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The launch paddock silvered with dew before sunrise, mist in the hollow, low hills and red gums under a pale lavender sky with a peach glow where the sun will rise The wind by height: a light southerly low down, a north-westerly above the warm layer. Illustrative. North-westerly up high The warm layer Light southerly low down

We’re 1.0 km north of the launch paddock now.

Down in the paddock. Kettle’s on.

Up with the light. Down for breakfast.

Hot-air balloon flights at first light over the farmland east of Mount Barker. About an hour in the air for a small group, then breakfast where we land. We go only when the morning is right.

Dawn flights over the farmland east of Mount Barker: about an hour up with a small group, then breakfast where we land.

Alt
0 m
Vario
0.0 m/s
Envelope
78 °C
Ground
0.0 km/h
Heading
000° N

The instruments read live while the flight runs.

Wind and flight model illustrative. Not a forecast.

Pilot flying

Hold Burn to climb; let go and the air cools. Low down the wind comes from the south, and above the warm layer it swings round from the north-west. Height is the only steering we have.

The air is quiet until the sun wakes it.

Overnight the ground gives up the day’s warmth, and the air lying on it goes cold and still. A warmer layer settles over the top like a lid. Under the lid the breeze is light and usually comes from the south. Above it the wind often turns and comes from the north-west, and that turn is how we steer: we choose a height to choose a wind.

By mid-morning the sun has warmed the paddocks and the air starts to rise off them in thermals. Good for hawks, no good for us. So we meet in the dark and fly as the light comes.

The sun is our deadline.

Temperature and wind by height

Air temperature by height as the flight above models it: 5 °C on the grass, warming to 11 °C by 300 m, then cooling above. The wind turns from southerly below to north-westerly above. Illustrative.03006009004°8°12°Warm layerMetres up · air °CWindYou
The air this morning, as the flight above models it. Illustrative.
Before sunrise, two crew hold the mouth of a half-filled lavender and peach balloon envelope open as the burner lights it from inside

Some mornings we don’t fly.

We make the call twice: the evening before, and again at the paddock before first light. There we let a small helium balloon go and watch how fast it drifts, and which way. Then we look at the wind low and high, cloud on the hills, fog in the gullies, showers about and any front on its way.

When we stand down we tell you why, in plain words, and find you another morning. It is always the right call to make on the ground.

How we decide. Tap whatever you can see this morning.

The call

We fly.

Nothing on the board. The envelope comes off the trailer.

How the morning goes.

Every time here is counted in minutes from sunrise, because on the day the sun sets the clock, not the watch.

  1. −60

    Meet in the dark

    At a farm gate with torches and a flask of coffee. The briefing, the wind check, the little helium balloon let go, and the call.

  2. −25

    Cold air, then heat

    A fan fills the envelope with cold air as it lies on the grass. Then the burner warms it and it stands up over the basket. You climb in.

  3. 0

    Up with the sun

    We lift off as the first light reaches the paddock, and rise through the cold air into the still layer above it.

  4. +60

    Down in a paddock

    About an hour later we come down wherever the wind and the farmer allow. Knees soft, handles held, until the basket settles.

  5. Gloved hands fold the long lavender and peach panels of the envelope on the wet grass after landing
    +75

    Everyone folds the envelope

    Many hands, one long bundle, back into its bag.

Times move with the season; sunrise sets the clock.

East of Mount Barker, wherever the wind says.

Below us are farmland and low hills: cropping paddocks and lucerne, sheep, dams, and creek lines with river red gums. We launch from paddocks arranged with the farmers, chosen for that morning’s wind, and we land where it’s kind to the ground and the stock.

No two flights draw the same line. The map shows the one you flew at the top of this page, beside a pilot’s line for a morning like it: low and north first, then up into the north-westerly and back.

Farmland drawn for this page at first light: paddocks, crop rows, a creek with red gums and dams, long shadows from the low sun
Your lineA pilot’s line 500 m
The land here is drawn for this page; the wind is illustrative. The land you come down in is always someone’s, so we close the gates behind us.
Gloved hands on the padded wicker rim of the basket, misty farmland far below

Dress for a cold paddock and a warm burner.

Wear layers. The grass is cold and wet before sunrise, and the burner is warm overhead. Flat, closed shoes, a hat or a cap, and nothing loose. You stand for the hour in a divided wicker basket with a small group, and you climb in and out over a waist-high wall.

Everyone who flies is an adult. At the briefing the pilot talks you through the landing: knees soft, hold the handles, stay in until we say.

Bring

  • Layers you can take off
  • Flat, closed shoes
  • A hat or a cap
  • Gloves in winter
  • A camera on a wrist strap

Leave in the car

  • Bags and umbrellas
  • Loose scarves
  • Anything you’d mind dropping into a paddock
Tea, coffee, juice, bread, eggs and fruit on a trestle table at the edge of a dewy paddock at sunrise, the basket and the folded-down envelope lying on the grass behind

Breakfast goes where we land.

Wherever we come down, the trestle goes up.

When the farmer is happy for it, we set up a trestle table in the paddock. When the grass is wet or the wind has come up, we go to a farmhouse kitchen nearby instead.

Tea, coffee and juice, bread, eggs, fruit and something warm from the oven. You’re back at your car by mid-morning with the whole day still ahead.

We pack first, then eat. The kettle goes on while we fold.

A parhelion is the bright spot beside the sun.

On a cold, clear morning, ice crystals in high cloud can bend the low sun’s light into a patch of colour 22 degrees to one side of it, and sometimes one on each side. They’re called sun dogs. Pilots see them from the basket on still winter mornings.

We took the name because they only show up early, when the air is quiet.

A cold dawn over the hills, a bright sun dog beside the low sun on a faint halo, a small balloon far off

Ask for a morning.

Tell us the weeks that suit and how many of you there are. We’ll come back with mornings to hold, and keep in touch as the weather shapes up.

We confirm mornings a day or two ahead, and again the evening before.

We fly small groups.

Days
Weeks that suitDay, month, year.