There are airplanes out there, and I know it because they’re all stepping on each other over the radio. The CTAF is a cacophony of squeaks, squawks and indecipherable gibberish clearly announcing that everyone and their brother is flying today. And why not? It’s a gorgeous Saturday in coastal California. It would be nice to actually see the traffic though — I am squinting in vain to pick up something shiny and moving amid the patchwork of golden fields, vineyards and caramel hills that surround Watsonville Airport (KWVI). My wife, Dawn, ever the eagle eye, spots what she confidently proclaims to be the RV-6 that just announced turning crosswi — SQUEESHHRRWOOOP! I hopefully turn in trail. Our Piper Pacer has 9 gallons of avgas in the left tank, and my grumbling tummy is running on E. If I recall correctly from my last visit 14 years ago, Watsonville has a decent airport cafe. In the local vernacular, I’m pretty stoked to be back.
For the two months since our Mexican adventure down the length of the Baja Peninsula, I’ve based the Pacer in Torrance, just south of LAX. This is familiar ground from my flight-instructing and freight-dogging days; you could say Southern California is wher I grew up as a pilot, making this a homecoming of sorts. It’s been pretty fun flying around and visiting all the old haunts. There’s no question that SoCal’s airspace isn’t quite as frantically crowded as it was before 9/11, but GA activity has still made a pretty healthy comeback from the quiet years of the Great Recession. I’m particularly happy to see that most of my favorite airport eateries survived the downturn. I suspect they’re still around because, even in the halcyon days, pilots were always a minority of the local clientele. It turns out that lots of people like to watch little airplanes come and go while they nosh and sip, a nice reminder that not everyone hates us and wants to shut us down.

Now, however, the time for SoCal reminiscing is done, and Dawn and I are moving our Pacer up the coast to Portland. The Big Sur coastline was as spectacular as ever, and I’m looking forward to a Bay tour and then flying up the Siskiyou and Cascade ranges. But for a quick lunch-and-gas break, busy little Watsonville is hard to beat. Ella’s, the cafe at the airport, is considerably better than I remembered, and it is chock-a-block with lunching locals admiring all the pretty airplanes parked out front. Our little yellow Pacer looks happy and natural out there, tucked between a beautifully restored green-and-cream Waco biplane and a big-tired, long-propped Cessna 185. I guess I’ve come a ways since the days when I took oil-stained flight-school rentals to dinner. Yeah, some things have changed in the California aviation scene over the last 15 years, but a lot here is just as good as it ever was. It’s been a really nice homecoming.