Up in the Treetops - Life in the Canopy

We’d seen pictures, but we didn’t really know what to expect. One thing was certain though; we were going to be sleeping up in the treetops surrounded by the canopy of giant coastal redwoods: the world’s tallest trees, growing up to 380 feet along the northern coast of California.  These are not to be confused with the giant Sequoias, which are more massive than their redwood cousins, (largest by volume), and grow farther east in the Sierra Nevada mountains.  With a mix of curiosity and anticipation, we headed north towards Sonoma and out of Silicon Valley.

The Pacific Coast Highway, also known as the “PCH”, or California State Route 1, officially runs 655 miles from Dana Point, in Southern California’s Orange County, north to Mendocino wine country, where it merges with US 101. Though locals often considered the PCH to extend further north as part of the larger coastal route up to the Oregon border.  

Following the scenic PCH north, we skirted the western edge of San Francisco, snaking our way through the smooth curves of Golden Gate Park’s passthrough road. This part of the city feels intimately connected with nature that surrounds it; sea spray infuses the air, fog regularly blankets the landscape in a pillowy whiteness, and vibrant foliage abounds, thanks to the moist, local climate.

Emerging on the north side of the park, I think we all started to feel to the pull of what awaited us; adventure, and the unknown. When the span of the Golden Gate Bridge came into view and I saw the open space beyond its gates, my whole body took a deep breath. My mind quieted

We continued North, alternately listening to podcasts, music, talking, or just gazing out the window at the expansive beauty of the open spaces. Eventually, our navigation system directed us off the highway and to the west.  The roads got windier, the population less dense, the trees got denser, and they got taller. I grew more curious.

On our arrival, we parked our car, and a kindly gentleman with grey hair and a boxy figure drove up in an ATV. we loaded our few belongings into the truck, climbed in, and off we went.  The ride got seep and bouncy very quickly. Sonoma Canopy Tours, where we were staying, had promised  a hotel-like experience up in the trees. As we bounced around in the ATV, I could not imagine a hotel room in this place, but we would find out soon enough.

We pulled up and stopped in front of a cluster of circular tented dwellings that reminded me of yurts; portable, felt-covered dwellings, developed thousands of years ago among nomadic herders on the vast, grassy Central Asian plains, including the area that is now modern Mongolia.  

These modern, floating yurts were connected by a series of elevated gangways suspended in the air, supported by wires and ropes, as if you were boarding a ship, or crossing the chasm of a ravine with a wild river running far below.

And the yurts themselves, our hotel room in the treetops… you might be wondering how that worked.  Well, we walked into our “room” to find a lush and beautifully appointed space with a giant redwood trunk running straight up through the center of the room, piercing the space from bottom to top. And it all felt, well, natural. Like, ”of course we have a giant redwood tree in the middle our hotel room! duh! What else were you expecting?”

The whole thing I felt otherworldly, as if from another place and time.

We spent the next day and a half romping through the forest like kids with our son and flying through the canopy on some of the highest, fastest and longest ziplines I’d ever been on.

As we drove home, we said goodbye to the trees, which got smaller and less dense, and I silently noticed the return to the small towns and country roads, which got bigger and busier. Aa we merged onto the highway, I said goodbye to the redwoods and prepared myself for the inevitable traffic, density and congestion as we headed back to Silicon Valley.

But I’d like to think that we brought something of the trees back with us in our hearts. Even as I write this post, I can feel it. And maybe, when my wife and son read it, maybe they will feel some of it too.