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From Our Kitchen
Grammy Goes Hot Air Ballooning
by Jean Loesch Krauklin

Up and Away What a great birthday present - a gift certificate for a balloon ride! How does one go about finding a balloon and a pilot? By looking in the Yellow Pages. My daughter, who had enjoyed a flight some years ago, arranged for this new thrill in my life.

A safe ascension means that the weather has to be favorable; the still, almost windless conditions at dawn and sometimes at dusk are best; also, wind direction is important, especially if you live near an ocean or other large body of water (you don't want to get stuck over that). Another usual requirement is the right number of passengers on hand...in my case it was three.

So one April Sunday morning at 6:30 I met the crew of Balloons Over Florida at a nearby mall, and along with the two other passengers we drove in the colorful van (which hauled a small trailer containing the packed balloon and its accompanying machinery) to a field near our local Club Med. Here the preparations took place, requiring about half an hour.

First the balloon was unfolded and laid out on the ground. It seemed so long! Actually it is 70 feet long and 55 feet at its widest. Holding onto ropes, we all helped to hold the balloon open while a powerful fan blew air inside and gradually expanded the colorful, extra-strong nylon sac. Lying on its side, the huge bag writhed and squirmed until it was full, and then it rose upright. It was tethered to the large square basket, which was also uprighted, and pilot, co-pilot and passengers climbed in. The hot-air apparatus was brought aboard also.

I thought there would be a door on one side of the basket for easy access, but such was not the case! Jane, the pilot's attractive wife and driver of the "chase van", cheerfully told me there was no graceful way to get in, so with a few boosts and pushes, I heaved myself over the padded edge and into the basket. There was room enough (none of us was overlarge) for us five, plus a couple of tanks of fuel. The basket came up to waist height, and looking up into our balloon, with the "flame-thrower" machine (called the burner) aimed upward, was awe-inspiring. I remembered "Around the World in Eighty Days", and couldn't tell if I was going backward or forward in time with this experience!

We were all set, and Joe, our co-pilot, sent up a helium filled trial balloon to test the wind direction and strength. The little balloon sailed northwest, and Mark, the pilot, announced that we would travel along the North Fork of the St. Lucie River. With a blast or two of the heating mechanism, we gently rose from the grassy field into the air and floated over the trees.

Right away the rivers came into view, and beyond them, the ocean as well. It was still misty, but about this time the sun's earliest rays appeared and cleared away the last of the fog. We marveled at the silence and the beauty of our part of Florida as we looked down. So many pine trees! We floated over their tops, or brushed by some of their top branches, as we drifted north over the river.

A few people were in their yards and saw us; some ran to get cameras, others waved. Any dogs that were outside began running in circles around their yards and barking to wake up their owners! Mark determined the height we reached by controlling the buttons on the noisy flame-thrower. Sometimes we got up quite high (we watched the altimeter reach 1500 feet), and then, over the wild savannahs that make up much of Port St. Lucie, we dropped down low to get a good look. Mark actually dipped the bottom of the basket into the river once!

I asked Mark about the ages of his customers--how young and how old. He said youngsters had to be tall enough to see over the top of the basket, preferably, and there was no upper age limit; he'd had customers 85 years old who loved the trip, So there went my hope of being the oldest balloonist in this territory.

Mark was in touch by radio with Jane in the van, letting her know where we were heading, and every so often we spotted the van and its little trailer far below us. Once she was thwarted in the chase by a detour: there was a roadblock on St. James Avenue-and she had to retreat. Mark suggested a route to her, and told her we'd be landing near the Midway Road Post Office. And she was right there when we were. Our flight lasted about an hour.

What did we see that we couldn't see from a small plane, or a jet? A lot, especially in the savannahs that are almost inaccessible on foot or by car; they were swampy and primeval looking; many birds sang in the trees right at our level. Sometimes alligators are seen along the riverbanks, or small animals, even deer, in the brush. We saw the shadow of our balloon and its basket. And we took many pictures of the scene below, including Joe's house.

Landing Coming down to land, Mark warned us there would be a little bumping and dragging of the basket, so we held on tight as we skimmed over some low bushes and dropped into the field. While the balloon was still hovering high above us, we climbed out and regretfully came to the end of our adventure.

But it still wasn't quite over. We watched the crew skillfully deflate the balloon (while curious drivers in the neighborhood stopped to watch also, or ask if we needed help.) Squashing the big bag took some time, and when it finally lay quietly on the ground, it was rolled and folded up and stuffed into its sack. Four of us sat on the sack to flatten it and get the remaining air out. Basket, balloon, and equipment were placed back into the trailer, and we boarded the van for our return.

But then Mark pulled into a park in White City for a little traditional celebration. Balloonists are feted with a glass of champagne and an amusing "secret ceremony"; they are also given a handsome T-shirt and a Certificate to prove their ascension that day. With congratulations all around, we adventurers shook hands and parted about 9:00 a.m. after a beautiful and exhilarating experience.

