California Redwoods – Giants from a Lost World

Until recently, California redwoods belonged, in my imagination, to another world, a distant realm of mist, immense trees, and ancient forests on the opposite side of the Pacific.

Since childhood, these giants had fascinated me. I imagined what it might feel like to stand beneath trees that had lived for centuries and grown higher than almost any other living thing on Earth. I assumed that experiencing them would require a journey of over 12,000 kilometres to the forests of California.

Then, while searching online for day trips from Melbourne, I discovered something astonishing. Hidden near the town of Warburton, around 90 minutes from my home in Melbourne’s northern suburbs, was a forest of California redwoods.

I could hardly believe it.

I travelled there the following day.

The tallest trees on Earth

California redwoods, also known as coast redwoods, are native to a narrow coastal region extending from central California into southern Oregon. There, cool temperatures, abundant moisture, and frequent fog allow them to grow to extraordinary dimensions.

They are the tallest trees on Earth. The tallest known living example, Hyperion, has been measured at just over 116 metres. Some coast redwoods live for more than 2,000 years, while their ancient lineage reaches back into the age of dinosaurs.

The name Hyperion seems entirely appropriate. In Greek mythology, Hyperion was one of the twelve Titans, born to Gaia, the Earth, and Uranus, the sky. Few names could better suit a tree that appears to connect the two.

The Warburton redwoods are much younger than the ancient giants of California, but they are impressive nonetheless. About 1500 redwoods grow within the two principal plantations at Cement Creek, with many already rising more than 55 metres above the forest floor. At a little more than 90 years old, they are still young by redwood standards.

Why are redwoods growing near Warburton?

The forest is not the remnant of a natural redwood population, nor was it originally planted as a visitor attraction.

The trees form part of the Cement Creek Plantation, established by the Melbourne and Metropolitan Board of Works during the 1920s and 1930s. Fires, agriculture and logging had damaged sections of the surrounding water catchments, and the Board planted various exotic conifers as part of a wider revegetation program. The plantation later became important for research into forest hydrology and the interception of rainfall by different tree species.

Alongside the coast redwoods were Douglas firs, Bishop pines, Monterey pines, and other conifers. What began as an experiment gradually developed into one of Victoria’s most unusual forest landscapes.

In April 2023, Cement Creek Plantation was added to the Victorian Heritage Register in recognition of its historical, scientific and aesthetic importance.

Entering the forest

I arrived in the middle of the morning under a flat grey sky. As I stepped from the car, however, the clouds separated, and sunlight broke through above the forest.

I gathered my camera equipment and walked towards the entrance, still unaware of how strongly the place would affect me.

The first sight of the trees stopped me in my tracks.

Rows of immense, perfectly straight trunks rose from the earth and continued towards a canopy so high that it seemed almost beyond reach. Their repeated vertical forms resembled the columns of some vast living temple, ordered, monumental and strangely timeless.

As I walked farther inside, the atmosphere changed. The sounds of the outside world faded, absorbed by the trees and the thick covering of fallen needles beneath my feet. Shafts of sunlight descended through the canopy, briefly illuminating fragments of bark, fern and forest floor before disappearing again.

The redwood needles formed a soft reddish-brown carpet, while the deeply grooved trunks appeared almost black where the light failed to reach them. Their immense height was difficult to comprehend. Looking upward required leaning my head back as far as it would go, yet the highest branches remained partly hidden.

I approached one tree and placed my hand against its bark. It was thick, fibrous and deeply furrowed, in adaptation that helps mature redwoods withstand fire. Unlike many conifers, coast redwood bark contains little flammable resin, and on old trees it can grow remarkably thick.

For several hours, I wandered among the trees with my camera. I photographed the light, the bark, and the seemingly endless repetition of trunks. Yet the camera could record only their appearance. It could not fully capture the physical sensation of standing among them.

At times, I stopped photographing altogether.

I simply stood and listened.

The forest possessed a silence that was not empty but intensely alive. These trees seemed calm and watchful, governed by a measure of time far beyond the span of a human life.

I felt very small beneath them, but not insignificant. Instead, I felt grateful simply to be there, one brief visitor passing through the long life of the forest.

Trees are sanctuaries. Whoever knows how to speak to them, whoever knows how to listen to them, can learn the truth. They do not preach learning and precepts, they preach, undeterred by details, the ancient law of life.

– HERMANN HESSE, Bäume: Betrachtungen und Gedichte

Survivors of destruction

The beauty of the redwoods becomes even more powerful when their history is understood.

Old-growth coast redwood forests once covered over two million acres along the Californian coast. Following the discovery of gold in 1848, settlement expanded rapidly, and vast areas were logged to supply timber for San Francisco and other growing communities.

Today, only around four percent of the original old-growth redwood forest remains.

Those surviving forests are important not only because of their age and grandeur. Old-growth coast redwood forests store more carbon per acre than any other known forest type. Their immense size, resistance to decay, and extraordinary longevity allow them to hold that carbon for centuries.

The redwoods are therefore more than beautiful survivors from another age. They represent both an immense loss and a continuing possibility, evidence of what humanity has destroyed, but also of what can still be protected and restored.

Leaving the forest

By late afternoon, the shafts of sunlight had faded, and long shadows stretched between the trunks. I was physically tired after hours of walking and carrying camera equipment, yet I remained reluctant to leave.

The drive home passed almost unnoticed.

What had begun as a photographic excursion had become something far more personal. Before that day, redwoods had fascinated me because of their age and size. After standing among them, I understood their power differently.

They had made deep time seem almost tangible.

These were not the ancient forests of California. They were comparatively young trees growing far from their ancestral homeland. Yet perhaps that made their presence near Warburton even more remarkable. Against considerable odds, giants from another land had taken root, flourished and created a forest capable of inspiring wonder in everyone who entered it.

They reminded me that humanity occupies only a brief moment in the history of life. Trees such as these existed long before us and, with wisdom and care, may continue long after we are gone.

I left the forest changed in some small way, renewed by its silence, humbled by its scale, and grateful that these giants from a lost world had found a home so close to mine.

New visitor facilities, paths, and signs are now available at Cement Creek Redwood Forest since my original visit. They completed the work in December 2025 and undertook further planting along Cement Creek during 2026.

Click to view the complete Warburton Redwoods image gallery.

All text, images and other content © Steven Sklifas. All rights reserved