Just about everyone has some sort of offbeat knack or talent that they do not necessarily use or talk about often. For me, it is not the ability to wiggle my ears or to shuffle a deck of cards half a dozen different ways. No, my unusual skill is the ability to find balloons.

Just when it seems I cannot be any further from civilization, a Snoopy balloon will wave at me from 30 feet up a maple tree. This is not something that I’ve experienced only a few times - I find deflated balloons in the backcountry the way many folks find pennies in parking lots.

My first clear memory of finding a balloon was when I discovered one that had landed in our cattle pasture when I was in the second grade. Written in faded pencil was a name and address and a request that whoever found the balloon write back because it had been released for a school project. I wrote back and have always been amazed at how a little latex balloon could have floated all the way from southern Ohio down to Plano.

Since that time, I’ve walked upon a countless number of balloons. Shiny ones that say “Get Well” or “Congratulations,” big drooping clumps of white ones presumably from weddings, and other variations that I always stop to look at and wonder about before picking them up and moving along.

Although I’ve never heard another angler or hunter mention anything about finding balloons in such a regular manner, I have to assume that others do as well. Several weeks ago, after finding my third balloon of the turkey season, I decided to gain a better understanding of what happens after a balloon is released.

Understandably, there is not a great deal of scientific study dealing with party balloons, but with a minimal amount of effort I at least got a rough idea of a latex balloon’s flight capabilities. Because of school projects - such as the one I aided in so many years ago - there were a lot of records that showed balloons traveling 200, 300 and even 400-plus miles from their original location. Wind and weather make a difference, along with many other variables (the size and type of balloon, how much helium is put in it, etc.).

What I found most interesting was how high a run-of-the-mill, 10-cent balloon can go. The most agreed upon maximum height was somewhere in the neighborhood of five miles. However, if a balloon makes it that far up, it bursts from a dramatic decrease in pressure and temperature, leaving little to be found. So I guess that the ones I stumble on never make it that far into the sky, since most of them are somewhat intact.

Had I been able to choose my out-of-the-ordinary gift, it certainly would have been different, maybe something along the lines of being a skilled Powerball picker. Nonetheless, I’ve learned to embrace my balloon-finding capabilities. Coming across one in an unlikely place always allows me a moment of reflection.

— Geordon T. Howell is outdoors columnist for the Daily News. He can be reached by e-mailing highbrasshowell@yahoo.com.