Balloon

The sun was just rising above the mist-shrouded New Hampshire hills as we drove past the lovely white church into the parking lot of Post Mills field. Walking past an immense dinosaur effigy created from pieces of scrap wood (which was to feature in the Fairlee Independence Day parade later that day) we approached our pilot, Brian Boland and his crew where they were removing the balloon envelope from its storage bag and laying it out along the grass of the aerodrome. Introductions made, we were put to work unfurling the yards and yards of brightly colored fabric and stretching the envelope out so it could be inflated. It was interesting (and mildly unsettling) to look at the components of the aircraft and to think that we would be depending on each of them to keep us suspended in the air a thousand feet up. The envelope, now attached to the basket which was lying on its side was inflated using a couple of big fans. John and I were enlisted to hold open the bottom of the balloon while the air rushed in. The rainbow-colored checkerboard of the envelope undulated with waves of air as it filled. Holding one side of the opening, I had a wonderful view of the inside of the envelope as it filled. I didn't know about the whole "fan inflation" thing - it answered one of the eternal questions: "how do they inflate the balloon without setting it on fire?". Once inflated, the gas burner was fired horizontally into the envelope - after only a few seconds, the balloon rose to a vertical.

With the help of a small set of steps, we clambered over the side of the basket. There were five travelers - we three siblings plus Brian, our pilot, and one of his crew (whose name escapes me). Brian gave us a brief safetly lecture which included instructions on what to do on landing if the balloon had a significant groundspeed - we were to stay at the rearward side of the basket and, on no circumstances, were to leave the vehicle, otherwise the sudden reduction in weight would cause the balloon to rise suddenly. We were warned that the gas assembly was hot and loud (it was indeed both). Launch time arrived: a prolonged blast of the gas burner. I was watching Carolyn who was taking pictures on her phone a few feet away. I was suddenly aware that I was looking downwards at her. The ground had silently dropped away without any kind of vibration.

We rose silently. Much of the surrounding landscape will still shrouded in mist. Looking down, I could see the white church and cemetery adjacent to the aerodrome. Vermontosaurus was visible as was an effort to launch one of those crazy powered parachute contraptions. We rose, then descended, then rose again. Brian pointed out to us the shadow of our craft - at one point our shadow was surrounded by a sort of rainbow nimbus projected onto the mist - an extraordinary sight. We rose again and suddenly we were above the mist and could see the mountains marching back to the horizon.

It's a cliche, but "colorful" is the best description for Brian, our pilot. With his luxuriant beard, tam, and sunglasses he was everything a balloonist should be (not that I can honestly say that I had any preconceptions on the matter). From his greeting on the ground throughout the entire flight, he exuded friendliness, knowledgeability, and authority. He had no shortage of stories from his decades-long career as an aviator. During the flight, he told us about conducting balloon tours in the Alps, flying south from Switzerland over the Matterhorn into Italy. I was astonished to hear that, on those flights, the balloon had ascended to an altitude of over 15,000 feet and may have been travelling at a speed of 150 miles per hour. One thing I DID know is that whatever the speed, because the balloon is travelling with the wind, there's never any detectable movement of air from the basket except, as Brian told us, when the balloon is ascending or descending rapidly which causes air to gently swirl around the envelope.

Not long after takeoff, we were overtaken by the crazy contraption we saw being launched earlier - one of those curved parachute dealies with a lunatic wearing an engine suspended from it. The lunatic circled our balloon, waved, and then headed north along the river. Crazy.

There was some conversation in the basket and occasional lulls during which utter silence prevailed. Then Brian would trigger a burst of heat from the blowers which would break the silence and make half of my head feel as though it was on fire. I did surprisingly well with the height, being deathly afraid of same. I coped by not speaking much and by looking off into the distance.

As far as what we were able to see, my photos will serve much better than anything I could write. It took around an hour and a half to cover the distance from Thetford to Lyme. The flight took us over farms, wilderness, the Connecticut River. We had marvelous views of mountains we'd climbed over the years: Moosilauke, Black, Ascutney. It was fun to get a new perspective on Route 91, the main highway that parallels the Connecticut River. From our alititude (a thousand feet?) the cars seemed to be crawling along. Shortly after passing over the highway, we crossed over the Connecticut River itself. Looking along the river to the south I could see the trees along the banks and the double box-girder bridge near Lyme mirrored in the water's surface. Beautiful.

As we approached Lyme, I could see the village greeen, the inn, the cemetery, and the church with its wonderful horse stalls lined up across the street. Brian changed our altitude a few times to catch breezes which would bring us down in a workable location. He explained that with the current wind conditions, if we couldn't land at Lyme, we'd have to fly much farther to arrive at a suitable landing site further along in the same direction. The landing was a bit of a nail-biter - Brian was barking orders down his walkie-talkie at the chase crew who, by the sound of things, weren't quite where they were supposed to be when the moment came. The crew member who first grabbed the line, just managed to keep us from going too far across a driveway onto a farm building - as it was, the basket brushed against the upper branches of an adjacent tree before we were brought over a field where we could set down.

There wasn't any need for moving to the trailing side of the basket as our groundspeed was minimal, but we were admonished once again to be sure not to leave the basket until told to do so. The descending basket was gently maneuvered onto the trailer pulled by the chase van. Brian fully opened the fabric valves at the top of the balloon and the envelope began to deflate and tilt to one side. One by one, we were told we could leave the basket and we clambered down off the trailer. I wandered around in something of a daze for a few minutes while the crew bundled up the balloon envelope and stuffed it back into the big red bag. Suddenly I became aware that Brian was pouring champagne. I'd forgotten that that was part of the scheme. We had a toast and chatted for a few minutes before piling into the chase van for the short ride back to the Post Mills aerodrome.

A thousand thanks to Carolyn for providing us with an unforgettable experience!