Tasmanian Plants

It is most remiss of me, that I should write of one of Tasmania’s most iconic trees only now, after more than a year of blogging about Tasmania’s fantastic flora.

Introducing a tree that needs little introduction – Tasmania’s one and only deciduous native tree, the inimitable Nothofagus gunnii, the Deciduous beech, the Tanglefoot. There are those too, who simply call it the Fagus.

The Deciduous beech is a small tree from the beech family (Fagaceae). It reaches little more than 2 meters at the slightly lower altitudes but practically sprawls over boulders in the alpine zones. It is a mere dwarf compared to it’s much more widespread relative, the Myrtle beech (Nothofagus cunninghamii).

The legacy of the Deciduous beech however predates that of the Myrtle beech. As far as geological time is concerned, the latter is a much younger player in the biogeographical game.

Fossils very similar to that of the modern day Deciduous beech have been found in Antarctica, which leads one to conclude
very similar species were in Antarctica before Australia separated from that now snowed out landmass.

The deciduous nature of N. gunnii also leads one to think that deciduous-ness might have been a much more common feature of the Tasmanian tree flora in times past.

Alas, this is not really the easiest plant to visit. The Royal Tasmanian Botanic Gardens (RTBG) has at least one specimen, but it is a small one hardly more than 50cm tall, and it is largely obscured by other plants.

Obscured! That’s criminal, particularly given that an illustration of the deciduous beech graces the signboard at the entrance of the RTBG. Still, that is one of the closest places to civilization that one may visit this icon.

Most understandably, the Deciduous beech must be one of Tasmania’s most difficult-to-cultivate icon. It takes a long time to grow, if it even survives. Still, once it harmonizes with a sincere plants-person, a most exquisite bonsai plant the Deciduous beech will make.

But the connoisseur will seek the Deciduous beech in it’s highest abode. The true seeker must travel to the mountains to the west, during April of the Austral fall. They must drive west bound, up windy beaten roads, through the grand forest of the Mountain Ash. And where the road ends by the Dobson Lake, they must by foot alone traverse boulder and tarn, beyond where the highland gums surrenders to frost and exposure. Then, and only then, does the sincere seeker arrive at the Tarn shelf, a true mecca of nival endemicity, where the deciduous beech basks upon the alpine boulders in it’s most exposed, most brazen magnificence.

And then one may say that one has witnessed the leaf fall of the last of Tasmania’s deciduous, the yellow of the autumn Fagus.

Hybridization as a means of making new species is not an uncommon concept and hence it must be applicable to other species. I present a case using a Tasmanian example – the Olearia daisybushes.

Olearia is a large and conspicuous genus of shrubs in the sunflower or daisy family (Asteraceae) with some 23 species in Tasmania of which 8 are endemic to Tasmania (not counting subspecies).

Left: Geebung Daisybush (Olearia persoonioides); Right: Prickly Daisybush (Olearia pinifolia); Centre: Possible hybrid

Two of the endemic species are of interest in this post: Olearia persoonioides (Geebung Daisybush) and Olearia pinifolia (Prickly Daisybush). Both are common and largish daisybushes that grow in subalpine woodlands.

Whilst botanizing at various spots around the Central Highlands I stumbled upon the two species of daisybushes growing in close proximity in the understorey of a eucalypt woodland. They were both in full flower. At the same time I also noticed numerous specimens that looked like intermediates between the two.

While this intermediate specimen deserves much more detailed study, I have prepared a set of photographs and made a table of the characters comparing the two daisybush species with the intermediate specimen.

Many additional aspects of the morphology of the intermediate specimen deserves study. For example, the morphology of the flowers and fruits (achenes) needs to be examined in greater detail. Other studies like chromosome counts might also be helpful in determining the hybrid status of the intermediate specimen.

A trip to the herbarium is in the works!

The Blue Gum (Eucalyptus globulus), Tasmanian Waratah (Telopea truncata), Deciduous Beech (Nothofagus gunnii), Myrtle Beech (Nothofagus cunninghamii) and Pandani (Richea pandanifolia) are names that are often cited by plant enthusiasts and bushwalkers guidebooks as ‘must-sees’ of Tasmania.

But these five iconic plants, showy and famous as they are, must defer to THE ONE TRUE ICON plant that represents Tasmania — the Delicate Laurel (Tetracarpaea tasmannica). The popular portraiture of Tasmania’s botanical gems must be expanded to exalt the Delicate Laurel and to remedy it’s unfortunate oversight.

