Garajonay National Park

Listen first. Water drips from the leaves above you, slow and steady, even when no rain is falling. The air feels cool and wet on your skin. Moss covers almost every branch, thick and soft, the colour of fresh limes. Under your feet the ground is dark and springy, made of years of fallen leaves. You are on La Gomera, one of the smaller Canary Islands. Up here, in the high centre of the island, the forest makes its own weather.

This is Garajonay National Park. It was declared a national park in 1981. A few years later, in 1986, UNESCO added it to the World Heritage list. The park covers roughly a tenth of La Gomera, mostly the high ground at the island's heart. From here, deep ravines called barrancos run down towards the sea in every direction, like the spokes of a wheel. The park sits at the top of that wheel, where the clouds catch.

The forest around you has a name: laurisilva, which simply means laurel forest. It is made mostly of evergreen trees with glossy, leathery leaves, related to the bay laurel you may know from the kitchen. Here is the first surprise. Millions of years ago, forests very much like this one grew across southern Europe and North Africa. Then the climate grew colder and drier, and those forests vanished from the mainland. On a few Atlantic islands, they survived.

So when you walk through Garajonay, you are walking through a living remnant of a much older world. Scientists often call it a relict forest — a survivor from a lost landscape. Fossil leaves found in Europe look very similar to the leaves above your head. Garajonay holds one of the best-preserved examples of this forest type anywhere. That is a large part of why UNESCO protects it. Few places let you see so clearly what has been lost elsewhere.

Why did the forest survive here? The answer is in the air. The trade winds blow steadily from the northeast, carrying moisture from the Atlantic. When that moist air meets the mountains of La Gomera, it rises, cools, and turns into cloud. The cloud rolls through the trees almost every day. Locals and scientists both describe it as horizontal rain. The leaves and mosses comb tiny droplets from the mist, and the water falls to the ground.

This fog drip can add a great deal of water to the forest, often more than the rain itself. It feeds the springs and streams lower down. For centuries, the farms in the valleys below have depended on water that begins its journey here, in the mist. That is the second surprise. The terraced fields and palm groves you may see on the coast are connected to this damp, quiet wood. The forest works like a sponge for the whole island.

Now look closely at the branches. Long grey-green strands of lichen hang from many of them, moving slightly in the wind. Ferns grow in the forks of trees. In the wettest corners, near streams, the moss is so thick that the trunks look wrapped in green velvet. Many plants here grow only in the Canary Islands, and some grow only on La Gomera. If you listen, you may hear the soft calls of pigeons high in the canopy.

Two of those pigeons are found only in the Canary laurel forests — Bolle's pigeon and the laurel pigeon. They feed on the fruit of the laurel trees and help spread the seeds. They are shy birds, and you are more likely to hear them than see them. Watch for a heavy shape flapping between the treetops, or listen for wings clapping as a bird takes off. Small birds, like chaffinches, are easier to spot along the paths.

The highest point of the park, and of the whole island, is the Alto de Garajonay, at about 1,487 metres. On a clear day, the view from the top reaches across the ocean to Tenerife and the great volcano of Teide. Often, though, the summit sits inside the cloud, and you see only grey. Either way, the walk up is worth it. Archaeologists have found traces of the island's earliest people near the summit, suggesting it was a place of ritual.

The park takes its name from a famous legend. According to the tale, Gara was a young woman from La Gomera, and Jonay was a young man from Tenerife. They fell in love, but their families and their islands opposed the match. Jonay is said to have crossed the sea to reach her. Pursued, the two lovers fled to the highest mountain. Rather than be separated, the story says, they died together there. Gara and Jonay became Garajonay.

The forest is strong, but it is also fragile. In 2012, a large wildfire burned through part of the park during a hot, dry summer. In some areas you may still notice the difference — younger trees, more open ground, pale trunks among the green. The laurel forest is slowly recovering, helped by careful work from park staff. Seeing those burned patches beside the old, mossy trees is a quiet reminder of how much this place depends on moisture and care.

While you are on La Gomera, keep your ears open for another local treasure. The islanders developed a whistled language called Silbo Gomero, used to send messages across the deep valleys. It turns spoken Spanish into whistles that can travel far across the ravines. UNESCO recognised it as part of the world's intangible cultural heritage, and it is still taught in schools on the island. You may hear a demonstration somewhere on the island — a sound made for exactly this landscape of steep gorges.

As you walk, stay on the marked trails. The soil is soft and the plants are easily damaged. Good shoes matter here, because the paths are often wet and slippery, even on sunny days down at the coast. Bring a warm layer too. The temperature in the forest can feel much cooler than at the beach. And give yourself time. This is a place that rewards slow walking, with frequent stops to look up and listen.

Before you leave, pause for a moment where you stand. Notice the drops gathering on the tip of a leaf, growing heavier, then falling. Notice how the light turns green as it passes through the canopy. Feel the cool air on your face. The mist that moves around you now has moved through these trees for a very long time. As you walk back towards the road, listen for the dripping behind you. The forest keeps catching the clouds, long after you go.