The Grumman AA-5 Traveler bobbed and weaved in the hot summer air. A four seater, it was a pretty slick airplane. My friend Greg and I had taken the plane from our home field at Evergreen in Vancouver, Washington. My mother lived in Carmel, California, some fifty feet from the Pacific Ocean in front of the Carmel Highlands Inn and I was on my way down to visit her. I hadn’t seen mom for a couple of years, what with our living in different states. I was piloting the plane at 9,000 feet altitude and had just left the land behind as I cut acoss Monterey Bay. My destination was about fifteen minutes in front of me. Greg was studying the Jeppeson FLight Guide and looking up the airport information for Monterey. He called out the tower frequency and I dialed it into the little Narco radio. A moment later I was calling the tower to announce ourselves. When approaching an airport it’s customary to let the tower know who you are, wherew you are and what your intentions are.
“Monterey Tower, this is Grumman two-five-six-zero-Charlie descending from 9000 at Point Lobos, inbound for landing.”
“Roger, six-zero-Charlie. How was your trip from Southern Washington, Bob?” Okay, that was flabbergasting. How on earth did this guy know where my departure was, or for that matter, who I was and by first name no less.