Sagrantino Ballooning Trip 2019 - Sagrantino      29th July:

Early Morning Launches with Rain Clouds Retreating

    I stood outside savouring the air, fresh and sweet. The predicted fog had not materialised. Lights down in the valley twinkled; a milky way that hugged the motorway. Low cloud cover delayed the onset of sunrise.
    Today, just the four men from our team ventured down to the Parco Acquarossa Sagrantino airfield to catch the spirit of the morning in our flying machines. Liz was not a fervent balloonist, she could take it or leave it, and this morning she decided to just chill. Fiona had had enough of ballooning and didn't really want to defy gravity again. She was more content curled up with a book. In the eerie half-light of dawn, as we cruised down Strade Provinciale 415 coming up to the power station, a wild boar romped along the road and dived into a vineyard when it thought we were too close for comfort.
    On arrival, John set out to seek Ralph, the event organiser. Ralph had sent a message out to all balloonists regarding Perugia airport's concern that the maximum ceiling for balloons within their airspace was 1,850 feet. John and I had exceeded this by the narrowest of margins on Saturday, hence John's burning desire to apologise to Ralph and explain why we had climbed above the ceiling. Ralph was not too perturbed.

Who is Trespassing on Our Balloon?

    The light breeze on the airfield was fickle, with Niall opting to lay Cloud Nine and hopper parallel to the airfield due to the wind direction. Other balloonists had other ideas, and were happy to lay their balloons out in their conventional manner, perpendicular to the airfield. Thus confusion reigned in our vicinity, with balloons laid out across ours, thus forcing us to wait until they had been inflated before we could inflate ours.
    We got there in the end, and I was to fly with Tony in the balloon, Niall in the hopper, leaving John to do the retrieve. We had room for one more in our basket, room for one of the compulsory fee paying customers arranged by Ralph (members of the public willing to pay 180 Euros to travel as a passenger, all monies being used to subsidise the event). Sadly for Ralph, he had no customers available, so we took Carol, a lady from the Haverill balloon team.
    Shortly before untying the strings of gravity, Tony went through his usual checks before take-off. Just as well, he spotted a missing heat tag, a red ribbon attached to the inside upper levels of the envelope by a solder ring. The purpose of the heat tag is to indicate whether the upper levels of the envelope have exceeded a given temperature; the properties of the solder arranged such that it would melt at that critical temperature, allowing the red ribbon to drop. The implication of its absence was that the balloon had overheated at some point, with the resulting possibility that the fabric at the upper levels of the balloon could be degraded.
    This discovery induced much muttering between the three pilots in our team ... I shan't elaborate. Tony eventually took the decision to take off, but not unduly stress the fabric.
    Meanwhile the wind had changed direction, and we gracefully climbed over the runway and across fields bristling with stubble. We caressed the brow of a hill, almost hovering above it like a kestrel, before rolling off slowly down the other side.
    Tony was keen to allow Carol and I to "fly" the balloon with the object of landing it gracefully, and then trying to keep it hovering about 1m above the stubble while the gentle breeze pulled us along. Of course there were inevitable obstructions that caused us to hop over them: hedges, trees and cables. This was quite an enjoyable exercise for Carol and I, though years of experience would be required to perfect it.
    For Carol the flight was even more special, she had never flown in a balloon before.

