Tasmanian Plants

Since time immemorial, mountains have held special meaning to humans, and coming from a place where the tallest point in the landscape was a measly 169m high, I took the first available opportunity to visit the most accessible mountain when I arrived in Hobart. Thus began my love affair with Mt Wellington. Mt Wellington became my outdoor classroom. I frequented the walking tracks on mountain but I never walked far due to my photographic compulsions. Whatever little distance I managed to cover on foot was sufficient to convince me of the diversity of botanical life on the mountain. Browsing through the scientific literature, I was amazed to discover that the Mt Wellington Range was a stronghold for about a third of Tasmania’s higher plants and up to 60% of Tasmania’s bryophyte flora. I was duly impressed. Appreciation grew.

Those years back when I was doing my undergraduate course, Dr Rob Wiltshire conducted an excursion up the mountain as part of an ecology course to show sophomores the adaptations of eucalypt species to altitude. The class was brought up to the subalpine woodland to look at how eucalypt seedlings cope with frost and excess light. The exercise involved some walking and I took the opportunity to look around for anything flowering. By that stage of my academic life, I must have, I believe, unwittingly gained a reputation for being an incessant questioner, particularly when it came to the identity of plants. Perhaps Rob wanted to silence me before I could ask anything and he pointed to a dark handsome silhouette of a shrub on the rock boulders by the roadside and exclaimed, “Ahhh, do you know what that is?” Of course I did not but I took a stab at it anyway and I was That was when Rob sagaciously replied, with an inflection I can only imagine was meant for dramatic effect, “That’ll be the rare endemic tree daisy, Brachyglottis brunonis.”

I was duly impressed and intrigued. Members of the sunflower family (Asteraceae) such as daisies and groundsels are usually thought of as herbs, particularly in European countries, but then in temperate Australia, tree daisies appear to be a common theme. I learnt later that the tree was named after famed Scottish botanist Robert Brown, hence the specific epithet ‘brunonis‘. Vernacularly, the tree was known variously as the Tree Groundsel, Tasmanian Daisytree or Brown’s Tree Daisy. Interestingly, the only other species of Brachyglottis occur in New Zealand.

My reveries on daisytrees were short-lived in the face of academic pressures. Visits to the mountain trickled.

The final year of my undergraduate studies arrived and one academic unit which piqued my interest was Plant Science Research, in which I would get a chance to try out a mini-project of my own. I toyed with the notion of studying a rare or endemic plants and I felt again the call of the mountain, and remembered the Tasmanian Daisytree, which was both rare and endemic. I sought Rob out and he graciously agreed supervise me on the academic endeavour. We fine-tuned the objectives of the study, which would be to furnish an explanation on why the Tasmanian Daisytree is rare within it’s habitat range. The Tasmanian Daisytree is limited to Mt Wellington and a few other nearby locations. It’s distribution does not exceed 50 square kilometers and it is further restricted only to subalpine woodlands. In it’s habitat, it is also found scattered in a very disjointed manner and there was no obvious reason why this should be so since the subalpine habitat was apparently rather uniform. When we eventually analysed the data we collected and compared the vegetation and environmental factors of areas with and without the Tasmanian Daisytree, little useful information emerged. Areas with and without the Tasmanian Daisytree were not extremely different in terms of their vegetation or environment. Other forces must be responsible for preventing the Tasmanian Daisytree from attaining ubiquity! As far as speculations go, the Tasmanian Daisytree is probably stopped cold in it’s tracks at the seed or seedling stage. We did notice in our preliminary surveys that seedlings of the tree daisy were exceedingly rare.

Limited as the study was, more questions were raised than answered, which is, as I have come to believe, a trend that drives the heartbeat of scientific inquiry. Why the Tasmanian Daisytree chooses to be where it is may remain a mystery for some time and I hope to see one day when I sleuth through the scientific literature, a paper on the lines of: Towards an explanation of the rarity of Brachyglottis brunonis.

