A Walk Among Giants
The dawn was still cool in early March when I stepped into the misty woodland of Wakehurst Place, West Sussex. The stately Elizabethan manor stood as a sentinel to time, but it was the towering clusters beyond the lawns that stole my breath: these were the silent sentinels of a story few knew—the story of the majestic Sequoiadendron giganteum (giant sequoia) taking root far from its native California home, thriving here in the United Kingdom.
In recent years, researchers from University College London (UCL) and the Royal Botanic Gardens, Kew have closely examined the surprising success of giant sequoias in the UK.
Their peer-reviewed study, published in Royal Society Open Science, revealed that approximately 500,000 of these non-native trees now thrive across Britain—far outnumbering the roughly 80,000 found in California’s Sierra Nevada, their natural habitat.
Scientists suggest that the UK’s cooler, wetter climate may provide more favorable long-term growing conditions for these majestic trees than their original home.
With bark thick as armour and crowns lifted toward the grey British skies, these trees are proving themselves. At one site, a specimen measured 54.87 m—taller than nearly all native British trees, though dwarfed by its Californian cousins reaching 90 m or more.
A Victorian Gamble Reaps Unexpected Returns
The story begins with the Victorians. In 1853, Scottish grain merchant Patrick Matthew harnessed the fascination for exotic botanical specimens and began bringing seeds of giant sequoia to these shores.
Gentleman collectors, aristocratic landowners, and botanical gardens competed to plant the tallest and most exotic trees—quietly planting the seeds (literally) of a future forest.
Over the decades, many of these trees matured, often planted in the grounds of grand estates, along driveways or in parks. Though not yet ancient by sequoia standards—they may live for up to 3,000 years—they are now entering adolescence in British woodlands.
At Wakehurst, walking beneath them feels like entering another realm. The trunks loom high, the branches whisper in the spring breeze, and for a moment you forget you’re still on English soil. One visitor described it as “almost twice as high as Cleopatra’s Needle” in central London.
Why They’re Thriving Here
It’s counter-intuitive: a tree species native to the drier slopes of California doing well in the wetter, cooler UK. But the evidence speaks for itself.
The UCL/Kew team measured 97 trees across three UK sites—Benmore (Scotland), Wakehurst (England), and Havering Country Park (Essex)—using terrestrial laser scanning to build accurate models of trunk, canopy, and volume.
They found average carbon-sequestration rates of around 85 kg of carbon per tree per year, meaning each of these giants is already acting as a living engine of climate benefit.
In Britain’s wetter, milder climate, the trees face fewer of the extreme summer droughts and wildfires that now threaten their Californian kin. There, tens of thousands of mature trees were killed in recent mega-fires. As one researcher put it, the UK may be giving these giants a quieter, safer adolescence.
A Blessing With Caveats
The story holds layers of complexity. The forest-savvy will ask: if these trees are so successful, should we plant more of them for climate mitigation? The answer is cautious.
First: though abundant, UK-grown sequoias are almost entirely planted rather than self-seeding. Their cones typically open after wildfire—an event rare or managed away in Britain—so they don’t currently reproduce here. Without reproduction, they remain ornamental, not self-sustaining groves.
Second: Planting a single species, particularly one from outside the region, can pose ecological challenges. Experts caution against replacing diverse native forests with large-scale sequoia plantings, emphasizing that viewing trees purely for their carbon value could lead to vast, uniform woodlands lacking biodiversity.
Third: climate change is not standing still. While the UK currently offers favourable conditions, future warming, shifting rainfall patterns, or pests could challenge these trees. The wildcard remains: will their resilience hold over centuries?
Finally: the statistic “half a million trees in the UK” has prompted scrutiny. Some contend that many are young, small, or in ornamental settings rather than true forests—but the number does flag a shift.
Human Stories Beneath The Crowns
I visited an old avenue of redwoods at Havering Country Park, planted around a former manor drive. Local residents now talk of root issues as the trunks expand. One homeowner confided: “The trees were part of the estate when my house was built around them—now we fear they may undermine foundations.”
In Benmore Botanic Garden, deep in the Scottish landscape, elder trees planted in the 1860s now stand silent and tall, their bark weathered by decades of Atlantic wind. A gardener there explained: “When you stand inside the circle of three or four sequoias, you have to tilt your head back to see the sky. That still takes me by surprise.”
These human-scale encounters speak to the deeper connection: planted for novelty, they are now becoming part of the British landscape—yet part of a trans-Atlantic ecological lineage.
A Hopeful Arboreal Future
What does this mean for Britain, for climate action, for nature? If these trees, once exotic curiosities, can find a home here, then perhaps our understanding of species, place, and resilience must expand. These redwoods stand as symbols of possibility: of long-term horizons, of quiet growth, of hope rooted in time.
Yes—they are not a panacea; yes—they are planted rather than wild; yes—they bring questions about what defines “native.” But their tenacity, their still-growing crowns, their carbon-absorbing trunks—these speak of a future where nature surprises us, quietly, generously.
As I walked away from the Wakehurst redwoods that morning, the choir of birds overhead, the drip of dew from branches, and the hum of early spring all around—one thought stayed with me: in a world craving good news, sometimes it arrives in the creak of a timber trunk and the ambitious reach of a tree.
In the shade of these giants, we are reminded that patience matters. That growth is often silent before it becomes grand. And that hope, like a tree, may take an unexpectedly strong hold—if we give it the room, the time, and the respect to grow.
Sources:
Reuters
The Guardian
France 24
