Up, Up and Away

UP, UP AND AWAY

The winds have welcomed you with softness,
The sun has greeted you with its warm hands,
You have flown so high and so well,
That God has joined you in laughter,
And set you back gently into
The loving arms of Mother Earth.
'The Balloonists Prayer', said to have been adapted from an old Irish sailors' prayer.

Landing in a marsh filled with putrid, standing water was not exactly the way I thought our long-anticipated hot air balloon flight would end. Someone once said, "It is better to be on the ground wishing you were up there in the sky, than up there wishing you were on the ground." I now understand why.

Last October, I gave my husband, Neil, a certificate for a hot air balloon flight for his 50th birthday. A balloon adventure appealed to us both, so I planned to go too. Ballooning is a fair weather activity, dependent on the wind velocity not being more than ten knots. However, our late fall weather did not cooperate and each time the flight was booked, it was thwarted by high winds or rain. Being on standby, we never knew until a few hours before if the flight would actually occur. One friend booked ten times before her perfect flight conditions materialized.

On a lovely mid-July morning, we were finally given the nod on our sixth try. It was time to walk the wind and commune with the clouds. We were going UP! Neither of us had any fear of heights, having been in skyscraper observation towers, on swinging bridges and sky trams. We're not thrill seekers, but occasionally do like to push our limits. This was going to be exciting stuff for a long-married couple embarking on a bit of mid-life madness.

By 6:00 a.m. on the morning of our flight, we were at the designated spot to meet the pilot, the ground crew, and five other adventurous passengers who would be flying with us. After being driven to a local park, we watched the inflation process and reviewed some safety procedures. I thought of the balloon in The Wizard of Oz, and imagined us climbing into the woven wicker passenger basket using the footholds. Not so. For reasons I never clearly understood, the basket was positioned on its side on the ground. After crawling in, we laid on our backs against the sides, holding on to the rope handrails, with feet planted firmly on the basket's bottom. When the inflated balloon slowly pulled us to an upright position, I gazed in astonishment at its festive colours contrasting with the greens of surrounding nature. My excitement grew as the launch progressed.

If someone were to ask our destination, the answer is “Wherever the wind takes us.” Nature alone determines a flight path. Once airborne and gracefully skimming the treetops, the balloon rose to over 1000 feet. There was barely any feeling of movement because the balloon had become a part of an air mass. In the words of Alberto Santos Dumont, "The balloon seems to stand still in the air while the earth flies past underneath."

An occasional blast of propane from the burners generated heat to keep the balloon aloft, but their roar disturbed the silence and deterred conversation. That didn't stop me from relishing the tranquil sensation of floating over trees, water and wildlife, forgetting everything but the moment. I saw more swimming pools than I knew existed in our city. Vehicles appeared as miniature matchbox cars and buildings resembled tiny doll houses. Barking dogs were heard in the hush as long-legged jack rabbits dashed across the terrain. Neil noticed a backyard with a fully developed putting green. I am certain he tried to memorize the location in case the place was for sale.

Forty-five minutes of observing a panoramic view of the surrounding countryside, it was time to land. The wind began gusting, so the pilot instructed us to assume our landing positions. In a perfect world, a balloon should land upright, bumping along to a vertical stop, but sometimes the basket tips over on its side. I felt an inkling of trepidation and hoped my will was up to date. Crouching, I faced backwards and held tight to the rope handles.

The pilot made every effort to land safely in a decent spot, but a ditch filled with foul-smelling water was our finale. Imagine a basket on its side with seven passengers holding on for dear life. We all hollered as the shock of cold water drenched us, then laughed hysterically as thousands of hungry mosquitoes swarmed us, demanding blood donations. With one hand holding tightly to the rope handle, the other hand swatting at the pests, I spit out a few of them. We bumped and dragged in the soggy bog for about a half-mile, although it felt like forever. It was important to remain in the basket until the balloon came to a full stop. Leaving the basket prematurely could cause a shift in the weight, causing an unsafe situation for the remaining passengers.

Other than being wet, muddy, reeking of swamp water, and riddled with bug bites, we were none the worse for wear. The landing was not what I had expected, so why did I feel so exhilarated? We were treated to a celebration of our balloon flight with champagne, and despite it being early, it tasted much better than a morning cup of coffee. "By the way," said one of the passengers to my grinning husband, "Happy Birthday!"

Was this an "uplifting" experience? The answer, my friend, is still blowing in the wind, but I learned that hot air ballooning is not for the faint hearted, nor is it for anyone with bad knees or back problems. Would I go again, despite feeling like the whole experience was somewhere between an amusement park ride and Fear Factor? In a heartbeat. Now that we've passed Ballooning 101, I am seriously giving some thought to a free-fall jump out of an airplane. For this one, I will have to go solo.

Maria Harden
(c) 2005

Story ID:	179
Written by:	Maria Harden (bio, contact, other stories)
Story type:	Story
Location:	Winnipeg Manitoba Canada
Year:	2005
Person:	Maria and Neil Harden