"The Egyptians built their pyramids.
The Cape and Islanders build their lighthouses.
We trust this lasts as long."
- 1986 plaque from the builders of Nantucket's Great Point Lighthouse
Early Morning Motifs
| Date | Aircraft | Route of Flight | Time (hrs) | Total (hrs) |
| 10 Oct 2025 | N21481 | SDC (Sodus, NY) - ACK (Nantucket, MA) - 1B2 (Edgartown, MA) - SDC | 6.9 | 3078.6 |
It is rare that I beat the sun into the sky, but I managed it on October 10, 2025. As I climbed away from the Williamson Sodus Airport over a landscape still cloaked in shadow, I beheld the sunrise before anyone else on the ground. It was a rare dawn reward for rising so early.
In the fiery birth of the day, ground fog seemed set aflame. I turned the airplane toward emerging molten gold on the horizon and continued on across New England until I met the Atlantic Ocean.
Cold air parted around the airplane's aluminum skin as I flew over ground fog loitering in the wake of the season's first overnight frost.
Rivers of mist coalesced in New York valleys as they so often do.
The south end of Otsego Lake near Cooperstown, NY clung to that mist in defiance of the banishing sun.
Oblique lighting highlighted the terrain in sharp relief.
A cement plant south of Albany, NY became an oversized windsock in two respects, both parting the ground fog while producing directional vapor of its own.
Over western Massachusetts, I flew above a runway built for B-52s at Westover Air Reserve Base / Metropolitan (CEF). We landed here a couple of weeks earlier to visit The Bear at college. When I was cleared to land on the 11,600 foot long runway 23, I was instructed to exit at the far end of the runway to the civilian ramp. "Long landing approved," added Westover Tower. I flew the first mile or so of the runway 100 feet off the surface at 90 knots. Reaching the halfway point, I closed the throttle, dropped flaps, and touched down softly with 3,000 feet still remaining.
"Cherokee Four Eight One, you really ran with landing long!" exclaimed the military tower controller with the edge of a chuckle in his voice. He gave unsolicited approval to land long; I'm not sure what else he was expecting.
I smiled at the memory and returned my focus to the flight at hand.
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| South end of the Scituate Reservoir. |
"Like a Masochist in Newport, We're Rhode Island Bound!"
(No sociopathic babies, alcoholic dogs, or Seth MacFarland were present on this flight.)
Providence, Rhode Island was built on the edge of a massive harbor where the shield of the Atlantic seaboard long ago surrendered to oceanic incursion.
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| Fall River Expressway connecting Portsmouth and Tiverton, RI. |
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| Sectional chart depicting the ground track from Providence, RI over Martha's Vineyard to Nantucket. I'm not sure how others feel about the recently desaturated colors on FAA VFR charts, but I'm not a fan. |
Just past Providence, I took stock of the world around me and mentally aligned it with the sectional chart. Roughly 50 miles north, the angular high rise structures of Boston were visible. The Cape Cod peninsula extended directly to the east, the distant earthly curl home to Provincetown barely discernible through the haze. Directly ahead to the southeast was Martha's Vineyard and beyond it, sixty miles distant, a shadow on the horizon hinted at my destination: Nantucket.
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| Naushon Island (bottom) and Cape Cod (top). |
Despite setting out over the Atlantic Ocean, I was never out of gliding distance from land. I crossed eight miles of Buzzard's Bay to reach Naushon Island, then an additional four miles to Martha's Vineyard and Chappaquiddick. Another eight miles of open ocean lie between Chappaquiddick and Tuckernuck Island with Nantucket less than two miles beyond that. Like skipping from stone to stone across a river, I ensured that I was always within reach of land.
"I Have Charted a Course for the Vineyard, But Tonight I am Nantucket Bound"
(More "Billy Joel Geography" -- From the Downeaster Alexa.)
