Productive ride.
The airport had someone stoppin' folks at the gate. There were so damned many airplanes sittn' out there ain't no tellin' where one started 'n 'nother ended when ya see 'em from the road. With the sun roof open I caught the full sound of one landin', flew right o'er the station wagon. My Dad, rest 'im, would hear a motor run like that 'n say, 'She's clear as ice water!' Saw 'nother from a couple hundred yards or so couldn't a been more'n a hundred feet o'er Princess Anne Rd. That was it. Ain't well educated 'nuff ta identify either. Know 'nuff ta say both single engined fighters.
Didn't see beak, feather ner talon of the bird at the fields. Headin' back I saw a juvenile bein' harassed by a couple black birds just short of beautiful downtown Pungo. Pulled onto a shut down general store's parkin' lot 'n two showed. Looked like they were scoutin' out the strawberry fields. Saw 'em soarin' for several minutes but neither came close enough ta see if one was fitted with a transmitter. That's NC or the boy named Camellia from last year's clutch. They disappeared down Indian River Rd. I wasn't a mile from the old, original Pungo range.
I don't get ta see eagles or airborne vintage airplanes live every day so the trip was well worth it.