In all likelihood, the Tasmanian Daisytree originated on the mountain, and has never managed to move far. It’s rarity only serves to endear one to it’s presence, and presents the all so pleasurable challenge of spotting it among the ocean of other common plants. I can see the Tasmanian Daisytree as no less than the mascot tree of Mt Wellington, the prime botanical feature of Hobart’s Table Mountain. I imagine that the great nature photographer Peter Dombrovskis might thought similarly of the iconic status of the Tasmanian Daisytree when he immortalized in one of his great photographs, a scene of the tree against a backdrop of the weathered face of the Organ Pipes that so characterizes the mountain.

I envision that all genuine nature-loving Tasmanians should come to know the iconic tree of the Mountain that oversees Hobart. But the surest way to get acquainted with the tree daisy is still via a guide. You must be asked to look, and given ample opportunity to feel and smell, for it is likely that only then will you recognize. Then, even without it’s brilliant yellow blossoms you will see and recognize the distinctive dark shiny leaves, it’s charismatic branching and the sweet scent of it’s foliage. And forever will it be burned into your memory when your guide then utters in utmost authority: “That’ll be the rare endemic tree daisy, Brachyglottis brunonis.”

(Dedicated to Dr Rob Wiltshire)

Had humans not implemented a system of recording in the form of herbaria or writing, we might never know what wondrous plants grew on the soils of Northwest Tasmania almost two centuries ago. It was 174 years ago in the winter of July 1836, when the imminent naturalist Ronald Gunn found a little species of Wurmbea, or what is known by Australian naturalists as Early Nancys, probably alluding to the early spring or winter flowering habit of members of the genus.

Wurmbea is a genus belonging to the botanical family Colchicaceae, a split-off family from what was once the great family of the Lilies. The Colchicaceae  includes other Australian lily-like plants like Milkmaids (Burchardia sp.), or more famously the Autumn Crocus (Colchicum autumnale) of the Northern Hemisphere and the Glory Lily (Gloriosa superba) of the tropics. The species Ronald Gunn discovered was named Wurmbea latifolia, or the Broad leaved Early Nancy, and is also found in New South Wales, Victoria and South Australia. Tasmania has another three species of Wurmbea, including the very common W. dioca which graces our heathlands every winter-spring. W. latifolia, however has not been observed since Ronald Gunn’s collection.

Wurmbea latifolia at Cape Grim 2010. Photo credit: Richard Schahinger

Could it be that some plants are just masters at being cryptic, to provide that ineffable purpose that drives many a botanist and plant hunter. Amazingly, Wurmbea latifolia was ‘re-discovered’ after almost two centuries in July this year by ecological planning advisor Richard Barnes from Cape Grim near Woolnorth, Northwest Tasmania and was in the news on the Mercury this monday (see news article).

At least a few hundred plants were found within a small one hectare area, in pretty much the same locality where Ronald Gunn had collected the plants. This significant rediscovery in Tasmania is by botanical standards comparable to finding the Gospel of Judas! The plants Richard Barnes found are likely the direct descendants of those found by Gunn, providing a direct link to the botanist extraordinaire of the past. Such a discovery augments the place of botany in Tasmania’s history and brings renewed faith that even on an island as small as Tasmania, there is still much to rediscover.

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.

Black Peppermint (Eucalyptus amygdalina) dry woodland at Tom Gibson Nature Reserve

Simultaneously, one of the greatest pains and pleasures of being a botanist is the amount of time it can take to consolidate and write up on the findings of a single field trip. I thought the fieldtrip to the Tom Gibson Nature Reserve among one of those deserving a writeup, at least for the purpose of documenting the botanical ‘lifers’ I had encountered there. I have attached most of the photos in a Picasa web album folder.

The visit to the reserve was made on the 14th of November 2009. The fieldtrip was organized by the Threatened Plants Tasmania group and the Department of Primary Industries, Parks, Water and Environment (DPIPWE) and was attended by some twenty or so participants. Among those present were plant experts, namely Richard Schahinger (from DPIPWE), John Davies (from GDH), Mark Wapstra (from ECOTas), Ray Skabo and Phil Collier (TPT president).