Crossing over Martha's Vineyard, I enjoyed an aerial perspective on the island that I explored in 2020. In the past five years, I have significantly increased my knowledge of what I call "Billy Joel geography"; places that were once nothing more to me than lyrics from his songs. The first familiar landmark that I recognized from my previous visit was Lake Tashmoo.
East of Lake Tashmoo is the harbor of Vineyard Haven.
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| Lake Tashmoo and Vineyard Haven on Martha's Vineyard. |
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| Sengekontacket Pond. |
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| Trapps Pond. |
Significant weather passed through just two days prior and I was amazed that the water was clear enough to visualize phantom shorelines below the waves.
I overflew Edgartown where I once visited the lighthouse standing sentinel at the harbor entrance.
Finally, I passed over Chappaquiddick Island and its distinctive appendage, Cape Poge. It is amazing to me that something so delicate can survive the ocean's ravages.
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| Cape Poge Bay. |
“I Think, Sir, They Have Some Such Mild Blue Days, Even as This, in Nantucket.”
(Herman Melville, Moby Dick)
As I crossed over the southern shore of Martha's Vineyard, my destination gradually crystallized into sharper detail from the maritime haze. Noise abatement requirements demand all flights to Nantucket Memorial Airport (#296) remain at least a mile offshore and, while still over Martha's Vineyard, I adjusted my trajectory away from a direct course to the airport and along a more neighborly path.
Tuckernuck Island (bottom left) stands just off the northwest shore of Nantucket. Tuckernuck allegedly derives from an Algonquin word meaning "loaf of bread", but on first reading it, it struck to me as sounding like a rejected first draft name for Nantucket that was bestowed on the satellite instead. From west of Tuckernuck I could barely discern the delicate filament of Nantucket’s Great Point (top left corner) curled north of Nantucket like a scorpion's tail. Nantucket Island's west end possesses a natural harbor with a distinctive pincer shape in a region known as Madaket.
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| Madaket. |
Nantucket is believed to be an Anglicization of a Wampanoag word meaning "far-away land", though some sources alternatively point to a phrase less amenable to tourism: "sandy, sterile soil tempting no one".
Beyond Nantucket Island lies an empty horizon.
The Real Tom Nevers Field
Some may remember the sitcom Wings that ran for eight seasons during the 1990s. It was Cheers set at an airport instead of a bar, focused on the owners of fictional Sandpiper Air, a tiny Nantucket airline whose entire “fleet” comprised a single Cessna 402 light twin. (Think Cape Air with way fewer aircraft.) The real Nantucket Memorial Airport stood in for the show's imaginary Tom Nevers Field setting. In reality, Tom Nevers Field is a nearby park, not an airport. Nonetheless, I considered my Piper to be a "sandpiper" for the day.
Boston Approach switched me to Nantucket Tower about 17 miles northwest of the airport. I arrived during a sleepy moment and was cleared to land on runway six while still a few miles out.
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| The FBO (left) and main terminal (right) with integrated ATC tower. |
I was directed to park on the main ramp as close to the edge of the grass as possible. I chose a parking spot that was not directly vulnerable to jet blast from the handful of turbine aircraft already parked on the ramp.
After checking in at the FBO and getting the middling $11 ramp fee waived by purchasing a quantity of fuel at $7.35/gal, I exited streetside in search of the airline terminal. Although the fuel price was steep, it was easier to top off in Nantucket than to worry about where I would find fuel on the flight home.
Coskata-Coatue
Ground transportation for island exploration was a given, but in this case, I needed something with four wheel drive and an OSV (over sand vehicle) permit. My goal was to explore the Coskata-Coatue Wildlife Refuge, a pair of long sandy peninsulas converging to the Great Point Lighthouse at the extreme north end of Nantucket. Ken from Nantucket Island Rent a Car hooked me up with a 2025 Jeep Sahara with the appropriate permit and a soft top (which meant that it rattled a lot).
From the Nantucket Airport, I set out with my loaner wheels for the Wauwinet Gatehouse marking the entrance to the Coskata-Coutue Refuge operated by the Trustees of Reservations.