(Yes I am being evangelical).

The Delicate Laurel is by no means an uncommon plant. It occurs in wet forest or more often, subalpine shrubberies in the western mountains. The plant blends quite immaculately into the surrounding scrub and is not extremely prominent unless in flower, the erect flower stalks bearing small odd-looking white flowers with 4-5 oversized carpels (female parts). Without consciously looking for it however, Tetracarpaea would be quite easy to overlook whilst hiking pass the lush shrubbery vegetation. Once known however, the plant is easily recognizable by it’s thick leathery serrated leaves. The brown dry fruits (folicles) are also quite distinctive.

Distinctive as it is, the history of how the plant was named and classified has been fraught with difficulty and confusion (See Tasmanian Flora online profile).

The eminent botanist Joseph Dalton Hooker is often attributed with having named and described the plant in but it has only recently been clarified that it was his father, Sir William Jackson Hooker that had found and described the plant (The original illustration of the plant in Sir William Hooker’s Icones Platarum may be found here). It was also only recently that the correct species epithet ‘tasmannica‘ was reinstated, as opposed to the commonly but mistakenly used ‘tasmanica‘.

Botanists also have had difficulty determining the affinities of this enigmatic little shrub. They variously thought it to be related to the Horizontal bush (Anodopetalum biglandulosum), the Native Laurel (Anopterus glandulosus), and even Saxifrages. Only recently have molecular methods demonstrated that the closest relatives of Tetracarpaea are actually raspworts (Gonocarpus spp. and Haloragis spp.) and watermilfoils (Myriophyllum spp.). Still, the unique traits of the Delicate Laurel dictate that it is best placed in a family of it’s own, the Tetracarpaeaceae.

So there we have it. A true botanical orphan found ONLY in Tasmania.

The ONLY species in the genus.

The ONLY genus in the plant family Tetracarpaeaceae.

A prime example of Tasmania’s botanical heritage.

Forget about beeches, waratahs, pandanis and blue gums for a moment. These long revered icons have been discussed, photographed, drawn and stylized in Australian art ad nauseum. A true connoisseur of plants visiting Tasmania for the first time must embark on a montane pilgrimage and pursue first and foremost the one and only Tetracarpaea.

If you’ve ever eaten blueberries or cranberries it might not come as a surprise that the Tasmanian answer to those superfoods are none other than the epacrids. Many Tasmanian species produce edible, and some of which are highly palatable.

Over the past few years and particularly this spring and summer I have been making it a point to try out all the heath plants I could find. Here’s a list of what I know are edible epacrids which I have sampled and my thoughts on their palatality (a score of 1 being the least palatable and 5 being absolutely irresistable). Bon appétit.

(Note. Please see my DISCLAIMER if you find yourself helplessly reaching for these berries and popping them in your mouth)

Acrothamnus montanus (Snow Beardheath)
The red berries are somewhat persistent. It’s not fabulous but worth a try. Score: 2.5/5.

Acrotriche serrulata (Ant’s Delight)
This one has a unique smell to it and has the most distinctive taste of the lot. Pick the whitest berries. Score: 4/5.

Astroloma humifusum (Native Cranberry)
Definitely a good eat when ripe. Make sure the berries are yellow-yellowish before picking. Score: 4/5.

Astroloma pinifolium (Pine Heath)
As with the Native Cranberry, this is a good eat when ripe. Pick berries that are as yellow as possible, to the point of appearing a little translucent. Score: 4/5.

Top left: Acrothamnus montanus (Snow Beardheath) Top right: Acrotriche serrulata (Ant's Delight) Bottom left: Astroloma humifusum (Native Cranberry) Bottom right: Astroloma pinifolium (Pine Heath)

Cyathodes glauca (Cheeseberry) and C. straminea (Spreading Cheeseberry)
Very attractive to behold. Very satisfying to pick. Very gratifying to bite into. But alas, it is a little astringent, leaving a slightly dry taste on the tongue. I wouldn’t say it tastes particular cheesy either. I wouldn’t eat much of it unless I were desperate. I have yet to try Cyathodes dealbata (Carpet Cheeseberry) and C. platystoma (Tall Cheeseberry). Score: 1.5/5.

Gaultheria hispida (Copperleaf Snowberry)
An attractive shrub of Tasmania’s subalpine to alpine regions. I cannot recommend it more. Pick ‘em and eat ‘em when white. Score: 4/5.

