Chasing Autumn's Last Blaze: A Soul-Stirring Drive Through the White Mountains
There are some days when the very air hums with a vibrant energy, a particular kind of New England magic that pulls you out the door. This past weekend was one of those days. With news of the last peak foliage hanging gloriously in the higher elevations, Mark and I answered the call, setting our compass north towards the ancient, soul-filling embrace of New Hampshire’s White Mountains.
It was a journey not just across miles, but through the very heart of autumn’s fleeting artistry—a final, spectacular blaze before winter’s hush descends. And oh, what a blaze it was.
The Morning Compass: Route 16 to North Conway
Our journey began, as all good country chronicles do, by hitting the backroads. We cut onto Route 16 near Ossipee, a stretch of road that quickly sheds its commercial leanings for something far more charming. This is the beauty of New England travel: you don't chase the destination; you surrender to the route.
The drive through Ossipee and points north was an absolute feast for the eyes. We watched the rolling hills give way to towering, dramatic peaks. Along the way, we passed sleepy general stores, weathered barns the color of faded cranberry, and antique shops that beckoned us with promises of yesteryear. We intentionally slowed our pace, pulling over whenever a particularly stunning stand of maples demanded our attention. This is our golden rule of travel: never rush the beauty.
Arriving in North Conway proper, there was a palpable buzz, a final flourish of seasonal excitement among the crowds. But we weren’t there for the bustle; we were there for the breath of the mountains.
The Kancamagus Curve: Lunch and the Chronicler's Collie
Our next leg took us onto the renowned Kancamagus Highway. This road is a pilgrimage in the fall, a testament to the stunning, raw beauty of the White Mountain National Forest. The canopy overhead was ablaze—a breathtaking blend of goldenrod, fiery orange, and deep russet red. It felt less like a drive and more like moving through a grand cathedral of color.
As we navigated the curving road, our stomachs guided us to a quick and delicious stop. We grabbed lunch from Cheese Louise, a local favorite, perfectly capturing the spirit of that casual, comforting New England fare. We ate outside, trading the urban cacophony for the muffled sounds of the forest and the crunch of leaves.
After fueling up, we made our way to Rocky Gorge, a cherished spot we frequently revisit. It’s here that the Chronicler's Collie would remind us to ground ourselves. We took the quiet trail loop around the pond, the water reflecting the surrounding foliage with mirror-like perfection. The air was cool, clean, and filled with the scent of pine and damp earth. Seeing the colors double themselves in the pond’s surface around the powerful flow of the falls was a moment of pure, unadulterated joy—the kind that truly fills the soul.
The Scenic Shortcut: Bear Notch and the Quiet of Bartlett
Ready for a shift in scenery, we took a slight detour through Bear Notch Road. This less-traveled route is one of those quintessential New England shortcuts—narrow, twisty, and always offering unexpected views. The road cuts through the mountains, leading us down into the tranquil town of Bartlett, where our little condo resides.
We bypassed our seasonal home, however, drawn by the pull of the mountains' greatest peak. Our route then took us through Route 302 and back onto a beautiful section of Route 16 in Glen. Every turn was a postcard, building anticipation for our ultimate destination.
The Ascent: Mount Washington’s Soul-Filling Majesty
As the afternoon sun began to dip, casting long, golden shadows, we arrived at the base of Mount Washington. This mountain holds a special place in my heart, a sacred piece of New Hampshire’s wilderness where I’ve spent countless hours—from my four prior ascents to my time as an Appalachian Mountain Club member. It is a place that never fails to strip away the trivial and speak directly to the soul.
And here, at the base of this powerful sentinel, we found it: the most stunning, untouched peak foliage of the entire day.
The intensity of the colors, juxtaposed against the pale grey stone of the mountainside, was breathtaking. We quickly found a familiar, quiet trail and hiked for a short while, following the murmur of rushing water. Our goal was a set of hidden falls—a favorite spot that feels like a sacred, natural sanctuary.
Arriving at the falls, bathed in the soft, fading light of late afternoon, we felt an immense sense of peace. The sound of the water, the cool mist, and the incredible intensity of the red and gold leaves clinging to the granite—it was a powerful reminder of why we live this life, why we choose the country road. It was genuinely hard to leave; we lingered until the last possible moment, embracing the silence and the majesty.
We finally hiked back down just as the sun faded to dusk, carrying with us not just photos, but a renewed spirit. In the mountains, you realize how small your worries are and how vast and beautiful the world truly is. This is the gift of the White Mountains, and it’s a gift we are honored to share with you, our fellow chroniclers.
