Don't Call Me Ishmael: High above Albuquerque

Views from the crown

The Nerfer ascends

Three bees united

By necessity, Balloon Fiesta mornings start in the dark. Early arrival at the field allows a chance to relax before the balloons rise en masse.

The cloud banks above Albuquerque were dense but high, not hiding rain that could not dash another liftoff morning. The nine-day festival ran into unusually rainy weather for its 50th anniversary year.

On my four days in Albuquerque, we flew on two of four mornings, and rain cancelled all evening activities at some point. For comparison, the 2021 balloon fiesta weather allowed flight on eight of nine days, all except the finale Sunday. Each morning I went with other crew members to the breakfast at the pilot pavilion.

On the field, work prevented mingling with other balloon crews. But in the pavilion, crews of all nations mixed. In rapid-fire progression, we met people from Scranton, the Flaming Gorge region (Utah/Wyoming), England and more.

Banners on the pavilion ceiling saluted the original 13 pilots who started the balloon fiesta 50 years earlier. They launched from the parking lot of the Cottonwood Mall. Banners also honored the countries flying in the fiesta.

Walking around the pavilion, one could hear a variety of languages, with several Slavic crews as well as Dutch and German. Here, jackets from past fiestas were worn as a point of pride. Some went back to the 1990s. Wednesday turned into a wash – the Sandia Mountains briefly came out before clouds blocked all views and streaking rain swamped the field. Through Thursday’s darkness, flight seemed promising. There were clouds, high clouds, but no rain and relatively still air.

Many favorite shapes

Light crept in after the Dawn Patrol balloons ascended. The seven balloons explored all corners of the sky, scouting for air currents, dead spots and anything that could influence where pilots attempted to fly if the opportunity came. They search for the Albuquerque Box, the air currents unique to the region that make it an ideal place for balloon flight.

With the green flag, crews sprang into work. We were in the second wave, so our neighbors headed up first. We unfurled the envelope (the fabric balloon) and made sure the Velcro on the top attached properly.

I stood with Dolores at the crown, where we could guide the balloon straight upward as it inflated. I liked the gig; it always felt like you had a role. The key thing was to remember you keept the balloon upright, but you could not defeat the balloon. As it inflated, it would would walk us into the basket.

Zebras – flight directors dressed like NFL referees who approved balloons for liftoffs – buzzed around the field. Spectators were not the same problem in Albuquerque as they proved in the Springs; people here knew how to behave (don’t walk close or onto the balloon, don’t mess with the ropes) and made the job of raising the balloon significantly easier. No one came close to walking in front of the balloon basket here.

Our pilot Mike started calling off names, filling up the basket with people. None of us faced the crowded situation of people paying for rides from the field; people spent more than $1,000 a couple to crowd into a gondola where they could barely move. Paid rides from smaller operators went to sponsors or the discretion of the pilot.

Mike liked to fly crew, and that could be more delightful way to thank those volunteering. Below the clouds the sky filled up. Finding the balloon in the sky was harder than in Colorado Springs. Instead of dozens, hundreds rose from the field. The special shape balloons inflated but mostly stayed on the field this Thursday.

Soon enough the familiar pink balloon with gray fins rose from the pack, drifting southeast away from the fiesta grounds. The fiesta field lies next to the Sandia Reservation, and Indian land is a terrible landing spot due to lack of roads and heavy red tape for coming down on tribal land. Recovering the balloon can take hours. Balloon pilots do their best to avoid it.

The special shape balloons inflated on the fiesta field, but most did not take off. Several had special reason for staying grounded. The two bee balloons had a good reason for not ascending on Thursday. A third bee balloon, the baby bee, had been stolen along with its trailer during the night. The baby bee balloon was recovered and back in the lineup for Friday.

Compared to the Springs, the height of balloons also felt different. They moved much higher more quickly, even though our altitude was a little less than the Springs. Fellow volunteer Kevin told me last year he and Mike rose to 9,000 feet (some 4,000 feet above field level) and that height seemed like some magical place to reach, where a light air current could whisk the balloon to Albuquerque’s West Mesa in no time.

The Nerfer went up. We jumped into the truck and left the fiest grounds, following our balloon among the hundreds filling Albuquerque's skies. The radio crackled as Mike guided the chase team toward where he wanted to land. Having only been up for 30 minutes or so, it seemed too soon to break down the balloon.

When he came down in a parking lot and had Kevin join him in the basket, I continued to hold the basket in place until I heard Mike shout, “Where’s Bill?” He didn’t realize I stood right next to him. I ambled over the lip of the basket, and a minute later we soared above Albuquerque. Flying is never guaranteed, but I got to jump in when the pilot needed weight. We three ascended quickly from a parking lot were in the sky field in seconds.

A few blasts into the envelope put us hundreds of feet above northeast Albuquerque. The dead volcanoes stood above the west mesa and the ribbon of Rio Grande green cut through the city. The Duke City’s small skyline rose many miles south, dwarfed by the Sandia Mountains. We drifted over Interstate 25, the lanes relatively calm after morning rush hour.

Zen moment above ABQ

We could see the landing sites of other balloons, and the camaraderie each received – apartment complexes would empty to help with the balloon or just observe the craft landing in their backyard. Cul-de-sacs are always popular. Our craft had no luxuries in landing. It was hard this time.

We came within a few feet of hitting the sheet-metal roof of a business, then landed between electrical wires and barbed wire without injuring the balloon. But we came out fine once the balloon deflated.

The adrenaline wore off with a few hours and felt exhausted. I slept hard for a few hours before we returned to the field. Friday morning proved similar to Thursday, with high clouds and a good sky for flying below them.

Landing again proved the hard part, as we brought the balloon into a narrow parking lot with a guide rope that fell into the street before we could begin bringing the balloon down. The three of us angling for the rope shouted “shit” in succession as it fell, and struggled with all our strength to pull it where the pilot wanted for landing.

The last journey out of the fiesta field came as the thunderstorm closed it all down. THe field was thick with spectators, so thick that crews attempting to set up balloons had trouble pushing the crowds back.

Lightning called for an immediate end to the special shapes displays and sent people scurrying for cover. The evening fireworks went off rapidly to beat the worst of the weather.