Around the World in 20 Days
Bertrand: In many people’s eyes, a round-the-world balloon flight was the last great challenge in aviation. The winter of 1998-99 was time of high anxiety. Five other teams were preparing to launch in various parts of the world. This would be my third, and last, attempt underwritten by the Breitling watch company. The weather was terrible, and February was drawing to a close. Normally the end of the month marked the end of the season for ballooning attempts. I was in despair. But early on February 24, 1999, the telephone rang. It was Luc Trullemans, one of our meteorologists.
“Bertrand, there’s a really good slot coming on the first of March!” he exclaimed. Trullemans and fellow meteorologist Pierre Eckert felt sure we could swing the balloon around the edge of a big depression forming over the Mediterranean by flying counterclockwise—going down over France and Spain. Then we would be carried eastward over Africa.
Brian Jones, my British co-pilot, and I knew if the weather turned, we would fail. But if we waited for next year, somebody else might succeed in the interim.
A balloon piloted by British tycoon Richard Branson hand gone down in the Pacific, but one sponsored by Britain’s Cable & Wireless and piloted by Andy Elson and Colin Prescot had already been aloft for seven days. On Sunday, February 28, we struggled to make the crucial decision: carry on or not? Brian and I knew this was our last chance for 1999. Alan Noble, our flight director, and Don Cameron, head of the firm that built the balloon, were far from being positive. “From the weather maps,” they said, “we don’t see how you can get around the world.”
“You get them up there,” argued Luc, “and I’ll get them around.”
Following meteorological assurances, Alan said, “I think we can go.” We put it to a vote of the whole team, and the show of hands to take off was unanimous. By five the next morning, Brian and I were both wide awake. After years of preparation and dashed hopes, the moment was upon us.
The launch teams had started inflation at 3 a.m. on March 1. The balloon was designed to function with a combination of hot air and helium. During the day the sun heats the helium, causing it to expand and make the balloon climb. At night propane is burned to heat the gas, maintaining the balloon’s lift.
Our meteorologists would work out the trajectories, then we would travel along with the moving weather all the way around the world.
As down broke, the wind began to blow and gust. Since any strong wind might damage the envelope and dash the gondola against the ground, we knew we had to take off soon.
At 8 a.m., Brian and I climbed in and closed the rear hatch. High above us the Mylar envelope was crackling. Hair-raising noises started to emanate from the gondola. Supplies and equipment kept tumbling onto the floor.
Unable to risk disaster any longer, Alan waited for one more big bounce and severed the restraining rope with his Swiss Army knife.
As we rose into the sky, he thousands who had assembled were screaming. Church bells were ringing. A fire engine’s siren was wailing. This enthusiasm seemed to propel us into the sky.
Brian: My first task was to be carried out atop the gondola, so before takeoff I climbed out through the top hatch and sat. a heavy double railing ringed the area, and we took off with such a jerk, I hat to cling tight to it.
Bertrand and I were both amazed by the speed at which we went up. The balloon finally stopped climbing at 1,000 feet when we hit an inversion layer—the level at which cold air close to the ground meets warmer air above. It acts like an invisible barrier.
Bertrand called out, “One bag of sand!” I started pouring 33 pounds of ballast down a tube that sent the sand clear of the capsule.
A moment later he shouted, “Look out, I’m going to burn!” The propane jets and blue flames roared six feet up, warming the helium. We started to climb again. I scrambled back into the gondola, and we sealed the hatch. We were on our way.
Bertrand: By sunset our first problems set in. the pilot lights on the burners began to act erratically, and every few seconds we had to manually ignite the burners.
More worrisome was the fact that we thought we were using far too much propane to maintain our height. It looked as though our chances of making it were perilously slim. But the first pair of fuel tanks held out until the evening of day two, exceeding our expectations. And that was a huge encouragement.
As we entered Moroccan airspace, I was rewarded by one of the most magnificent sights. I had ever seen: an absolutely incredible view of the Atlas Mountains with a full moon. We had been told how boring it would be to fly over the Sahara, but on the next day the views that unfolded were fabulous. For me, the desert was alive. The light was alive, and the sand was alive, full of different colors, different shapes, like the bottom of the sea. I spent hours staring at the desert, feeling its strangeness.
