Play: Soar above Napa’s vineyards in a hot air balloon.
Soaring over Wine Country in a hot air balloon adds a check to bucket list
Floating across a clear blue sky, 1,500 feet in the air on a crisp Monday morning, it occurs to me that hot air ballooning isn’t really the daredevil activity that often draws wide-eyed looks. It’s more like an elevator in the sky, only gentler, with mild breezes carrying you this way or that. And after a busy weekend of dining out and wine tasting in bustling Napa Valley, the silence here is more peaceful and beneficial than a spa day.
“Grandma! Can you hear me? You gotta put this on your bucket list,” shouts a fellow passenger, who felt the need to FaceTime more than one person during the hourlong flight over Winters, an agricultural hamlet one valley over.
Add a surprisingly strong cell connection to serenity and the other perks of ballooning.
Who can blame her? This is one of those singular, heart-opening experiences. And after the year we have all had, that awe and joy feels like it should be shared. The entire reason I’m here, in a basket with 18 others under a balloon with the cubic feet to hold 400,000 basketballs, is to cross it off a bucket list. Not mine, but my sister, Jackie’s, for her 50th birthday. I look over. She is beaming.
We follow the shadow of our
balloon, Perseverance, moving across the landscape as we glide across the sky. It is quite a vessel, capable of lifting 8,000 pounds, with a sticker price of $130,000. Our captain, Jake, from Napa’s Balloons Above the Valley, has ballooning in his bones: He’s a third-generation commercial balloon pilot, who took his first ride at 6 months of age, asleep in his grandfather’s arms. At 25, he has piloted more than 2,000 balloon rides.
Companies like Balloons Above the Valley, which has been around since 1977, are regulated by the Federal Aviation Administration, which explains why a one-hour flight required two hours of debriefings on safety, basket behavior and take-off and landing procedures. I’m in good hands.
We gathered before sunrise for coffee and pastries at Napa’s Model Bakery with the intention of flying over the vineyards in Yountville. But dense morning fog forced our experienced pilots to make other plans. To ensure our safety and guarantee clear, glorious views, we piled into vans and made the 45-minute drive north to Winters, one valley over.
That’s where we are now, swooping over almond and walnut orchards at a smooth 10 miles per hour. We drift over homes, a Sunsweet plum orchard and rows upon rows of UC Davis crop experiments. At one point, we hover weightlessly over Lake Solano, and Jake points out a sliver of blue — Lake Berryessa — through a gap in the hills. It’s so clear, we can see all the way to Mount Diablo.
A loud blast — a large, open flame created by burning liquid propane — roars above us, heating the air in the bag, or envelope, made of industrial, ripstop nylon. Pilots operate the balloon by maneuvering vent lines, ropes extending from the vent to the basket, to control the temperature and volume of the balloon, adding heat to go up, maintain level and slow descent rate. They also use the lines to rotate the balloon.
As Jake does this, a sudden current of air from the east provides a cooling breeze for the four of us in the center of the basket under that flame, which is surprisingly warm, about 80 degrees. So I peel off my puffy jacket and try to memorize these last views, especially our shadow, as we slowly drift down.
Down below, we see our vans, seemingly the size of Lego bricks, making their way toward us. Like storm chasers, they’ve been following us for the entire hour, trying to determine our exact landing spot. A final pull by Jake and the vent in the canopy opens, like a daisy unfurling, and we touch down.