Chasing Autumn’s Colors: A Local Journey Through Cuyahoga Valley National Park

By Frank Macek

My local adventure took me to Cuyahoga Valley National Park in search of fall color—the kind that transforms Ohio’s landscape into a painter’s palette of crimson, gold, and amber. As the season reached its peak, I wanted to see the valley at its most vibrant, when every bend of the Cuyahoga River reflects the fiery hues of the trees that line its banks. 

Within minutes of leaving Cleveland, the scenery shifted from suburban sprawl to rolling hills blanketed in color, with bursts of scarlet maples and golden hickories glowing against a soft gray sky. The air carried that unmistakable autumn mix of cool mist and dry leaves, a signal that another season was turning. The park’s name, from the Mohawk word “Ka-ih-ogh-ha,” meaning “crooked river,” felt fitting—the winding waterway seemed to gather every reflection of fall’s brilliance as it curved through the heart of Northeast Ohio.

Photos: Cuyahoga Valley National Park

My first stop was the Towpath Trail, the spine of the park and a thread that ties together its many landscapes. Once a busy route for canal boats hauling goods between Cleveland and the Ohio River, the trail now serves as a peaceful path for hikers and cyclists. I started near the Boston Mill Visitor Center, where the scent of damp earth mingled with fallen leaves. The towpath stretched ahead, lined with maples and oaks shedding their final bursts of color. Each step brought a soft crunch underfoot. Every so often, I’d pause at one of the old canal locks, relics of the 19th-century Ohio & Erie Canal, and imagine the mules trudging along these same banks, guiding boats through a waterway that once defined regional commerce.

At Brandywine Falls, the park’s most photographed landmark, I found what I came for—a dramatic burst of autumn energy. The 65-foot waterfall thundered over sandstone ledges, framed by trees aflame in orange and red. Mist from the cascade rose in the cool air, catching the light and forming a faint rainbow over the gorge. Visitors gathered quietly on the wooden boardwalk, phones and cameras out, but for a moment, everyone seemed content to simply stand and watch. The falls roared with the kind of energy that makes you forget how close you are to a metropolitan area. It was nature, unfiltered and unapologetic.

From there, I drove to the Ledges, a section of the park where time feels suspended. Massive outcroppings of sandstone rise like ancient fortresses from the forest floor. The trail winds through narrow crevices, where moss clings to rock and cool air seeps from shadowed gaps. Sunlight filtered through the canopy, illuminating the last stubborn leaves of the season, now turned to gold. I reached the overlook just before sunset, when the valley below glowed in soft amber light. The patchwork of treetops stretched for miles, every color intensified in the fading day. For a moment, it was completely still—no cars, no voices, just the rustle of leaves and the distant rush of the river below.

Cuyahoga Valley National Park is not vast wilderness in the traditional sense—it’s a patchwork of forests, farmlands, waterfalls, and small towns woven into one continuous story. Driving along Riverview Road, I passed through villages that seemed frozen in time. In Peninsula, the heart of the park, century-old buildings now house cafés, art galleries, and outfitters catering to hikers and cyclists. The scent of coffee drifted from an old brick storefront, and I stopped for a cup before boarding the Cuyahoga Valley Scenic Railroad.

The train ride is one of the park’s most memorable experiences. It winds slowly through forests and wetlands, past open meadows where deer graze and great blue herons stand motionless in shallow water. From the window, I watched as the tracks curved alongside the river, reflecting the mosaic of fall colors on its rippling surface. A volunteer naturalist narrated stories about the park’s history—the canal era, the decline of industry, and the eventual environmental rebirth that led to the creation of the national park in 1974. I learned that this was once a landscape nearly lost to pollution and neglect, until citizens and conservationists rallied to protect it. Riding that train, I could see what their efforts had saved.

Later in the afternoon, I stopped at Hale Farm & Village, where costumed interpreters demonstrated blacksmithing, weaving, and candle making as if it were still the 1800s. Smoke curled from a chimney, the smell of wood and beeswax filling the crisp air. Children watched wide-eyed as a potter shaped clay on a spinning wheel. Just beyond the farm’s fences, I could see the hillsides burning with color—nature and history sharing the same view. The scene captured the essence of the park: a living landscape that connects past and present, human hands and natural rhythms.

Courtesy: Jim Schmidt

In the quieter corners of the park, I found stillness. At Beaver Marsh, I followed a wooden boardwalk that cuts through a wetland reclaimed from an abandoned auto junkyard decades ago. The transformation was astonishing—waterfowl glided across the surface, and the setting sun turned the marsh into a mirror of copper and flame. A family stood nearby, pointing as a great blue heron lifted into flight, its wings slow and deliberate against the backdrop of glowing trees. It was a reminder that nature, when given a chance, has an incredible capacity to heal.

As evening settled, I returned to the Ledges for one final view. The sun had dipped below the horizon, but a warm afterglow lingered across the sky. The valley below was wrapped in soft purples and deep blues, the trees now shadows in a sea of dusk. I stood there for a while, reluctant to leave. Fall in Cuyahoga Valley feels fleeting, but maybe that’s what makes it so striking—the sense that beauty here is always on the move, always slipping toward winter.

On the drive back north, headlights traced the curves of Riverview Road, and through gaps in the forest, I caught glimpses of the Cuyahoga River glinting in the darkness. It’s hard to believe that this same river once symbolized environmental disaster, catching fire in 1969 and sparking outrage across the nation. That moment, though painful, became a turning point—not just for the river, but for the entire environmental movement. The park that exists today stands as proof of what renewal looks like when people care enough to act.

Cuyahoga Valley National Park is more than a refuge for hikers and photographers; it’s a testament to resilience. It shows how nature and community can coexist, how a landscape once scarred by neglect can become a sanctuary again. As I crossed back into the city, I thought about the countless others who, like me, have come here to see the leaves change, to walk the towpath, to stand at the edge of a waterfall. Each visit adds another layer to the park’s ongoing story.

The fall colors drew me there, but what stayed with me went deeper—the sense of balance between the natural and the human, the way history seeps through the soil, and the quiet assurance that beauty can return where it was once lost. In the fading light of that autumn day, Cuyahoga Valley reminded me that sometimes the most extraordinary places aren’t far from home—they’re just waiting for you to slow down and look closely.

Visitor Information: Cuyahoga Valley National Park

• Address: 1550 Boston Mills Road, Peninsula, OH 44264
• Phone: (440) 717-3890
• Website: nps.gov/cuva
• Hours: Open daily, 24 hours (visitor centers vary by season)
• Visitor Centers: Boston Mill Visitor Center, Canal Exploration Center, Hunt House
• Admission: Free entry to all park areas and trails
• Popular Attractions: Brandywine Falls, The Ledges, Towpath Trail, Beaver Marsh, Hale Farm & Village, Cuyahoga Valley Scenic Railroad
• Best Time to Visit: Mid-September through late October for peak fall foliage; spring for wildflowers and waterfalls
• Activities: Hiking, biking, bird-watching, photography, train rides, and historical tours
• Trail Highlights: Towpath Trail (20+ miles through the park), Ledges Trail (2.2 miles with overlook), Blue Hen Falls Trail (3 miles round trip)
• Nearby Towns: Peninsula, Boston Heights, Brecksville, and Hudson—all offering dining, lodging, and small-town charm
• Parking: Available at all major trailheads and visitor centers; some lots fill quickly during fall weekends
• Accessibility: Select trails, overlooks, and the scenic railroad offer accessible options for visitors with mobility needs