David, the innkeeper, starts his safety talk with a grin and a warning — no open flames, not even on my birthday cake, which we’re here to celebrate. “There are 36 fire extinguishers on the property,” he says proudly. The last fire? A metal kettle was left on the gas stove. If anything happens on Mount Tam, we’ll either hike up to the East Peak or wait for a helicopter rescue. “I told that to a scout troop once,” he adds. “Their eyes lit up. I had to tell them not to get any ideas.”
Hike-In, Unplug, and Step Back in Time
It’s a fitting start to our adventure at the West Point Inn, a century-old mountaintop refuge perched high above the clouds on Mount Tamalpais, where time slows and Wi-Fi disappears. There’s no electricity, no road access, and no distractions — just a veranda overlooking the entire Bay Area and the distant shimmer of the Pacific Ocean.
We’ve parked at the Pantoll lot off the Panoramic Highway and shouldered our packs — filled with bedding, food, and a bottle of wine for the occasion. The hike along the old Stage Coach Road is nearly two miles of redwood shade and ocean mist. Each bend opens a new view through madrone branches, sunlight flickering on the dusty trail.
By the time we reach the inn, the air feels thinner, fresher — that high-mountain stillness you only find above the fog line. Dozens of hummingbirds swarm around feeders on the wide porch, their wings whirring like a low electric hum. Then the view hits us: the entire Bay stretched beneath our feet — San Francisco gleaming like a mirage, Mount Diablo rising in the east, the dark blue line of the Pacific to the west.
A Historic Inn from the “Crookedest Railroad in the World”
The West Point Inn was built in 1904 as part of the Mill Valley & Mount Tamalpais Scenic Railway — the so-called “Crookedest Railroad in the World” with 281 turns from Mill Valley to the mountain’s East Peak. The line carried weekenders, poets, and socialites eager to ride the steam train through redwoods and mist. When the train stopped, visitors transferred to a horse-drawn stagecoach that wound down to Stinson Beach — the same trail we just walked…