Brian: Early in the morning of March 4 the plan called for releasing our four empty auxiliary tanks. That meant an EVA—extravehicular activity—to cut them free. We also wanted to get rid of the ice that had formed from riding in the freezing high altitudes. As we descended to 10,000 feet, our adrenaline was flowing.
When we opened the hatch and climbed out, we found icicles that were ten feet long dangling from the envelope’s skirt. While I concentrated on fixing the faulty ignition system, Bertrand went about attacking the icicles with a fire ax. He commented that it was probably the first time that ice had rained on the Sahara in several thousand years.
With Bertrand holding one of my ankles, I reached out and freed one of the empty tanks. We watched it tumbling all the way to the ground. A puff of sand marked where it slammed into the desert. If it buried itself, I thought, it might lie there for a couple of millennia before some archeologist dug it up.
By then we had finished our counterclockwise swing and were at last heading east, just as our meteorologists had predicted. The air was warm; the sky cloudless. Below us stretched sand and rock as far as the eye could see.
Bertrand: We were over Yemen and two days from the Indian subcontinent when an astonishing message came in from our ground crew: “The cable & Wireless control room says their balloon is landing 70 miles off the coast of Japan. The balloon iced up. Search and rescue are with them.” Now we were the only ones in the race.
I was desperate to pass on the news to Brian, and when he finally stuck his head out of the sleeping bunk hours later, I said, “I’ve got the most incredible news.”
He instantly said, “Andy’s down.”
Meanwhile I spoke to Luc, who confirmed that our position was perfect for enter China at the right point. We had guaranteed them we would keep south of 26 degrees latitude. If we found ourselves straying north of the limit, we would come down.
Brian: Heading for Myanmar (formerly Burma), we found we were gradually creeping north toward the 26th parallel. This kept us on tenterhooks. But back in Geneva our weathermen were telling us we had to go right up almost to the boundary. Once there, the wind would take us due east.
On the way we had the following exchange with a Myanmar air controller.
Tower: “What is your departure point and destination?”
Me: “Departure point, Switzerland. Destination, northern Africa.”
Tower: (after several seconds of silence) “If you’re going from Switzerland to northern Africa, what in hell are you doing in Myanmar?”
Shortly before down on the morning of March 10 we arrived at the Chinese border. The Chinese had seen us coming and sent the message: “Your balloon’s heading for the prohibited zone. It must land.”
Bertrand: It was amazing. We skimmed across a 1,300-mile-long corridor straight as an arrow, with the 26th parallel never more than 30 miles away. Our meteorologists had sent us on a swirling trajectory of 8,100 miles, then through the eye of a needle.
By March 11 we were heading out over the Pacific. Faced by 8,000 miles of water, I felt as if I had stepped onto the edge of the abyss.
I picked up my pen and wrote: “This is exactly my definition of adventure, a point at which you hat to dig inside yourself to find the courage to deal with what may lie ahead.”
On Saturday, March 13, we were still over the Pacific. Our meteorologists said our speed would improve from our miserable 35 knots to 100 knots once we climbed into the jet stream. By Tuesday it would increase to 120.
Our propane reserves seemed perilously small. We had already burned two-thirds of our fuel and yet covered only half our course. everything depended on our weathermen: If they were right, we had a chance. If they were wrong, we were doomed.
Brian: Like Bertrand, I was thoroughly on edge over the Pacific. After seven days above the water, we at last made the coast of Mexico. Later that night, lying there, I found it had to breath. And it was not until I got up that I realized something was seriously wrong. I found Bertrand in the pilot’s seat, slumped against the bulkhead, gasping. He crawled into the bunk wearing an oxygen mask.
Our symptoms were not those of hypoxia, and the instruments monitoring the CO2 levels had not signaled any alarm. But despite this, we felt that we were slowing being asphyxiated. People on the ground started telephoning doctors in a frantic search for clues to what could be wrong with us. I was also wearing my oxygen mask, and after a few minutes of breathing pure oxygen, my head cleared. I thought, I Screw the instruments, and changed both the CO2 and the carbon filters. The symptoms gradually began to disappear.
