Up, Up and Away over Mudgee
When pilot Andrew Fewtrell isn’t pumping the bellows, the silence up there envelops me. It’s like riding on a cotton wool carpet. I’d expected to be scared. Standing on the edge of a cliff top makes me giddy, after all, but here I am in a cane basket about 1,000 feet up in the air and I feel unexpectedly calm. It turns out that flying in a hot-air balloon is a serene kind of adventure. As the Balloon Aloft website quite rightly puts it: in your basket you will feel completely secure with virtually no sensation of movement.
Our balloon experience began at 5am, which is when we meet Andrew & his two friendly sidekicks at the Parklands Resort, just outside Mudgee. We’re staying in town, so it’s only a short ride away. It’s dark and foggy and you get to stand around with a bunch of sleepy strangers while temperatures are checked (in these Covid times), names crossed off and breakfast choices are ticked. It’s imperative that you do not need to wee during a flight, so there’s a last toilet stop too. “And absolutely no smoking”, warns Andrew, several times, which makes me furtively scrutinize our fellow passengers. No, none of them look like nicotine desperados. The 15 of us are a mixed bag of generations, from people in their 20s to those in their 70s. Ballooning is something most can do, though you have to be agile enough to clamber in to the fairly tall cane basket.
And when I say cane, I mean the natural kind, ie, the plant. It’s remarkable that in the 21st century, this is still the most flexible material for balloon baskets, and it has to do with its ability to absorb the impact of a hard landing. The cushioned lining on the interior of the basket also helps, but I’m glad we didn’t have to put it to the test. Though for a few minutes there, it does seem as if we might land on the top of a hapless group of trees, and I wonder how we’ll all hang on if our basket tips over.
One of the most dramatic moments of the experience is the instant the 400kg of nylon and canvas lying flat out on the grass takes shape. I guess I’d never given any thought to how this actually happens. It takes a large fan and a lot of propane gas to inflate all that damp material, but the moment it becomes a balloon and rises in to the air, bringing the basket over with it, is a thrill. It’s also the moment you realise your life will depend on that balloon and its pilot.
Lucky, then, that our pilot, Andrew, is a hot-air balloon fanatic from way back. From all the way back to 2nd grade, which is when his class did a project on transport and the notion that you could fly in a balloon entered his world. As soon as he turned 17, he got his student’s license. He tells me he’s done 600 flights, or it could be 700; he’s lost count. It’s reassuring to hear the joy in his voice as he talks to us during the flight.
I could spend the entire morning floating over the fog that shrouds Mudgee and the valley in which it sits, but we are carrying enough propane gas for only 2 hours, an hour extra than we need, just in case. And I can see how fast it would run down. When Andrew pulls on the crucial lever, the swoosh of gas is so loud and the flame so intense, it shatters the sense that we are simply floating of our own accord.
Andrew with a ready hand on the lever
The highlight of our hour in the sky is the sunrise. The moment that golden orb ascends the horizon feels somehow miraculous. I can see how this kind of transcendental balloon-ride euphoria could become addictive.
The descent is the reveal of a pilot’s skill. He or she must accurately judge how much to open the parachute valve at the balloon’s tip. In our case, Andrew has to shepherd us down without being able to see the ground properly. The fog is still thick and he has to rely on technology to find a flat landing. We all assume the brace position, back and knees against the padded basket, but in the end it’s as smooth as butter.
The dew is still heavy on the grass; it’s just 8am and I feel as if a whole day has gone by. Andrew’s friendly side-kicks are there to help fold away the balloon (and to drive us back to the resort), but 400kg of damp nylon is fairly unwieldy. It takes all of us to shove it back in to a box that seems at first to be hopelessly tiny. Andrew says that they use smaller balloons for romantic champagne flights for two, which is wise.
On our way up; photo taken by a drone (credit: Balloon Aloft)
The farmer whose paddock we have landed in wanders over to say hello and offers to show us his new-born lambs. We wander between cobweb-encrusted thistles and dripping leaves to see the little bleating tykes, the carnivores among us putting on a brave face. I’m glad I chose the muesli option for breakfast.
Back at Parklands Resort, we imbibe our glass of bubbly, tuck in to our brekkie, and review our experience. I sit next to a man who tells me of his research in to balloon accidents, one of them involving a pilot who jumped out at 5 feet and left his passengers to their fiery fate. But I won’t go in to it and I suggest you don’t either. Much more fascinating is that the first hot air balloon flight was in 1783 and that in 1804 a couple of Frenchmen got to 13,000 feet and that by 1961 two Americans took a balloon to 113,740 feet, albeit with the help of special suits and oxygen. Now that would be scary. It makes our little jaunt in to the sky over Mudgee seem like a doddle. Would I do it again? Absolutely.
EXTRA
We flew with Balloon Aloft Mudgee; our adventure cost $279pp, including breakfast (though I have to say that the food & coffee at Parklands resort wasn’t great; much better to include a bbq breakfast in the paddock on landing perhaps?)
Our group of 8 stayed at Colonial Court Villas. Not atmospheric, but clean, comfortable and close to the town centre
http://www.colonialcourtvillas.com.au/