Oregon Hot Air Balloon Ride Guide

Shift your perspective at sunrise—from a wicker basket thousands of feet above valleys, rivers and volcanic desert

written by Cathy Carroll

KSSSSH … KSSSSH … Short bursts of blue-orange propane flames shoot into the opening of a hot-air balloon as pilot Kelly Dorius launches her craft at sunrise over Newberg. Nine passengers join her, ready to float 2,000 feet above the Willamette Valley’s verdant landscape.

Riding in a wicker basket attached to a balloon—no seat belts, rafts, detachable seat cushions, oxygen masks—had the palms of at least one passenger sweating. Dorius scanned the horizon intently with calm blue eyes, her deerskin-gloved hands working the fuel burners and altitude-regulating pulleys, exuding confidence.

The clammy-handed passenger, with a death grip on the basket’s rope handles, let go just as lighter-than-air buoyancy took over. Heated air inside the balloon made it drift above the treetops, and then, silence—no roaring engines, no announcements, no screens, no sense of wind.

“That wind is carrying you, so there’s no resistance, because you’re in it,” said Dorius, who owns Vista Balloon Adventures and has been piloting for a decade. “It’s incredibly peaceful, very calm and silent.” Mount Hood, Mount St. Helens, Mount Adams, Mount Jefferson and the Three Sisters reveal themselves on the clearest days.

A colorful hot air balloon soaring above Oregon's landscape during a clear day, with distant mountains and a vast desert terrain below. — Big Sky Balloon Co. drifts above Central Oregon’s high desert with views of the Cascades from Mount Hood to Mount Bachelor. *(photo: Howard Lipin/Big Sky Balloon Co.)*

Below, the St. Paul landscape unfolds as an illustrated chapter in local agriculture. Neat rows of hops embroider the land. Dairy cows meander grassy organic pastures and waves of tall, emerald green fescue and chartreuse ryegrass swirl, ready for the June harvest. Blocks of crimson, pink, coral and gold blossoms bloom on a 25-acre nursery. Farther afield, pinot noir grapes ripen in the Dundee Hills.

Riding in a basket indulges the senses in the bounty below—the aroma of juicy strawberries, lemony hops and a chorus of perfumy notes from more than a thousand rose varieties.

Dorius headed for the Willamette River, radioing the pilot of another one of her balloons sailing about a hundred yards away. “Steens balloon to Rogue balloon, what’s your altitude?” she said, coordinating a signature move that wind conditions would allow. We watched the second balloon inch its way through a thin layer of mist just above the surface and dip its basket on the placid river, the daffodil-colored balloon reflected in the blue-green water. Dorius, venting hot air from her balloon to let it descend, alighted our basket on the water as gently as a kiss.

Fish jumped, and bald eagles nested along the banks. The Willamette lapped lazily against the woven box for a minute when the whir of a motor sounded in the distance. A boat towing a waterskier rounded the yellow balloon and headed our way, carving a frothy wake between the floating crafts.

Aloft again, Dorius looked for a landing spot. In late September, when the ballooning season draws to a close, pumpkins punctuate many of the farm fields that serve this purpose. It’s possible because in the last four years that she has owned the company, she has maintained the good relationships with farmers that have been in place since the outfit began in 1989.

The experience seems even more relevant today. “It changes your perspective,” said Dorius. “When you’re in the balloon for an hour, you don’t really focus on anything else, which is really hard now in society with all the distractions, to be in a moment so wholeheartedly.”

Ballooning in the High Desert

Darren Kling of Big Sky Balloon Co. has been piloting balloons from Redmond for twenty-six years, offering views from Mount Bachelor to Mount Hood and a glimpse into how volcanic activity shaped the landscape. Wind direction dictates the itinerary, be it north toward the spires of Smith Rock or east over sagebrush steppe—silvery-green shrubs dotting sun-washed volcanic soil. Below, wildlife moves through the high desert—deer, coyotes, the occasional bobcat, pronghorn or antelope, and hawks, bald eagles and golden eagles.

From 1,000 feet, it’s easy to trace the path of dark lava fields of Newberry National Volcanic Monument, where the flow from ancient eruptions meets the Crooked River. “You can really visualize why it’s called the Crooked River, because you can see it flowing out into the valley, wrapping right around Smith Rock and then dropping into this canyon,” said Kling.

When conditions allow, Kling lowers the balloon deep inside the steep, rust-colored canyon walls and hovers a few feet above the water before returning passengers, restored and with a new outlook.