California Dreaming
N33°27.65′ W117°41.96′
0410 ZULU
We climb skyward in the velvety smoothness of a Southern California dusk. The plane rockets upwards, away from a darkened ground splashed with the first lights of evening, while in the cockpit, the altitude tape rolls across the side of the primary flight display in a blur of digits. The plane is lightly loaded and after being away from base for eight days the plane feels eager to be heading home. We pass underneath the arrival corridor for LAX. The landing lights of the inbound aircraft, forming a string of pearls rising into the darkness of the eastern skyline, drift by above us. And then we are given a turn to the west.
It’s already been a long day of dodging thunderstorms over Texas and New Mexico—so long in fact that we’ve needed to take a third pilot on board for the day—so I’ve already engaged the autopilot to do the heavy lifting of navigating us up and to the west. The computer figures out an optimal bank angle and amount to turn, and then drops the right wing. I subconsciously lean to the left, counteracting the motion of the turn. As we come around, the fiery red afterglow of the setting sun slides into the center of our field of view, the night sky above fading from pink to purple to blue to black.
The cabin is mostly empty. We are returning from a busy week of charter flying, and most of the three different crews that operated the flights are sleeping in the back, as are our mechanics and load masters. Thirty minutes ago, after I came in from doing my walk-around and headed up towards the cockpit, I passed through the cabin and observed several of the flight attendants setting up makeshift beds across empty rows of seats. So it’s fallen on me and two captains to fly everybody else home.
But not all of the crew in the back has gone to sleep yet. Because there are no passengers on board, the cockpit door is open and a few of the flight attendants stand in the back of the cockpit. They have been watching silently as the last rays of the sun’s afterglow shimmer over the horizon, while the lights of Los Angeles County blink on—a massive swath of illuminated area made small by the expansive darkness surrounding it. For the pilots, charter flying duties often go to the first person who requests it. On the flight attendant side, though, these assignments generally attract the most senior of the group. However on this flight, due to some last-minute changes, one of the cabin crews is very junior, and the three of them who now stand quietly in the back of the cockpit have never seen this view before.
ATC clears us to our first oceanic fix, and the City of Angels slips behind our wing in the turn. On the western horizon, the daylight puts on one last spectacle of orange and yellow bands shimmering against a red background, before finally surrendering to the night. With nothing left to see, our visitors return to the cabin, where they most likely will spend the next five hours napping or reading or watching movies. Up front, the captains and I dim our displays in the night sky’s reduced light and settle in for the remainder of the journey home.
