At 7:10, when Buddy calls, it is light enough to see that the waters on the Fuschlsee, which fronts on our bungalow, are dark but still, not choppy as they were yesterday morning, the first of our three days on “Buddy Bombard’s Great Balloon Adventures” in the Austrian Tyrol. It was too gusty yesterday to fly.
The winds are friendly when we set out in the chase van from the Hotel Schloss Fuschl—where the accommodations, food, and service are on a par with the lakeside setting—but the high meadows are still draped in mist, so we drive to a valley four or five miles away for take-off. Out from its sturdy navy canvas bag comes the balloon, which will carry Buddy Bombard and his six guests—my sister Jane and me, Stanley and Marlowe Jewell from Santa Barbara, California, and George and Marita Shreyer from Zurich—into the skies. While several of us hold wide the mouth of the balloon, two large gas-powered fans pump it full of air. It ripples and heaves and shakes itself free from the ground, stirs into life. The sturdy basket we will ride in is tilted up so that Buddy can direct the jets of propane gas into the balloon. As the air inside heats up, the balloon rises slowly, gracefully, humorously: Buddy’s balloons are light blue, and ornamented with tulips and daffodils, butterflies and grasshoppers.
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