Some Classic Names; plants

In the heyday of taxonomy - from the late 18th to well into the 19th centuries, when there were scarcely enough working taxonomists to cope with the flood tide of plant and animal specimens pouring in to Europe from all over the world - classical allusions were rife. Perhaps the fact that the descriptions had to be in Latin (as indeed they still did for plants until very recently) helped inspired this, but most such authors would have had a classical education anyway. 

There were of course many gods to choose from, and an obvious one was Venus, the very popular Roman goddess whose portfolios included love, sex, fertility and beauty. Oddly, I can't readily find any plant named directly for her - though there is a northern hemisphere moth genus named Venusia - but I'd be surprised if it didn't exist somewhere. However, like any respectable Roman god (or is that an oxymoron?) she had aliases. One of these was Acmena (though I have also read that Acmena was a sort of house-nymph to Venus).

Acmena smithii Family Myrtaceae, 'Lilly Pilly', Nowra, New South Wales.
An attractive rainforest tree, with edible fruits (I make jam from them).
(Some taxonomists would now incorporate Acmena into Syzygium.)

Another manifestation of Venus was as Verticordia, 'the heart turner'; a magnificent genus of Western Australian Myrtaceous shrubs has been accorded this name - and quite rightly too, in my opinion!

Verticordia grandis, Gathercole Nature Reserve in the Wheatbelt east of Perth.

Diana, Roman Goddess of hunting, the moon and forests was another available option, including in the diminutive form, Dianella.

Dianella caerulea, Family Phormiaceae, Canberra.

Diana's Greek counterpart Artemis appears in the familiar daisy genus Artemisia, which included wormwood and tarragon.

Not all the divinities were so marketable however - though that didn't stop classically-educated taxonomists from having a go. In a farming society like the Roman it was quite reasonable to have a god of organic fertiliser - which sounds better than a god of manure... His name was Sterculius (or Sterquilinus) and a genus of tree was deemed appropriate to the implications of his trade.

Sterculia foetida, Family Sterculiaceae (which some would include in Malvaceae), planted in Port Douglas, Queensland.
(Some references extend its wide natural range, from east Africa through southern Asia, into northern Australia,
but this doesn't seem to be the case.)
This tree has seriously - well, foetid-smellling - flowers or the leaf stems.

Nymphs were a whole series of minor goddesses who seemed to enjoy themselves more than their seniors mostly did (other than when the grown-up gods were tormenting humans of course). Many nymphs were associated with water.

Nymphaea violacea Family Nymphaeceae, Fogg Dam near Darwin.

Then there were plenty of non-god classical denizens to call upon too. Pandora (from Greek 'all gifts') was the first mortal woman, showered with gifts by the gods as they created her. Being gods though, there was nothing nice about all this - in fact, bizarrely, it was an act of punishment on humankind for Prometheus' theft of fire. (And yes, this implies that humanity hitherto comprised only males - don't ask me, I'm just passing it on!) Being human she was curious about the contents of a jar (not a box as we'd now say in the familiar phrase) and peeped in, releasing all the ills of humankind. And what could have inspired someone to name a plant for her, you may well ask?

Pandorea doratoxylon, Spearwood, Family Bignoniaceae, Kata Tjuta, Northern Territory.
It is claimed that the time of collection of the type specimen on Norfolk Island
corresponded with a plague of unspecified insects...

One of the silliest names is Corybas, and one steeped in scientific villainy. Corybas was founder of the cheerfully orgiastic dancing priests of Phrygia; what he could possibly have had in common with the demure little helmet orchid genus of Australia is beyond imagination (mine anyway). The application of the name was apparently a piece of blatant robbery too. The great Robert Brown had already proposed the appropriate name Corysanthes, meaning ‘helmet flower’, but it was waiting in a long queue while he worked through publishing the huge Australian collections. Meantime Robert Salisbury saw an illustration from Ferdinand Bauer, published an inaccurate description from memory and gazumped Brown!

Corybas hispida, Canberra.
There has been a move recently to break up Corybas and return some species (including this one)
to Brown's genus Corysanthes, but as usual that has been staunchly resisted
by the Australian botanical establishment.

Caius Mucius Scaevola was a hero of ancient Rome. When the city of Rome was besieged by Lars Porsena and the Etruscans, and after Horatius had held the bridge*, Mucius sought to break the siege by sneaking out to kill Lars Porsena. Caius accidentally stabbed Lars Porsena’s secretary instead, was caught and threatened with torture. He responded by putting his own right hand into the altar fire; impressed (clearly none of them were too worried about mere secretaries'!) they let him go, and the Romans called him Scaevola, ie 'Left-handed'  or 'Lefty'!. Oh yes, the flower of the genus named for it is hand-shaped.

