I can’t think of a better way to spend an hour on a clear summer day than flying two miles high from Boston to Rutland, Vermont.
A Cape Air Cessna 402 offers a spectacular panorama of Massachusetts east to west and a bit of southern New Hampshire. Then comes the Connecticut River and suddenly the ancient Green Mountains rise. There are still some hill farms, and their silos seem to jab at the plane, their deep red barns seem deliberately contrasting with the forest green around them.
When the pilot bends around Killington and its bare ski runs, he finds a southwesterly notch through the hills that aligns perfectly with Rutland’s short runway. A slowing of air speed, a gradual descent, a smooth landing, and the flight’s over.
A delightful flight with an attentive, competent pilot: That from someone who swears each flight on United, USAir, etc., will be his last. I’m reminded why as a child I fell in love with small planes.
And, I shouldn’t omit mention of the cheerful, helpful ground crews in Boston and Rutland.
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