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?