Into the Air

Kaylie Bossert and Elizabeth Engler work with Assistant Professor Barrett Gutter to inflate the weather balloon.

Nearby lays a sheet of red latex, soft, pliable, the kind of thing that fits in a backpack. Yet that seemingly unremarkable object is a balloon capable of expanding from a few feet across to the size of a small house.  

On a concrete floor of a hangar at Kentland Farm, the uninflated balloon is tethered to the instrument box Bossert is inspecting. The balloon doesn’t look like much.

“You don’t think about it being this small,” she said. “But this little box collects everything.”

Temperature. Pressure. Humidity. Wind speed. The data will stream back in real-time after liftoff.

Behind her, Associate Professor Craig Ramseyer glances at the computer screen, making sure the signal is steady because the data collection starts before the balloon leaves the ground. 

Beside Bossert, Elizabeth Engler ties off a knot with careful precision. 

The students expected to watch the first time. Instead, they found themselves being handed the balloon. 

“All of a sudden you’re tying the knots, you’re doing this,” Engler said. “You aren’t watching. You’re actually doing it.”

With each launch, the team – including the students – actively contributes to the weather models that people around the world use every day to guide their lives. 

An international sky network

The launch in Blacksburg is only one point in a much larger network. 

Virginia Tech is part of a coordinated, multi-university effort with more than a dozen institutions launching weather balloons simultaneously across North America. At the same time, aircraft high above the Pacific are dropping sensors into the atmospheric rivers moving moisture into the western U.S.

“It’s really a data project,” said Ramseyer, who is in the Department of Geography. “We’re trying to improve forecasts for high-impact weather, things that can cause real damage.”  

The goal is simple in theory but complex in execution: collect more data, in more places, at the same moment, and rapidly feed it into weather models to improve forecasts.

The stakes are not abstract. Balloons are sent into weather systems that cause winter storms, flash floods, and the kind of severe weather that can knock out power across entire regions. 

For the students, though, the project doesn’t begin with models.

It begins with their hands. 

Learning by doing

The process unfolds step by precise step. 

First, the instrument called a radiosonde is powered on and connected to the computer system.

Within seconds, numbers appear: temperature, relative humidity, pressure. The GPS locks in, translating motion into wind speed and direction. 

Barrett Gutter, assistant professor of meteorology, walks the group through each step, pointing to the screen, asking questions as much as giving instructions.

“You’re not just collecting data,” Gutter said. “You need to understand what you’re seeing as it comes in.” 

Then comes the line: roughly 60 meters of it, a buffer between balloon and instrument meant to reduce turbulence. The students attach it carefully, linking a small instrument package, called a radiosonde, to a parachute, and then the parachute to the balloon itself.

Everyone works with careful intent. The equipment is delicate and expensive, and a single mistake – a twisted neck in the balloon, a weak knot – can end the launch before liftoff. 

“There’s a little bit of stress involved,” Ramseyer said. “That’s part of it. That’s what this looks like in the real world.” 

Let the gas flow

Helium flows in with a low hiss.

The balloon begins to take shape, rising slowly from the floor, before coming to life in the students’ hands. They wait for the moment when the balloon begins to lift.

“You feel it,” Engler said, “when it wants to go.” 

Gutter watches the neck of the balloon carefully.

“Don’t let it twist,” he calls out. “That’s where it’ll fail.”

From the ground to the sky

The students walk the balloon outside. 

For a moment, the balloon hovers just above them, straining upward. Then, with a final check, they let go.

It climbs fast, quickly becoming a small dot against the sky. On a clear day, it remains visible for mere minutes; in snow or rain, it disappears in seconds. 

“You’d be surprised how quickly it’s gone,” Ramseyer said.

Just getting started

Inside, the students gather around the computer. 

Lines form on the screen. They have seen these graphs before, but this isn't class. This is real. Temperature and dew point trace upward through the atmosphere. Wind shifts with height. Moisture appears and disappears in layers.

“You’re making the graph,” Engler said. 

Bossert nods. “It’s happening in our atmosphere right now. It’s real.”

Gutter leans over their shoulders, asking what they notice. 

“Where’s the moisture layer?” he asks. “What does that tell you?”

This is where the classroom and the field come together in one moment. 

Far out

The balloon continues rising. 

As pressure drops, it expands far beyond its original size. By the time it reaches the upper atmosphere, it can stretch to the size of a small house, the latex thinning until it finally bursts.

On the screen, the moment is clear. 

The data is done.

Life-saving data 

Hours later, the data is used to create or revise forecasts. 

It may help distinguish between sleet and freezing rain, two outcomes that can mean the difference between a manageable storm and widespread power outages.

It may refine a model just enough to shift a predicted storm track. These forecasts help people better understand what’s coming and prepare for it. 

“There’s huge gaps in our upper-air data,” Ramseyer said. “Every balloon helps fill in a piece of that.” 

For the students, the impact is immediate. 

Their learning extends beyond the classroom. They are practicing their craft – handling equipment, interpreting data, making decisions in real time.

“This is the kind of experience that sticks,” Ramseyer said. “You can’t replicate it with just a lecture.” 

After the launch

By the time the balloon disappears, the work has shifted entirely indoors. 

The students linger over the data, asking questions.

Why did the wind shift here? 

Why is this layer saturated?

They connect what they see on the screen to what they felt outside – the air, the clouds, the conditions – that they stood in just moments before. 

Gutter lets the questions stretch a little longer before stepping in.

That, more than the launch itself, is the point.