The Tom Gibson Nature Reserve is of conservation significance for it’s high botanical diveristy and wealth of rare plants. We visited the southern part of the Tom Gibson Nature Reserve, a 659.8 ha block of beautiful dry eucalypt forest and woodland (See the description by Parks and Wildlife).

Upon entering the reserve we were greeted by a whole forest understorey full of Tiger Orchids (Diuris sulphurea) the likes of which I have never witnessed before. Also in sight were a couple of rare plants including the Chocolate Lily (Arthropodium strictum) and the endemic Propeller Plant (Stenanthemum pimeleoides), betokening the great botanical treasures to be seen thereafter.

Dwarf Sunray (Triptilodiscus pygmaeus) on a rock plate

We drove in a little further into the center of the reserve and came to a rather dry and drab looking rock plate. Dull as it might have appeared, it was the abode of a number of rare daisies.

One of these was the Moss Sunray (Hyalosperma demissum), a very compact plant that looks like a moss turf. Another was the Dwarf Sunray (Triptilodiscus pygmaeus), a distinctive trailing yellow flowered daisy. Yet another was the Small Wrinklewort (Siloxerus multiflorus), a little herb with small heads of flowers. All of these were extremely diminutive plants scarcely taller than a few centimeters.

Pressing on towwards the western edge of the reserve, we came to distinctive habitat in the reserve, a soak no larger that perhaps 5-10 square meters. Here, Richard Schahinger pointed out a number of threatened plants which included the Small Triggerplant (Stylidium despectum), Tiny Water Milfoil (Myriophyllum integrifolium), the Slender Fanwort (Aphelia gracilis) (see my previous post) and the Tiny Arrowgrass (Triglochin minutissimum).

Closeup of the fowers of the ephemeral Small Triggerplant (Stylidium despectum)

Finally, at the last stop for the day at the northern part of the reserve, we botanized around a rocky grassy spot where we encountered the Dwarf Fanwort (Aphelia pumilio) and the Grassland Candles (Stackhousia subterranea). Other interesting plants there included the Australian Carrot (Daucus glochidiatus). In the vicinity there was also a small soak by the dirt road in which grew a healthy population of an interesting fern ally, the Plain Quillwort (Isoetes drummondii subsp. drummondii).

Thats 12 rare plants in a day, the bulk of which I was seeing for the first time! Quite frankly, little else excites a botanist than the opportunity to make an acquaintance with new plants. Much thanks to the excellent work of the Threatened Plants Tasmania group, DPIPWE and to foresight of Tom Gibson, the former owner of the land who kept the area intact.

As I have written in my post ‘the unbearable adorableness of turfed existence‘, small plants are very easy to love. Members of the Bristlewort family (Centrolepidaceae) in particular, meet all the qualifications. Most turfed and all are small, barely attaining a stature exceeding a few centimeters.

Aphelia gracilis (Slender Fanwort)

For a number of years now I have been wanting to meet two specific members of the Bristlewort family, Aphelia gracilis (Slender Fanwort) and Aphelia pumilio (Dwarf Fanwort), particularly after I had seen illustrations and photographs of the two in The Student’s Flora of Tasmania Part 4B and The Nature of the Midlands.

Isolepis levynsiana (Tiny Flatsedge)

Other than the aesthetic allure of these plants. there are reasons for this eagerness,

For one, the genus Aphelia is endemic to Australian, that is to say, unique to Australian soils. Secondly, both the dwarf and slender fanworts are rare plants found only in parts of the Midlands and in the Northeast.

Adorableness and rarity. Such reasons are cannot fail to set off passions like rotating lights accompanied with sirens for plant lovers.

Needless to say, it did for me. So great my desire was to see these two fanworts and so swift was my alignment to this desire that in one fell swoop, I saw the both of them in a single day when I visited the Tom Gibson Nature Reserve on a Threatened Plants Tasmania group excursion.

