Jinggangshan Autumn Ramblings: The Autumn of the Red Land Is Much More Delightful Than I Imagined

Last week, I rushed to Jinggangshan and wandered around for three days. I originally thought it would be all serious red-themed sites, but I was touched by the autumn mountains and waters—the red land wrapped in yellow rice and red maple leaves, with the scent of osmanthus flowers drifting in the wind. Just strolling around felt so comfortable that I didn’t want to leave! Climbing Huangyangjie at dawn almost froze me silly. The mountain fog was so thick that I couldn’t see people five steps away. After waiting for half an hour, the fog slowly dispersed. When I looked up, it was breathtaking! The terraced fields on the hillside were all yellow, the rice ears heavy, swaying like golden waves in the wind. The path where the Red Army once carried grain was now covered with fallen leaves that rustled underfoot. Looking down, I could see red soil mixed with withered grass—such a unique feeling. Standing at the lookout, the distant mountains were sometimes wrapped in fog, sometimes revealed, like playing hide and seek. The once “dangerous” places become so gentle in autumn. In the afternoon, I headed to Longtan, which was much cooler than Huangyangjie! The water flow was slower than in summer, leisurely flowing. The trees by the stream had started to change color—sweetgum trees were half red, the Japanese maple was a bright yellow, and leaves floated in the pond. The green water set off the red and yellow like scattered paint. Under the waterfall of the third pond, the stones were covered with moss. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting flickering light spots on the water. I squatted there for ten minutes, listening to the water, smelling the fresh scent of plants, and felt completely relaxed. I highly recommend the cable car at Bijia Mountain! Looking down from the ride, the sweetgum forest was just starting to turn red, with specks of red hidden in the green, like sprinkled cinnabar. At the summit, I caught the sea of clouds just in time. The white clouds surged up from the valley, flowing over the mountain tops, with distant peaks poking out like islands floating on the clouds. When the wind blew, the clouds moved, and the maple leaves swayed, red and yellow drifting in the clouds. I took more than twenty photos, and none of them were bad. Locals said it would be even more stunning in half a month when the red is at its peak. I already regret coming too early! In the evening, I returned to Ciping, where the osmanthus trees on the street were blooming wildly. When the wind blew, petals fell all over me, and even my hair smelled sweet. I found a small restaurant with a very genuine owner. The bamboo tube rice was fragrant, the rice fully absorbed the bamboo flavor, paired with stir-fried pumpkin strips—I ate two bowls. The pumpkin cakes were also amazing, crispy on the outside, with a filling made from old pumpkin, sweet and glutinous but not greasy. After dinner, I strolled around Yicui Lake. The willow leaves by the lake had turned yellow, reflecting in the water. When the streetlights came on, the ripples sparkled, so comfortable I wanted to find a stone bench and lie there until dark. When leaving, I packed half a box of wild chestnuts and osmanthus cakes. Even after driving far away, I could still see the yellow rice on the mountain. It turns out that autumn in Jinggangshan is not just about stories, but also so many gentle little details—the red leaves, yellow rice, and sweet osmanthus. Next time, I must come when the sweetgum trees are at their reddest and revisit the mountains and waters I didn’t get to explore enough!