by Jay R. and Juaquetta Holcomb
The Great Plains Balloon Rally of 1997 took place on June 7, just south of Sioux Falls, South Dakota. High winds coming out of nowhere were described in Balloon Life (May 1998, p 20). These high winds were attributed to gust fronts coming from 2 isolated thunderstorms located 120 and 170 miles east of the Rally site. These thunderstorms had rain falling into stable dry air, which produced rapid cooling, and then descent of two large air masses. When they reached the ground, they spread, merged and flowed laterally for hundreds of miles. I was one of the four pilots that got caught in these high winds. A year has passed, and some of the minute details may be a little fuzzy, but that night I will remember forever.
The forecast was a very typical forecast for the Midwest. The winds would calm as the evening progressed. I have flown many an evening with similar conditions, until that night. The weather briefing at the pilot meeting indicated just what I thought, winds going calm near sunset, although there were still some of those late afternoon small gusts of 8-12 mph or so. I am normally the ultra-conservative pilot, and as the first 35 or so balloons were inflating and fighting those gusts, I and 3 others knew that if we waited, it would calm down more. It was about 7 p.m. and still more than 2 hours before sunset.
One of the other pilots who was also waiting was saying that there was something not right with the weather, but he could not pinpoint it. He stayed on the ground that night. He got it right.
About 7:45 the wind did seem like it was dropping. I was not too close to the other 2 balloons, but all three of us must have sensed the same thing and inflated. The inflation was great; this was going to be a great flight, or so I thought. My passenger was the son of a local crewmember, from the same fine crew I had the year before.
I flew about half an hour up higher and thought I would come down and do some contouring. As I approached an open field, I could see something was not right. I hit the burners and grazed the field with one glancing blow. I just started to say an expletive and my body language did startle my passenger, but halfway through the expletive and gesture, I realized: stay calm and keep my passenger calm.
I glanced at the GPS while I remained at the 50-foot altitude. It was steady at 28-30 mph. I put the GPS away. It was one distraction I did not want. At this time I obviously changed my mental attitude. My thoughts were now safety of the passenger, stay calm, think and get down as quickly as possible.
After that incident, I very calmly explained that we were going faster than expected and we needed to find a nice field and land. I contacted my wife, Juaquetta, in the chase vehicle. Without saying exactly what was happening, I was aware that she already knew. We communicated very effectively without alarming my passenger or his dad, who was with my wife. She knew she had to get ahead of me and find a big field. My 14-year-old son, Brad, was also in the chase vehicle. He was 3 when I got my license, and ballooning is a `been there, done that.' But he also knew I had a big problem. He handled the radio and did a very professional job. They were paralleling me only a half mile away. They were going 35 mph and not keeping up with me.
Knowing I had 45 minutes to sunset, I stayed reasonably low and was constantly looking for any kind of landing spot. Time passed quickly. There was no place to land; just corn, beans, corn, farms, beans, powerlines, and more corn! Looking for a place was not working. With about 20 minutes of sunlight, I had resigned myself to go for a cornfield. In my 10 years as a pilot in the Midwest, I was proud to say I had only taken out one 10-foot strip of beans (yes, I showed the farmer!). But that night, safety was the key. I felt the cornfield would help cushion the landing, although it was not that tall yet. I would just have to deal with the farmer. My passenger was my first concern.
Juaquetta was ahead of me and found the perfect field, tall grass only. She told me exactly what I would go over; a creek, a farm, a tree line, a pond, the huge field, but with powerlines at the far end. I heard the powerlines at the far end, but missed the word `pond.'
Even though the powerlines were far away, I did not want to take any chances at this speed. As I passed the creek, farm and trees, I was working extremely hard to hold level flight and stay low, but clear all of the obstacles. As I went over the trees, I got the fuel tanks off. I had already given my passenger a very detailed briefing over the last 30 minutes, but I again reminded him what to do: especially, stay low and hold on. As the edge of the trees came up, I started to vent, and there was the pond. Talk about fast thinking, I said, `fine, let's go in,' and we did. We hit the pond pretty hard. The basket immediately filled with water. The water cushioned us from the basket and we both came out of it unharmed. (All right, we were a little wet!)
We were only half-way across the pond, the basket was full of water, and the envelope was already horizontal. I wondered if we might end up in the pond with the envelope. Oh yes, the top was open now, and everything was going very fast. Well, my concern about stopping in the pond was not an issue. Even with the top all the way out, we were pulled through the pond, and then another 250-300 yards through tall grass. By then my crew and another crew were there to grab us and finally got us stopped. Their skillful help was very much appreciated.
We were stopped, but the wind was so fast that the envelope would not fully deflate. We struggled to get the envelope down and tubed, but even with it tubed, the wind was so strong it kept picking the fabric up.
I am calling the landing at over 35 mph; at least that's what the speedometer in the chase vehicle told us. I give credit to the safety seminars and to the training and experience I have had that no one got hurt and that I was able to keep my calm during the flight.
I first became interested in ballooning during the summer of 1970. I was 16 and lived one block away from the Simpson College field in Indianola, Iowa, where the National Balloon Championship was being held. For several years I was a barograph chaser with my motorcycle and crewed for Dr. Grabb out of Ann Arbor, Michigan. He flew a smaller balloon with a swing seat only, so I never had a chance for a ride.
I have been at every event Indianola has had. Finally in 1986, coming home from Indianola, I turned to my wife and told her it was my turn. I found an instructor in Rochester, MN and received my private license in 1988. I am now flying my Rally 77, SunShine, in several rallies each year including the National Balloon Classic in Indianola, which I won in 1995.
Safety seminars are more important than ever now. I just hope I never have to do this again.
The original article discussing the weather: Outcomes From Outflows, May 1998
Ed note: David Miller, who flies the Uncle Sam balloon (built in 1985 and still flying! with a new top) did not launch on that fateful evening. He states that he always makes a point of getting his own briefing, even at a rally. Before he called, he noticed that a cloud bank was moving westward - not the usual direction of flow. So he asked the briefer about that, and was told, "let me look into this....you may get some outflow from this. You may get winds that will impress you." At the field, the forecast was for winds at six Knots; the pibal went straight up. Perhaps the lesson is, as Dave says, "You get out of a briefing what you put into it."