Ice Cream at Jaffrey
By Eric McCarthyIt was a beautiful warm summer afternoon in June of 1986. My wife had just returned from working the morning shift at the local Filene’s Department Store and, as was her way, she had befriended her manager Linda and brought her home for an impromptu luncheon. I consider myself to be a people-person – I love to meet new people and discover common interests and experiences; Sandi is a people-magnet– she just has a way of striking up a conversation with just about anyone, anywhere. It’s one of her most endearing qualities and a wonderful trait that has served us well and brought us so many dear friends over the years.We enjoyed our lunch and then pondered what to do for the rest of the afternoon. Ideas were not forthcoming until I suggested we go get an ice cream. Great idea! Little did they know whereI wanted to get an ice cream. They would have been forgiven if they thought I meant the great little ice cream parlor called Chadwick’s just down the street from our condo in Lexington, but needless to say, that wasn’t what I had in mind… that would have been much too simple.Their first clue that things weren’t as they expected them to be was when I got on the highway – Chadwick’s was just a mile down Concord Avenue from our home – no need to take the highway.“I thought I’d take you to another place.”I said mysteriously. Eyes rolled in the seat next to me…It was only about a 6-or 7-mile drive to Hanscom Field (KBED), so it wasn’t long before the pieces started coming together for my wife.As I’ve mentioned before, my wife’s a lucky gal – I’ve dragged her to every little airport we were ever in any semblance of proximity to throughout New England, so she knew that going to the airport didn’t necessarily mean going flying – but this time it did!“Where are you taking us? I thought you said we were going to get ice cream…” A slightly exasperated tone emanated from the passenger seat, while Linda just seemed a little bewildered in the back seat.When I pulled in and parked at the terminal building, no ice cream in hand, Sandi knew what was about to happen, but poor Linda was still unclear and uncertain.“What? We’re going where? Are you serious?”A mix of excitement, disbelief, and, well, a little fear, colored her questions. I’m not sure I had mentioned that I was a pilot at that point in our relationship, so her nervousness may have been somewhat understandable. I had been flying for several years recreationally (read: whenever I could afford it…) and had a whopping 140 hours in my logbook. Sandi had been up with me numerous times before, so she knew the routine.“I know a great place just a short flight away. Come on – it’ll be fun!”Linda had that far-off stare as we walked her, almost catatonically, out to the plane, her trance-like countenance interspersed with brief moments of lucidity and rapid-fire questions/objections.“But…wait…I’ve never been in a small plane…what if…but…are you sure?”I pre-flighted the plane while Sandi helped her into the plane and buckled her in, reassuring her that all would be fine. She was still unsure about the whole thing, but going along with it just the same. Peer pressure’s a funny thing – it’ll make you do all sorts of things you’d never consider without it. Sometimes you live to regret it; other times, the experience opens your eyes to a whole new world of exciting possibilities. I was hoping this would be one of those times.We started up and began to taxi to the runway; things were becoming real now. The nervous chatter subsided and excitement began to take over. I explained that I needed to listen to the tower, but would be happy to answer her questions after we reached our lofty cruising altitude of 3,000-feet and cleared the airport airspace.I heard a little giggle and an exclamation of pure glee when we broke ground – it’s a sound every pilot cherishes, anxious as we are to share our joy in flying. I turned to see her, forehead pressed to the window, grinning and instinctively pointing as she recognized various sights and landmarks below. Between radio calls, I tried to point out some of the more prominent historical sites as we departed the area. The Old North Bridge, where the Battle of Concord was fought, slipped beneath us, and not far to the south, Walden Pond. White church steeples reached skyward in the village centers of quaint towns below. We flew over Concord, Acton and Littleton, Groton and Townsend, each having contributed Minutemen to the battles of April 19, 1775 and the Revolutionary War that followed, securing freedom and liberty for our nascent nation.It’s a short flight to Jaffrey Silver Ranch Airport (KAFN) in