The strange thing about these two plants is that there is little in the gist of it that would suggest that they are NOT sedges. Yet, they are so unique as to be recognizable at once. I shall explain.

A. gracilis spike

From every angle, these two plants look like small sedges of the genus Isolepis. The single spike (the flower cluster, consisting of many overlapping bracts) is laterally flattened and in practically every sense resembles the floral parts of Isolepis or Cyperus. When we come to this point we have got to stand in awe of the detail that plant taxonomists put into describing plants.

The Bristlewort family is probably best distinguished from sedges by their fruits. Bristleworts have dehiscent fruits, meaning that the fruits split open to expose seeds at maturity. The fruits of sedges, on the other hand, are indehiscent nuts. This fruit characteristic of Aphelia is difficult if not impossible to see in the field. Moreover, these plants are so small that you’d need a microscope in the field at the time of fruit maturity to look at it – not very logistically appealing for an afternoon walk.

On my plant hunt with Richard Schahinger of the Department of Primary Industries, Parks, Water and Environment (DPIPWE) and and other members of the Threatened Plants Tasmania group, we stopped at a small soak in the Tom Gibson Nature Reserve to look for ephemeral plants. It was not long before the keen and experienced eyes of Richard sighted the Slender fanwort.

The Slender fanwort (Aphelia gracilis) can be easily confused with sedges. In particular, the common Tiny Flatsedge (Isolepis levynsiana), which we found co-occuring with the Slender fanwort, has flower parts that look very similar to the spike of the Slender fanwort. However, upon closer examination, the hairy bracts of the Slender fanwort immediately distinguish it. Moreover, the Slender fanwort is often brownish-pink in all parts of the plant.

Aphelia pumilio (Dwarf Fanwort)

I was not quite as fortunate with the Dwarf Fanwort, managing only to find patches which had already dried out and died. However, Mark Wapstra had found some fresh specimens at another site in his earlier plant hunt and showed it to those around. It was as curious in real life as it looked in photos and illustrations.

Dwarf Fanwort is instantly recognizable by the pompous spikelets that practically dominate the plant body. Sometimes the flowering stalk may be taller Even if the flowering stalk. There is nothing else like it in Tasmania and there certainly is no sedge with such a disproportionate spikelet/plant body ratio!

I haven’t had the chance to ask Mark, a co-author of the Little Book of Common Names for Tasmanian Plants what prompted them to call Aphelias fanworts. Perhaps they likened the floral parts to an open fan. I’d prefer to think that the Aphelias are called fanworts because diminutive and inconspicuous as they may be, they have that inexplicable power to make fans of plant lovers, as they have of me.

The clear and bright morning of the 7th of October 2009 was to set the tone for the weather of the day. It was going to be a perfect day for an outing to the Tasman Peninsula to look for threatened plants, an emphasis being placed an endangered eyebright, the Peninsula Eyebright (Euphrasia semipicta).

Along with 10 other volunteers, I had the pleasure of joining Dr Wendy Potts of the Department of Primary Industries and Water, our local expert on Tasmanian eyebrights, in a hunt for the endangered plant.

The Peninsula Eyebright is a short-lived endemic perennial which has been listed as endangered under the Tasmanian Species Protection Act (see Notesheet from the DPIW website). As the common name suggests, the Peninsula Eyebright is found only on the Tasman Peninsula. There it grows on a wide variety of substrates ranging from clayey to sandy soils.

It’s rarity and unique distribution asides, the Peninsula Eyebright has an interesting natural history that may not immediately be apparent to the casual observer.

For many years, Eyebrights were part of the Figwort family (Scrophulariaceae), to which well known medicinal plants like figworts (Scrophularia) and mulleins (Verbascum) belong. The placement of Eyebrights in the Figwort family however, proved to be untenable on the basis of DNA evidence (Young et al. 1999). In fact, the entire figwort family has lost many of it’s members since the advent of molecular science.