Leptecophylla abietina (Seaspray Pinkberry), L. divaricata (Spreading Pinkberry) and L. juniperina (Pinkberry)
The berries of these species, particularly L. juniperina are so prolific at the correct season, you’d wonder why the birds don’t get to it before you do. Once you take a bite you might gather some understanding of why this might be the case. What I said of Cyathodes applies here. I have not tried L. pendulosa (Drooping Pinkberry). Score: 1.5/5.

Leucopogon parviflorus (Coast Beardheath)
It’s one of the wonders of the Tasmanian coast! Hunt for them at any vegetated Tasmanian beach. The berries ripen white and dislodge easily in great numbers when ruffled by the hand. They were meant to be eaten! The berries make a sweet, slightly salty (little wonder why), slightly sharp tasting snack. I have not managed to try L. australis (Spike Beardheath) or L. lanceolata (Lance Beardheath) and I will update this post when I do. The other common Leucopogons have dry fruits and are not worth trying. Score: 4.5/5.

Top left: Cyathodes glauca (Cheeseberry) Top right: Cyathodes straminea (Spreading Cheeseberry) Bottom left: Gaultheria hispida (Copperleaf Snowberry) Bottom right: Leucopogon parviflorus (Coast Beardheath)

Lissanthe strigosa (Peachberry Heath)
Aptly named the Peachberry Heath, the fruits of this species have a ‘downy’ appearance like a peach. It is hard to find mature fruit. I’ve tried but I may have gotten immature ones with very thin pulp. Score: not rated as yet.

Pentachondra pumila (Carpet Frillyheath)
Not always easy to get the berries but surely worth a try. Score: 3.5/5.

Left: Lissanthe strigosa (Peachberry Heath) Right: Pentachondra pumila (Carpet Frillyheath)

Planocarpa petiolaris (Alpine Cheeseberry)
I do not have a fruit photo to show at the moment but will put it u when I get one. Trust me thought when I say that they are good to look at. The gastronomical verdict however is as with Cyathodes. I am not surprised since the genus Planocarpa was once part of Cyathodes. From their fruit shalt ye know them! Have yet to try the other two indigenous species of Planocarpa. Score: 1.5/5.

Richea dracophylla (Pineapple Candleheath) and R. scoparia (Scoparia)
Not so much for eating. These species produce dry fruit. However, when flowering, the petals, which fuse into a cap-like structure, can be plucked off and the petal bases can be sucked at. See my video. In my opinion, Richea dracophylla produces a more flavorful nectar. Richea gunni (Bog Candleheath) might also be worth a try. Score: 4/5.

Left: Planocarpa petiolaris (Alpine Cheeseberry) Centre: Richea dracophylla (Pineapple Candleheath) Right: Richea scoparia (Scoparia)

Styphelia adscendens (Golden Heath)
A gift from the coastal heath! This rather prostrate heath plant makes for a good snack. The berries are almost totally covered in brownish papery bracts but try to pick yellow berries. Score: 4/5.

Trochocarpa gunnii (Fragrant Purpleberry) and T. thymifolia (Thymeleaf Purpleberry)
The fragrant purpleberry is a rainforest plant. Tried it a few times but have never been too impressed. It is very mildly sweet but has the same effect on the tongue as the Pinkberry (Leptecophylla spp.) once but can’t remember the taste. I’d eat it if I am lost in a rainforest and forgot to bring a sandwich. The thymeleaf purpleberry is a shrub of alpine areas. Tried it before too but have since forgotten the taste. Have not tried T. disticha (Spreading Purpleberry)) or T. cunninghamii (Straggling Purpleberry). Watch this space. Score: not rated as yet.

Top: Styphelia adscendens (Golden Heath) Bottom leaft: S. adscendens fruit Bottom centre: Trochocarpa cunninghamii (Straggling Purpleberry) Bottom right: Trochocarpa gunnii (Fragrant Purpleberry)

Pimelea sp. nova Schouten Island. Photo on right shows the raised leaf scars.

The Royal Tasmanian Botanical Gardens is a constant source of botanical discovery for me. Every time I visit I discover something that I’ve never seen before. In my most recent visit I wandered over to the East Coast collection where I spotted a large robust shrub about 1.5m or so tall. To my surprise it was a species of Riceflower (Pimelea).

Pimelea nivea (Bushmans Bootlace)

Riceflowers belong to the Daphne family (Thymelaeaceae) from which we get our ornamental European Daphnes.

