Fall Colors

Fall Colors

Randall Cormorant pulled on the lanyard feeding propane to the burner, heating the air that inflated his red, gold and blue striped balloon. He rose slowly into the air from the meadow east of Grand Caverns and started his dream photography assignment, for Traveling Artist Magazine, flying over Shenandoah National Park at the peak of fall color.

For this special assignment he spent more than one thousand dollars he didn't have for a Canon EF Telephoto seventy to two hundred millimeter zoom lens. Before taking off, he had carefully mounted the lens on a tripod at the port side of the gondola and paired it with his new Canon 6D Pro digital camera. At the rear of the gondola, he mounted his older Canon 6D Pro with a sixteen to thirty-five millimeter wide angle lens. For good measure, he carried a Canon Point and Shoot digital camera in his pants pocket.

A red tail hawk accompanied him when he rose over Skyline Drive. A misty fog wrapped the trees. The crisp fall weather necessitated a jacket and pants, but the air was so clean and bright, being naked wouldn't have been so bad. The early morning sun glowed orange-yellow and gradually lifted the mist revealing a sparkling kaleidoscope. Oaks, maples, hickories, chestnut, spruce and more than a thousand other species contributed their paint to the landscape. The travelers on Skyline Drive or even those hiking the Appalachian Trail could not see this much beauty at one time. 

Randall worked both cameras simultaneously using remote triggers. He moved from one to the other, refocusing, changing the area in the frame, working with his depth of field and checking the memory cards..

Now and again, he adjusted the balloon's altitude by either applying propane to the burner to lift him higher, or venting the balloon to bring him closer to the beauty. The silence, the solitude almost made him forget why he was there. In his twenty years of balloon piloting, which started in elementary school, the thrill of flight never subsided. Photography only lifted him higher. The best part was the leisurely pace of the balloon. On this trip, the easterly breeze pushed him slowly along toward Ruckersville, requiring only minimal monitoring.

A low buzz broke the silence. A drone flew to his starboard. Randall focused the zoom-lens equipped camera on it. The drone had four unprotected rotors and what looked like a camera attached to its underside. It was heading straight at his balloon.

Hobbyists had lost fingers in rotors like those so he knew what they could do to his balloon. Getting above that drone was paramount. He grabbed the lanyard and fed propane to the fire. The flame roared in anger at being awakened. He rose too slowly. The drone sliced into the starboard side half way up the balloon and cut through the nylon. The gash spewed hot air and turned upward. The balloon tilted to the port side, the gondola leaned with it. Randall's Canon 6D with its brand new lens crashed against the gondola. He lunged at the tripod, but his movement accentuated the tilt throwing him over the edge with his tripod. He grabbed the edge of the wicker gondola basket and barely held on by his fingertips. His prized possession become one with the forest.

Survival was now his only goal. His lack of time at the gym was evident as cramps and shooting pain wracked his hands and forearms. He pulled on the gondola and tried to roll himself back in, but each time the gondola tilted more, threatening to dump him hundreds of feet into the forest. A tie-down line hung from the frame slightly out of reach to his right. He gritted his teeth, slid his right hand, then his left along the rim of the gondola to get closer to the line. He kicked his right leg in a clockwise circle, wrapped the line around it and hooked it with the tip of his shoe. The forest drew nearer. Randall fruitlessly looked for an opening. Even if he saw one, he couldn't steer or put it down where he wanted. The balloon and gondola were going to land in the trees, probably on top of him. His only hope was to slide down the line and land in a tree.

His right hand gripped the line. Two or three deep breaths later, he let go of the gondola rim with his left hand and hung onto the tie-down line. His feet alternately clamped and released the line as he slid down. Closer and closer he came to the trees, faster and faster he moved. Rapid heartbeats, shallow breathing, but he had to do it. Wind played through the trees and birds sang unaware of the calamity Randall was facing. As he dropped lower, taller spruces were almost within reach. The fronds, he thought, might cushion his fall more than a hardwood, but he'd take what he could get.

Limbs smacked the bottom of the line only feet from where he hung. The gondola dropped again. He bashed against the trunk of a tall spruce. The line pulled him upward, the gondola strained to yank him free. He slid several more feet lost skin on his hands and face before he grabbed a branch and released the line. It whizzed away. Tree tops snapped as the gondola and balloon tore into the forest canopy, finally coming to rest a few hundred yards from where Randall was perched. With a branch under his armpits and his feet resting on a lower limb, he took several deep breaths and closed his eyes. He wasn't ready to face reality.

Heights never bothered Randall when he was in the balloon, but being stuck in a tall tree, made his skin crawl. Animals lived here, plus he had to climb down, something he hadn't done since he was a child. But it had to be done. He placed one foot and then the another on successively lower limbs. After moving a few feet, he pulled the camera out of his pocket and took pictures. Why not? It was an adventure. As he went down, the limbs became bigger making the climb easier. For the next few minutes he moved, took pictures. Moved. Took pictures.

Half way down the tree, something began fouling the air. No longer crisp and clean, but smoky and acrid. The propane heater had started a fire. For him to smell it already meant it was growing quickly. He returned the camera to its pocket and climbed down in earnest. By the time he reached the last limb, he was still several feet off the ground. The crackling and roaring fire moved his way. Smoke filled the top of the forest. He moved toward the limb's tip. It bent as he scurried away from the trunk. He looped his legs and arms around it and rolled over. Letting his legs fall and then his arms, he dropped nearly four feet to the ground.

The fire grew and came his way. One of the burning trees exploded shooting sparks skyward and outward, expanding the fire zone. He ran. Fire flashed through the forest, destroying the beautiful painting, leaving ash and death wherever it traveled. Randall stopped,  panting, chest aching, oxygen depleting, realizing the inevitable. He started the camera's video, sat down and waited.