reluctantly, on the evening of 25th October 1987, I departed San Francisco for Honolulu – looking at a flying time of 4:48 hours. It was the captain’s leg, giving me the opportunity to “sightsee.” And what I viewed was truly spectacular.
All in all, dear reader, departing Frisco in this manner at night was
quite magical.
In due course we intercepted R-464 and followed this track southwest into the Pacific’s black void. Roughly a third of the way to Honolulu, I made a position report at waypoint “BAKON”. Being relatively light, by this juncture we had leveled out at 39,000 feet.
Right
after I made my report to ATC, I was surprised to hear another aircraft, a
Philippine Airlines 747, make the same position report at “BAKON” – reporting
level at 35,000 feet (4,000 feet below us).
Much later, upon reaching approximately the PNR (Point of No Return) or halfway mark on our journey; out of the corner of my right eye I caught a small white flash far below me.
Fascinated, I swung my full
attention onto it, determining it was an aircraft’s strobe light. Gradually it dawned on me that it was
Philippine Airlines and, as it crept slowly centimeter by centimeter across my
side window, I eventually realized it was overhauling us.
I glanced at my airspeed indicator, thinking, “Hell! Are we slowing down?” Nope. We were maintaining a constant speed of Mach 0.85 (85-percent the speed of sound). Our white IAS (Indicated Airspeed) Pointer was right up against the red and white “Barber Pole” – Boeing’s Maximum Speed Pointer – the over-speed warning limit.
At this point a cold realization seized my heart, dear reader. Philippine Airlines was traveling beyond the over-speed warning indicator limit. The crew had probably pulled the circuit breaker for the over-speed aural warning or high-speed “clacker.” Now they were flying in territory where Boeing couldn’t guarantee the 747’s integrity in rough air – flirting with structural failure! Jesus! What’s the big rush? Where’s the fire?
At length Philippine
Airlines crawled ahead of us and ultimately disappeared in that massive black
void. I wished them luck.
After arriving at
Honolulu and getting bussed to our arm pit of a hotel, the Ala Moana Americana, I discovered the Philippine
Airlines crew already checking in. They
had left SFO behind us, pushing their 747 into over-speed territory to get in
front of us, wasting tons of fuel at the lower altitude in the process, cutting
the company’s profits, and risking their lives in order to reach this flea bag
hotel before us. Thus avoid waiting the
25 minutes it would have taken my crew to get checked in ahead of them.
The Filipino penchant for risking life and limb in aircraft – for no
really good reason – has never ceased to mystify me, dear reader. I would witness this again and again in the future
- they treat aircraft like “Jeepneys” – vehicles to be overloaded and abused.
After a pleasant three day layover in Honolulu, we were required to deadhead (not operate as flight crew) all the way back to Singapore via Hong Kong. The purser put us up in first class, giving us a chance to experience the terrific SIA cuisine; a real treat.
Unlike SAUDIA, SIA (being cheapo-Chinese
squeezing a nickel until the buffalo shits) wouldn’t allow the operating
cockpit crew to partake of any leftover first class, or business class, bill of
fare. Which there were always lots of
that got thrown away. Instead, they gave
us a “flight crew meal” not fit for a dog (a load of noodles and rice soup with
fish heads and pig intestine mystery meat; typical Chinese fare), requiring me
to “brown bag it” when I operated; hauling my own sandwiches, raw vegetables
and fruit.
Literally it was either that or starve to death, dear reader. Such was the glamorous life of a Singapore
Airlines’ pilot.
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