Anyone who’s ever flown in an airplane — and that includes most of us — knows what the ground looks like from above. So why bother going up in a hot-air balloon? The answer is that it’s a totally different experience. Your field of vision is not limited by the size of the airplane window, which in any case is usually more than a foot away from your face; you are surrounded by a pervasive silence; and you stay still long enough to meditate on the scenery. You can even stop to wonder what’s holding you up.
Hot-air balloons were a common and pretty sight over Lumberton Leas when we moved here ten years ago. One rarely sees them now in this area, although elsewhere in New Jersey, according to the Internet, ballooning is alive and well.
My eye was caught by a Road Scholar (formerly Elderhostel) catalog, which featured an intergenerational program of which ballooning was a part. To be clear, intergenerational might as well be called “generation-skipping,” because parents are not invited. The programs are intended for grandparents and their grandkids, to the benefit of all three generations.
My grandson Ethan, who lives in New York City, flew with me (by plane) to Salt Lake City, whence we were shuttled 45 miles south to our hotel in Provo. A minibus took us to all our outdoor adventures including the base for balloon takeoff, about 7500 ft above sea level. Our ascent took Just before takeoff us another 3000 feet. Standing in a basket, leaning over the rail to see the earth below from horizon to horizon, we had little to say because we were silenced by our wonderment. We felt no wind because we were moving in the same direction as the wind at the same speed.
Every so often the dead quiet was broken by the roar of the propane burners, reheating the air in the balloon. We rose imperceptibly and the pilot shut off the burners. Vertical motion, in fact, was the pilot’s only control over steering. To move in any direction horizontally, he took advantage of layering of the atmosphere, with wind direction changing from one layer to the next. (You can see this phenomenon from the ground if you watch the divergent motion of clouds at different altitudes.) Finding the desired layers involved trial and error, and bringing the balloon down exactly where he wanted it was the ultimate demonstration of the pilot’s skill.
I had intended to stay overnight in NYC after our late-evening flight, but I wanted to be home when Irene came knocking, so I spent midnight to 3:30 a.m. on the road.