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| Map of the Coskata-Coatue Wildlife Refuge. |
Rules for Refuge entrance are strict and specific. Having an OSV permit is not enough. Rental drivers require a day pass specific to both vehicle and driver, the vehicle must be capable of four wheel drive (AWD is not permitted, Subarus need not apply), and the tires must be deaired to 15 psi to improve traction. I arrived at the Wauwinet Gatehouse, purchased my day pass, and joined a handful of other adventure-seekers in removing air from my tires. A tire gauge was specifically provided with the rental Jeep for that purpose.
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| The Jeep's TPMS was not happy with me. It also disagreed with my tire gauge, which showed ~14 psi for all four tires. |
The first portion of the drive was a paved residential road that shortly gave way to sandy trail. Although intended for two way traffic, two vehicles cannot pass abreast. Instead, one vehicle needs to back up to one of the occasional pull-offs along the trail, what our British tour guide in Scotland would have called a "lay-by" on narrow Highland roads. By necessity, other drivers I encountered were politely helpful in these circumstances and, at one point, I was verbally thanked when I allowed a pickup truck with the Trustees logo on it to pass.
Habitats changed over the miles of trail from wooded areas to open beaches. Trail quality was also variable, from undulations that would have bottomed-out lesser vehicles, to rough washboard surfaces, to loose sand so deep that the Sahara handled as though mired in a foot of snow. My winter driving instincts were remarkably relevant in those situations.
Some distance in, I emerged on the ocean side beach. I encountered occasional fishermen and, in one spot, a crew working diligently to free a private boat that had run aground with what appeared to have been significant violence if the amount of displaced beach was any indication.
Beach sections had the most permissive speed limits and I zipped along at up to 15 mph.
Because I had no one following me, I stopped to photograph a group of seagulls congregating in the surf.
While I originally viewed the Jeep and the long drive through the sand as a means to an end, I did not anticipate how much fun I had maneuvering the Jeep offroad, even with speed restrictions. That alone was worth the price!
Reconstruction at Great Point
After about 40 minutes and seven miles of trail, I arrived at its terminus on the delicate sandy filament that is Great point.
Per Refuge regulations, I parked the Sahara off the tail on the ocean-side.
A lighthouse has stood at this location since 1784. The first was a wooden tower destroyed by fire in 1816. Its replacement was a stone tower completed in 1817 and added to the National Register of Historical Places in 1982. Just two years later, the tower collapsed under onslaught from a powerful storm. The existing lighthouse was completed in 1986 to replicate the appearance of the prior stone tower, including use of some original stones. No longer meeting the minimum fifty year old criterion for Historic Places, this lighthouse was delisted from the National Register. It is nonetheless a worthy place to visit, as much for the lighthouse itself as for its striking location.
Of all the coastal beacons I have visited over the years, this is undoubtedly the most remote.
The current tower reportedly has the most powerful light in New England and remains operational given its critical location. Solar panels integrated into the lighthouse structure aid in powering the beacon.
A close-up of the tower cab reveals the stone construction of the lighthouse's exterior skin.
Long strands of seashells running parallel to the sea mark recent tide lines.
Etched in sand, gull footprints resembled an ancient written language.
After exploring Great Point on foot, I sat by the edge of the sea and enjoyed a small lunch that I brought from home. As I ate, a seal played in the water twenty feet away, its rear flippers periodically emerging above the waves to gesticulate wildly before submerging again. Another seal swam past, periodically rising to the surface, peering at me with mild curiosity, then descending back below the waves to continue on.
After emerging from the Coskata-Coatue Refuge and passing the Wauwinet Gatehouse, I stopped at the air station to restore my Sahara's tires to proper roadworthiness before reentering civilization.
Lighthouse Migration on Sankaty Head
The brick tower of Sankaty Head lighthouse was completed in 1849 and lit in 1850. Standing high on the southeasternmost bluff in New England, the lighthouse takes its name from the Wampanoag word "sankoty" for highland.