We crossed Mexico in a day and were soon out over the Caribbean. Reporting to air-traffic control in Kingston, Jamaica, I heard a female controller with a delicious voice ask what we were doing.
“We took off from Switzerland,” I answered. “We’re hoping to get around the world.”
“You guys sure are taking a chance!” she said.
She was right. Our fuel was critically short, and nobody was sure if we had enough to get across the Atlantic. Alan Nobel suggested we make our decision over Puerto Rico.
Bertrand: By March 18 it was time to decide. With cameras from all over the world focused on him, Alan got on the phone with us. When we had run through the agreed-upon formalities, Alan said, “I think you can go for it.”
“Bertrand!” cried Brian. “Tell him we’re going.”
“We’re not going to quit,” I told Alan. “Even if we ditch in mid-Atlantic, we go for it.”
Our weathermen guided us into the middle of the jet stream, and our speed increased as we shot out over the Atlantic. But cursing at 15,000 feet, the cold was intense and our heaters had failed. The temperature inside was 28.4 F, and our water supply froze.
On March 20 came good news. Our navigation computer told us we had made landfall. We had crossed the Atlantic, and at 6:15 GMT, or Greenwich Mean Time, when the sun came over the horizon, I again saw the desert I had loved so much 20 days earlier. Now the finish line was only 300 miles away, about three hours’ time.
When we crossed the line at 9:54 GMT, Brian and I stood up and embraced, slapping each other on the back and shouting, “We’ve done it! We’ve done it.”
The next morning, after the longest flight in distance and duration ever made by a free balloon, we landed in the Egyptian desert. Brian sent this fax: “The Eagle has landed. All okay. Bloody good.” Our trip round the world, and into history, was done.
1. To Bertrand and Brian, the winter of 1998-99 was a time of high anxiety because ______.
A. they were awaiting their last attempt of the season to launch the balloon.
B. another balloon sponsored by Britain’s Cable & Wireless had been aloft for 7 days
C. a balloon piloted by British tycoon Richard Branson had gone down.
D. the Breitling watch company sponsored their activities.
2. The decision to take off was made unanimously ______.
A. on February 28, 1999
B. at 3 a.m. March 1
C. on February 24, 1999
D. in the winter of 1998-1999
3. When deciding to launch, the meteorologists were confident that the balloon could ______.
A. fly over Moroccan airspace
B. fly counterclockwise to the Atlantic Ocean.
C. float over France and Spain first, then be carried eastward over Africa
D. travel along with the big depression over the Mediterranean
4. When the balloon hit an inversion layer at 1,000 feet, the pilots made it rise by ______.
A. pouring one bag of sand into the capsule
B. sending the ballast into the sky
C. dropping 33 pounds of sand and heating the helium
D. clearing the capsule of 33 pounds of sand and burning the helium
5. By the evening of the first day, it looked as though it wouldn’t be quite possible for them to complete the journey around the world because ________.
A. they were worried that the fuel they carried might not last long
B. they were using too much fuel to maintain their height
C. the balloon hit an inversion layer at 1,000 feet
D. pilot lights on he burner began to act abnormally
6. After hearing about the balloon’s departure point and destination, the Myanmar air controller said to them, “What in hell are you doing in Myanmar?” This showed that he was ______.
A. angry
B. surprised
C. mistaken
D. ignorant
7. If the balloon moved north of the 26th parallel, Bertrand and Brian would be quite worried because they might ______.
A. be shot down by the enemy
B. lose their way in China
C. be forced to land
D. be carried due east by a gust of wind
8. When the balloon flew over the Pacific, Bertrand felt ______.
A. it would be a long and challenging journey
B. the balloon was flying slowly
C. something might go seriously wrong
D. they would use up their propane reserve
9. Brian solved their breathing problem by ______.
A. telephone doctors on the ground for clues
B. tightening the instruments and changing the filters
C. breathing in pure oxygen for a few minutes
D. looking at the instruments and changing the air
10. The balloon flew across the Atlantic by ______.
A. burning more propane
B. flying in jet stream at 15,000 feet
C. monitoring the weather closely
D. reducing the temperature to 28.4 F
