October's trip to attend the Albuquerque International Balloon Fiesta in New Mexico was a journey with many purposes. It is the site of the largest gathering of hot air balloons in the world and Fiesta officials had decided to honor Halle's long time participation and contribution to the balloon fiesta by awarding in her name a trophy I had carved as an annual recognition of the top international pilot at the event. I had decided we would fly her Halle's Comet balloon at this final nine day gathering as a series of flights honoring her memory. On one of those flights we would also scatter some of her ashes from her balloon as she had asked.
But first, I had to make a trip to her tribal home one hundred and fifty miles away to honor another request. Halle had wanted some of her ashes scattered on the summit of her tribes' sacred mountain Dowa Ya' Llanie. It turned out to be a rigorous climb up a high desert mesa the last several hundred feet of which was a vertical rock face.
I had thought the difficult part of the climb would be to get permission to be on the mountain at all since allowing non-tribal members onto that particular sacred ground was generally discouraged. It turned out getting permission was easier than the climb. I overrated my climbing skills and underrated the difficulty of the vertical cliff. As it turned out, I had to teach myself the basics of serious rock climbing as I went. Once on top however, a very spiritual sense settled around me as I found a perfect spot to scatter Halle's ashes and leave a marker I had carved. It was a beautiful site overlooking the Zuni village, situated in a natural alcove created by rock formations and a semicircle of low juniper trees. When everything had been placed I sat with her and read aloud a small book of poems I had written to her right after she died. The wind on the summit wove through the junipers. It was a very ethereal, trembling, whispering sort of sound that seemed to weave into my words and carry them away as I shared them with Halle. The experience was very moving and very spiritual, but the sense of Halle's presence was barely detectable if at all. I had hoped that it might be a place where I could rekindle that feeling of her "touch" in my life.
I climbed down the mountain oddly fulfilled but simultaneously disappointed that there had
not been more of a sense of contact with Halle. That evening I drove back to Albuquerque
and prepared for the next day of flying where we would scatter the remainder of Halle's
ashes from her balloon.
The weather experts were predicting strong, gusty winds which would have made ballooning impossible, but instead the day dawned clear and calm. Halle's best friend Glo Kehoe was piloting the Comet. She and I and all of our crew were wearing shirts I had made for the occasion which featured a favorite photo of Halle in her flight suit.
We lifted off and drifted on the gentle currents. About an hour into the flight we reached the Rio Grande river and decided it was a good spot to scatter the rest of Halle's ashes. Glo took the balloon down and dipped the basket into the river. She held it there and let the current slowly drift us downstream as we shared the balloonist's prayer and completed the dispersal of Halle's ashes into the water. It was solemn and spiritual but like on the mountain there was no particular sense that Halle was really present with us.
After drifting perhaps a quarter of a mile on the river, Glo lifted the balloon up and we flew on for another ten or fifteen minutes. I had turned my back to Glo in order to look back at the city from the vantage of our elevation when suddenly my entire being stiffened with the powerful sense of Halle's presence in the balloon. It was so real that it was nearly a physical presence and so sudden that it half took my breath away. It took me a few moments to collect myself and then I turned to share what I had felt with Glo.
I only half noticed that Glo was standing in the basket with her hand off the burner and was holding onto Halle's picture on her shirt, but it didn't mean anything to me. I was so compelled to share my sense of Halle's being there with us that I didn't think anything about Glo not "flying" the balloon at that moment.
"This hasn't happened often," I told her, "but Glo I have to tell you that just a few seconds ago I was nearly overwhelmed by a most powerful sense of Halle being in the balloon with us. I mean it's as if she's standing with us right this very moment."
Glo looked totally stunned. Her jaw trembled and dropped for a moment and her eyes filled with tears. For a long count she simply couldn't speak. She continued clutching the picture of Halle on her shirt and finally managed to tell me that just as I had turned away to look back at the city, she had taken her hand from the burner, touched Halle's picture and in a moment of private homage to a friend had turned control of the balloon over to Halle and silently told her that she was now in command of the flight.
The two of us held onto each other and shared some important tears and sentiments only another balloonist would understand as Halle's presence continued to fill the basket for another thirty seconds. Then as instantaneously as the sense of her presence had appeared it was gone. Glo took back the burner and we finished the flight so filled with awe that we barely spoke.
On the ground, I dug out Halle's pilot log and entered a final entry, logging her onto the flight as pilot in command for the last time. It was not a sentimental gesture. I have undoubtedly misperceived a number of things in my life, but on October 5, 1994, Halle stepped aboard her balloon at 5,000 feet and took command of the flight for a few moments.
I had not found her on her tribal mountain and I had not found her down on the river as I scattered her ashes. I was sure that if I was going to be touched by her, it would be in one of those two places. Later, it struck me that if it had happened when I expected it to happen or was willing it to happen, I would never have known for sure if I was just experiencing what I had wanted to feel or if it was "genuine". The fact that someone other than myself had picked the time and place became wonderfully reassuring.
