A Flying Nun – hot-air balloon

Up! Up! and Away!! It was 3.32 a.m. on Christmas Eve … 3.32 a.m.! The phone shrieked urgently. I was awake in a flash!

“Up, up and away! A perfect morning for flying, Sister. Be at the George
Hotel at 4.30 a.m.”

Normally my body clock is slow in the morning. But this time my feet hit
the mat as they had been supposed to in Novitiate days! My nephew, Kevin,
rang my door bell at 4.10. We were off to ‘The George’.

We were the first to arrive. Kevin sat and read the paper!! How could he?
I couldn’t even sit! This treat, given me by Kevin, Lyn and family for
Christmas, was too exciting.

Two vans and two pilots and the rest of the ‘flyers’ arrived and Peter made
decisions.

“You will come with me,” he commanded me, “and you, you, and you.” Chris
was to take those whom Peter had not selected! Peter was piloting the small balloon and he chose us with care. Kevin was coming too, but not
going up in the balloon. He would follow in the van.

Off we went in the van – Koko, a Japanese lady, her mother (whose name I
never did get to know), Karen a physiotherapist from England, now working
in Christchurch, and the wide-awake, highly excited ME – and Kevin and Peter. Peter’s friend, a Japanese woman, who was also an interpreter, was
there too. I didn’t even see the rest of the adventurers.

There was talk in the van about where we should take off from – Hagley Park
in the centre of Christchurch, the western suburb of Burnside, or Darfield,
Swannanoa, or the domain at Cust all further away inland. We set off towards Swannanoa because the weather indicated this would be the best place. On arriving there Peter and Chris got out of the vans and sent up a
weather balloon to watch the wind direction. They shook their heads and
climbed back into the van, and we set off for the Cust Domain. This for me
was an amazing choice as just fifty years ago I was named champion athlete
under twelve in that domain. What a Christmas gift to float over the scene of my triumph!

When you are about to take a trip in a hot air balloon, you also act as a
crew member. With Kevin and the interpreter’s help, we pulled the basket
off the trailer and were given instructions on ‘landing positions’.

For this, Peter told us to climb into the basket and crouch on the floor
holding the ropes. Peter hopped in lithely, Koko stepped in and then helped her mother who was less supple, then Karen, long legged and athletic. I had to put one foot on the slit in the basket and heave the
other leg in. With the best will in the world after my hip surgery it was
impossible. My eyes met Kevin’s. Next minute Peter leaped out of the basket.

“No problem,” he said. “I am big and strong. Put your arm around my neck.” The next minute I was in the basket!!

We practised the ‘crouch’ position … I nearly made it! Peter didn’t seem
to notice. Then we all had to get out again.

“You wait there.” he said to me. “I will lift you out!”

Naturally there was nothing else I could do.

“I am very strong.” There was no need to rub it in!

Our next move was to unfold the balloon from its small blue bag, and spread
it out over the ground. We were told where and how to hold it, as if we
did it wrongly, “you could put a finger through the balloon, and then, when
we are in mid air, we could …. ” He indicated by a down-turned thumb what
might happen!

Safely spread out to Peter’s approval, the balloon then had to be blown up!
We were each given a task. Mine was to hold the fan while Karen and Kevin
held the mouth of the balloon open, and Peter blew in the flames and hot
air.

Nothing had quelled my initial excitement. In fact, my feet were hardly on
the ground. I could have taken off without the balloon. The moment
to climb in again, this time with the basket attached to the balloon, came.
Vaguely I saw the other balloon with its eleven occupants take off.

Peter sent out a blast or two and we were: UP! UP! AND AWAY!!!

I noticed long forgotten local landmarks from my childhood and Christchurch
in one direction, Rangiora in another, Oxford further towards the foothills
and the Canterbury plains spread out below like a patchwork. I could have
floated on forever.

With only five of us in the basket there was plenty of space to go from
side to side. The sheep, hearing the strange noise above them, ran following the leader. They looked like seeds running out of a paper bag!
The sun had just risen. It was breath-taking. It was so silent … but
not an empty silence. I couldn’t see a person about or a car on the road.
Of course, it was only 6.00 a.m. on the morning of Christmas Eve.

Before we had left the ground, Peter had said to me, “I’ve never taken a
nun up in a balloon before. I, too, am Catholic.”

Now we had brief moments of conversation, when I learned much more about
this inimitable Peter. He told us that this trip was “one of the lightest”
he had taken up.

“Normally we have 256 kilos in this balloon. This is a light load.” He
had obviously weighed us all up in his mind.

This was indeed an experience ‘out of this world’. I felt like the poet,
John Gillespie McGee, that I could ‘put out my hand and touch the face of
God.’

Once or twice we ‘kissed’ the other balloon when Peter wanted to communicate with Chris. It was so still that they conversed quite easily,
although we seemed a good distance apart.

Usually one thrill on the flight is to touch down in the river for a ‘Splash’. Unfortunately as we lowered ourselves down to the river we say
that because of the dry season there was not one tiny drop of water in the
river.

Our descent provoked a watch dog who, unable to chase off this trespasser,
barked and barked and barked! The farmer awoke from his sleep-in and spoke
strongly to his dog! We couldn’t actually hear the words, but we could
imagine them! The farmer didn’t see us and blamed his poor ‘best friend’
for a false alarm.

All too soon we landed very gently in a farmer’s field. There was no need
even for ‘landing positions’. The farmer had been woken up by the advance
team in the van and was presented with a bottle of champagne. His wife was
cross. She had often watched balloons landing in other people’s fields,
and had longed for a landing in her field. That particular morning, as it
was Christmas Eve, she had indulged in a sleep-in and missed our arrival.

Four more things remained to be done. After Peter had duly lifted me out
we were ordered to pack up the balloon. I couldn’t see how it could possibly fit back into that small blue bag, but it did.

Then we knelt on a little piece of carpet Peter laid out for us and said
our prayer. Peter whispered to me, “Do nuns drink champagne?” I could
hardly refuse, could I? After all, I had to complete the experience!

There in our field we drank our champagne. I recollected that I was ready
for it. I had had only a quick drink of boiled water before I left home at
4.15 a.m. It was now almost 8.30 a.m. As there were only six of us including Kevin we all had two glasses of champagne – in real champagne
glasses.

And so, back to the George Hotel for breakfast. The champagne and the flight had given me an appetite – cereal, fruit, yoghurt, bacon, eggs, sausages, hash browns, toast and marmalade and coffee.

What a morning it had been!

If you are ever offered a flight in a hot air balloon, believe me, it is a
tremendous experience, not to be missed. But, if you are nervous, then I
shall be happy to accept the invitation for you!

If, however, you do go up, there is one rule Peter gave us before we set
out; after telling us what not to touch, he added: “Whatever you do, don’t get out of the basket when we are up in the air!”