*If that allusion passed you by, then you probably went to school long after I did, so here's the poem if you're interested. If you don't have an afternoon to spare you might like to skip to verse XXVII, and skim thereafter...

Scaevola parvibarbata Family Goodeniaceae, Nyngan, New South Wales.

And more general classical allusions also abound. Nepenthes was a plant described in the ancient Greek literature which was said to assuage grief and even induce euphoria. Linnaeus himself seems to have missed the point of the wonderful pitcher plants when he assigned them this name based on their supposed medicinal qualities.

Nepenthes sp., National Botanic Gardens, Canberra.
The story of these wonderful carnivorous plants will doubtless appear in this blog at some point.

St John's Wort, Hypericum perforatum Family Clusiaceae, is a common and serious southern Australian weed, though we have some native species too. Hypericum means 'above the image (or icon)'; in ancient Europe flowers were placed above the doorway on mid-Summer's eve to ward off evil. This festival was later usurped by the newer religion was St John's Feast, hence the common name

Hypericum gramineum, Morton National Park, New South Wales.

I could doubtless find more such classics, but that's enough to go on with now. Next week I'll conclude this mini-series with some classically-derived animal names.

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Snow Gums Sublime

Periodically I've dedicated a post here to my favourite trees - the latest was here, and you can track back from there if you so desire. The last three, including this one, have been dedicated to eucalypts and maybe it's time to diversify, but not today. 

As winds and cold rain batter the mountains above Canberra, most animal species are either moving to lower elevations (or lower latitudes), or going into one form or other of torpor. Many plants are also closing down, surviving winter as underground roots or tubers, or as seeds. Not the trees however - and at the highest altitudes this means just one species, the wonderful Snow Gum Eucalyptus pauciflora. (In Tasmania Snow Gum refers to other species, but today I'm just talking about the mainland.)

Snow Gums, Kosciuszko National Park.
Growing seasons up here are short and harsh, and the brutal conditions of their youth
inevitably show in their gnarled later years.

Up at the tree line in Kosciuszko (here at 1800-1900 metres) the Snow Gums are
more stunted and permanently wind-bent.

There are many wonderful things to say about Snow Gums, but one of the greatest mysteries is down to us - why the name? Pauciflora means 'sparsely flowering', and while I unfortunately can't show you here, the flowering can be quite profuse and regular. It was bestowed by the early 19th Century German botanist Kurt Sprengel, from material supplied by Czech-born collector Franz Sieber (his tragic life is worth exploring further another day). Presumably it was either atypically sparse in buds or flowers, or was damaged in transit; the type specimen would tell us, but I don't have access to that...

Snow Gums, as we'd expect, have some pretty nifty adaptations to short growing conditions, with snow on the ground for weeks or months of the year and frosts all year round.

Winter Snow Gum, Namadgi National Park.

One neat trick is to change its optimal temperature for photosynthesis as the season progresses, so that whatever temperature it is, is the best temperature for growing! (ie it photosynthesises better at lower temperatures earlier and later in summer, and higher in mid-summer.)

These old-timers at Charlotte Pass, high in Kosciuszko National Park, grow among
and sprawl over the granites. They probably have only a few weeks a year in which to grow.
These high altitude Snow Gums are sometimes given their own species, E. niphophila ('snow-loving'),
though most botanists recognise them only as a sub-species.

 

Further, at lower altitudes the optimal photosynthetic temperature is also higher. For Snow Gums at the tree line the preferred temperature is 18 degrees; at the same time the most efficient temperature for their colleagues at 900 metres is 28 degrees.

These lower altitude trees are associated with frost hollows; less cold-tolerant trees grow above them,  logically but counter-intuitively. The Canberra airport was built in a Snow Gum-encircled frost hollow, hence it is often closed in winter by heavy fogs, as any ecologist could have told them!

Low altitude Snow Gums north of Canberra (800-900 metres); at these altitudes
they form a distinct sub-category of the grassy woodlands, one of our most threatened habitats.
Where E. niphophila is recognised, these low-down Snow Gums remain E. pauciflora.

In the devastating fires of 2003, vast areas of mountain Snow Gum woodlands burnt. Numerous ancient trees were burnt to the ground, though there is vigorous resprouting from subterranean shoots.

Ten years later. Views through the regenerating Snow Gums, from the ridge line
of Namadgi National Park, above Canberra.

