December 1999

Flying
by
George
Denniston
like to think
that
from
time
to
time we
stop
and
play
“what if“ with
ourselves. I
remember as a newer pilot I certainly did.
Admittedly
not as often anymore, but
on
occasion I still do. And on occasion I will
scare
myself
in
one
of
my
fantasy
sce-
narios
because it
might
take me too
long
to
consider a safe and
practical
solution.
For
instance,
what
if
you
failed
in
your
preflight checklist and neglected to
hook
up
the
red
line? How
would
you
handle
the
situation
if seconds
after launch
you
discover this oversight?
I suggest to my students that this is a
very
good
use
of
spare
time
that
would
otherwise
be
wasted
away
wishing
for
perfect
ballooning
weather. It
is
a
good
idea
while
flying
the
virtual
balloon
in
your head to solve these problems before
you
are
faced
with
similar
scenarios
in
reality. Certainly there aremany “what if”
scenarios that we could conceive with an
even
greater
number
of
potential
solu-
tions.
This
stuff
makes
great
group
dis-
cussions, too.
I discovered a “what if” that I missed
over
the
past
ten
years
of
virtual
and
reality based ballooning on
the first Sun-
day
flight of Fiesta.
It was a second near
perfect
day
at
the
final
KAIBF
of
the
millennium
and
I was
flying
two
of our
volunteer crew from Germany, Alex and
Christian. We launched at thesouth end of
the field and
boxed
back to the northeast
in
preparation
to
descend
and
fly
south-
west to
our launch
site back
on the field.
Surprise, surprise, all southerly
flow was
gone. (Well, that
really is not
a surprise;
this
is ballooning
after all.) So
we either
parked
or
moved
quite
slowly
between
the
Rio
Grande
and
the
foothills
in
a
direction.
After nearly exhausting the three P’s
of flying to a goal, patience, perseverance
and propane, I could still not get across the
Rio
and
off
the reservation. I
wanted
to
land at an accessible road to avoid direct-
ing
my crew to
drive cross-country. So I
chose
to
land
next
to
SR
313
at
a
point
where the Rio Grande runs
nearest.
Theconditions werevariable and very
light. Often
not even
registering
a speed
on my Garmin
GPS III. Thomas, another
of
our
German
contingent
and
our
sole
ground
crewmember,
was
contacted
on
an
extremely chatty radio frequency
and
should
be on the way.
After oneaborted attempt at the rather
tight area chosen as our final landing site,
I yelled
to
a
passing
pickup
truck
filled
with reveling crew who had already com-
pleted theirretrievemission. They stopped
and
obliged
to
assist
with
a
drop
line
landing.Now firmly planted on the ground,
smiles, handshakes and thank-you’s filled
the air.
Subsequent
to
our
landing,
two
or
three
other
balloons
chose
this
area
too
and
some
of
my
new
crew
friends
ven-
tured
off to assist the late arrivals.
As
I took
a private moment
to
con-
gratulate…… then
reprimand myself for
squeezing into this spot I again
surveyed
the obstacles and briefly played “what if”.
To my west was
ten feet of Albuquerque
dirt laced
with
sand
burrs, SR 313, more
dirt,
a
fence,
two
narrow
canals,
large
powerlines, trees and
the Rio
Grande. To
my
east was about forty feet of dirt (with
a really
high
concentration
of very
sharp
sand
burrs),
railroad
tracks,
utility
lines
and trees.
My
decision
had
been
to
keep
the
balloon inflated so Thomas could spot us
and,
after
all,
I
was
flying
a
gorgeous
logoed
balloon
so
why
not.
The Sandia
Reservation Police had now stopped traf-
fic to allow the other balloons in the area
to
use the road
to
deflate.
I was contemplating the activity and
my
next
move when
one
of
the
pick-up
crew people pointed out
that there was a
train coming. As I turned to the north there
it
was,
screaming
our
way
at
blinding
speed.
The engines and first dozen
or so
semi-trailer
laden
cars
were past
in
just
seconds.
Then
the effect
started.
The full
but
soft envelope began to
deform
and
draw
dangerously
close to
the
speeding
train.
At this time therewere six people hanging
on to the basket with my German friends
Alex and Christian in the basket with me.
It would
not be an understatement to say
at
that
moment
we
were
all
collectively
scarred
witless.
The“what if“ machinerapidly kicked
in
with images of my fellow basket bud-
dies and me rapidly becoming crow feed,
careening
down
the tracks
parallel to the
bullet train riding three partial filled tanks
of propane. Some lucky handy-cam totin’
tourist
could
have collected
well for that
video footage.
Fortunately that scenario did not have
room
to
develop,
as
more serious
issues
were demanding all RAM capacities. The
pilot, now in need of some fresh sub-trou,
added
large
amounts
of
heat
to
try
to
recover
the
nice
“balloon
shape”
this
model
is
known
for
and
continued
to
calculate options for survival.
As
I
monitor
the
distance
between
December 1999
Denniston
is
presented to
enhance safe
flying by
providing
balloonists the
opportunity to
gain
experience from
others
without actually
flying. The
column is
edited
by
George Denniston
who is
a doctor and ballo onist
living
in
Seattle, Washington. Articles
may
be
signed
or anonymous
to
protect
th e
privacy of those involved, as
the author
wishes. If you have an
experience that
you wo uld
like to share with
oth ers,
send
your manuscript to
Balloo n Life
magazine, Hangar Flying
with
George
Denniston, 2336
47th Ave SW, Seattle,
WA 98116-23 31. Submissions
may be
typewritten, submitted on
disk (Mac or
IBM format),
or
e- mailto:tom@balloonlife.com
Balloon
Life pays
$35 for each
story
used.
the
additional
heat
had
help
to
keep
the
nowfirmer balloon from more drastically
entering
the
“wind
tunnel.”
At
what
I
perceived
to
be about
ten
feet, the enve-
lope was still way
too close.
Now at
“train
plus
37
minutes” this
had
gone
on
long
enough.
(I’m
sure
it
really
wasn’t
that long.
Seconds
seemed
like
minutes.)
One
of
the
pick-up
crew
members started to ask, “Should Igrab the
crown line……..” as I turned his question
into
a
directive
and
finished
it
for
him,
“and
move quickly toward
the road.”
At that
point we were able to
regain
control of the wayward envelope and slide
the basket farther from theincredibly pow-
erful
low-pressure
area
surrounding
the
After the train passed we were left in
momentary
silence,
jaws
slacked,
sweat
popped,
with
the
ashen
look
of
having
witnessed something far worse than your
everyday
ghost on
everyone’s face.
The next
decision was easy. We de-
cided
that Thomas could
find
us without
the
90,000
cubic
foot
billboard
to
mark
our location
as we began
to
pack
up
the
equipment.
Sincere
“thanks”
were
extended
to
the
pick-up
truckload
of
reveling
crew.
We
exchanged
names
and
again
shook
hands, all ofus thankful of having averted
disaster.
How
would
you
have
handled
the
situation? Time to
play “what if.”