Some call it science. Others call it magic.
On a chilly Fourth of July morning in Driggs, Idaho, retired three-star Air Force Major General David Eichhorn stepped into a hot air balloon basket wearing a stars-and-stripes suit and a steampunk top hat.
“I’ve gone twice the speed of sound and I’ve gone zero,” Eichhorn said before lifting off into nearly ideal flying conditions.
Below him, a layer of fog hugged the valley floor near the Tetons. Above, the sky was calm.
“Look at the freedom we have,” Eichhorn said from his balloon, named Mischief Managed. “Do you see any cops? Do you see anybody who’s going to pull me over for speeding?”
Eichhorn was one of roughly 20 pilots participating in the annual event in 2024, a tradition that began in 1981 to bring more visitors to Driggs, Idaho. This year, it celebrates its 45th birthday.
When it first lifted off, Driggs was a town of about 700 residents. The local Chamber of Commerce wanted an event that would convince travelers already visiting the Tetons to venture west over the pass.
“They wanted to do a new event or something that could attract tourists that were nearby, but not coming to Driggs,” said Ira Kaplow, who helped launch the festival when he was in his mid-20s.
The gamble paid off. Organizers say some years drew as many as 10,000 spectators, helping to establish the rally as one of the region’s signature summer events. Meanwhile, Driggs itself has more than tripled in population since the early ‘80s.
In 2012, however, the Driggs Chamber of Commerce decided that the event was no longer needed to drive tourism.
“The secret was out,” said Virginia Powell Symons, who now runs the festival as its own nonprofit with Margaret Rose Breffeilh.
“It kind of was dumped at our feet,” Symons said. “And Margaret and I picked it up and shook it off and brought it back to life.”
The rally remains relatively small compared to gatherings such as the renowned Albuquerque Balloon Fiesta, which attracts hundreds of balloons. Organizers say the Idaho event’s modest scale is part of its appeal.
Breffeilh, a fourth-generation aviator and the rally’s balloonmeister, oversees safety and determines whether conditions are suitable for flight.
Despite colorful envelopes and a festive atmosphere, hot air balloons are strictly regulated aircraft.
“All balloon pilots, including myself, are FAA-regulated and we go through specific training for our aircraft,” Breffeilh said.
For her, ballooning’s appeal lies in the science behind it.
“It’s essentially basic physics in action with buoyancy and air rising,” Breffeilh said.
But even the most experienced pilots ultimately answer to the weather.
“I am, maybe, the owner of a hot air balloon, but my pilot really is Mother Nature,” Breffeilh said.
Symons says that the festival brings joy in a dark world.
“People need that,” Symons said. “To be able to go and spend a little bit of time in the presence of something that is incredibly beautiful, that’s much bigger than yourself, literally, much bigger than yourself is a really wonderful thing.”
She said interest in the event surged during the pandemic, as people sought outdoor experiences and open spaces.
While balloon rides cost more than $400 a passenger, watching the spectacle is more affordable. Admission is charged per vehicle at $20 a car.
For first-time fliers, the experience ends with a tradition nearly as old as ballooning itself.
After landing, Eichhorn poured a glass of Champagne and recited a toast.
“The winds have welcomed you with softness. The sun has blessed you with his warm hands. You have flown so high and so well that God has joined you in your laughter and sent you gently back in the loving arms of mother earth.”
Then came the punchline.
“You flew without wings. You have to drink with no hands.”
Roarious laughter ensued as passengers’ failed attempts to drink champagne properly failed.
The tourism experiment, however, continues to succeed as the Teton Valley Balloon Rally draws people to look skyward.