 

One characteristic of Snow Gums is the 'scribbled' bark, legacy of the larvae of a tiny moth, which chew along within the nutritious cambial layer; when it's time to pupate they drop into the litter at the base of the tree. Until recently they were know as Ogmograptis scribula (the 'wavy-writing scribe') from the highest Snow Gums to the sea, and west into the slopes country. Then a wonderful collaboration between a Canberra school girl and some retired scientists - botanists and entomologists - revealed the existence of at least a dozen related scribbly moth species. The story, told in detail here, is well worth your while reading.

One of the many fascinating things about this little caterpillar is the
fact that it nearly always turns around and tunnels back parallel to its existing track.
Perhaps it is taking advantage of the tree's response, growing new tissue to
replace the damaged material - like a burglar returning after the insurance company has replaced his loot!

As we start to put our warming strategies into action down here in wet cold Canberra, high above us the Snow Gums endure, as they always have and always will long after I'm forgotten.

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Kibale Forest National Park; a primative haven

No, not a typo or colonial ignorance - Kibale really is a fabulous place for primates, including human visitors! Kibale Forest National Park covers some 80,000 hectares of primarily rainforest in the moist south-west of Uganda, not far from the border with the Democratic Republic of the Congo. 

The location of Kibale National Park is indicated by the end of the red arrow.
Confusingly it is not near the town of Kibale!

Past logging has degraded it, and current pressures on its edges are concerning, but it is still a superb and invaluable reserve. Its value is enhanced by the fact that its habitats continue to the south in the Queen Elizabeth National Park, providing a forested corridor some 180km long.

My very memorable day there, travelling with the estimable Rockjumper birding tours, began in the dark, because it is at dawn that the Green-breasted Pittas call. Our guides - both Gerard - were superb, finding their way through a maze of faint elephant tracks in the dark as we might make our way from bedroom to bathroom at night. 

The Gerards, top and bottom, left and right....
The rifles, which I understand to be old AK47s, were in case of unhappy elephants.
In urban Australia we are lucky enough not to need to know much about guns, but I was not reassured by these,
and I'm glad for all concerned that no annoyed elephants appeared.
The lack of a stock on one weapon alone would, I assume, make it a bit trickier to use.

 

Pre-dawn pitta hunt, Kibale.

It was delightful to be in the forest in the dark, then watching it slowly emerge around us. We arrived in a pitta territory in the dark, and waited until Gerard heard the faint distant call, like a wooden mallet melodiously resonating on a hollow wooden pipe. Closer up it resolved into a double note, like the very lowest end of a xylophone, with two bars being hit almost simultaneously. We dived after it and located the birds on the ground – a pair and a juvenile. Absolutely stunning birds, as pittas are, especially the three vividest blue wing stripes. 

 It was far too dark for my camera to provide you with a photograph of the bird; here is a lovely painting by early 20th century British artist Herbert Goodchild.

Green-breasted Pitta Pitta reichenowi, courtesy Wikicommons.

But the best was still to come. We walked for perhaps an hour, up and down hills, zig-zagging through the forest, then heard distant yelps and roars, and edged around bushes glistening with reeking chimp urine. Then, there she was, a female undeniably in oestrus, feeding high above us.

 

Chimpanzee female in oestrus, Kibale.
I find rainforest canopy photography difficult, but I hope the subject compensates.
She is part a large loose group of 130 chimps, habituated to visitors,
both researchers and fee-paying tourists.

These were the first wild apes I'd seen, and it was a remarkable experience. We watched as the big boss male threw a shrieking tantrum, rushing upright along a log, scattering all the others. He did it again later, more distantly, and the one I was watching at the time hid behind a tree trunk, peering round it until the trouble had passed. We followed them until they all climbed high into the trees, their huge strength evident in the way they swung easily up vines and trunks, often with one arm.

We assumed that that was the end of it, but not so! As we were preparing to leave, completely overwhelmed with our privilege and the experience, half a dozen males descended rapidly and proceeded to put in some serious snoozing on the forest floor. 

Reclining male chimp, Kibale.

It wouldn't matter if we'd had to sleep on the ground ourselves for such a treat, but in fact the accommodation at Primate Lodge was superb. 

Primate Lodge, Kibale National Park.
Open-air restaurant above, and my room below;
my little verandah looked across a little clearing into the rainforest.

 

As well as the chimps, there are another 12 primate species known from Kibale, including some uncommon ones.

L'Hoest's Monkey Cercopithecus lhoesti is restricted to the eastern Congo basin.
It is primarily terrestrial but takes to the trees when disturbed - see comment above on
my canopy photos! I've nowhere near done justice to this beautiful monkey.

Grey-cheeked Mangabey Lophocebus albigena.This somewhat scruffy delight is found west from Uganda to Guinea, travelling in troupes to gather forest fruits.

