Anecdote #14: Years ago I was involved in a
Hot Air Ballon crash over the Poconos, that left the pilot unconscious and me
alone in the woods crying "Mayday" into a c.b. radio.
A women's prison in Muncy PA once hired my Step Dad Dick and his Hot Air Balloon Crew led by my Mom, along with a man named Pete who flew a Hand-Glider. Hundreds of women prisoners watched the balloon inflate whilst sitting behind a 10 foot deep dry moat. The program, or demonstration, or whatever they called it, was mockedly titled, "The Great
Escape". The
concept was crackerjack! Dangle a hand glider 30 feet under the basket of a Hot Air Balloon. When
the balloon could lift far enough up, release the glider's tether and watch it descend from thin air.
Bad Omen as I nearly had my face literally sliced off when the balloon rose to 30 feet. The Hand Gliders tether instantly jerked tight against one of the four steel cords holding the basket to the balloon. The very same steel cord I happened to be beside as I was looking dreamily out of the basket. With a tremendous jolt, my Step dad Dick grabbed the neck of my shirt and pulled my head
out of the way, just in the nick of time! He saved my life twice that day.
The Autumns day was pristine, and the setting sublime. As we floated away from that prison I couldn't help but feel supernatural. When we reached the appropriate altitude Dick, without a hitch, unsnapped the Hand-Glider and the giant Nylon bird rolled and yawed away below us. We could now enjoy a few minutes of godlike quiet time before we had to land after all there were plenty of safe places to set the balloon down. We were flying over a village complete with soccer fields and school yards and farms. No Problem. All we had to do first was ask the local airport for permission to land. It is still a great mystery to me why we were never granted permission, then, as each opportunity arose and a new request for permission was denied those opportunities dwindled until we found ourselves floating over a sea of mountains. If permission was granted by now it was too late.
We were well into our 2nd hour in the air and despite the stunning scenery I was ready to terra firm. Sooner or later we would have to "land", the propane was almost tapped.
For a long time we just road air currents investigating impossible landing sights, there was Nothing but mountains and trees and cliffs. All we needed was a hollow. We began to cruise low, which for us saved fuel but made it impossible for the chase van and crew to see us as they swerved through the endless mountain wind. We had radio contact, It was useless for directions but I was 10 and just happy to hear my mom's voice.
Finally, In the last ten minutes of the ride Dick saw, in the distance, a tiny grass patch on the top of a mountain. By this time he was pretty latched on to the language of currents so he blew the burners one final big one and we lifted high enough to then head in the appropriate direction. He quickly prepared me and I sat deep in a corner of the basket and from below watched only his fierce facial focus as we approached the sight. He blew a few last bursts into the balloon before we hit the wall of a cliff and began to drag up the steep mountain rampart. Branches snapped their way into the basket and Dick yelled to me to "hang on!" At the top of the cliff was a tree line which we crested over to other side where a teeny-tiny clearing was nestled 50 feet below. Dick pulled the Rip Cord that instantly ripped a giant velcro seam which held two halves of a hot air balloon together. When the balloon divided in two and all of its hot air released, we fell a dead fall 50 feet to the ground. From above and through the wicker I watched the Earths fierce focus as it sped passionately toward us. We crashed hard onto the grass then the basket dragged a few feet into the thickened wood where everything came to a silent end. I was shaken up but fine. Dick had suffered a blunt trauma to the face and was lying unconscious still in the basket with me. The burners had slammed down on impact and poor Dick head was in the way. There was blood everywhere, even on the c.b.-radio. I was alone and scared so I radioed the chase van. After a few minutes Dick came to and soon after a few of local mountain men had appeared. The men got on the radio and directed the van as close to us as possible. After about an hour the van (and my mom) finally made it to the sight where we rushed Dick to a small hospital. In the end he suffered from a concussion and a broken cheek-bone. It took me many years to get back in the basket. I think I didn't fly again until I was 16.
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