Since childhood, the scientist Jonathan Barichivich often heard stories about a family treasure tucked away in Los Ríos, southern Chile. The grand ancestral larch, cared for with devotion, stood out as something almost magical. Decades later, his curiosity about this tree has grown into a surprising discovery: at about 5,500 years old, it may be the oldest tree on the planet.
The breakthrough came almost by accident while Barichivich studied how climate change affects larches. This conifer is native to Patagonia and faces threats from fires, logging, and drought. The team took a small sample from the tree to support their climate research and were stunned by what the results suggested. The age appeared far older than the researchers had estimated, challenging previous assumptions that put its age around 3,500 to 4,000 years.
Located in Alenen Costero National Park, roughly 800 kilometers south of Santiago, the grand ancestor appears to outshine California’s Methuselah, the pine currently recognized for its age at around 4,853 years. Professor Antonio Lara of the Southern University of Chile, a co-author of the study, notes that both the grandparent larch and its non-cloned counterparts are not connected to other trees through a shared root system. For example, the spruce known as Ståle Tjikko in Norway is believed to be at least 9,550 years old. Uncloned trees tend to have shorter life spans, which makes this finding particularly unusual, Lara explains.
Although the final results will be announced in the months ahead, an early preview published by a major science publication has already stirred debate in the scientific community. The anticipation underscores how this discovery could reshape understanding of ancient trees and their resilience.
an unusual method
Dendrochronology—the science of dating by tree rings—plays a central role in this research. Typically, researchers drill into the trunk and extract a tiny sample no wider than five millimeters to count the rings. This delicate approach was used on Methuselah-like trees. However, the grand larch presents a challenge: its trunk exceeds four meters in diameter, making it impossible to reach the center with a standard drill. The team had to adapt their technique to estimate age without compromising the tree’s integrity.
In the case of the millennial larch, the team could not reach the center, which is essential for a direct count. Instead, a combination of measurements and statistical models is employed to infer the age, using data from hundreds of other larches in the park to estimate the remaining years. This approach carries an 80 percent likelihood that the tree is older than Methuselah, according to current estimates.
The lead researcher acknowledges that the new method may not win everyone’s approval, but he frames scientific skepticism as a natural part of progress. He also notes that there is a broader critique of how knowledge is constructed and validated in science, including concerns about certain prevailing paradigms and biases. Lara, for his part, emphasizes that the value of the tree goes beyond its age, serving as a symbol of natural heritage and ecological history.
Three generations of protectors
Great Grandfather is deeply woven into the family’s history in the region. The scientist’s grandfather, Aníbal Henriquez, began his service as a park ranger in the early 1970s, and his mother followed in those footsteps. Now, Barichivich himself carries on the family’s legacy, feeling connected to the tree as a living part of their life and culture.
The tree’s sanctuary-like location in the Valdivian forest—nestled in a quiet valley about an hour’s walk from the park entrance, with no other larches nearby—has helped shield it from logging and fires. Yet the tree’s fragile health remains a concern, with only about 30 percent of its living tissue intact and strong enough to endure the pressures of time and environment.
Today the most pressing threats are climate change and increasing tourism. Protecting the specimen while allowing people to experience it presents a balance that authorities are still trying to achieve. The state-owned National Forestry Agency (CONAF) has temporarily closed the park to visitors while devising a strategy that would enable responsible access without endangering the sample.
As CONAF representatives explain, tourism and conservation can align when access is carefully regulated. The researchers and park officials agree that the grand Grandfather is not a trophy or a record holder; its true value lies in the message it carries about history, resilience, and the need to safeguard such living monuments for future generations. The park service, in coordination with local communities, continues to craft a plan that honors both protection and public engagement.
Ultimately, the tree serves as a time capsule—an enduring witness to centuries of change. The responsibility to protect this living relic rests with the community and its guardians, who hope that the message of Great Grandfather will endure far beyond the present moment.
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The environment department is not accessible through public contact details in this article. All information is presented with due attribution to expert research and official park statements.