Of course there are always smaller animals to fascinate too.

Unidentified skink, Kibale.

Orbweb spider with katydid lunch, Kibale.

Platanna, or African Clawed Frog Xenopus sp., Magombe Swamp, Kibale Forest.
Widespread in sub-Saharan Africa, toothless and tongueless, it nonetheless eats
a wide variety of food courtesy of its claws with which it tears goodies apart
and pushes them down its throat.

There is of course a huge range of plants in any rainforest too, but this one especially intrigued me.

Thonningia sp., family Balanophoraceae, Kibale.
This remarkable plant is a root parasite on surrounding plants, by use of its tuber; its scaley leaves have no chlorophyll. Moreover the flowers emerge from under the ground! I'd never encountered anything like it.

Kibale forest is a delight at all levels and is an essential part of any visit to Uganda.Ultimately though, it's above all about the chimps.

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Orchids of Southern Peru 2; the eastern slopes

As I mentioned a few days ago we've been having some serious health distractions in our home this week; the patient (not me!) came home today, to my immense relief, so it's time to make you another offering. I'm feeling pretty wrung out, so maybe a gentle return to the orchids of southern Peru is in order. We began this exploration here, a few weeks ago.

From the Acjanaco Pass the road to Manu begins a huge winding descent of the eastern Andes into the Amazon Basin, ending at the somewhat wild little town of Atalaya on the Upper Madre de Dios River where the journey continues by boat. There is so much to see en route however that you are likely to make a couple of overnight stops before beginning your Amazon experience. If you are lucky and well-informed, the first of these might be at the Wayquecha Research Station run by ACCA, the Asociación para la Conservación de la Cuenca Amazónica (Association for the Conservation of the Amazon Basin). The station, at 3000 metres in the rich dripping cloud forest, also provides basic accommodation for visitors who can use the reserve walking tracks and learn something of the research being carried out at the time by visiting scientists from all over the world.

Cloud forests at Wayquecha, in unusually clear conditions!

 

The views from the balconies are superb.

However, this is a post about orchids, so having set the scene, I should show you some orchids! Yet again I will plead for any help you can give me with any of these identifications - inevitably there are species and even some genera I can't put a name to.

Cyrtochilum is a genus of nearly 150 species of the high Andes, from Venezuela to southern Peru. Many of them have huge sprays of flowers, a metre or more long.

Cyrtochilum sp. Wayquecha.
Full raceme above, and close-up below.

Odontoglossum is another commonly-met genus of the cloud forests; once its members numbered in the hundreds, but taxonomic reallocation of many of them leaves us with only 100 or so select from!

Odontoglossum auroincarum, above and and an unidentified (by me) Odontoglossum species below, Wayquecha.

 

Pachyphyllum ('thick leaf') is a genus of some 50 species found from northern South America to Mexico; we found two species along the research centre forest walking tracks.

Two Pachyphyllum species, Wayquecha, above and below.

 

Habenaria is a vast genus of some 800 species, found in much of Africa, southern Asia, tropical Australia and North and South America. It is believed that it arose in Africa and only reached South America relatively recently; tiny dust-like orchids seeds are very suited to being distributed by winds over huge distances.

Habenaria sp., Wayquecha.
(Though Richard Hoyer - see comments below - suggest that this could actually be Epidendrum fimbriatum.)

Maxillaria is yet another huge genus - nearly 600 species - but this one is limited to the tropical and subtropical Americas.

Maxillaria sp., Wayquecha.
Perhaps we can almost see the resemblance to a jawbone referred to in the name.
Maybe if you squint??

Stelis is yet another massive genus, of at least 500 small-flowered species, over 40 of which are found in Peru.

Stelis sp., Wayquecha.
If the identification is correct, it is atypical in that most Stelis have white flowers.

And inevitably there were a couple I couldn't even get to genus level; I really would be grateful if you can help!

Unidentified orchids, above and below, Wayquecha.

 

Much lower down the mountain, but still within the cloud forest zone, the San Pedro area is at around 1200 metres above sea level. The orchids are not as obviously abundant here as in the high elevation forests - perhaps just because the trees are higher - but there are some delights, notably among the Sobralias which, unusually for tropical orchids, are terrestrial. These are big plants; in some remarkable species the flower stems can be 10 metres tall!

We found two of the 120 or so Sobralia species along the roads near the lodge.

Sobralia virginalis, San Pedro area.

Sobralia sp. San Pedro area.

I hope you've enjoyed this little orchid ramble; I've found it decidedly therapeutic! I look forward to my next visit to this most wonderful part of this wonderful world.

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