The Flying Bear Goes to Beantown | Part 1, Busy Beverly

How Do You like Them Apples?

The City on a Hill. The Athens of America. Beantown. Call it what you will, the burg originally settled in 1630 that was home to Samuel Adams, Paul Revere, and a fictitious Will Hunting is undeniably one of America’s great historical cities. For my family, Boston represents a place of multiple lost opportunities. The Bear missed out on a school trip there due to Covid. Kristy and I ended our first visit in 2016 prematurely due to ominous movement on a weather map. When we made the decision to flee Boston early all of those years ago, we reasoned that it was a short flight and access to downtown from an outlying general aviation airport was relatively simple via Uber. Yet eight years passed without making a return excursion to Beantown.

When our friends Mark and Dena (and, by default, The Bear's friend Izzy) proposed vacationing in the Boston area, we enthusiastically agreed. Ultimately, we reserved a cottage in the town of Rockport, MA near Cape Ann for the better part of a week. Because Rockport is northeast of Boston, we planned to use Beverly Regional Airport (KBVY) as our home base. Like Norwood Memorial Airport (KOWD) where we landed in 2016, it is a towered Class Delta airport underlying the Boston Bravo airspace with a positive reputation among general aviation pilots.

But First, Sushi

Date	Aircraft	Route of Flight	Time (hrs)	Total (hrs)
07 July 2024	N21481	SDC (Sodus, NY) - BAF (Westfield, MA) - BVY (Beverly, MA)	2.9	2847.9

We launched for the first time as a family since a September 2023 trip to Saratoga Springs for a college visit. Our rental house in Rockport would not be accessible until midafternoon, so we planned lunch at Tobiko Sushi at the Westfield-Barnes Regional Airport (KBAF) with a brief excursion to Mount Holyoke College in Atlantic-Westfield's crew car. Mount Holyoke was a late add to The Bear's list of colleges under consideration and was faring remarkably well in the selection process. From there, it would be a short hop from Westfield to Beverly, MA.

ForeFlight ground track showing our significant eastbound deviation around a Cirrus over Syracuse.

After climbing through a localized layer of clouds, we found ourselves cruising in smooth air on an IFR flight plan with clouds scattered about -- but not impinging on -- our route. I had to smile when I heard Barry come on frequency with Syracuse. Barry is a Williamson Flying Club member who owns one of the Rochester area's most distinctive aircraft: a 1946 Grumman Widgeon amphibian. Flying right seat, taking the controls, and experiencing a couple of water landings in Barry's Widgeon in 2019 was definitely a highlight of my time as a pilot.

I noticed the collision threat before Syracuse called it out. Another southeast bound aircraft, faster than us, was on a slightly convergent heading. Syracuse called the traffic to me, but assigned the other aircraft a new heading in an effort at deconfliction. Instead of turning away from us, the target turned toward us!

Approach called the Cirrus again -- because of course it was a Cirrus -- and issued him another vector away from Warrior 481. Failing in this, Syracuse turned us due east over Syracuse. By now, we had a visual on the other airplane and all three of us kept careful watch on it. Eventually, Syracuse was able to get the aircraft to a different altitude and on a suitable heading, then cleared us direct to Westfield-Barnes.

Kristy, The Bear, and Warrior 481 at Westfield-Barnes.

I have been talking up Tobiko Sushi to Kristy for years, but this was a first visit for her and The Bear. Lunch was excellent and Kristy readily agreed that my claims of sushi excellence had merit. After lunch, we borrowed the Atlantic FBO's crew car, a plug-in hybrid Chrysler Pacifica. It had not been charged any time recently and no amount of regenerative braking was going to creep the battery level above 0%. To their credit, Atlantic does not charge ramp fees to patrons of Tobiko Sushi and they were generous with the car, so I purchased some fuel from them in thanks.

Main gate at Mount Holyoke. The Bear refused to be photographed here lest it suggest any allegiance.

Mount Holyoke was founded in 1837 by chemist (yes!) Mary Lyon whose gravesite is prominently featured on campus. In line with the pedigree of its founder, the college is top rated in the nation for sending female students on to graduate school in STEM fields. It is a compact campus of beautiful buildings in a small Massachusetts town. 

