Two thousand miles away from my balloons, grounded at college, I ran upon some luck in May of 1995. From Vassar College in Poughkeepsie, New York, I advertised across the Internet that I was available to crew. I was desperately in need of a ballooning fix when Dick Powell took pity upon me and gave me one of the most unique flights of my life.
His crew picked me up early Sunday morning on the way to the Fourth Annual Great Hudson Valley Balloon Race. This event is run by Bill Hughes, a terrific Balloonmeister who also is in charge of the Adirondack Balloon Event. It is conducted as a community event out of the Dutchess County Airport, about two miles from THE RIVER.
After several windows of bad weather which permitted only one very short flight, the weather looked perfect for Sunday morning. The passengers were a lady whose husband had presented her with a Mother’s Day gift certificate, and a girl from Di sponsor station WPDH, the local rock station. Dick offered to take one of her children as it was Mother’s Day. She had several who wanted to go and one could see her Solomon-like mother wisdom at work as she made the difficult choice. Right before lift off, Dick invited me along as well. He later confirmed that I had that “God, I don’t want to miss this flight” look.
We launched and headed slowly west across the valley toward the Hudson River. We flew over Locust Grove, the home of Samuel F.B. Morse, inventor of the Telegraph and the Morse Code. We came upon the wide expanse of the Hudson a mile south of the Mid-Hudson Toll Bridge, directly across from the Town of Marlborough.
Although there was a race associated with the flight, Dick, who was the previous year’s winner of the Hudson Valley Sportsmanship Award, elected to ignore the steering currents toward the target. He was a man with the goal of a unique flight opportunity. Points and prizes paled in comparison to the goal of a mighty Hudson water landing.
We enjoyed floating over homes for a bit and soon, the river was ahead. Dick and I were both looking to make a splash and dash in the mighty Hudson. Growing up and flying balloons in Albuquerque, I recognized that the Hudson was a real river, grander than what is left of the Rio Grande. I was amazed by its majestic size. The Hudson River flows south past Poughkeepsie toward New York City. To the south we could see the mighty flow turn at the West Point gap and it seemed as if the skyscrapers of New York City were sitting in the river.
Along the river there are many factories and plants whose smokestacks guide a pilot along. Dick and I were watching closely and noted that we would need to hit the middle of the river dead on. If we were too far across when we splashed, we would go into the bank and have to bail out. If we were not far enough out, the drift was 180 degrees backwards to the east.
So, Dick aimed for the middle, which was difficult to ascertain through the light layer of mist produced by the cool Spring runoff. He used the smooth center wake of a large barge cruising down the river as the target. Once below the mist layer, into the cooler air of the river valley, we determined that the only ripples on the river itself were the barge’s wake, indicating calm at the surface. There were a few other balloon with the same track and the same idea. We watched them hover a few feet off the river and then shoot back up.
The descent was tricky. Starting the descent from altitude in the cool air caused the aircraft to speed its rate of descent when it passed through the warmer air of the mist level. If the pilot did not use very controlled burns to compensate, it was easy to overburn, and bounce off the cooler valley air. If the pilot overdid it, his shot at the river was over.
Dick was patient. He came in with a series of short burns, allowing the balloon to slowly settle in to the coolest level of air, and eventually - SPLASH! We watched others come in and make an attempt, but no other pilot was able to penetrate the cool layers between themselves and the river. Once we touched down, we were no longer in danger of meeting the bank, but floated gently down the center of the Hudson, enjoying the rippling waves and the peace that one finds early on a Sunday morning in the center of a river in a hot air balloon. The passengers were amazed, and not exactly convinced that we could really float on the river. Our only companion was the barge, and we had a magnificent view of the cliffs, the bridges to our north and south, and the other balloons drifting above us. The current carried us about a half mile downriver.
After our twenty minute ride on the river, Dick decided it was time to find a landing spot. We slowly ascended out of the river and headed back over the beautiful Hudson Valley, which was glistening in the spring sun, and enjoying the spring thaw. As we found ourselves west of the river, we were treated with the view of wineries and quaint little homes. After an hour and a half, we decided to put down in a field near a vineyard. The crew was not far behind, even though they had stopped for a bit on a bridge over the river to watch us float along. A perfect stand up landing added the exclamation mark to a picture-perfect morning!