Also because Eyebrights are semi-parasitic – a feature not typical of the Figwort family. Ultimately, Eyebrights were placed under the broomrape family (Orobanchaceae), which have members that are typically semi-parasitic to wholly parasitic. What the Peninsula Eyebright parasitizes on is still anyone’s guess, a reflection of what remains to be discovered.

The Peninsula Eyebright, like some other rare native eyebrights, is quite peculiar with respects to where it lives. In almost every site we visited, we found plants growing near tracks or roads. Wendy says that they ‘like the view’.  Being semi-parasitic seems to be tied in with their transpiration rate, and hence the need of exposure to drive that transpiration rate. ‘They can die within two days of being kept in a dim area’, says Wendy.

Also, being an endemic component of Tasmania’s flora, the Peninsula Eyebright must have evolved alongside the pyrogenic rhythms of the Tasmanian landscape. It is conceivable that before European settlement, the Peninsula must have relied heavily on aboriginal burning for survival. Arguably, the Peninsula may have been more common before the changed fire regimes brought about by European colonialism.

Complex evolutionary processes are at work in the East Coast of Tasmania, and their effects are very marked in the eyebrights. This creates a headache for taxonomists as the species concept is stretched really thin by some of these eyebrights. Just within the Peninsula Eyebrights, Wendy has found and described plants of three different forms that vary in corolla colour and other morphological details (Potts 1997), but as yet, no one has taken any steps to formally distinguish these forms as separate subspecies.

We saw two of the forms that Wendy described. One had purplish flowers with striations in the corolla. The other had the same type of striations but with white corollas, and tended to be more squat than the former.

In all the localities we visited, the Peninsula Eyebrights appeared to be doing better than the year before, when I had visited the same localities with Wendy. Perhaps it was the good rainfall we got this winter and early spring. We even discovered plants from a couple of new spots.

When I contemplate the Peninsula Eyebright, I cannot help but marvel at how nature sometimes graces certain small geographical areas with an expression of plants and animals that are found nowhere else. When, perhaps, in the distant future, natural processes separate the Tasman Peninsula from Tasmania, the Peninsula Eyebright will no doubt be a prime candidate as the icon plant of the ‘Tasman Island’.

Saltmarsh at South Arm with Sarcocornia (Glasswort) herbfield

In saltmarshes, there is always something worth looking out for. I have written about one such plant, the Silky Wilsonia (Wilsonia humilis) in a previous post.

When I went for a walk on the 11th of April 2009 at South Arm, Calverts Lagoon, I was delighted to find another rare saltmarsh plant, the Golden Dodder (Cuscuta tasmanica), which occurs in only a couple of other localities in east and northeast Tasmania (See DPIW’s listing statement).

Golden Dodder hails from the morning glory family (Convolvulaceae), or so it will be revealed upon examining the flowers. I revisted the lagoon when the Golden Dodder was flowering in December the same year just to convince myself of that. I can’t say I am extremely convinced as the plant does seem to be very different looking from other members of the morning glory family. Molecular work however does seem to support the placement of Cuscuta within the morning glory family (Stefanovic et al. 2003). Some botanists consider the genus Cuscuta to belong under it’s own family, the Cuscutaceae.

Disposition-wise however, the Golden Dodder is far from the blooms that glorifies the morn.

The Golden Dodder is a parasitic plant of the first grade. Plants such as the Golden Dodder are called holoparasites, that is to say they do not have functional apparatus for photosynthesis and thus rely entirely on their host for food. Moreover, the Golden Dodder and other members of the Cuscuta genus lack internal phloem, the conducting vessels that transfer food within the plant.

The Golden Dodder thus relies on specialized root-like outgrowths called haustoria which penetrate into the tissues of their host. Talk about a botanical vampire.

I’d call the Golden Dodder the saltmarsh ‘gory’.

A blazing patch of Golden Dodder

The foreboding recognizability of the Golden Dodder precedes its parasitic nature. Despite having no obvious leaves, this plant is immediately recognizable, even from a distance.

In a patch of uniformly green saltmarsh herbs, the Golden Dodder stands out like a blazing orange plague.

