Atlantic crossing in Concorde’s cone

Press, 7 June 1983, Page 26

Atlantic crossing in Concorde’s cone

LES BLOXHAM,

our travel editor, was recently invited by British Airways to fly

supersonically from London to New York and back on Concorde. Mr Bloxham, who is a private pilot, was granted a rare privilege: riding the jump seat on the flight deck for the return crossing. Here he provides a glimpse of what goes on in the nerve centre of the world’s fastest airliner.

“Speedbird 192 cleared for push back ...” The tug gently shunts us away from the terminal at New York’s Kennedy Airport. It is 9.30 a.m. precisely on a clear spring Wednesday as Concorde Flight 8A192 begins the first stage of its journey to London. Alpha Delta already has two of its powerful Rolls Royce Olympus engines running; the remaining two will not be started until the push back is completed — the thrust of all four engines, even at idle, could buckle the tractor’s tow bar.

On the flight deck Captain John Eames sits immediately in front of me in the left-hand “command” seat; Captain Jock Lowe is in the first officer’s seat. To my right the engineer is busy monitoring his myriad of instruments. All three complete thenintense ritual of pre-flight checks. We have on board 64 passengers and 90 tonnes (113,000 litres) of fuel. Our flight time will be an estimated 3hrs lamins. In London the time is just after 3.30 p.m.; we should land at 6.45 p.m. Captain Lowe activates the controls that lower the windscreen visor and droop the nose. We are cleared to taxi. The pre-take-off checks begin as we roll across Kennedy’s seemingly never-ending maze of concrete taxiways. “Timed this nicely,” Captain Eames comments as, unobstructed, we are cleared to line up on our designated runway. The tower clears us for take-off.

“Gentlemen, are we ready?” Captain Eames asks, before beginning an almost immediate countdown. “Four, three, two, one, now ...” The throttles are pushed forward; Alpha Delta lunges with a roar down the runway as 70 tonnes of thrust is unleashed by its four engines. Captain Lowe monitors the speed:

“100 knots ... VI ...” We have reached decision speed, the final point at which a take-off could be safely abandoned. Six seconds pass. “Rotate.” And Captain Eames eases the control column back to lift Concorde’s nose. Four seconds, “V2” is called — we have reached a safe climbing speed. We are rocketing through the air at an exhilarating climb rate of 5000 ft a minute, much faster and steeper than conventional jets. Our take-off is boosted by “reheat” burners which increase Concorde’s power by 25 per cent, but which also greatly add to its noise.

Noise abatement regulations require that its use be kept to a minimum so after 72 seconds there follows anbther military-precision-like countdown: “Four, three, two, one, noise” — and the after-burners are tripped out. They will not be used again until we are cleared to climb and increase speed through the “barrier.” The special heat resistant green visor is hydraulically pulled into position over the flight deck windscreen and the nose raised to transform Concorde into a beautifully sleek needle-tipped dart. As we climb to our sub-sonic cruising altitude of 28,000 ft the engineer adjusts the trim by pumping fuel from forward tanks to others in the rear. /

- Twenty minutes later we receive clearance from Boston to commence our climb to supersonic flight. The reheats are switched on and Alpha Delta gives a responsive lurch, rather like an automatic car slipping into a lower gear. Higher and higher we climb — 30,000 ft, 40,000 ft, 50,000 ft. To prove just how much Concorde’s air frame will expand with the heat of supersonic friction, Captain Lowe draws my attention to the gap between the flight deck wall and the rear of the engineer’s panel. I can barely squeeze a finger into it. Within an hour, I am told, Alpha Delta will have expanded a total of eight inches. At 58,000 ft we level out and our speed increases towards Mach 1 — about 1086 km/h. The only indication that passengers. have of passing through the mythical sound barrier is the red digital counter at the front of the cabin. There is no sudden jolt; no sonic boom within our hearing; no great sensation of accomplishment. On the flight deck the needle of the VSI (vertical speed indicator) gives a salute-like dip as it acknowledges the passing of the sonic wave. Our speed continues to increase steadily towards twice the speed of sound. At 1.7 Mach (about 1930 km/h) the reheats are cut out without affecting our rate of acceleration. Ten minutes later we are flying a fraction faster than Mach 2— at about 2200 km/h. From our altitude on the threshold of space the sky takes on a darker hue in the thinner atmosphere. One can clearly see Earth’s curvature. Concorde’s temperature friction sensor records 119 degrees Centigrade. I can now freely move my hand into the once finger-tight gap behind the engineer’s panel. The chief purser calls to advise that lunch is about to be served and I leave the flight deck temporarily to have my meal in the passenger cabin. The menu is a gourmet’s delight: Canapes that include caviar, goose liver pate and shrimps; Scotch smoked salmon garnished with crabs legs; prime fillet of beef with sauteed mushrooms; English style game pie prepared from marinated venison and pheasant; and an exotic selection of desserts such as fresh strawberries marinated in orange juice, flavoured with maraschino and kirsch and served with cream. There is a choice of Champagnes — Laurent-Perrier Grand Siecle or Heidsieck Dry Monopole 1975. Wines offered include Chateau Gruaud Larose 1974 — St Julien and Chateau la Dominique — St Emilion, and the

