To coincide with the International Balloon Fiesta in Bristol, Evening Post feature writer Tom Henry decided to get in on the act and take to the skies for his first balloon flying lesson. Here he tells how he got on...

Les Greaves plucks a few blades of grass from the large patch of garden we're standing on and tosses them into the air. We watch intently as they fall, nudged along by a relatively gentle breeze.

It's perhaps not the most scientific approach, but as tests go it's not a bad indication of where Les and I might end up in just over an hour's time.

This north-easterly breeze will push the hot air balloon we're about to inflate up and out of the Somerset village of Doulting and in a vague south-easterly direction, across the East Somerset railway line and landing somewhere... well, just landing somewhere, anywhere.

Except it's not quite like that. Instead of being the passenger, enjoying the view after the first few stomach-churning minutes of ascent, I'm the 'PUT', or the Pilot Under Training.

And as I'm about to find out, it's not quite as easy as it looks. To say you're 'flying a balloon' is something of a misnomer; in reality you're using the wind to get you to a place where you can land in reasonable safety.

Having said that, as a balloon pilot you're definitely not sitting it back and hoping for the best. You do have a certain amount of control over the thing, and while you're in the air you're constantly monitoring the situation as it unfolds before you.

Luckily, I'm in the hands of a very experienced pilot in Les.

So we're standing in this large piece of land and watching the leaves on the trees and the plucked grass falling in the wind.

"The first thing you have to do, even before you've thought of getting the balloon out of the trailer, is check the weather," says Les.

At eight knots, this is a relatively light wind and should be enough to power us along steadily without causing too many problems at landing time. Anything over 10 knots, though, and we'd be chancing it. Landing near Shepton Mallet is fine; ending up somewhere off Steepholm (an island in the Bristol Channel) is definitely not.

The next point to bear in mind as a rookie pilot is where to take off. This might seem obvious - a large space, clear of trees and wobbly chimney pots, and definitely not underneath some evil-looking power lines. There's all that, yes, but knowing where to take off is also about having an idea of where you might land.

As Les points out, if you take off from Ashton Court in a north-easterly you'll find yourself heading in the general direction of Bristol International Airport, and you really wouldn't want to tangle with an Airbus packed with holidaymakers. Conversely, an east wind will have you heading towards Avonmouth and the Bristol Channel in almost no time at all.

Of course, that's not to say that ballooning from Ashton Court is impossible when the wind is in the 'wrong' direction. It's just that you have to think very hard about when and where you might land if there is a potential hazard on the horizon, so planning is very important. Fortunately, out here in Somerset we're not too beset by such problems as there's open countryside all around and plenty of fields in which to land.

That's not to say there aren't things to watch out for in this part of the country. Power lines and the railway track are obvious, but there are also fields of cattle and horses (especially horses, which are notoriously jittery where balloons are concerned), field full of crops, woods, hills, a large quarry and a reservoir.

Before we inflate the balloon we spread a large OS map over the bonnet of the Range Rover which will eventually pick us up from the landing site and check for certain hazards. Les has ringed areas that are off-limits in terms of landing, and because we know roughly where the wind will take us we can safely avoid them.

With this part of the process in the bag, it's time to get the balloon out and start inflating it. After unfurling the canopy we attach it to the basket (which we have already assembled) using reassuringly sturdy carabiner clips. On goes the petrol-driven cold air fan and we start to pump in the first breaths of 105,000 cubic feet of air into the canopy.

When it is balloon-shaped, hot air from the propane fuelled burner is pumped in while two of us hold the canopy open as widely as possibly, to avoid any of the material catching fire.

This isn't an easy job. Les's wife Chris and I hang on using our full bodyweights while the canopy strains against the air inflating it. Eventually we can hang on no more and the balloon sways into its upright position.

Immediately, we're detailed to nag on to the basket while Les jumps in and makes the final preparations for lift-off.

Then it's my turn. I haul myself over the side of the basket, which is swaying around like mad, and suddenly Les shouts 'RELEASE!'.

Chris releases us and within seconds we're at 500, 600, 700ft and rising.

It's the most rapid take-off I've ever experienced and my stomach's somewhere far below the bottom of the basket, but when we level out I remember why ballooning is such an amazing experience.

It's the view, the view and the silence up here. It might sound a bit obvious, but suddenly everything looks very far away and unreal, and the peace at 2,000ft is only broken by the occasional sound of a dog barking somewhere down below.

Even though you're only separated from certain death by a few branches of wickerwork, there is a zen-like serenity to ballooning which is impossible to find in any other type of aeronautical activity.

But enough musing. There are things to be done up here, and the first is to check the height we're at and the wind speed. At 1,500ft we're averaging seven knots and heading east in the general direction of Frome. The height and the speed of the wind seem to be very compatible and although we're not what you might call speeding along, we're covering a fair amount of ground.

Now, what goes up must come down and if you forget to top up the canopy with a blast from the burner now and again, you'll find that you come down rather quicker than you anticipated. So Les points me in the direction of the altimeter and indeed we are losing height. He shows me where the release valve is which will send the liquid propane up into the burner, where it ignites and sends hot air into the canopy, forcing the balloon to rise.

The valve is turned on with a steady motion, and some amount of nerve is needed to do this smoothy, as it makes a hell of a roar.

That, plus the sight of the flame licking into the void above and the heat which feels like it's singeing the top of your head, is a slightly scary experience, but once a blast of four seconds or so is given, we're off up again to the optimum height for this evening's conditions.

An hour has almost passed and it's about time we started thinking about touchdown - not that there's ever much 'touch' when landing in a balloon.

To be honest it's always a bit of a thumpdown, even in the mildest conditions, and as we descend we notice the wind has picked up to nine knots.

Les spies a field of stubble and decides that having avoided power lines, horses, cattle and crops, this is the best place for us to land.

We swoop in, pushed by the wind and when Les tells me to brace I crouch like a skier and hang on to the sides. Inevitably, the basket will bounce on contact with the ground and we can expect a certain amount of dragging.

And we get it, too. There is a kind of rushing sound as the canopy flops over on to the ground and tows the basket with it. Les is busy doing something (I presume it's opening the top of the canopy so the balloon deflates quickly) while I try not to fall on top of him.

Eventually the balloon comes to a stop and the basket finally tips over. But at least we're stationary and after a quick check to make sure I'm still arms and legs intact, I get out of the balloon and step on to the soil.

It's been an exhilarating ride, but it's not over yet. For a start, we've got to pack the whole kit and caboodle away, but luckily we’re ably assisted by a group of local children who’ve been following the balloon on their bikes and have charged into the field to greet us.

We also have to ask the farmer's permission to have the recovery vehicle cross the field to pick us up, so Les calls Chris and, using the OS map, describes where we are.

Three-quarters of an hour later we're all back in the Range Rover and heading off for a very welcome post-piloting pint.

Pointless it may be, but there's something highly addictive about ballooning. Maybe it's the smell of propane - but I think not.