My name is Marty Hulsebos and I've been a passionate landscape photographer since the late 1980's.
Here is the story of this image.
A Dream in Autumn
The plan was simple: capture the Linn Cove Viaduct in autumn like it had never been done before. Simple, but far from easy. Timing was everything. The trees had to blaze with peak color, a fleeting phenomenon, and the weather needed to cooperate—a dicey prospect in the unpredictable Appalachians. Add to that the challenge of finding the perfect vantage point, which involved scaling rocky outcrops with no assurance the view would even be worth the climb.
As I arrived at the trailhead, my heart raced—not from exertion, but from anticipation. The air was crisp, tinged with the earthy scent of fallen leaves. A light breeze whispered through the canopy, carrying with it the faint murmur of a nearby stream. The sun broke through the clouds intermittently, casting fleeting golden rays that set the landscape aglow.
Halfway up the trail, I encountered none other than Hugh Morton, the owner of Grandfather Mountain and a renowned photographer. He was descending, camera in hand. “It’s one of the best years for color,” he said, his voice warm and his smile genuine. “Good luck.”
His words filled me with a mixture of hope and urgency. If he had been up there, I was surely onto something. My boots crunched against gravel as I pressed on, the scent of pine now mingling with the decay of autumn leaves.
Reaching the rocky perch, I understood why this spot was coveted. Below me, the viaduct curved gracefully around the mountain, its concrete arches blending into the vibrant forest. The distant hum of cars on the parkway was barely audible over the rustle of leaves. The view was breathtaking—golden hues spilled down the ridges like molten lava, mingling with the evergreen pines.
Built to preserve the sanctity of Grandfather Mountain, the viaduct is an engineering marvel, a testament to human ingenuity working alongside nature. Mr. Morton was instrumental in ensuring that progress didn’t ruin a beautiful mountainside. Seeing him there that day made my experience special.
I steadied my tripod, heart pounding as clouds began to gather. Seconds felt like hours as I framed the shot. Then, a break in the clouds—a spotlight of sunlight illuminated the scene. I pressed the shutter, capturing not just an image but a moment, a dream realized.
As I descended, the taste of satisfaction lingered like the crisp air, and I couldn’t help but smile. It had been worth every step, every doubt. I had done it—photographed an icon at its peak.
