Blue Glow
N46°10.00′ W127°41.25′
0522 ZULU
The day finally ends, just as we reach the coastline. Sunset began almost 500 miles ago, somewhere over the Pacific, but we’ve been tracking steadily northeast for the crossing, and that, coupled with the summer tilt of Earth’s path around the sun, has kept the last rays of daylight still visible for several hours. I had first break today, and after almost three hours of movie watching, I came back up to a cockpit still filled with the softening light of day. I ate my dinner as the light continued to weaken, until we finally passed under the terminator line and into the coming night. Now with the world in all but full darkness, low clouds on the distant northern horizon appear as pale wraiths in a pool of dim blue that shimmers and fades into nothingness.
The First Officer’s mother is on board today so he’s elected to fly this leg. The Captain, recently back from a vacation and still not sure what time zone she’s in, was happy to give it to him. That leaves me, the Relief Officer, acting as a seat filler during their rest breaks and an extra pair of eyes in the jumpseat for takeoff and landing. Temporarily in the left seat, I work the radios as we coast in just north of Coos Bay, Oregon. Below us, a solid cloud layer obscures the Cascades. The moon, a waxing crescent, is still over the horizon, and the fluffy clouds below are illuminated by nothing more than starlight.
As the RO, I’m technically in charge during the Captain’s absence—a holdover from a time when RO-qualified FOs required additional training and qualifications to sit in the left seat in the Captain’s absence. All FOs require this training now, so we are—seniority numbers aside—all equal. However, I still defer to the flying pilot on the cockpit lighting. Tonight, he’s opted for the overhead lights to be off, allowing the full darkness of the night to fill the windows. Beyond the glass, the horizon line divides the star-filled blackness above from the cloud-shrouded earth below. On this side, the display screens radiate a cool light that surrenders to the shadow-filled corners of the cockpit while the backlighting glows softly—outlining the hundreds of buttons, switches, dials, and readouts that have become the natural background of data in my daily life.
Pushed along by a strong jetstream, we skim along the northern border of the country, breaking free of the low layer of clouds over central Montana. Scattered ground lighting now mirrors the stars above, but in a warmer color palette. Cockpit conversation moves in fits and starts. Long pauses stretch to the point where one of us might begin to wonder whether the other has not yet finished their thought or instead has become distracted by something else. The clock ticks onward in an uneven rhythm… sometimes minutes go by as if in seconds—sometimes seconds go by in what seems like hours. The only constant is the reassuring vibration from the engines and the noise of the recirculating fans moving air through the cockpit.
Somewhere over North Dakota, we meet up with the approaching day. Short summer nights, coupled with our rapid eastward movement, have kept us in pure darkness for just under two hours. To the northeast the sky takes on the faintest of deep blues, barely perceptible beyond the lighted reflections in the cockpit windows. A brief discussion ensues—are we looking at the northern lights (we aren’t), the reflection of ground lighting in the sky (with Fargo just off our nose there are no major cities to our north), or the first hints of daylight. Twenty minutes later, with the blue spreading upwards and lightening in hues, we have our answer.
The captain, fresh off two hours of napping, joins us in the cockpit and reclaims the left seat, the FO heading to the back to get some rest. I take his place, and in my familiar right seat, I watch as the lights of Minneapolis slide over the horizon, taking on clarity as we approach them. In the distance, beyond the city, the first oranges and yellows of daylight start to fill in at the horizon line. Without taking my eyes off this narrow band of light, I reach behind me and feel for the sunshades that sit in the top of my backpack. In a few minutes we’ll begin the process of rigging for daytime flying. But for now, I watch the kaleidoscope of color changes and ponder the symmetry of day to night to day.
