An ancient way to leaf-peep in the US

16 September 2025

Lauren Breedlove

Vast, wild and wooded, the Adirondacks offer one of the US's most dramatic autumn foliage displays – and the best way to experience it may be a from a canoe.

New York's Adirondack Park is the biggest state park in the US – a more-than six-million-acre wonderland of dense woodlands, towering peaks and glacier-carved lakes that's larger than Yellowstone, Yosemite, Grand Canyon, Glacier and the Great Smoky Mountains national parks combined.

Every autumn, this wild and pristine pocket of the northeastern US puts on a dazzling display, as the Adirondacks' millions of trees transform into a veritable kaleidoscope of russet red, fiery yellow and burnt orange hues in one of the country's most dramatic leaf-peeping shows.

The park is an aquatic labyrinth, consisting of a vast system of more than 3,000 lakes and ponds, as well as roughly 30,000 miles of rivers and streams. Historically, canoes have played a crucial role in this vast, watery landscape, as Native Americans, early European explorers and the first Adirondack guides all relied on them for transportation, trade and recreation.

"Today, traveling by canoe preserves this important Adirondack tradition," says Maeghan Farnham, Adirondack guide and the co-owner of St Regis Canoe Outfitters, which offers kayak, canoe and camping gear rentals, as well as guided trips through the park. "It represents a tangible link to the Adirondacks' past, particularly the traditions and expertise of the Native Americans who first navigated these waterways. Canoeing remains a cherished activity in the Adirondacks, attracting paddlers seeking to explore the park's wilderness areas and experience its natural beauty."

For those who want to venture into the Adirondacks' remote backcountry wilderness and witness some of the park's most eye-catching foliage, Farnham says a car simply won't cut it. "Paddling makes some of the most remote portions of the Adirondack Park accessible, allowing individuals to navigate interconnected lakes and ponds in some of the most remote areas, offering scenery and views that are simply not accessible by car," she explained.

Having grown up just outside the Adirondacks, I've covered a lot of its terrain, crisscrossing the park's scenic highways by car and sacrificing sleep for a crisp sunrise or sunset summit on foot. But last October I chose to marvel at the park's prismatic autumnal foliage in much the same way as the region's earliest residents might have: by setting out in a canoe. What I found was a new – and old – way to experience childlike wonder in my own backyard, and a new perspective on a place I thought I knew well.

Lauren Breedlove (Credit: Lauren Breedlove) — (Credit: Lauren Breedlove)

Mapping a plan

Since most waterways in the Adirondacks don't allow motorised boats and some kayaks are too small to pack much camping gear, any guide or local resident will tell you the same thing:if you're going to leaf-peep by paddle, go canoe camping. Backcountry camping is the best way to reach the parks' most remote nooks and crannies, where you're likely have a whole stretch of untouched wilderness to yourself – save the loons, of course. My partner and I pored over the many options on our worn-out map to dream up our ideal route. I had two requirements: to venture to as remote a place as possible, and to go somewhere neither of us had been before. We settled on Newcomb Lake in the central Adirondacks; it provided a unique equine twist that had me feeling like a giddy kid.

Horsepower

"Our schedule is up to Mother Nature," Larry Newcombe, co-owner of Newcombe Farm explained while getting two Percheron horses named Doc and Bob hooked up for our five-mile ride from a parking lot to the lake.

While plenty of places in the area rent canoes and kayaks, we opted for Cloudsplitter Outfitters, which will drop off and pick up canoes at various locations near its office in the town of Newcomb. This was especially useful because the area around Newcomb Lake doesn't allow motorised vehicles and is only accessible by foot, bike or – as it turns out – a horse-drawn wagon. For the past 11 years Newcombe and his horses have been hooking canoes atop a trailer and offering paddlers and campers rides to the boat launch at the old Great Camp Santanoni, a collection of 19th-Century summer homes built by wealthy New Yorkers "vacating" the city – and the origin of the US "vacation".

Clopping through the woods

Roughly a mile into the 90-minute journey through the lush 13,000-acre Santanoni Forest Preserve, we stopped at the 19th-Century Farm Complex, a National Historical Landmark considered to be one of the foremost models of the Adirondack Great Camp.

"This is the best place in the world, back here. It's beautiful. Nothing quite like it," Newcombe tells me, gesturing to the scenery. "The leaves can turn quick here. Just wait until we start to get views of the Santanoni Range; the forest will open up about three-quarters of the way." As the horses clopped ever closer to the lake, I asked Newcombe's thoughts on leaf-peeping by paddle, and he didn't hesitate: "Can't beat it!" he exclaimed.

Setting out

Armed with Newcombe's directions to his favourite lean-to, we set out, paddles in hand, in search of our humble abode for the night. There are eight primitive tent sites and two lean-tos located along the lake's shore, available on a first-come, first-served basis. We hit the water in the early afternoon, crossing our fingers we'd find a camp site and paddling without much of a plan, other than admiring the scenery and scanning the horizon for "a big boulder" – the telltale landmark for Newcombe's highly recommended lean-to.

Waterbound

The water was glass and our canoe glided across its smooth, mirror-like surface. After about an hour of paddling our vessel and considering whether every rock and boulder was the boulder, my arms were about to give up, but a final push revealed what seemed to be the spot. As we approached the rocky shore, we spotted a yellow camping marker nailed to a tree near an empty lean-to, and we knew we had arrived at the right place.

Home sweet home

Newcombe was right: the lean-to site was a beauty. It had a large, semi-flat rock to lounge on, a clean shelter, Adirondack chairs, a picnic table, an outhouse, a fire pit and a healthy collection of grilling grates. Our surroundings were something out of the pages of a storybook: sunlight leaking through the trees, multi-coloured fallen leaves topped with dew drops and pines swaying in a gentle breeze. Other than water lapping at the shore, the occasional creaky tree and a distant loon, it was quiet. We had found pure solitude.

Reconnecting

After unpacking and starting a fire, we took the canoe out again for a leisurely paddle around the lake, absorbing the spectrum of autumnal tones that surrounded us. When I normally photograph autumnal foliage, I tend to focus on getting as many shots as possible and checking off angles. Yet, leaf-peeping by canoe forces you to slow down and really take in the landscape. In doing so, I was able to rediscover the stillness and shifting, seasonal moods of the Adirondacks that keep drawing me back year after year.

The dawn chorus

Dawn broke with the haunting call of the loons, beckoning us to paddle through the morning mist. It felt like we had this remote corner of the Adirondacks to ourselves and it was putting on a nature documentary-style wildlife spectacle in real time.

"Paddling through the remote waterways allows visitors to experience the beautiful Adirondack wilderness, showcasing incredible fall foliage in parts of the park that others may never see," Farnham said. "The red, yellow, gold and rich brown leaves glow against the backdrop of cool evergreens, and sometimes snow-capped mountain summits, offering a stunning visual display."

A reluctant return

We weren't ready to leave, so we took our time paddling back to the dock to catch our horse-drawn carriage ride back with Newcombe, Doc and Bob. We wandered the Great Camp grounds, checking out the Main House and the path to a quiet little beach until our horse-drawn carriage arrived. The 90-minute trip back to our car flew by in a rhythmic symphony of clip-clops and laughter over our boulder-finding blunders. After parting ways with Newcombe, I had an extra bounce in my step and a newfound perspective of a place I thought I knew – all thanks to a canoe.

If you liked this story, sign up for The Essential List newsletter – a handpicked selection of features, videos and can't-miss news, delivered to your inbox twice a week.

For more Travel stories from the BBC, follow us on Facebook and Instagram.