In Tasmania, Pimelea is represented by some 17 different species of shrubs that occur in habitats as diverse as coastal heath to alpine shrubbery.

The larger species of Pimelea in Tasmania are often called Bushman’s bootlace because of the tough bark that peels in stringy ribbons.

The riceflower that was growing at the East Coast collection was probably planted there a year ago. It is an as yet undescribed species that was collected from Schouten Island, an small island just off the tip of the Freycinet Peninsula on the East Coast of Tasmania. Given the locality of it’s discovery, I assume it must be a lowland shrub. It was labeled as “Pimelea sp. nova Schouten Island”, ‘nova’ alluding to it’s newly discovered status.

Pimelea sericea (Mountain Riceflower)

As first impressions go, the Pimelea sp. nova has the stature of the Bushmans Bootlace (Pimelea nivea). However, the leaves are have silky hairs on both the upper and lower sides unlike the Bushman’s Bootlace which is clearly hairless on the upperside and densely white hairy on the underside.

As far as leaf details go then, Pimelea sp. nova looks more like the Mountain Riceflower (Pimelea sericea).

However, the Mountain Riceflower is smaller in stature, has pinkish flowers, and as it’s name suggests, is a high altitude denizen.

Another rather distinctive feature of the Pimelea sp. nova are the raised leaf scars. From written descriptions, the Silver Riceflower (Pimelea milliganii) also has such raised scars. Other leaf attributes also match Pimelea sp. nova quite closely. However, the Silver Riceflower is also a high altitude species and only known from the western mountains of Tasmania.

The key characters then that distinguishes the Schouten island riceflower must be its robustness and its habitat. Still, I look forward to reading the formal description of this new and interesting species in the very near future.

When it comes to plant identification guides, there are still some of the opinion that a good illustration is one of the best aids for identification. Sometimes a good illustration is even better than a photograph because photographs can have many distracting elements like shadows or noisy backgrounds etc. It is no surprise that most taxonomic publications and many old guidebooks use line drawing. The Native Trees of Tasmania authored by Jamie Kirkpatrick and illustrated by Sue Backhouse is now in it’s seventh edition, a testimonial to the endearing qualities of illustrated guides.

There’s a new book on Tasmanian wattles titled Wattles of Tasmania now out in bookshops which follows in the tradition of the illustrated field guide. The author and illustrator Marion Simmons is a well known figure among wattle enthusiasts for her illustrations and written work on Australian wattles (see Marion Simmons profile).

Wattles of Tasmania is unique in that it contains everything one needs to become a self-made expert on the wattles of Tasmania. The book is packed with detailed descriptions and illustrations of all the species of Tasmanian Acacias, including the introduced ones. The taxonomy and nomenclature is also up to date. I found out for example, that what I have known as Acacia verniciflua (Varnished Wattle) for some time now is now Acacia leprosa var. graveolens.

Definitely a valuable addition to the library any wattle connoisseur.

The Coral Heath (Epacris gunnii) is a fairly common shrub that may be found in wet heath to highland plateaus. This ornamentally attractive plant has heart-shaped leaves with a pointed tip and in it’s full flowering glory produces in a spike-like fashion, numerous flowers in the leaf axils.

In the Royal Tasmanian Botanical Gardens there are many cultivated plants of the Coral Heath, and in particularly, a double form that produces small Camelia-like flowers.

Even though I had the prior awareness the aberration of genetic mechanism of these double form plants, I was still pretty surprised when I stumbled on this strange phenomena of seeing a branch produce a ‘flower’, consisting of a whorl of petals, and have a new shoot growing out of the whorl of petals.

Just to be sure I even sliced the stem and ‘flower’ longitudinally to make sure and indeed, the new shoot just grew continuously out of the whorl of petals.

It is almost as thought the plant decided to make a flower but got sidetracked at the last minute and continued with vegetative shoot growth.

Makes one think, what exactly are flowers?

Many botanists must have pondered on this question.

Thankfully we have some theories.

Thus we learn in botany that flowers consists of four whorls of floral parts in the following order: sepals, petals, stamens (male parts) and carpels (female parts). All flowers are technically modifications of this scheme. And these whorls, some might be surprised to know, are actually modified leaves.

What might come as an even bigger surprise is that the theory of flowers being modified leaves was actually conceived over two centuries ago in the brilliant mind of Johann Wolfgang Goethe, the famous German poet and philosopher.

