Airports Are Far From Just Another Piece of Concrete

Light years ago, I was nearby to hear a quintessential crusty, old captain’s response to an inquiry from a passenger that prompted him to say that at the end of the day, all airports were just pieces of concrete to land the airplane. The statement is pure bravado, implying that setting the wheels down on any runway anywhere in the world is routine.

Indeed, as well-trained professional pilots, it should be routine. But for those of us that are seasoned veterans of the sky, we know that airports have their own idiosyncrasies.

Often, I would be asked a similar question, worded typically as: “What’s the most difficult airport you’ve flown into?” Never quite knowing how to define “difficult,” I smile, and with deference to the captain of days gone by, I can’t resist replying in a cavalier tone: “They’re all just another piece of concrete.” Immediately, I then deflect to: “Some airports offer more challenges than others. Approach procedures, runway length, and weather are just some examples of those challenges.”

Although the reply doesn’t include a specific airport, usually that answer is sufficient for typical curiosity without risking eyes glazing over.

An airport that receives a fair amount of attention from the flying public is New York’s LaGuardia (KLGA). It’s located in a congested area, with the south threshold of Runway 4/22 only a few hundred feet from the Grand Central Parkway. The remaining three thresholds, inclusive of Runway 13/31, are suspended over water. The intersecting runways offer only 7,000 feet of concrete for takeoff and landing. Ramp and taxiway space are limited, with some days involving airplane grid lock.

The towering landscape of Manhattan places a dramatic exclamation point on the fact LaGuardia seems like such a conflicting location to situate an airport. Certainly, it must take an extra amount of skill for pilots to operate their airplanes safely? In reality the approaches consist of the same ILS- and GPS-based systems as most air carrier airports. The departures are no more complicated than any other large metropolitan airport that involves noise abatement procedures, especially in this day and age of precise navigation systems.

That said, because of the relatively short runways, pilots do have to be on their A game. If LaGuardia is conducting approaches to Runway 22, it’s an unwritten rule that the main wheels should be on terra firma before the intersection of Runway 13/31, lest the nose of the airplane find its way to the Grand Central Parkway. The Engineered Materials Arresting System (EMAS) should prevent such a catastrophe, as it did with the chartered B-737 that carried vice presidential candidate Mike Pence in 2016.

If adverse weather in the form of rain, snow, or high winds affects the New York area, LaGuardia compels crews to really pay attention to details. Accurate performance calculations for both takeoff and landing are essential. Accomplishing an aborted takeoff at KLGA is not for the faint at heart. A go-around is the only solution to fix an unstable approach.

My all-time favorite arrival was the Runway 31 Expressway Visual approach, now called the Park Visual. Although the current procedure involves GPS waypoints, it’s basically the same with the visual reference points illustrated on the approach plate as before. Hand-flying a transport category airplane while following landmarks and roads is just plain fun. Speed and altitude precision is imperative—attempting to salvage the approach is not a wise decision.

An airport that always caught my attention was St. Maarten (TNCM) in the Caribbean. Nothing is remarkable about the airport’s arrival procedures other than Maho Beach. The beach is the iconic stretch of white sand where lubricated lobster-colored people of limited judgment skills go to stand underneath vortex-generating landing airliners. As a pilot, you only have a brief moment to shake your head at the human spectacle before touching down on the 7,500-foot runway. 

Numerous international flights arrive to the island, many of them widebody jets. Because of the relatively short runway and a rather prominent orographic obstruction in close proximity to the departure corridor of Runway 10, most airlines employ a high-performance takeoff procedure. It involves accelerating on the concrete longer in order to obtain a higher-than-normal rotation speed, which translates to a greater angle of climb. 

The mountains must remain in sight for takeoff, requiring a minimum ceiling of 1,200-feet and 2.8 nm of visibility. As soon as practicable, a right turn must commence toward a designated GPS waypoint to the southwest. Although an engine failure would add a level of difficulty, performance calculations take that scenario into account—in theory, of course.

So, imagine the thrust produced from the engines on a fuel-laden, full-passenger widebody jet with a higher-than-standard power setting beginning its takeoff roll. Would you stand behind the airplane? On my first trip into St. Maarten, I asked that very question to my copilot while gawking at the array of beach goers standing only 100 hundred feet behind the departure threshold. At that time, people were still allowed to attach their fingers to the security fence. 

A fatality changed the rules, restricting thrill-seekers from attempting to become human windsocks. Instead, they had to remain all of 25 feet away from the fence and across the road, still with the opportunity to transform into rolling beach balls.

I felt compelled enough to query the tower controller if it was possible to clear the assembled crowd away from their potential demise. The non-plussed reply indicated that my proposal would not be a consideration, nor would it ever be. Certain that I was about to commit multiple homicides, I reluctantly departed. Fortunately, no international crime was reported.

Another airport that has personality but which most passengers wouldn’t consider necessarily “difficult,” is London’s Heathrow Airport (EGLL). Heathrow is an international melting pot of almost every airline in the world, with almost every type of transport category airplane setting its wheels onto the concrete. Starting at about 7 a.m. local time, air carrier departures from North America and beyond begin to converge on the airport.

Heathrow’s air traffic controllers are some of the best choreographers in the world. Typically, airplanes are directed to either a north or south holding fix, awaiting their release from bondage to begin the arrival. When an Expect Further Clearance (EFC) time is given, it is usually within seconds of the actual holding pattern departure.

Once the controller initiates the vectoring process toward an ILS approach for either Runway 9L/9R or Runway 27L/27R, the challenge begins. Heathrow utilizes the protocol for a Continuous Descent Approach (CDA), with the noise abatement objective for crews to leave their thrust levers at idle power until such time that the final approach segment begins with the landing gear descending from the wheel wells. If you fail in that mission, most likely your chief pilot will soon receive a letter about your errant ways.

Over the course of my airline career, many more airports qualified with unique personalities, but space is limited for this column. Regardless of the bravado, none of them were just another piece of concrete. 

This column first appeared in the March Issue 968 of the FLYING print edition.