Photo by Erin FredrichsTribune

Tribune

A balloon soars as others inflate on the field at Balloon Fiesta Park. These fliers launched as part of mass ascension during the Albuquerque International Balloon Fiesta on Friday morning.

Photo by Erin FredrichsTribune

Tribune

With her older sister, Elena Gillam, looking on, Ana Gillam, 4, is swung in circles by her cousin, Ysa Bella Trujillo, 7, of Santa Fe as balloons launch during the Special Shape Rodeo. The Gillam family visited the Albuquerque International Balloon Fiesta on Friday after traveling from Denver. It was their second year at the fiesta.

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Pilots cluster in the pre-dawn, listening to a woman on a tower run through the weather forecast, some random-sounding numbers and a list of altitudes for the Albuquerque International Balloon Fiesta.

"Clear skies," she says. "Southerly flow to the southwest . . . winds variable at six knots or less."

"Let's get this shindig going," one impatient balloonist mutters.

Paul Clinton, a pilot, waits till she wraps up, then walks away from the meeting with purpose, collecting his crew.

"Let's go," he says, spurring his crew chief, Russ Pederson, to get to the gravel pits near Paseo del Norte and Jefferson Street Northwest before other pilots catch on.

It's a beautiful day, spirits are high and the Key Grab competition - in which balloonists launch from off the fiesta grounds and test their ability to fly to a spot on the field - is about to begin.

This is what ballooning is all about, Clinton says.

He watches the sky, as other balloons float this way and that, orbiting the field.

Then he tests wind currents with a PIBal, short for Pilot Inflated Balloon - a fancy name for a small helium balloon you might find at a child's birthday party.

The wind shoots the balloon to the west where it rises, nearly disappears, then loops back to the east when it gets to a certain altitude.

Clinton shuffles his crew to a different launch position, and it's go time.

"I'm committed," Clinton says. "I'm not moving."

All around, balloons from the first wave of launches from the field bump down.

Two bees, attached at the arm, a pink elephant, a cactus. Each basket hits the ground and bounces.

A few knees are bumped, a few bodies bruised.

Some kids jump up on the baskets to try to steady them.

Bad idea, says Marie Johnson, one of Clinton's crew members, pointing out the risk of being outside the basket if the balloon is whisked off.

"That's a good way to break a leg," she says, then turns her attention back to Clinton, who is ready to launch.

He blasts the burner fast, lifting up rapidly, in what balloonists call a burn.

Dropping in altitude, that's called a rip, because the pilot rips part of the top of the balloon's envelope down to let air in. But he's not going that way yet.

Clinton watches the other balloons, how they move, where they're blowing.

"We need to come around to the field that way," Clinton says, pointing to a spot way off in the distance.

It seems impossible.

He goes higher.

"OK, get ready for the elevator," he says, scaring his rider with the thought of a quick drop.

Other than the rip noise, there's no physical sensation of falling fast.

Clinton laughs.

As he dips to about 100 feet above the field, he argues with the wind.

"Left, left, can I get a left?"

The wind doesn't answer, and he misses his target by about 30 feet.

Frustrated, he hits the burner again, rising up and heads back to land at the same spot where he lifted off.

Across the way, the kids are jumping up on another balloon's basket as Johnson runs up to talk to Clinton.

"Somebody broke their ankle," she tells him.

"Call 911 - did somebody call 911?" Clinton asks.

Johnson calls. Nobody had phoned it in. Nobody knows how the person got hurt.

Clinton keeps his balloon on the ground, preparing for another circle, but he won't lift until the 911 call is complete.

"I got them," Johnson said.

He lifts off, this time taking a crew member up for another pass.

In the end, Johnson didn't win any prizes or hit his targets Friday. But it was a great day, he said after touching down in the same spot for a second time.

"It's been years since I had a flight like that," Clinton says. "That was awesome. Landing in the same place twice - that's great bragging rights."

At the end of the day - well, at about 11 a.m. - Clinton and a group of friendly pilots gather to discuss the day.

There's a lot of bragging, some dissing, and an irritated discussion about why nobody called 911 for the broken ankle.

Clinton shakes his head.

"Always call 911," he says. "That's what they're paid for."