There’s something that happens when you stand next to a tree that has been alive longer than almost everything you know. It quiets you. Not in a dramatic, movie-montage way, but in a subtle, grounding way, like your body suddenly realizes how small it is and how lucky it is to be there at all.
That’s exactly how I felt the first time I walked the boardwalk at the Rockaway Big Tree Preserve.
It doesn’t feel like much at first. You pull off Highway 101 near Rockaway Beach, step out of your car with traffic humming behind you, and follow a wooden boardwalk that disappears into a green, overgrown wetland. The air smells damp and alive. The ground below you is boggy and dark, thick with skunk cabbage and moss, the kind of place you’d never want to wander into without a trail beneath your feet.
And then, slowly, the forest starts to close in.
The boardwalk stays mostly flat and easy, wide enough for strollers, wheelchairs, kids holding hands, dogs tugging on leashes. No hiking boots required. No scrambling. Just a gentle walk into something that feels ancient. Sitka spruce, alder, hemlock, and red cedar rise on all sides, and the further you go, the more it feels like the outside world is being absorbed by the trees.
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You can still catch hints of the ocean breeze drifting in from nearby beaches, which somehow makes the whole thing feel even more surreal. A rainforest, a wetland, and the coast all blending together in one quiet stretch of forest.
Then you see it.
The Rockaway Big Tree doesn’t announce itself. There’s no dramatic reveal. It simply appears, standing there like it’s always been there, which of course, it has. This western red cedar towers roughly 154 feet into the sky, its trunk stretching nearly 49 feet around. It’s so massive that it takes more than eight people holding hands to circle it completely.
The bark is thick and gnarled, folded into deep ridges that look more like sculpted stone than wood. Standing at its base, craning your neck upward, it’s hard to fully understand what you’re looking at. Photos don’t help. Scale disappears in pictures. You have to be there, feeling how small you are beside something that’s been growing for 500 to 900 years.
This tree was already old when maps of the Pacific Coast were still guesses. It has endured brutal coastal storms, shifting land, saltwater intrusion, and multiple tsunamis generated by distant earthquakes. It didn’t just survive. It adapted. It stayed.
There are benches near the viewing area, and I highly recommend sitting for a while. Not because you’re tired, but because this is one of those places that deserves your time. I watched people arrive, whisper without realizing they were whispering, take photos, then stop and just stare. I did the same. More than once.
The preserve itself is about 45 acres, and every inch of it feels alive. Skunk cabbage grows tall and wild in the wetlands, some leaves stretching higher than your shoulders in summer, creating a jungle-like feeling that seems almost out of place on the Oregon Coast. In spring, their strange yellow flowers pop up early, long before most plants wake up. Birds move constantly through the canopy, and if you’re paying attention, you might spot an osprey circling overhead or perched near its nest, watching the wetlands below.
What makes this place especially meaningful is how accessible it is. This isn’t one of those Oregon gems that requires a long hike, perfect weather, or a certain level of fitness. Families with small kids roll wagons down the boardwalk. Couples push strollers. Visitors using mobility aids navigate the trail with ease. Dogs trot happily along, noses working overtime, soaking in every scent the wetland has to offer.
The boardwalk stays elevated and mostly dry year-round, which makes it a rare coastal walk that’s enjoyable even during Oregon’s wetter months. It can get slippery when it rains, so slow steps help, but that’s a small price to pay for a trail that remains open and inviting in every season. Summer brings deep greens and wildlife activity. Fall feels quieter and cooler. Winter adds mist and mood, and spring hums with new life.
The entire area is protected, and it shows. Staying on the boardwalk isn’t just encouraged, it’s essential. The wetlands and root systems below are delicate, and the reason this place still feels so wild is because people have respected it.
When you leave, stepping back toward the highway feels strange, like waking up from a vivid dream. Cars rush by. Life resumes its pace. But something about that tree stays with you. Maybe it’s the perspective. Maybe it’s the reminder that some things don’t need to rush, don’t need to change, and don’t need to be explained to be powerful.
Sometimes, all you have to do is walk quietly into the forest and let something much older than you do the talking.
Address: 947 Hwy 101 So, Rockaway Beach, OR 97136