Goethe, in 1790, had no way of knowing the action of genes in the onset of flowering but his powers of observation would put many a scientist to shame. His insights were discussed his very aptly titled essay, Metamorphosis of Plants.

The concept of flowers being modified leaves might seem very abstract, particularly given the fact that flowers seem to be so different from leaves.

But therein lies the genius of plants. They transmutate. They morph. They make flowers from ‘leaves’. And here it seems our aberrant Coral Heath, leaves from flowers.

Despite having visited the Royal Tasmanian Botanical Gardens more times than I care to remember, there is always something new there to see.

About two weeks back I was looking around one of the native plants section and found an interesting heath (Epacris) planted there.

It was the double pink-form of the common heath (Epacris impressa). Unlike the normal Common heath with it’s long trumpet-like flowers, this interesting form shorter corollas and rose-like petals, not unlike the widely cultivated double rose-form  Camelias we see in many gardens.

How exquisite! I wonder how this form came about.

Ozothamnus antennaria (Sticky Everlastingbush)

In Tasmanian botany I was taught the concept of a cline, where a plant species seems to metamorphose into another species along an environmental gradient. In other words, what is considered a plant species at one end of a environmental continuum (eg, the base of a mountain) shows continuous morphological variation and seems to become another species as one goes up a mountain.

The most quoted and classical example of this would be that of the eucalypts, where you might see the Yellow Gum (Eucalyptus johnstonii) grading into the Alpine Yellow Gum (Eucalyptus subcrenulata), which grades into the Varnished Gum (Eucalyptus vernicosa) along some mountains in Tasmania.

I have often wondered how the concept of clinal variation might apply to other Tasmanian plants.

Ozothamnus rodwayi (Alpine Everlastingbush)

An example I had in mind was of the Tasmanian Everlastingbushes (Ozothamnus spp.).

In particular, the high altitude Sticky everlastingbush (Ozothamnus antennaria), Alpine everlastingbush (O. rodwayi) and Mountain everlastingbush (O. ledifolius) seem to exhibit morphological features that makes it easy to imagine that these species somehow evolved from one to the other or graded from one to the other along some sort of a environmental gradient.

It is easy to imagine the leaves of O. antennaria (which grows at slightly lower altitudes from it’s two relatives) becoming smaller and the flower heads getting more compact until it becomes something like O. ledifolius, the morphology of O. rodwayi being intermediate.

Ozothamnus ledifolius (Mountain Everlastingbush)

Not sure if this betrays any relationships: O. ledifolius smells vaguely of cinnamon spice and O. rodwayi seems to have a similar, albeit fainter smell. O. antennaria has the faintest smell last I took a sniff.

In any case, the idea of a cline in the everlastingbushes could be fallacious. But afterall, all good science starts with a conjecture, insane as it may seem. It would really be an interesting hypothesis to test using molecular methods, wouldn’t it.

It was the 16th of December 2008 and I had the fortune to go on a trip with Micah Visiou, seed collecting officer for the Millenium Seed bank project in Tasmania, up to the Central Highlands to look for some threatened plants.

The weather was not to inviting but since we had spent over 4 hours driving to our destination, it would be unforgivable to pass up the opportunity for a ramble.

Our first stop was the Iris River on the Middlesex Plains. We were greeted by magnificent mats of Tasmanian mudleaf (Gunnera cordifolia) by the river the moment we stepped out of the car. Should have taken a shot.

The habitat (pic above) was very open subalpine woodland of stately cider gums (Eucalyptus gunnii) and heathy shrubs like Coral heath (Epacris gunnii) and Rigid Candleheath (Richea sprengelioides).

Our mission on Middlesex Plains was to look for an endangered plant called the Alpine appleberry (Rhytidosporum inconspicuum) (See the DPIW website listing statement).

Rhytidosporum inconspicuum belongs to the Pittosporum family (Pittosporaceae), making it a relative of the widely planted exotic Sweet Pittosporum (Pittosporum bicolor).

True to its namesake (inconspicuum), the plant is a very low prostrate shrub that is onerous to spot in the absence of fruits or flowers. Even with flowers it was hard to spot but we were fortunate to spot two individuals (See pics below).

Based on a reliable information source, there were supposely over a 100 more individuals where we were but time did not permit us to look for more. We had to move on to our next stop, the Vale of Belvoir, to look for yet another threatened plant.