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After hustling, without looking like she was hustling, Andrea took them aloft and turned south-southwest headed for the hills above Santa Cruz. The Pacific Ocean became a sweeping vista of gold as the sun settled below the horizon of the offshore fog banks.
It was such a lovely evening that she dropped flight-following advisories, where local air traffic control tracked her every move. Instead, she climbed to three thousand feet and stayed west of the Santa Cruz Mountains which climbed up past four thousand, practically scraping against the six thousand-foot bottom of SFO controlled airspace. Tonight was so clear that all she needed was her GPS and her traffic radar for spotting other aircraft.
“That’s so much better,” Megan offered once Andrea was done with the radio work and in the