When my gaze first fell upon those bright orange chlorophyll-lacking stem threads, the first word that flashed in my head was ‘Pestilence’.

Too strong a word perhaps, but pestilent or not, the form of the Golden Dodder and their place in this unique ecosystem piqued my natural curiosity. I wondered what role these plants play in the ecology of the salt marsh.

The salt marsh is, on its own, a physiologically harsh environment for plants. Salinity has driven various unrelated families to resort to succulence, that is to say, using stored water in their succulent leaves to dilute the salt taken up from the soil.

A number of plants like of Sarcocornia (Glassworts), Disphyma (Pigface) and Spergularia (Seaspurrey) among others, have found succulence to be a viable means of dealing with salt and has thus come to dominate the saltmarshes.

The Golden Dodder in it's full 'gory'

From a scientific perspective, a number of interesting studies that may be undertaken. For instance, the host plants themselves probably have very concentrated sap by conventional standards. What does this then say about the the physiological mechanisms of the Golden Dodder? How does it deal with salt, if it absorbs any from its host?

Flowers of the Golden Dodder

Interestingly and perhaps incidentally, the preferred host of the Golden Dodder is the Narrowleaf Wilsonia (Wilsonia backhousei), another member of the Morning Glory family. Some family feuding going on?

Much still to learn of these wonderful plants in this wondrous natural environment.

Cudweed (Vellereophyton dealbatum), a little noticed but exquisite weed in Tasmania

Out of necessity, this post is going to have mild philosophical overtones as it points at an emotional journey I believe that most, if not all, naturalists take.

As a naturalist there can be a tendency to want to focus on what is being lost. The evidence of this is going to be everywhere. I have spent untold hours giving thought to and feeling rotten about plant extinction and the threats faced by may native plants: Climate change, irresponsible land owners, forestry, invasive weeds, etc, etc.

However, after much wallowing I realized the futility in focusing on the reality of all those facts.

The overriding desire of a naturalist is to appreciate nature. In appreciation one finds solace and beauty. One is in tune.

To give excessive thought to destruction or perceived threats is mentally and emotionally pathological to the innermost nature of a naturalist.

Roundleaf Wilsonia (Wilsonia rotundifolia), a threatened plant of salty places

The more passionate the naturalist, the keener his awareness, perhaps in scientifically quantifiable numbers, what biological treasures are out there. Likewise, the easier it is to start taking stock of the decline of a species.

Yet, in choosing to be INNUNDATED by facts of that which is unwanted we degrade our experience of enjoying beauty.

Make no mistake. I do not mean we should tolerate the destruction of the natural landscape. There certainly are individuals whose lot is to work for the preservation of nature. There is a fine line to draw between naturalists and conservationist.

What I do mean however, is that whether or not we take a proactive conservationist stance we can choose to visit the physical and emotional places that sing to us and not mourn (for long) and be bitter over those that have been lost.

Buttonleaf Everlastingbush (Ozothamnus scutellifolius), a Tasmanian endemic and nothing short of a botanical curiosity

Whatever the state of the natural resources, I want to continue to take beautiful pictures of plants, whether they be native or adventive. I want to appreciate their time and space. I want to learn from them, be in awe of the evolutionary journeys they have taken, and know them for all they have become.

Those that have been lost to extinction, I will acknowledge and appreciate that they once graced this beautiful island, in a more abundant and glorious state. I will not lament (not for long at least) their lost but I shall honor their memory.

And extinction is not always an absolute. Just recently, Hibbertia rufa, a plant previously thought extinct, was rediscovered. It will be events like these I will choose to give my attention to. I imagine that in the field, such delightful findings can only occur by grace and by an attention to beauty. And are not all plants beautiful?

It has been said before that ‘Truth is beauty and beauty is truth. That is all ye need to know’.

I cannot agree more.

On part 1 of this series I blogged about our fortuitous sighting of the very inconspicuous Alpine Appleberry (Rhytidosporum inconspicuum) at Middlesex Plains, 16 Dec 2008. Our next stop was the Vale of Belvoir.

