Full of Hot Air

Getting high with Endeavor Ballooning.

If you’re anywhere within Bozeman city limits on a clear morning and happen to glance up, you’ll likely spot a colorful blob drifting lazily along the Bridgers. Adjust your eyes, round out the shape—is that a hot air balloon? Yes it is, but it’s not just any balloon; it’s the hot air balloon.

Endeavor Ballooning is the only unmistakable splash of color you’ll see floating through the sky, and Colin Graham is the wind-whispering legend at the helm. As a jet-pilot-turned-balloonist, Colin and his team operate the only ballooning business in the state of Montana.

My co-worker Megan and I pulled into the launch site, and laid across the lawn was the outstretched, deflated, 250-pound balloon. We were instructed to each take a side and hold it tight, so the giant fan positioned at its rear could blow a strong, cold wind into the nylon. My balance wavered as I struggled to get a good grip.

As the balloon inflated, it began to take shape and stand up. Like a magic trick, the burner ignited, and it was ready to fly.

Takeoff, I assumed, would feel something like a typical mind-rattling airplane ascent. But one tug of a rope and our feet left the ground so gently it was as though we’d simply decided to part ways with gravity. “People always expect a jolt,” Colin said, “but I tell folks it’s safer than driving.” I can attest, the basket felt more secure than most of the Subarus I’ve been in lately.

From here on out, no commute will ever compare.

From above, Bozeman is one giant playground. Dirt devils ripping up figure-eights, hikers climbing backcountry ridges, and pick-ups hauling various kayaks, canoes, ATVs, and innertubes.

“Can you spit from the basket?” I asked, somewhat jokingly. “Of course!” Colin replied, before explaining that it’s actually a time-tested technique for checking wind direction. Megan and I were delighted to try out the method ourselves.

A balloon’s speed is entirely dependent on wind speed, and you can't exactly steer one in the traditional sense. The hot air inside the balloon is lighter than the air around it, and has fewer molecules than cold air. Trapping the hot air inside the bag causes it to lift–which, I might add, happens to look really cool—and not much has changed since the 1700s when hot-air balloons were first invented. Colin constantly checked his instruments, scanning for the right air currents and keeping an eye on the ground as well. Anywhere with a flat surface can be a possible landing site for a balloonist—building roofs, lawns, backyards, school stadiums, you name it—but being near a road is ideal, and makes for a more convenient pack-in and retrieval of the passengers.

It was a uniquely incredible experience: drifting silently above town beside a cowboy-hatted pilot, an American flag hanging from the basket and waving in the wind, and birds flying beneath us. (We asked, and unlike jet engines, birds are surprisingly not an issue for a balloon.)

From above, Bozeman is one giant playground. Dirt devils ripping up figure eights, hikers climbing backcountry ridges, and pick-ups hauling various kayaks, canoes, ATVs, and innertubes.

Megan and I saw Bozeman from more angles than a drone would know what to do with. As he piloted us, Colin also pointed out landmarks and directed us toward great photo opportunities—which Megan certainly appreciated. If there’s a better way to show off the Bridgers, I haven’t found it.

Unfortunately, we couldn’t stay up there forever, and soon the trip neared its end. As we descended, our shadow stretched across the town like a slow-moving cloud. Teasing the ground below, we hovered just a few feet over passing automobiles and houses, with Colin playfully bouncing us around. We locked in and aimed for the elementary school parking lot where a class of kiddos burst into a loud and proud “USA!” chant as we floated overhead. I half expected someone to salute.

Touching down was just as subtle as takeoff, no more than a soft bump akin to stepping off a curb.

Once on the ground, Colin’s “tiny team”—his three young children—ran from their car and assumed their assigned positions to help haul the balloon back. Big Red, Colin’s right-hand-man who had helped prepare us for flight, came around with the truck and all the cases & tools to load and lift the now-deflated aircraft.

It was uniquely incredible experience: drifting silently above town beside a cowboy-hatted pilot, an American flag hanging from the basket and waving in the wind, and birds flying beneath us.

Back at Colin’s property, he took us on a tour of the other balloons for bigger parties, and showed off different style choices. There was one that resembled a brain, with all the different parts color-coded. “It’s the biggest brain in the world,” he joked. Other shapes included a barn, pumpkin for the fall, and a gopher, each of them funky enough to cause folks to do a double-take when passing over the city.

I think Megan and I agreed we’d peaked. From here on out, no commute will ever compare. But for Colin, flying over town in a giant, floating brain is just another day at the office. Guess he’ll never catch a case of the Mondays.

To schedule your own magical tour of southwest Montana from among the clouds, call Colin and his team at (406) 600-8999, email [email protected], or check out their website here.