Magnificent men in their flying machines

They are huge, they are colorful and they make large whooshing noises but gosh they are fun! I'm talking about hot air balloons of which no less than 13 showed up this year for McCook's world renown balloon pilot and instructor John Kugler's annual Balloon Fest. Launched from the fair grounds surrounded by hundreds of spectators and fed by a Cub Scout pancake feed and Joltin' Jo's coffee bar it was a spectacular early Saturday morning event. Saturday evening was too windy but the Bieroc fed a crowd of spectators as the sun dipped in the west. Sunday morning -- just fog but still spectators and balloons colorfully inflated and then collapsed and packed away 'til next time.

Ann and I stepped forward to sponsor a ballooning team this year and drew a visiting couple from Apple Valley, Calif. Pat and George Rosander are newly retired, he a professor in a community college and she a doctor's office nurse. For the moment they are roaming the country visiting grandchildren in Colorado and participating in hot air balloon events wherever they can find one. At the moment, they are honing their skills in anticipation of this fall's big balloon meet in Albuquerque.

Technically, hot air balloons, as well as blimps, zeppelins and free gas balloons are all classified as aircraft. To fly one, the pilot has to be experienced and certified and they have to operate within the body of regulations called Federal Air Rules. That was our problem Sunday morning when the fog rolled in. To fly legally, one had to abide by Instrument Flight Rules and balloons are almost devoid of any flight instruments. In balloons fogged in means keep it hooked to the ground.

The sport of hot air ballooning goes back to 1783 when a pair of Frenchmen, Jean-François Pilâtre de Rozier and François Laurent d'Arlandes made the first manned flight in a hot air balloon created by the Montgolfier brothers. Actually, they did a little testing first and launched two pigs and a sheep (as I remember) to see if this new conveyance was safe. They also had a few misconceptions as they figured that the buoyancy was due to the smoke they'd observed rising from an open fire into the atmosphere. So they used animal dung, wood shavings, straw and all sorts of smoky burning fuels to produce their smoky lift. Today we use clean-burning propane gas realizing that it is simply the bubble of heated air trapped in the nearly airtight bag that causes lift rather than the smoke. Their gas bags, we call them envelopes now, were made of paper and we now use colorful nylon and other specialized lightweight fabrics.

In the tradition honoring the oldest manned airborne conveyance, balloonists today still celebrate first flights with champagne. Their baskets are hand-woven wicker; light tough, colorful but just right for the purist. The sport is expensive, of little practical use and yet is universal in its appeal. It seems that never does a modern balloon launch but for a crowd of spectators to magically appear.

Mainly, I've discovered that those who call themselves balloonists are a fun-loving lot. They incessantly play jokes on each other; horseplay is the norm, and any public miscue is never forgotten among the brotherhood!

A normal airplane I can pull it from the hangar, start the engine and depart the airfield all by myself. Not so a hot air balloon -- it takes a crowd. First off, the basket with its containers of propane -- George's weighed in at about 450 pounds, takes several individuals to manhandle from its conveyance. Then the envelope, another 150 pounds, has to be laid out and attached to the basket. The envelope is first inflated with ambient air from a motorized fan blowing into the gaping mouth held open by at least two people. After straining mightily, the balloon gets inflated though still lying on the ground. A line is attached to the top for another person to guide as it levitates. Then the pilot shoots a burst of flame from the burner into the mouth. Like a phoenix, the envelope stands up and begins to look like the colorful lighter-than-air conveyance that we all know and love.

Once the envelope is upright, the pilot will gather bodies all around his basket to act as ballast while he burns enough propane to get all the air in the envelope heated enough to ascend. Then the human ballast casts off and away the "aircraft" goes, hopefully rising fast enough to clear all obstacles.

Manpower was plentiful this weekend as the men and ladies from the McCook College basketball teams all "volunteered' to help. I loved it; college kids up before sunrise on a weekend no less! The pay -- a good time and even a lucky few got a chance to ride. With the balloon off and running, the launch crew piles into a vehicle and follows the flight wherever the breezes dictate. We crossed the river and then headed east and after about an hour and a whole six miles traveled George and his passenger, Dale Nielsen, landed in one of George Randal's stubble fields. Then it was the drill of deflating the envelope, stuffing it back into its bag, unhook from the basket and load everything up in the pickup and head back for town. A debrief takes place among friends: "I did this, I did that, I dipped my basket into the lake," and on and on. Oh, the stories are almost as much fun as the actual doing and for sure they last longer!

Riding in the wicker basket below a hot air balloon is actually a peaceful experience. All is quiet except for the occasional blast of the burner and one soon learns to ignore that. If you are not too high, it is actually quiet enough to hear people's conversations on the ground plus animal voices and the rumble of automobiles in the distance. Some small animals like rabbits, turkeys and most dogs ignore the balloon passing overhead and others, particularly horses, panic and run away from the sound of the burner. Deer, and they are plentiful along the Republican River, tend to move away from the sound but their pace is generally unhurried. The whole experience is almost magical -- one is unobtrusively viewing nature in all its glory leaving nary a footprint or any other lasting evidence of one's presence. The experience can be addicting.

That is the way I saw it.