Up, Up, and Away in a Beautiful and Bold Hot Air Balloon

I’m flying, silently and leisurely at 11 mph, about 1,000 feet above the Yadkin Valley near East Bend, NC. Standing in a large rattan basket, I’m fully aware that the only thing keeping me aloft above terra firma is the attached flamboyantly colored and billowing canopy. The craft is a hot air balloon, the world’s oldest form of aviation. My flight is so glorious I wish I could choose this mode of transportation every time I travel.

My first trip in a hot air balloon was a dozen years ago during a barge trip in France while cruising the rivers and canals of Burgundy.

Even though I enjoyed both the purposely slow pace of the boat and viewing historic small villages and lush vineyards from the water’s vantage point, my sunrise airborne journey on the last day with a former French national champion balloonist was hands down the highlight of the trip. Floating in the air and in an open-air carrier above an endless panorama of regimented rows of grape vines, ancient stone farmhouses, and rolling hills was a lifetime thrill.

I decided it was past time to recapture that magical sensation and observe the countryside again from a true bird’s-eye view.

Capt. Jack Ponticelli, owner of Carolina Balloon AdVentures, is obliging my aerial wishes on this humid, hazy, summer morning.

An FAA-rated commercial hot air balloon pilot, Jack has been living his passion for more than 35 years, and “has done everything you can do with a hot air balloon,” he asserts. Jack also is sales manager and pilot for FireFly, one of the world’s largest manufacturers of sport and commercial hot air balloons located in nearby Statesville.

Last night, when I should have been logging hours of sleep, I read a few websites about the lore of hot air ballooning.

The milestone year for hot air ballooning – and aviation in general – was 1783, when a French scientist launched a hot air balloon bearing passengers for the first time. That brief, inaugural flight carried a duck, a sheep, and a rooster. Certainly, all three animals had to be curious, confused, and concerned prior to landing safely. Later that year came a tethered manned flight, followed by the first manned “free flight.”

Hot air ballooning was born.

Riding high in a hot air balloon

My alarm blares at 4:30 a.m. I jump out of bed for the two-plus-hour drive from Charlotte to the launch site in the expansive grassy yard of Jack’s rural home. I follow his pre-flight directives to the letter: Wear comfortable clothes. No open-toed shoes or sandals. If over 5’8” bring a hat (I’m 5’5”, and wearing a hat anyway). Dress for the day because it’s no colder in the air than on the ground. The ground might be wet, so waterproof shoes are good.

I’m feeling wired and ready. My fellow passengers – Theresa, Sarah, and Lucas – are hot air balloon first-timers. I envy their anticipation and wonder as they await the unknown.

To kick off the proceedings, Jack tosses up a red toy balloon. All heads turn to watch as the wind takes it swiftly in a northwest direction and out of sight.

“That will be us up there shortly,” Jack notes.

We passengers stand aside as Jack, his wife, Debbie, and ground crew members Matt and Mark assemble our aircraft. Pulling all materials from a trailer, they place the basket, formally called a carriage, on the ground, adding uprights, gauges, and the burner. Nimble Jack climbs into the carriage, rests his foot on the rim while holding the uprights, and swings until momentum tilts the basket on its side. They lay out the 105,000-cubic foot envelope, made of high tenacity nylon, and attach it with ropes. Theresa, Sarah and Lucas keep the envelope opens as Jack starts up a fan to fill it with cold air. Once the balloon shape appears, Jack ignites the burner to send in hot air. I peer inside the spreading envelope, awed at the brilliant kaleidoscopic effect.

We climb aboard, and brace ourselves for take-off, hands gripping the supports and interior ropes beneath the basket’s edge per Jack’s instructions. No herky-jerky movements, just a smooth, even ascent at about two miles per hour and we’re riding on the wind.

I’d forgotten how flying feels motionless and peaceful. Even the sudden whooshing sound and rush of hot air when Jack occasionally fires the burner fails to disrupt the serenity. At maximum pressure, the burner generates an astonishing 42 million BTUs of heat. He switches as needed among the four, 10-gallon fuel tanks filled with propane. Every dog within earshot barks in chorus, disturbed both by the burner’s blast and a high-pitched sound only they can hear.

Our shadow glides over meadows, ponds, homes, farms, and cultivated fields. Pilot Mountain and Hanging Rock, their height punctuating the landscape, loom in the distance. Below, a mother spies us, and runs back into the house for her children, who jump and holler excitedly. Two frisky fawns play tag. A flock of wild turkeys waddles in ragged formation. Our trusty ground crew continues to trail us by truck, ready to pack up the hot air balloon once we return to Earth.

After about an hour’s flight, Jack contemplates possible sites to touch down. He says he can land anywhere – even in water – but prefers a spot with no crops, no electrical poles and wires, and no fence posts. He also likes the area to be near a road for accessibility for the trailer, and large enough to spread the canopy when it deflates.

He, of course, nails it, gently placing us smack in the middle of a wide and unobstructed dirt trail bisecting a farmer’s field.

Building balloons at FireFly

On another day, I visit Jack at his earth-bound office at FireFly Balloons.

The manufacturing facility’s location in the Brushy Mountains is no coincidence. The winds in this area are generally fair. Also, the time-honored traditions of textile and furniture workmanship run deep. Those skills are ideal for making modern hot air balloons because two of the most important features are hand-inlaid and sewn envelopes and precisely crafted carriages.

FireFly assembles balloons from the ground up, and also repairs, maintains, and restores components. Tracy Barnes, a pioneering U.S. balloonist, founded the company in 1972, and they’ve produced untold thousands of balloons since then. His innovations are still in use today. All FireFly materials are handmade in the U.S. (most locally), save for rattan, which comes from Asia.

Jack leads me through the administrative area. Almost every wall, partition, and desk is plastered with photos, cards, artwork, and collages of balloons and more balloons by FireFly.

“We can make anything,” he declares, be it for sport, advertising, riding, or special shapes. I’m looking at the proof.

There’s a Mother Hubbard balloon. Jesus sitting on a cloud. A pirate face. Sheldon the turtle. A dimpled golf ball. The owl and the pussycat from nonsense song fame. A court jester’s head. A rabbit. A lightbulb. A shamrock. A truck. A football helmet. An upside down Humpty Dumpty. One wears giant sunglasses. FireFly even made a condom balloon, which was later banned in the U.S., but no matter because the tall, slender dimensions weren’t well suited to flight anyway. Some balloons have names, too. Hot Ziggety. Sunshine Daydream. Sizzler. Fantasia.

“We were and still are the renegades,” Jack says with evident pride, “but overriding everything are quality and craftsmanship. We test everything.”

As we walk through the manufacturing area, Jack notes that triangular baskets are FireFly’s signature rather than the traditional four-cornered style. The basket weave is horizontal and vertical, so it compresses a little for softer landings. Instead of relying on the balloon’s skin to carry the stress, FireFly uses strong, lightweight ropes sewn into the fabric along the outer surface to cradle the hot air balloon from top to bottom.

We watch master seamstress Monica Gantt sew yards of cobalt blue gores for the envelope for a hot air balloon for singer Kenny Chesney to promote his Blue Chair Bay rum. Surprisingly, hot air balloons are quite resilient, and can still fly even if half of the envelope is gone.

I tell Jack I’ve always loved the romance and mystique of hot air balloons. On the rare occasions when I see one drifting overhead, I smile and stop what I’m doing to watch. “Everybody does,” he says.

I ask him about the design for the next hot air balloon he’ll own, but he stays mum. He does share that he’ll call it Hot Stuff.

If Jack flies by someday, I hope I’m looking skyward, so I can catch a glimpse and wave hello.