My Hot Air Balloon Adventure
As we strolled through Albuquerque International Sunport (KABQ) this week my copilot asked, “Have you ever attended the famous balloon festival in Albuquerque?”
I hadn’t, but I told her that I crewed for a champion balloonist in Houston back in the late 1970s. I was a teenager and member of the Aviation Explorer Post, a coed group, (now Adventure Scouting) with a mutual interest in aviation.
Early on Labor Day, September 2, 1979, we all gathered outside of Houston, near Katy, to help the master balloonists fill their balloons for a race that day. My group just happened to be paired with a national champion balloonist, Mr. Barnes. In the early dawn hours, the dew coating the fields and soaking our tennis shoes, we spread out his balloon.
Up, Up, And Away
Pilots then loudly fired their propane burners to fill the envelopes with hot air, raising them vertically. Beneath each towering multicolor balloon was a heavy wicker basket, serving as the gondola for the balloonist. Several of us held down the gondola as this master balloonist checked over his equipment. Barnes was not much of a people-person, and looking directly at me, his only invitation was a question, “Well, are you getting in or not?”
That was my clue to scramble over the side and into his thick wicker “cockpit” before he lifted off. On his command, everyone anchoring us to Mother Earth let go of the basket, and his 1977 Balloon Works Firefly (N2027H) rose into the air on that very still, moist September morning.
The competition for the day was a Fox and Hounds race. A leader had departed earlier, flying out to the west side of Houston, using the wind currents at various altitudes to change direction. When he got to the field of his choice, he released a red plastic streamer that floated to the ground and marked the target for others to aim for.
First Sound of Silence On a Flight
The Champion Balloonist and I rose over the quiet countryside of what is certainly now crowded rooftop to rooftop suburbs. We heard dogs barking and cows mooing as we glided over the silent countryside. The only sound was the burners igniting from surrounding competitors, similar to the sound of Darth Vader breathing.
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I was struck by how well the sound traveled vertically on that quiet morning as the sun rose. I remember seeing a Houstonian step out on his front sidewalk, retrieving the morning paper. We yelled a “Good Morning!” as he looked up and waved in surprise. Finally, we spied the red streamer lying in a field and Barnes did his best to position his gondola near the target. At the correct time, like a WWI pilot hand-delivering a bomb, he dropped a bag of flour that landed very close to the red streamer. Mission accomplished!
Prepare For Landing
Now it was time to find a place to land. As the Balloonist picked his field, we slid through the tops of large oak tree, the gondola scraping the high branches and we swayed violently back-and-forth. I held on tightly to the sides of our protective wicker basket. If you have ever wondered about the landing of a hot air balloon, let me just say there are no soft landings and it is indeed a controlled crash.
A vent at the top of the envelope was opened by Barnes pulling a rope dangling in the gondola, allowing the hot air to escape from the balloon. My pilot ignited his burner to slow our decent rate, but eventually there is no stopping the crash landing as the gondola made contact with Terra Firma. We held on tightly and struck the Earth at rate of around 500 foot per minute. The gondola dragged across the farmer’s field, finally slowing to a stop as the balloon collapsed. The stillness of the morning, and the scraping and creaking of the wicker contacting the Earth are the sensations I remember most about that quiet dewy morning outside of Houston. Mr. Barnes added an entry to my fledgling pilot logbook: Orientation to balloons and racing techniques. 1 Landing and 0.5 Total time.
That was quite a Labor Day weekend!