1979 vintage of the white burgundy Chablis. Unlike traditional first-class service on wide-bodied jets, the meals on Concorde are presented direct from the galley on trays. The narrowness of the aisle prohibits the use of a servery trolley. Concorde’s cabins — it has two, for’ard and aft — are surprisingly narrow; in fact about the same width as a Boeing 737. The seats, in pairs, are comfortable but not as spacious or luxurious as the first-class sleeperette type on the bigger jets. But who cares on a flight of barely three hours?

The windows are small, about the size of a postcard to meet international regulations. Even so, they provide passengers with their only clue of Concorde’s high frictional temperatures: the inner protective shields become quite warm. The outer glass only scm away would be too hot to touch.

The aircraft is slightly noisier inside than a Boeing 747 or McDonnell Douglas DCIO, but not from the engines. Most of the noise is the flow of air as Concorde cuts through the atmosphere faster than a bullet — at 37 kilometres a minute.

The digital speed indicator on the cabin wall reaas 2.03 Mach. We are cruising at our optimum speed and altitude, but there’s not a ripple in the champagne glass. Clear air turbulence is rarely encountered at 58,000 ft. Air pressure inside Concorde is stabilised

equivalent to an altitude of 6000 ft — a more comfortable pressure than the 8000 ft equivalent in wide-bodied jets. Back on the flight deck a half-hour before our scheduled arrival at Heathrow, I find the crew making their pre-descent checks. Far to our left the southern coast of Ireland stands out clearly in the late afternoon light. Power is reduced and deceleration begins. We descend over the Bristol Channel and, later, make a wide sweep across Surrey to the south of Heathrow. It is 6.40 p.m. Alpha Delta’s

visor and nose are lowered as we make a left turn over the city of London and line up for our final approach towards the west. Four greens indicate that our undercarriage is down and locked. Two kilometres from touchdown our speed is stabilised at 160 knots (296 km/h), about 37 km/h faster than the approach of a large conventional jet. The engineer calls our height in feet from an accurate radio altimeter — 50, 40, 30, 20, 15 — the main wheels kiss the seal. But the nose remains high — in fact, the flight deck is still 17ft above the runway. It drops gently as reverse thrust is applied and Alpha Delta rolls to a stop. It is at this point that the passengers capitalise on their $NZ3524 investment in the one-way fare. They have arrived in peak form and will not suffer the usual symptoms of jet lag associated with a seven-hour subsonic flight. For high-powered business executives the 15 per cent surcharge on a- normal first-class subsonic fare makes economic sense. (New Zealanders on "round-the-world” fares can include a Concorde Atlantic crossing by paying an additional $lB6 if they are travelling first-class; $lO7O if business class; and $1212 if flying economy class.) Minutes later we arrive at the “gate.” The engines are shut down; the crew relax.

“Now comes the worst part — driving home,” Captain Lowe comments wryly. He lives only 35km from Heathrow, but that journey will take him 90 minutes through the peak hour traffic. It’s the quickest way to bring a Concorde pilot back down to Earth ... Feature page tomorrow: Can Concorde survive?

• Concorde's crew working through their long ritual of pre-flight checks before leaving New York for London. During the crossing the aircraft reaches a speed fractionally faster than twice the speed of sound — about 2200 km per hour, or Mach 2.02, as shown in the photograph (top) of the digital indicator in the passenger’s cabin.