The Bear consented to be photographed in Batch Ice Cream, however.

After our walking tour of campus -- that included a cool radial periodic table created from hexagonal pavers depicting elemental series in lines radiating outward from the central atom (hydrogen) rather than in columns -- we treated ourselves at Batch Ice Cream.

Frogs.

Boom! You've Been Westfielded!

Back at Westfield-Barnes, we climbed into an incredibly hot Piper. (Sweeney Todd would have described it as "piping hot".) As I prepared for the next leg of our flight, I commented to Kristy about the Williamson Flying Club's recurrent negative history with the snarky tower controller at Westfield. (I described Westfield Tower in a previous post as a "pillar of pedantry".) So far, everything had gone smoothly for us and, before long, I had my instrument clearance to Beverly, an assigned departure runway (02 with an intersection departure at taxiway Alpha), and a taxi route. It was my best experience ever with the tower there. I wondered if the controller had mellowed since my last visit.

"Westfield Ground, CAP flight XYZ..." I caught the call sign of the Civil Air Patrol Cessna wanting to depart, but when the pilot began to blather, I found myself ignoring the rest of what he said and concentrating on what I was doing instead.

Westfield Ground responded in an annoyed tone, "Understand there's a CAP flight looking to depart, but nothing you said after that made any sense at all."

Oh, there he is. I guess some things never change. Though, in this case, he had a point.

Busy Beverly

It was a brief, bumpy flight in hot summer afternoon air to the Boston metropolitan area. In short order, we were handed from Bradley Departure to Boston Approach who assigned a series of vectors to Beverly that set us up for an arcing clockwise trajectory around the northern half of the Boston Bravo airspace. It's busy airspace over a highly populated landscape. Consistent with all prior experiences with Boston Approach, the controller was cool, calm, and helpful as he guided traffic to their destinations.

Over unfamiliar terrain, I finally spotted Beverly Regional and Boston handed us off to the tower. Beverly Tower was busy with a pattern full of students all practicing their landings on runway 27. She had the students flying left handed patterns and directed me to enter on a right downwind where she expertly sequenced us into the conga line of piston aircraft queued up on final approach. It was busy, but Tower had it all well in hand. Once rolling on the runway, we were cleared to taxi to FlightLevel Aviation on the west side of the field.

Taxiing north on taxiway Bravo, a Lancair pulled across the movement area line as though he intended to cut us off. "That Lancair doesn't have a clearance and should yield to you," indicated Beverly Ground. I am sure that transmission was intended more for the Lancair pilot than for me, who promptly stopped partway across the movement area boundary and glared at me as though I had done something wrong. We swung wide around him on the taxiway (which I may have exaggerated somewhat to make a point) before pulling onto the FlightLevel ramp. FlightLevel was busy that day and multiple jets occupied the ramp area so we were directed to park among the T-hangars on the south side of the ramp.

"Behold! We have arrived!"

We had arrived in the greater Boston metropolitan area! It was also the functional debut of my brand new Bruce's cover for the plane. My old Kennon cover from 2004 was in rough shape and still sported floppy, sock-like accommodations for communication and ADF antennas that no longer occupied the roof of the cabin. A high quality soft interior lining meant that Warrior 481 should be very comfortable in her new pajamas.



Fortunately, the FBO secured Warrior 481 with their "trustey" (sic) chock. We were clearly in good hands. Our Enterprise rental, a black Chevy Malibu exuding a faint aroma of cigarette smoke, was ready and waiting for us. The line crew brought the car around to where we were tied down for easy loading. After a brief stop to sign the rental paperwork, we set out for Rockport.

Bear Skin Neck is not a Great Place Name:
Postcards from Rockport

Our house rental was right in town, a mere two blocks from the main drag. We really enjoyed this aspect of our stay in Boothbay Harbor, ME in 2022 and sought to recreate it. When we first reached the house, I was blown away by how grand it was. Referencing driving directions from the owner quickly burst our bubble. We were to drive behind that grand house to the cottage on the same grounds that we had actually rented.