As was the fate of many lighthouses placed on bluffs, Sankaty Head Lighthouse was sufficiently endangered by erosion that it needed to be moved. Originally constructed 280 feet from the edge of the bluff, 2007 found the lighthouse a precarious 76 feet from calamity. The 'Sconset Trust raised the more than four million dollars required to move the tower 405 feet northwest of its original location. The operation involved some of the same team that also moved the Southeast Lighthouse on Block Island and the Cape Hatteras light in the Outer Banks. The migration occurred over eight days in October 2007.
In 1850, Sankaty Head was the first lighthouse in the United States to be fitted with a Fresnel lens as original equipment. Supplied by The Henry-Lepaute Clock and Lens Works of Paris, the second order Fresnel lens was celebrated for its power. A review of East Coast lighthouses by the congressionally appointed Lighthouse Board wrote of Sankaty Head in 1952:
"This lens is acknowledged universally, so far as could be ascertained, to be, if not the best light in point of brilliancy and power, greatly superior to all others (except, perhaps, those on the Highlands of Navesink, New Jersey,) on the entire coast of the United States."
That well-acclaimed Fresnel lens was replaced by rotating aerobeacons in 1950 and the lighthouse was fully automated in 1965. Sankaty Head is still in active use as a visual navigational aid and its original Fresnel lens is on display in Nantucket's Whaling Museum.
Crowded Off Season
I ventured into Nantucket proper and was surprised by crowded streets in the off season. Cobblestoned Main Street made for a rougher drive than the trail through Coskata-Coatue and I wished that I had deaired the tires for that stretch of road, too.
I found street parking on North Water Street and continued my exploration on foot.
Appropriately enough, all residences were shaker sided in Nantucket Gray. I walked eastward on Easton street to reach Brant Point.
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| Brant Point. |
"Judge Me by My Size, Do You?"
(Yoda, The Empire Strikes Back.)
Brant Point Lighthouse is the diminutive beacon that greets arrivals to Nantucket's harbor.
A light was first constructed at this site in 1746 and the current 26 foot tall wooden structure is the tenth that has stood at this spot after previous iterations were destroyed by the ravages of sea or fire. This specific beacon has been in place since 1901.
I could not help but wonder if the height of the lighthouse was simply determined by a desire to have a full sized entry door.
As I took this photograph, a woman walking past gave an approving look and offered, "Nantucket is paradise for photographers, isn't it?" I could only agree.
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| Nantucket seen from the mouth of the harbor at Brant Point. |
Snow not Required: The Nantucket Sleigh Ride
I completed my day trip to Nantucket with a visit to the highly regarded Whaling Museum. This museum walks a careful line between documenting the lives of whalers, the challenges they faced, and the significant role of Nantucket in the global whale oil trade without necessarily glorifying whaling practices.
One of the first displays visitors encounter documents the indigenous people who preceded Europeans in the region. This includes a whimsical recounting of a Wampanoag origin myth for Nantucket and Martha's Vineyard in which the benevolent giant Maushop awoke on Cape Cod to find sand in his moccasins. In annoyance, he kicked them into the ocean, thus creating the two islands.
One of the most impressive exhibits is a 46 foot long skeleton of a male sperm whale that washed up on Nantucket's shore in 1998. It is displayed in contrast to a replica whaling boat and clearly demonstrates that the quarry was much larger than the predatory boat that stalked it. It is no wonder that harpooned, enraged whales could drag these small boats and their crews on what was termed a "Nantucket sleigh ride".
The tale of the Essex is also told here, the Nantucket whaleship rammed and foundered by an enraged whale in the Pacific Ocean. In addition to inspiring the climactic scene of Herman Melville's Moby Dick, the details are grippingly documented by author Nathaniel Philbrick in his acclaimed nonfiction work In the Heart of the Sea: The Tragedy of the Whaleship Essex.