southern New Hampshire – less than 40nm, but we took our time getting there, exploring the area – watching as water-skiers and speedboats carved through some of the many lakes and ponds in the area, kayaks and canoes moving at a much more sedate pace, then circling the 3,165-foot Mount Manadnock before landing.Manadnock is a prominent, bare, granite mountain popular with hikers and visible from at least 50 miles away. A landmark to many in southern New England, Manadnock made navigating to Jaffrey easy. Circling its peak at low altitude, hikers in colorful t-shirts waved to us as they caught their breath and quenched their thirsts after their two-hour plus climb to the summit.I called in on Jaffrey’s UNICOM announcing our position and intentions. Founded in 1946, Jaffrey’s has a single 3,000-foot runway that runs uphill to the northwest. With light winds, we landed on runway 34, the crumbling asphalt crunching beneath our tires as we taxied to parking.Tied down and secured, we left the plane for the short walk to the ice cream shop. Fascinated, as most are their first time by their newfound birds-eye view of both familiar and never-before-seen scenery, Linda deplaned with a red spot on her forehead from leaning on the window; we didn’t tell her.Thirty years ago the restaurant and ice cream shop was called Silver Ranch; it’s now a Kimball Farm – and those of you from the Lowell area northwest of Boston undoubtedly know of their reputation for delicious ice cream! It was delicious then and, from the reviews I’ve read, it’s delicious now! What a fun place to fly to.We enjoyed our ice cream cones as we walked back to the plane for our flight back to Hanscom. Taking off downhill, the earth fell away from us as we lifted off of runway 16, giving the illusion of a greater rate of climb. We climbed again to 3,000-feet and cruised over the verdant green countryside, Boston visible in the distance. A gentle “squeak, squeak”greeted us as we touched down, ending our ice cream excursion. I think the journey had the desired effect on our aviation newbie. In MemoriamWe lost a good man a couple of weeks ago. My friend, Colonel Carl Morrison (CAP), departed Petaluma Airport (O69) into a low overcast and inexplicably crashed his immaculate and much-loved 1990 Mooney just a few miles from the airport.Carl was a retired U.S. Marine Corps Lieutenant Colonel, and served as Pacific Region Vice Commander for Civil Air Patrol. With more than 2,000 hours in his logbook, he regularly (and justifiably) claimed the title “stick hog” at our CAP squadron. He loved to provide orientation rides for cadets, and he worked tirelessly to advance CAP’s causes and roles.Carl was an experienced, competent, and current pilot. He traveled weekly from his home base at Fallbrook Air Park (L18) to northern California for his work as an environmental consultant, taking full advantage of general aviation in the process. He maintained his aircraft and hangar in spotless condition – so much so that someone bought him a hospital ‘bootie’ machine for his hangar as a joke; he was delighted! I’m not sure he saw it as the joke it was meant to be – you really could eat off the floor of his hangar!Immaculate, impeccable – these words describe not only the way he maintained his aircraft and hangar, but the man himself. Physically fit, mentally sharp and always dressed ‘to the nines,’ Carl embodied so many of the attributes we all should aspire to attain. He was honest, dedicated, compassionate and devoted to his family. His love for his fellow man was evident to all who met him. Whether he agreed with you or disagreed with you, Carl always gave you the courtesy of his undivided attention in conversation. And he loved to play matchmaker – both within his family on a ‘romantic’ level, and professionally, always looking to make connections among his extensive list of associates. He recently sent me an email regarding an aerial photography suggestion I had made, which he passed on to a contact in the Army Corp of Engineers, that stated “You’re getting pulled into this project. GREAT!”That’s just the way he worked – and it was never for his advantage, but for a greater cause or for someone else’s benefit.It will take some time before the cause of the accident is determined by the NTSB, then we’ll look to take lessons from this tragic event. Carl would have wanted it that way.Col. Morrison was laid to rest with full military honors at Riverside National Cemetery. He leaves behind his wife, six children, 23 grandchildren, 1 great-grandchild, and hundreds of friends. He was a good man, and I’m a better man for having known him. Rest in peace my friend.