It was nonetheless a nicely appointed, recently renovated house that was more than sufficient to meet our needs for four nights. We cooked a few meals there and ventured out for others. The availability of a propane-powered fire table inspired us to bring supplies for s'mores, but we were thwarted by a missing control knob that prevented us from lighting it.

There was also a weird hanging outdoor chair that was perfectly Bear-sized for when she wanted to hang outdoors.

Rockport was a charming town to wander. The vintage homes in our neighborhood were lovely and well-maintained. Those that weren't were actively undergoing renovation. During one walk through the neighborhood, Mark and I spotted a truck parked on the street bought from a familiar Rochester dealership, so we suspected that we were not the only Rochesterians visiting Rockport that week.

Like a lot of small New England towns, Rockport has transitioned from a fishing economy to a tourism economy. Old town storefronts now advertise artisan shops with punny names.

We patronized the Red Skiff for breakfast twice and were presented with a question that caused some cognitive dissonance when we first heard it. While Mark and I ordered traditional breakfasts, Dena and Kristy both requested fresh, mixed berry muffins.

"Do you want those regular or grilled?" asked our waitress as though this was a perfectly normal question. There is a thing that puppies do when people talk to them and they tilt their noggins at an angle and gaze back at the speaker in confusion. At "grilled", all four of us did that very thing in response. Immediately pegging us as out-of-towners, the waitress explained that grilling muffins was a local custom and she highly recommended it. So Dena and Kristy ordered their muffins grilled.

In essence, each muffin was sliced vertically in half, the cut faces were buttered, then briefly placed on a griddle. It warmed the muffin, melted the butter, and lightly toasted the exposed muffin faces. They were amazing. If anyone ever offers to grill your muffin (unless they're speaking euphemistically), you should accept!

We wandered the streets of Rockport where many of the buildings dressed in the standard New England weathered gray cedar shake siding.

Closer to the ocean and Rockport's harbor, we learned that the area was known as Bear Skin Neck. It was a name that would not win any aesthetic awards, but it very likely stands as unique.

Rockport's harbor is partially enclosed by a stone breakwater created from massive blocks of granite. "Imagine the countertops that could have been made from all of this," commented a nearby tourist. I assume that Rockport gave up prohibiting people from climbing out on the breakwater at some point and merely put up a "well, don't sue us if you hurt yourself" sign. (Foreshadowing - this is a much more subtle sign than the one atop the big dune at Sleeping Bear National Lakeshore.) As highly responsible adults, Mark and I promptly climbed out on the breakwater.

Here, Mark demonstrated his anti-authority attitude by ignoring that "pass at own risk" sign. 

Panoramic taken from the end of the breakwater.

This Jeep was claimed by a seagull. "Mine," it said.

I don't know who (or what) Guppa is (or was), but they have a lovely bench dedicated to them. With the accompanying water dish, I wondered if Guppa was a dog who would look at people quizzically when asked about grilled muffins.

It was not very big, but it was a book store. So, naturally, The Bear found it.

There may have been some debate about whether Mark made a good choice here, but I can say in retrospect that he did not throw his back out.

Photo by The Bear.

One morning, The Bear rose early and ventured down to the harbor solo to capture the sunrise.

In keeping with long tradition, we played miniature golf at a course we found in Middleton, MA called Paradise Family Golf.

Photo by Dena.

After miniature golf, we enjoyed lunch at Crossroads Kitchen and Bar in Middleton. Mark and I ordered the same burger, but mine came as listed in the menu, onion rings, veggies, and all. Mark's was ordered with cheese only. There may have been a mild difference in height without all the extras. It was the second time in as many weeks that I was surrounded by people who wanted to know how I was going to eat a vertically challenging burger. It was no problem

Photo by The Bear.

Back in Rockport, The Bear and Izzy (our absolute favorite orchestra nerds) explored beyond the harbor by kayak. What cannot be seen in the picture is that Izzy is playing "My Heart Will Go On" on a recorder. (I do not invoke the phrase "orchestra nerds" lightly.)

It was a wonderful trip in a beautiful place with great people. While Rockport and the surrounding areas were charming enough, we had more adventures within (Part 2) and above Boston (Part 3) that will be the subjects of additional posts.