On display in the lobby is the second order Fresnel lens removed from the Sankaty Light in 1950.
These lenses were not only functional examples of optical physics, but finely crafted works of art.
Fittingly, atop the Whaling Museum is a rooftop observation platform with all of Nantucket spread at visitors' feet.
The Runup Penalty
After departing the Whaling Museum, I stopped for gas at a Shell station in town. Fuel at $4.50/gal was a revealing peek at island life and significantly pricier than my most recent fill-up near home at $2.90/gal.
Back at the airport, I returned the Sahara to Ken and paid my fuel bill at the FBO.
After I experienced a quiet field that morning, the Nantucket Memorial Airport seemed transformed in late afternoon. The ramp was filled with airplanes with several preparing to depart. A steady stream of piston twins in Cape Air livery arrived on runway 24.
"Cherokee Four Eight One, Nantucket Ground, runway two-four, taxi via Bravo, Echo, Kilo, cross runway one five. Give way to Jet Blue at Hotel. Are you going to be ready to go as soon as you reach runway two four?"
I explained that I would need a runup and was instructed to use the runup pad at the end of Echo. As it turned out, my declaration of a needed runup represented a tactical error because it caused me to lose my place in line.
I made my way into the flow of traffic migrating toward the departure end of the runway. Not only did I give way to the Jet Blue aircraft, but I followed at a discrete distance. Jet blast is not something that I contend with in most places I fly.
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| Now that is an aircraft that lives up to its name in the most literal way possible. |
I taxied around the Jet Blue flight to the runup pad and performed my preflight checks. When I informed ground that I was ready, I learned that I lost my place in line and was now bumped from third to take off to fifth behind a Cessna Caravan. I could have easily cocked Warrior 481's tail at an angle (to avoid dusting the airplane behind me) and performed a quick runup on taxiway Echo without giving up my spot and probably should have done so.
Eventually, I was cleared to take-off and quickly climbed into the oceanic air, buoyed by an eight knot left quartering headwind. Careful to stay offshore by at least a mile, I climbed to 3,000 feet to cross open water to Martha's Vineyard.
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| Tuckernuck Island. |
Turf Perfection
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| Chappaquiddick Island on the southeast side of Martha's Vineyard. |
Within ten minutes of leaving Nantucket, I entered the pattern at Katama Airpark (1B2, #297) on the south face of Martha's Vineyard. It is quite possibly the most elaborate all-turf airport I have ever visited considering that most grass fields do not require a taxi diagram to navigate.
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| Diagram of Katama Airpark (1B2) from ForeFlight. |
Another pilot was inbound from the north in a Cessna. I broadcast my intentions to land on runway 24.
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| Katama Airpark. |
However, once I entered the pattern, I was better oriented on a downwind for runway 21 than 24 and sheepishly corrected my intentions on the radio. "No worries, I'll follow you," responded the Cessna pilot.
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| Final approach, runway 21, Katama Airpark. |
Though not visible in any of my pictures, Katama Airpark uses concrete runway numbers set flush in the turf much like the grass runways at Greene, NY (4N7) and Massey Aerodrome (MD1). I lined up on runway 21 and made a soft landing on the gently undulating turf. I exited on a midfield taxiway and found my way to transient parking at the north end of the airport.
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| Warrior 481 parked at Katama Airpark. |
Ryan and his wife in the Cessna 172 taxied in a few minutes later and parked in the same line of aircraft. I met them on the way to the restaurant.
"Sorry for the confusion back there," I apologized.
"No problem! First time at Katama?"
What gave it away?
Commentary on Katama Airpark often mentions a red biplane hopping rides. I spied the well known biplane in its hangar as the three of us made our way to Katama Kitchen for dinner.
Katama Kitchen has a nice deck with an outdoor bar and dining area. We chose to sit outside and the staff raised glass panels to cut the sea breezes as the temperature dropped with the onset of evening. Ryan was a Hyannis-based Cessna pilot and enough of a regular at Katama Kitchen to be on a first name basis with the staff.
