Tasmanian Plants

I have deep respect for ferns living in harsh conditions and one such fern is  Asplenium obtusatum (Shore Spleenwort). This species is also present in New Zealand but the Tasmanian form is known as A. obtusatum subspecies northlandicum, a form that was described by the renown pteridoloist Pat Brownsey in 1977.

The Shore Spleenwort is allegedly common and grows on rocks along the coastline of Tasmania. Widespread as it is, I’ve only had the fortune of observing it growing on the cliff faces around the Remarkable Cave in the Tasman Peninsula and in the fernery of the Royal Tasmanian Botanical Gardens.

The fleshy and shiny fronds of this fern makes it instantly recognizable and reminds me of the Sea Spleenwort (Asplenium marinum) of the Northern Hemisphere, a fern I would very much like to meet. Being ferns of such similar habitats, I imagine some convergent evolution in form is at work here.

Asplenium obtusatum is tolerant of some salt spray, a remarkable feat indeed given the vulnerability of ferns during the earlier stage of their life cycle.

This earlier stage are known as the gametophyte phase, as opposed to the sporophyte phase that we call ‘ferns’. The gametophyte is an inconspicuous little liverwort-like a structure that germinates and develops from fern spores. In most botany textbooks the fern gametophyte is portrayed as a heart-shaped structure and is called the prothallus. It is from the prothallus that the male and female reproductive parts develop. When the time is ripe for fertilization, the sperm swims through a film of water to find an ‘egg’ to fertilize. From this union, a baby fern is born, growing out of the tissues of the prothallus. The cycle is complete.

Unlike flowering plants, the fertilization of ferns require a film of water as mentioned above. Imagine the physiological stresses that a fern prothallus has to endure when the occasional salt spray comes into the picture!

The Shore Spleenwort is indeed a hardy fern worthy of a lofty station by the magnificent cliffs of the Tasmania coast!

After a year of looking at tree rings in an office, there was no better way of finding a piece of haven than a visit to the Vale of Belvoir Conservation Area, one of my favourite places in Tasmania. Like the Blue Tiers in the Northeast of Tasmania, I consider the Vale of Belvoir my Northwestern spiritual retreat.

We arrived to the Vale of Belvoir at the best of times. We had the best kind of weather one could ever ask for.

The road into the Vale ended at the edge of Lake Lea. My partner and I got out and sat by the lake listening to the wind blowing through the reeds.

We contemplated on how the aborigines must have lived. They must have sat, all those times ago, perhaps at the same spot where we were, listening to the winds sweeping across those same plains. For that briefest moment, we could perhaps taste the kind of life they led, their struggles, and their bond with the landscape that they inhabited.

That brief connection we perceived was devastating. It cast into contrast our lives in this current day and age. We have progressed aplenty, but we have much of the old ways to integrate in our current lives.

On the green side of things, the Vale of Belvoir has a diverse suite of different plant habitats. Diversity of habitats = diversity of plants. What more, the Vale is home to a suite of rare plants (see my previous post). That is more than enough reason for the Vale of Belvoir to be a must-see spot for plant lovers.

So it follows that one might expect to enjoy exploring the open sedgelands, rushlands and subalpine heaths and take shelter in the cool of the woodland and rainforest understoreys should the sun get too scorching.

It was a day of exciting new finds for me of which I shall mention three. For more of the delightful sights and botany of the Val, go to my Flickr album set.

One of my exciting finds was the Alpine Marshwort (Liparophyllum gunnii). This little curious plant is monotypic (the only member of the genus) and belongs to the Marshwort family (Menyanthaceae), a botanical family of economic importance for it’s aquatic ornamentals. It was growing by the edge of Lake Lea and it was a lifer (first time sighting) for me. It also has an interesting biogeography, being found only in Tasmania and New Zealand.

Alpine Marshwort (Liparophyllum gunnii)

Another exciting find was the Alpine Appleberry (Rhytidosporum inconspicuum). The alpine appleberry is a rare shrub that belongs, surprisingly, to the Pittosporum family (Pittosporaceae). As the specific epithet ‘inconspicuum‘ suggests, it is one inconspicuous little plant which I wouldn’t otherwise have picked up if not for sheer luck. But therein lies the great joys of being a botanist – seeing the inconspicuous.

Alpine Appleberry (Rhytidosporum inconspicuum)

Then there were the flowers of the Mountain Mitrewort (Schizacme montana). This little mat-forming shrub of the Mitrewort family (Loganiaceae) has the most exquisite little 4-petaled blossums of which I was seeing for the first time. Before that I had only seen, on numerous occassions, the equally exquisite fruits.

Mountain Mitrewort (Mitrasacme montana)

Our time at in this spiritual-botanical haven was short, but the therapy it offered was priceless. Undoubtedly, this will not be our last visit. The sublime touches one indelibly.