Floating on air above the Bozone.
If you’re anywhere within Bozeman city limits on a clear summer 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.
Endeavor Ballooning is the 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 operates the only ballooning business in southwest Montana.
Megan and I pulled into the launch site and were immediately met with 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 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 suddenly ignited and the beast 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.
“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 see for ourselves.
The silence began to show the sentimentality of it all: drifting above town beside a cowboy-hatted pilot, an American flag waving in the wind below the basket, birds flying beneath us.
A balloon’s speed is entirely dependent on windspeed, 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 colder 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. It makes for a more convenient pack-out and transport of both balloon and passengers.
The silence began to show the sentimentality of it all: drifting above town beside a cowboy-hatted pilot, an American flag waving in the wind below the basket, birds flying beneath us. (We asked, and unlike with jet engines, bird collisions are not an issue.)
From above, Bozeman is one giant playground. Dirt devils ripping up figure-eights, hikers climbing backcountry ridges, and pickups hauling various kayaks, canoes, and innertubes. From above, the scene is captured in its entirety, rather than one by one when driving around on the ground.
The rivers and streams, the fields and forests, the foothills and mountains—the landscape revealed itself all at once, as if it were showing off. The grandeur and majesty of the Gallatin Valley, while always visible when in the right place (or the right mood), was undeniable while moving slowly, patiently, high above it all.
Megan and I saw Bozeman from more angles than an engineer would know what to do with. As he piloted us, Colin also pointed out landmarks and directed us toward great photo opportunities. If there’s a better way to show off the Bridgers, I haven’t found it.
We picked out new areas to explore later, on foot—Wow, that drainage looks cool! and I never knew there was a stream there! As if the maps, guidebooks, and recommendations from friends weren’t enough for a lifetime of outdoor adventure, we now had a dozen more places to put on the list.
Unfortunately, we couldn’t stay up 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 automobiles and houses, with Colin playfully bouncing us around. We aimed for an 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 the car and assumed their familiar 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 equipment to load and lift the now-deflated aircraft.
Megan and I agreed that we’d peaked—no car commute would ever compare.
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 in the pattern of a brain, with all the different parts color-coded. “It’s the biggest brain in the world,” he pointed out. We laughed, but it was no joke—it’s actually the biggest brain (rendering) in the world. Other shapes included a barn, a pumpkin for the fall, and a gopher—each of them funky enough to cause a double-take when catching a glimpse of them above Bozeman.
I think Megan and I agreed that we’d peaked. From then on, no commute would 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 tour of southwest Montana from among the clouds, call Colin and his team at (406) 600-8999, email [email protected], or check out montanaballoon.com.