Joining the Pack

    We hugged a valley, and as we crawled up the far side, Tony spotted a track and opted for putting the balloon down close to it. This was achieved with ease. Once secured, I sent John a "dropped pin" to indicate our location. Then we set about packing up. Tony took advantage of the balloon envelope being spread out and delved inside it to investigate the heat tag situation, and also examine a couple of thermal strips attached inside the upper regions of the envelope, each comprising a strip of material with a range of individual patches that would turn black once their corresponding temperature threshold had been reached. These would permit a more detailed analysis of the thermal overload.
    Once packed away, I wandered down the track to see if it was possible to get easy access from the Strade Provinciale 415. It probably would have connected up to the road, but a muddy ford was in the way. Deep tractor ruts leading into the ford would have left the car and trailer high and dry. This was not an option.
    I walked back to the balloon, and as I arrived a young female balloonist came walking down the track towards us. She spoke in German, though she belonged to a Croatian team. The woman warned us that their retrieve vehicle was stuck in mud just over the lip of the hill, near the farm above. I walked up to the farm where two balloon teams were already congregated. In a field beyond I could see the farmer extricating the Croatian team. Leaving them to it, I set off along the stony farmer's track towards the road to intercept John and Niall.
    The duo were soon bouncing down the track towards me, and together we drove on past the farm and down to the path that passed by Cloud Nine. I should have guided them onto the stubble, but by the farm I could not see an easy way of crossing the ditch that separated the track from the stubble. The track grew muddier, and unbeknown to us, a hidden ditch covered in brambles lurked to our left. On a downward slope, adverse camber forced the car to slide sideways, and then we were in the ditch. Niall was driving at the time, and the poor lad swore fluently. I can't say I blame him. No amount of nursing the four-wheel drive controls would alleviate the problem, we were well and truly stuck.

Gualdo Cattaneo in the Distance

    Fortunately, the Haverill balloon team were in our vicinity, and between ourselves and their team, we unhitched the trailer, and pushed the three ton land rover out of the ditch - hard graft!
    The only option to get back to the higher safe ground by the farm was to drive up a steep stubble field, but Tony managed it, and found a way of circumnavigating the ditch obstacle by driving further up past the farm. Big sighs of relief.
    We learned on the drive back that Niall had flown in a roughly similar line, landing not far from us but closer to the Strade Provinciale 415, by far a much easier retrieve for the hopper. Brownie points to Niall.

Tight Formation Over the Hill, Plus Brighter Skies in That Direction

    In the evening we attended an event in the Piazza del Comune in Montefalco. Unfortunately, when we arrived, almost all the food had gone, indeed poor Niall and Liz got nothing at all. The drinks and table mysteriously vapourised within minutes of our arrival too. But, we had the pleasure of chatting to other balloonists who had arrived here in good time. I got chatting to Carol's husband, a fairly interesting guy. He too had never flown in a balloon before. However, his job fascinated me, he repaired and renovated aeroplanes, primarily Spitfires. He was employed full-time by a wealthy individual who owned a hangar at Duxford. He showed me photographs of a few pristine, renovated, vintage aircraft the owner kept in the hanger. But the bread and butter business in the hanger was restoration. Wrecks of planes, mainly Spitfires, would be delivered by clients from all over the globe, and the team of experts that worked in the hanger would rebuild and restore it to pristine condition over a two year period. The chap knew a great deal of history about the aircraft, the people who used to test fly every third aircraft that rolled of the production line, and the whereabouts of many of these restored planes. He was rightly proud of his job.
    Hunger drove us to seek out a restaurant down Corso Goffredo Memeli. As we ate the inadequacies of the event soon faded.
    Later in the evening, Niall, Liz, John and I drove to the mountainside town of Trevi across the valley to watch a Pink Floyd tribute band. They were magnificent, a really excellent group of musicians and singers - a very professional, tight performance. John is very much a music aficionado, and was ecstatic with the gig, edging ever closer to the stage.
    I had never seen any Pink Floyd live before, but the stage show was just as I had seen it on TV before, a dazzling display of lights and pyrotechnics, dry ice clouds imparting etheral effects, and a large circular screen behind the band acting as a backdrop onto which stills and movies were projected. A crowd of perhaps 2,000 people had gathered to see the spectacle, and were enthralled by this classic music. Amazingly it was all free.
    Sadly, knowing we would be up early, we left after the last song - it had been over two hours of solid Rock, music that still tingles the spine after fifty years. I had thoroughly enjoyed it all. Encores echoed in our ears as we climbed the hill back to the car.
    We were all whacked when we got back to base with our ears ringing, but at the same time elated.

Pink Floyd Tribute Band in Trevi