Any comments or questions? Contact
louise@loesch.net
S i t e d e s i g n b y W e b f a i r

Home Family History Family Tree Photo Album Reminiscing Reunion Info Family News Address Book From Our Kitchen		Grammy Goes Hot Air Ballooning by Jean Loesch Krauklin What a great birthday present - a gift certificate for a balloon ride! How does one go about finding a balloon and a pilot? By looking in the Yellow Pages. My daughter, who had enjoyed a flight some years ago, arranged for this new thrill in my life. A safe ascension means that the weather has to be favorable; the still, almost windless conditions at dawn and sometimes at dusk are best; also, wind direction is important, especially if you live near an ocean or other large body of water (you don't want to get stuck over that). Another usual requirement is the right number of passengers on hand...in my case it was three. So one April Sunday morning at 6:30 I met the crew of Balloons Over Florida at a nearby mall, and along with the two other passengers we drove in the colorful van (which hauled a small trailer containing the packed balloon and its accompanying machinery) to a field near our local Club Med. Here the preparations took place, requiring about half an hour. First the balloon was unfolded and laid out on the ground. It seemed so long! Actually it is 70 feet long and 55 feet at its widest. Holding onto ropes, we all helped to hold the balloon open while a powerful fan blew air inside and gradually expanded the colorful, extra-strong nylon sac. Lying on its side, the huge bag writhed and squirmed until it was full, and then it rose upright. It was tethered to the large square basket, which was also uprighted, and pilot, co-pilot and passengers climbed in. The hot-air apparatus was brought aboard also. I thought there would be a door on one side of the basket for easy access, but such was not the case! Jane, the pilot's attractive wife and driver of the "chase van", cheerfully told me there was no graceful way to get in, so with a few boosts and pushes, I heaved myself over the padded edge and into the basket. There was room enough (none of us was overlarge) for us five, plus a couple of tanks of fuel. The basket came up to waist height, and looking up into our balloon, with the "flame-thrower" machine (called the burner) aimed upward, was awe-inspiring. I remembered "Around the World in Eighty Days", and couldn't tell if I was going backward or forward in time with this experience! We were all set, and Joe, our co-pilot, sent up a helium filled trial balloon to test the wind direction and strength. The little balloon sailed northwest, and Mark, the pilot, announced that we would travel along the North Fork of the St. Lucie River. With a blast or two of the heating mechanism, we gently rose from the grassy field into the air and floated over the trees. Right away the rivers came into view, and beyond them, the ocean as well. It was still misty, but about this time the sun's earliest rays appeared and cleared away the last of the fog. We marveled at the silence and the beauty of our part of Florida as we looked down. So many pine trees! We floated over their tops, or brushed by some of their top branches, as we drifted north over the river. A few people were in their yards and saw us; some ran to get cameras, others waved. Any dogs that were outside began running in circles around their yards and barking to wake up their owners! Mark determined the height we reached by controlling the buttons on the noisy flame-thrower. Sometimes we got up quite high (we watched the altimeter reach 1500 feet), and then, over the wild savannahs that make up much of Port St. Lucie, we dropped down low to get a good look. Mark actually dipped the bottom of the basket into the river once! I asked Mark about the ages of his customers--how young and how old. He said youngsters had to be tall enough to see over the top of the basket, preferably, and there was no upper age limit; he'd had customers 85 years old who loved the trip, So there went my hope of being the oldest balloonist in this territory. Mark was in touch by radio with Jane in the van, letting her know where we were heading, and every so often we spotted the van and its little trailer far below us. Once she was thwarted in the chase by a detour: there was a roadblock on St. James Avenue-and she had to retreat. Mark suggested a route to her, and told her we'd be landing near the Midway Road Post Office. And she was right there when we were. Our flight lasted about an hour. What did we see that we couldn't see from a small plane, or a jet? A lot, especially in the savannahs that are almost inaccessible on foot or by car; they were swampy and primeval looking; many birds sang in the trees right at our level. Sometimes alligators are seen along the riverbanks, or small animals, even deer, in the brush. We saw the shadow of our balloon and its basket. And we took many pictures of the scene below, including Joe's house. Coming down to land, Mark warned us there would be a little bumping and dragging of the basket, so we held on tight as we skimmed over some low bushes and dropped into the field. While the balloon was still hovering high above us, we climbed out and regretfully came to the end of our adventure. But it still wasn't quite over. We watched the crew skillfully deflate the balloon (while curious drivers in the neighborhood stopped to watch also, or ask if we needed help.) Squashing the big bag took some time, and when it finally lay quietly on the ground, it was rolled and folded up and stuffed into its sack. Four of us sat on the sack to flatten it and get the remaining air out. Basket, balloon, and equipment were placed back into the trailer, and we boarded the van for our return. But then Mark pulled into a park in White City for a little traditional celebration. Balloonists are feted with a glass of champagne and an amusing "secret ceremony"; they are also given a handsome T-shirt and a Certificate to prove their ascension that day. With congratulations all around, we adventurers shook hands and parted about 9:00 a.m. after a beautiful and exhilarating experience.
		Any comments or questions? Contact louise@loesch.net S i t e d e s i g n b y W e b f a i r