You can’t fly from Raleigh-Durham to Nashville at an altitude of 1000 feet – there are mountains in the way! This wasn’t the first thought on my list of increasingly worrisome thoughts about five minutes into our flight out of Raleigh-Durham on a recent clear, sunny Sunday. The first “hmm” moment came when I realized the pilot had significantly cut the engines back. But, I’ve flown plenty of times and know that they change engine speeds for a variety of normal operating reasons – so, no worries. Not yet anyway.
As I continued to gaze out at the landscape below I began to realize it wasn’t getting any smaller. In fact, it might even be getting bigger. As in closer. Uh oh. We had clearly leveled off at maybe 700 feet and were no longer ascending or going very fast. This couldn’t be good. Now the worry meter was starting to heat up – why were we still so close to the ground, why weren’t we ascending anymore, were we losing altitude, how slow can this jet go before it stalls?
I turn to my husband – an A-lister who spends 50% of his life on airplanes. In the most well-modulated voice I could muster I casually say, “Hey – we are going pretty slow and we don’t seem to be going up anymore. Do you think something’s wrong?”
Mr. Frequent Flyer barely looks up from his magazine and says, “No, everything basically sounds normal. Maybe there’s traffic overhead.” Sounded reasonable – for about 3-4 minutes – and then, as I stared out the window, I began to realize we had begun to turn back towards the airport.
Me: “Hey, stop reading. I think we’re going back to the airport. Do you think we are going back? Do you think something’s wrong with the plane? Sh*t, we should have updated our wills. What’s wrong? I’m getting scared something is wrong. Are you worried? Blah blah blah.” My poor husband.
He finally stops reading, looks out the window and says, “Good call, I think we are going back.” Good call? This isn’t a contest. This is supposed to be a quick, 90 minute – uneventful – flight.
Me, again: “I’m getting really worried, why aren’t they saying anything to us?”
Cool, calm, collected, if somewhat insensitive husband says, “Everything still ‘sounds’ like it’s working fine.”
Me: “Aren’t you scared?”
Him: “Nope, nothing I can do about it anyway.” OK, the concept that says, “If you are going to crash, don’t worry about it, your fate is already sealed,” somehow isn’t slowing my heartbeat. I stare out the window and worry. I realize the nice lady sitting behind me isn’t worried at all. She had told me she was on the very first airplane flight of her life. For all she knew, this is how it always went. If we survived, she was going to be in for a surprise on her next flight when the plane roared off the runway and headed straight up to 35,000 feet without a slow, lazy aerial tour of the counties surrounding the airport.
A few minutes later I realize we are turning again – this time back towards our original heading. The engines very slowly start to come up to normal levels and we finally start to ascend, but very slowly. Another 5-10 minutes and the flight attendants get up and start the drink service.
So… emergency – or whatever it was – had seemingly been averted. A big question remains in my mind, though. Why did they never say anything to us about what was going on? Is it standard procedure to keep it to themselves – kind of a “need to know” basis – until it was an actual emergency? It was clearly not a normal take-off. It was also clear that the problem had been resolved. But the lack of communication left me uneasy for the remainder of the flight and way too aware of engine speeds, sounds, etc. I’m sure I wasn’t the only unsettled flyer that day and remain puzzled why nothing was ever explained to the passengers. Thoughts?
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