My take-away from online comments about Katama Kitchen can be summed up as, "good, but expensive". The expensive part was confirmed when I reviewed the menu. But I could not resist the lobster dinner that included lobster meat on lobster ravioli steeped in a lobster bisque. From one table over, I heard Ryan order the same thing.
My dinner was as delicious as it was artistically plated. While we ate, Ryan and I compared notes about interesting places to fly, a process that started when he noticed my Alton Bay hat. He asked me about the farthest I had ever flown the Warrior and when I responded with the Florida Keys, he nodded knowingly. "I've been down that way three times in mine."
Oh! I suddenly realized. He's like me! I just don't meet that many people who do any kind of meaningful travel in Cessna or Piper singles the way I do.
As much as I enjoyed meeting a kindred spirit, I noticed the spectral shift of evening sunlight toward the red and was very cognizant of the long flight home. Regretfully, I excused myself with a cliched comment about "hating to eat and run".
Forget the Cowbell, It Needs More Lens Flare!
Off Katama's runway 21 and back out over the Atlantic Ocean, I found scattered clouds above glowing with pink warmth in the setting sun. I swung east around Chappaquiddick Island to ensure clearance with Martha's Vineyard class Delta airspace and contacted Boston Approach for flight following home. Despite the ongoing government shutdown, I received the same prompt and capable VFR services that I would have expected when controllers were being properly paid. Each and every controller that day was a model example of their profession. From Boston to Syracuse, they kept me company on the long nighttime flight from the eastern seaboard back to the Williamson Sodus Airport.
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| Cape Poge. |
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| Martha’s Vineyard. |
Bathed in golden sunlight, I climbed among the scattered clouds, soaring high above Martha's Vineyard for the crossing of Buzzard's Bay toward Providence.
Above the layer, the views were wondrous beyond anything that can be captured by a mere camera.
Stretched out below and blanketed in growing shadows, Martha's Vineyard appeared to this aviator exactly as the peaceful safe haven that it has represented to mariners for decades.
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| Naushon, Pasque, and Nashawena Islands. |
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| Naushon, Pasque, and Nashawena Islands. |
Ending the way it began, the day was defined by dramatic transit of the sun across the horizon, the clouds transformed into smoldering embers floating above the Atlantic coastline.
This time with a headwind, the return flight retraced my original path across New England. Providence, RI to Windsor Locks, CT to Albany, NY to Syracuse and finally, Sodus. Although I hand flew the outbound trip that morning, I let HAL manage tracking the direct course home.
Crossing the Connecticut River over Springfield, MA, I contemplated the terrestrial constellations below with knowledge that The Bear was somewhere among them.
Quietude
Light bled from the sky, reduced as though by celestial rheostat. As is often the case, the world quieted as the sunlight fled, fewer voices on the radio with tones softened. Warrior 481 skimmed through a calm atmosphere and, in the darkness, it was at times difficult to discern any movement at all. I found myself experiencing a peaceful state of solitude in my airborne bubble.
It may seem contradictory, but I find rejuvenation and exhaustion both on these fall solo trips. Fly far, stay busy, see many cool things, stay off the internet. This is the recipe for truly escaping.
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| Syracuse, NY. |
To my surprise, wind at pattern altitude over Sodus flowed across the darkened Earth at nearly 50 knots from the south if Warrior 481's flight data computer could be believed. The 20° crab angle I flew on downwind seemed to corroborate my instrumentation. To say the least, it was an active journey from sky to ground.
Switches off, mixture to idle cut-off, mags grounded, headset removed. I paused in the darkened cockpit, quiet save for the ticking of a cooling engine, and savored the final moments of a glorious day spent flying and exploring a place that inspired both Billy Joel and Herman Melville. In Melville's words, it was a truly marvelous "mild blue day" in Nantucket.
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