CAPTURED BALLOONS
Copyright© by Rick Yost

I was shaken from my sleep. With a childlike excitement, my friend Koug said, “Isaac, wake quickly! We’ve captured one of them- come see!”
We were up and running before I was fully awake. As we ran I brushed the red sand off my face and naked body from sleeping in the cave.
It was not yet morning and the temperature was still relatively comfortable- not the unbearable heat of the day. The tide was out on this small stretch of beach and the cool wet sand felt refreshing to our bare feet.
With a broad smile on her face, Koug became more excited as we approached our destination. She reached out to hold my hand as we both ran naked through the warm surf. She was quite lovely in the early morning light with her long yellow hair flying as she ran.
Down the half-mile stretch of beach, we made our way past the jagged rocks and thirty-foot high cliffs that defined that part of our world. I could hear voices and commotion just around the bend ahead. As we circled around the turn into the cove we saw it. It was huge. Much larger than the one we’d caught before- the one that got away. Perfectly round, perfectly smooth, and a beautiful light blue color. There it was, floating in the air- a twenty-foot tall balloon.
The others frantically hurried to secure the huge thing with every rope they could find, shouting directions to one another, coordinating their efforts. Koug and I stood for a moment- taking in the awesome sight. Then we rushed to help the others.
In huge nets made from vines and tree bark we anchored it to the boulders that ringed the cove. It strained against the ropes to rise and free itself. It was magnificent.
A stark contrast against the red sky, sometimes you could see thousands of them flying high in the air with the northern wind currents. Sometimes bunched together and other times scattered, they were beautiful and entrancing.
No one knew for sure what they were or where they came from. It was thought that if a man could catch one and lash himself to it, it would take him to a wonderful cold place called the Ice Mountains. This story of the Ice Mountains was no doubt borne from someone’s baked mind, wanting only to feel a cool breeze.
During the day when the ocean surf on the beach would steam up, it was very dangerous to be out in the sun. Serious burns resulted from being in the sunlight for more than just a few minutes. It was during this time of day that we all retreated to the caves of the cliff along the beach.
Little more than deep, hollowed out creases in the rock from the high tides, the caves were where we waited like caged prisoners until the sun went down and we could safely go about. It was during these times of waiting when we would sleep, eat, and dream of the Ice Mountains. The Ice Mountains provided a cool distracting fantasy. And just like prisoners, we obsessed about the balloons and the opportunity to escape the heat. .
Although usually so high they appeared as blue dots in the red sky, sometimes they would drop low enough to touch. We sometimes found them hanging low in the air close to the water. In the past we had been caught un-prepared and they drifted out of reach.
But we learned. We soon began to spend a great deal of time watching, planning, and gathering vines for ropes. We all agreed to be ready to act if we saw one drop low enough to capture.
Injured when I crashed my ship here, I would have surely died or starved to death had it not been for Koug and her friends. They tended to my injuries and fed me. They taught me to survive this place. First I had to learn the danger of the sun. They taught me to weave grass and vines into huge nets. They then showed me how to cast them into the air and catch the big birds we used for food.
Either there by shipwreck or other mishap, there were sixteen of us there on that tiny beach- surviving by hunting for birds. If there were others anywhere close to us, we had no knowledge of them. We had the steaming ocean on one side of us, and behind the cliffs were miles of desert. Only able to explore during the cool of the night, it was difficult to venture too far from the camp without danger of burning.
This particular morning was the start of a great day- the day we caught the balloon. Now we had the beginnings of a way to free ourselves from this prison of searing sun, burning ground, and hot surf. Now we could escape. It was a joyous occasion. We were all refreshed with new optimism.
Beneath the balloon we would secure a basket large enough for two men and more nets. We would let the manned balloon rise as high as our tethering ropes would allow. Once high enough in the air we would capture another balloon, then another, and another. Soon we would have enough of them lashed together to easily carry the sixteen of us, and the necessary provisions. We would soon be flying north with the currents. In the wind streams that take all of the balloons north we would fly to the Ice Mountains.
And when we do escape and reach the Ice Mountains, will we find the cool to be as pleasant as in our dreams? Will we find the tasty birds to be as plentiful as we require? Will we find others there like ourselves? And if there are others there, will they greet us, teach us their ways and become our new friends? Or will they simply be grateful for our captured balloons so they can escape the cold?