I don’t sleep well on the jet most of the time. But since we can have up to a 24-hour duty day, it is vitally important to get some rest to endure such a long day. It’s not unusual to be awake for up to 12 hours or more before being alerted to fly a max duty day. The obvious solution would be to sleep right up to alert, but sometimes we don’t know when our alert will occur. So for me it’s always been a challenge.
Perhaps if I’ve been awake more than 24 hours or so, I’ll be able to sleep on the jet, but it’s not exactly restful slumber. I often wake up thinking I haven’t slept at all, but it is obvious from the bizarre dreams I’ve had that I did get some rest (I once dreamt that the top of the aircraft was flapping like a tarp in the wind). But I usually feel more fatigued after I get up than before I laid down.
Part of the problem is that the environment is not conductive to adequate rest. Just aft of the cockpit, we have a crew rest facility equipped with two bunks stacked in bunk bed fashion; the loadmaster bunk is on top and the pilot bunk is on the bottom. Since space is a factor, there is perhaps 18 inches between the pilot bunk and the top bunk; it is a challenge worthy of a contortionist just to climb in without banging some body part (usually the head) on the loadmaster bunk. And once inside, it is somewhat akin to lying in a coffin. Not that I’ve ever been in that situation, but I imagine it’s very similar. When you’re dead, there’s no reason to turn over in the search for comfort, but it is quite challenging to roll over on the pilot bunk without bumping an elbow, head, or knee.
In addition, noise often interrupts my slumber. Unlike on commercial jets that are somewhat insulated against external noise, the C-17 is quite deafening. I have to wear hearing protection continuously to ensure what little hearing I still have after years of flying stays undamaged. The pilot bunk also lies atop the stairs from the cargo compartment, and the heavy combat boots we wear make quite a thud on each step of the metal stairs. Throw in occasional alarms from the overhead speakers in the flight deck and it’s a little like trying to sleep in a factory. To be fair, many of my fellow pilots have no problem sleeping, and they are more than happy to use my sleeping allotment. Some of them can sleep at a moment’s notice, despite just having slept 12 hours prior to alert. It is a gift I wish I had.
Even when we’re on the ground, I have problems with a normal sleep cycle. Many years ago, I usually adjusted my sleep cycle to wherever I was in the world, but when I returned home, I would find it difficult to readjust to Pacific Time. At home, I would fall asleep around 5 pm, usually on the sofa, and then I’d be up all night. To appease my often frustrated wife and family, I now tend to keep Pacific Time wherever I am. Of course, when I am in Germany and I wake up at 8 am Pacific time, it is actually 5 pm local time. Then I’ll be up all night, and all the restaurants, the gym, and other facilities on the base are closed, and I’m resigned to watching AFN or late night German TV (And I still have learned very little of the language).
I have settled upon a somewhat successful method to counter all of the above problems: I sleep when I am tired and I don’t when I’m not. If I try to sleep when I’m not tired, I get frustrated when I can’t fall asleep, and when I try to stay awake when I’m exhausted, I feel like I’m intoxicated. This method may sound like common sense, but it’s not. There are always circumstances that prevent its application; for instance, after arriving in Germany yesterday, I tried to power through the sleep wall, since if I went to sleep immediately after landing, I would be up all night with our next flight first thing in the morning. I finally gave in and slept five hours, ate some dinner, and slept a few more hours before I had to go fly. But even as I got ready to go to work, I knew it would be a long tiring day.
Maybe that’s why God invented coffee.
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