It was my grandfather who taught me as a child about fall colors. He would lead the family year after year into the Minnesota countryside on foliage expeditions. A Lutheran minister, he didn't preach on these trips; in fact, he didn't say anything. He wanted us to hear nature doing the talking, and we did.
So now, grown and living in New England, I like to head for New Hampshire in autumn. Last time, it was to circle the White Mountains, the granite of "the Granite State." People debate whether Vermont or New Hampshire offers better colors, but if Vermont has more hardwoods, New Hampshire has perhaps the broader palette: reds and yellows, yes, but also more blue-green conifers and rocky outcrops of smoky purple, dusty navy, and burnished charcoal.
Peak foliage here averages from September 27 to October 6, though that depends on how narrow your definition of "peak" is. I'm as fond of early half-green woods as I am of late-fall slopes, where the leaves have dropped to reveal gray limbs that add a delicate gauziness to the landscape.
On this trip I would travel counter-clockwise from Conway—around the Presidential Range, west to Franconia Notch, and then back to Conway along the wilderness Kancamagus Highway. I especially wanted to make the Mount Washington Auto Road while skies remained clear. The Auto Road climbs the mountain's eastern side from Route 16, north of Jackson. It opened in 1861 and—along with the cog railway on the mountain's western side—helped establish the White Mountains as a resort destination for Gilded Age travelers over a century ago.
Travelers come in even greater numbers today, as evidenced by all the outlet malls, restaurants, motels, and water slides I passed in the 14 miles from Conway north to Jackson. Even commercial strips don't look so bad with mountains in the background. I paused to pick up a picnic lunch at a supermarket, folded the top down on my rented Miata (I can think of no finer fall touring vehicle), and headed for Mount Washington, at 6,288 feet above sea level the tallest point in the northeastern United States.
The Auto Road is an eight-mile adventure, climbing 4,723 feet from the mountain's base to its summit. Weather and vegetation change with the elevation, a difference from bottom to top akin to driving 600 miles north. At first the road winds through a valley with hardwood groves of fuchsia-colored maple and bright yellow beech. I saw roadside clusters of heart-leafed asters with pale lavender flowers, and khaki-colored lady ferns. As elevation increases and the soil thins, birch and mountain ash, with their clusters of red berries, give way to spruce and balsam fir. These conifers grow increasingly elfin, until they are only three or four feet tall, although some are over a hundred years old. Once I could see over the trees, I almost wished I couldn't, for beyond the edge of the road was a thousand-foot drop, and no guardrail.
The view from the top, well above the tree line, can range from breathtaking to nil. Mountains are cloud factories, the moisture condensing from the wind blowing over them. Some days the only cloud in the sky is the one atop Mount Washington.
I was in luck. Through wisps of fog, I could see neighboring Mounts Monroe, Franklin, Adams, and Eisenhower. From the observation deck, the hilly scene below looked like a tweed blanket woven from threads of russet and green, apricot and peach, thrown over a bed with someone still in it.