A view of the Vale of Belvoir

The Vale of Belvoir is a breathtaking place, even in bad weather. Eminent ecologist Jamie Kirkpatrick says that the securing of the Vale of Belvoir as a conservation area was a major triumph for Tasmania. If you’d been there you’d agree.

The area was full of sedges and other alpine forbs, some of which I seeing for the first time. Our quarry at the Vale of Belvoir though, was the Alpine Candles (Stackhousia pulvinaris).

Stackhousia pulvinaris (Alpine Candles)

In addition to Tasmania, S. pulvinaris also occurs (not commonly) in high altitude areas in mainland Australia. In Tasmania however, it only seems to occur in the Vale of Belvoir area, thereby explaining it’s ‘Rare’ status under the Threatened Species Protection Act (TSPA) schedules.

Upon sighting individuals of S. pulvinaris, one questions the sense of the name ‘candles’. Candles is the name given to members of the genus Stackhousia in Tasmania, probably alluding to the inflorescence of spirally arranged white, yellow or cream flowers, giving the overall effect of ‘candles’. The common Stackhousia monogyna is a fabulous example of this.

S. pulvinaris on the other hand has no such inflorescence. The flowers occur singly in the leaf axils and unlike it’s cousins, has adopted a mat lifeform, a common strategy of plants growing in alpine environments.

After spotting the first individual, practically right at the start of the track, we were greeted by numerous others, all smiling in flowers. Almost all these plants were along the track, as if they liked the anthropogenic disturbance. In total, we estimated over 100 individuals just along a few hundred meters of track.

All in all, I’d say that the population of S. pulvinaris is in good health – a very positive sign. Plants aside, the Vale is a stunning place (I just had to say it again). Definitely a place I’d want to return to in the future.

Saltmarsh at Sorrell. The grey patch is a large mat of the Silky Wilsonia (Wilsonia humilis)

In November 2008 I had the privilege to participate in an African Boxthorn (Lycium ferocissimum) weeding trip at a beautiful saltmarsh in Sorrell with my fellow DPIW colleagues Mick Ilowski and Adam Smith.

The reason for doing weeding at the saltmarsh was because a threatened species, the Silky Wilsonia (Wilsonia humilis) grows there.

The Silky Wilsonia (Wilsonia humilis) is listed as rare under the Tasmanian Species Protection Act and the African Boxthorn invasion into the saltmarsh would possibly be quite detrimental to the health of the Silky Wilsonia populations there.

If you have ever seen morning glories you would never have imagined that Wilsonia humilis is anywhere remotely related to it (see also my post on the Golden Dodder).

Unlike it’s typical twinning morning glory cousins, native Tasmanian Wilsonias have succulent leaves and very small flowers (compared to typical morning glories). It is only by virtue of their floral structure that the Wilsonias belong within the morning glory family (Convolvulaceae).

I imagine that the Silky Wilsonia would make a fabulous lawn plant. There are simply little words to express the exquisiteness of those succulent greyish and densely overlapping leaves.

Flowers of Wilsonia humilis

Leaves of Wilsonia humilis

The succulence of the leaves is an adaptation to the saline conditions of the saltmarsh habitat and it never fails to amaze me how numerous unrelated families of plants have adopted succulence in order to survive in saline environments.

In any case, the exuberance of Silky Wilsonia in the Sorrell saltmarsh was simply amazing.

According to Richard Schahinger, a botanist from DPIW’s Threatened Species Unit, this salmarsh probably has one of the most healthy looking populations of the plant. I can’t disagree.

Narrowleaf Wilsonia (Wilsonia backhousei)

The Sorrell saltmarsh also has another very different looking Wilsonia species there, the Narrowleaf Wilsonia (Wilsonia backhousei).

The Narrowleaf Wilsonia is not threatened but is no less fascinating. The thin elongated sky-ward pointing corollas made me think of little trumpets. If I could but hear the tunes they play?