It is wonderful to learn how many plants once thought to be extinct—sometimes for decades—have been rediscovered as botanists explore different parts of the world. During my research for this section, I learned about so many from my botanist friends at Kew, from Peter Raven of the Missouri Botanical Gardens, and from Hugh Bollinger. So many fascinating stories. Here I have just made a selection of a few that really enchant me, in their different ways.
A Truly Defiant Plant
It is not too surprising when plants are rediscovered in wilderness areas. But they can be found close to home, sometimes in the most unlikely places. The little Ventura march milk vetch (Astragalus pycnostachyus var. lanosissimus), which had been thought extinct for ten years, was found in 1997 growing on an abandoned oil field waste site! Incredibly, the little population was surviving on an artificially compacted substrate of clay, sand, and small gravels over a water table that was three to five feet below the surface, the whole area polluted with subsurface oil. And yet, despite this horrible habitat, the plants produced flowers and fruits almost every year after they were found. However, in view of the high level of pollution, it seemed that long-term survival of the plants was extremely unlikely. Thus seeds were collected, sent to a seed bank, and grown in a controlled environment. Some of these have been successfully introduced to a more suitable site.
A Flowering of a Baby’s Breath
Even when a species has been listed as extinct, some people refuse to accept this. They go on searching—and hoping. Such is the story of California’s Mount Diablo buckwheat (Eriogonum truncatum). This delicate little plant was first described in 1862, and it was still around in 1936 when it was recorded by botanist Dr. Mary Bowerman. But there were no subsequent sightings. As years went by and the buckwheat could not be found, and its habitat became increasingly overrun by introduced grasses, hope for its survival faded.
And then, on May 10, 2005, when the little plant had been presumed extinct for sixty years, it was rediscovered by University of California–Berkeley graduate student Michael Park. He told me he had “always clung to a hope that this beautiful plant, one of the three that are endemic to Mount Diablo, might still survive somewhere.” When he walked through the state park, he was always looking out for it. And on that exciting day he suddenly he came upon twenty plants—less than eight inches tall—“all in full bloom and looking like a cluster of pink baby’s breath.”
Mount Diablo Buckwheat (credit: Scott J. Hein).
We were talking on the phone, and he paused. Then he went on, “As I stood over those unexpected pink-flowered plants, it suddenly dawned on me that I had found the fabled Mount Diablo buckwheat!” I could hear the excitement in his voice. “It was such a thrill,” he said, “that it was difficult to muster any rational thought such as, This is a wonderful discovery! I simply stared in disbelief—but there it was.”
And then the full implication of his discovery swept over him. “At that moment, I completely understood. Things and events such as this were rare and precious.”
Michael and the largest plant at the site of the only known population of the Mount Diablo Buckwheat (Eriogonum truncatum) (credit: Michael S. Park).
Mike told me that it was the work of Dr. Mary Bowerman, one of the first women to receive a PhD in botany from UC Berkeley, that had introduced him to the Mount Diablo buckwheat. Her doctoral dissertation had been on the flora of Mount Diablo, and she was passionate about the area. In 1971, she co-founded the organization Save Mount Diablo, dedicated to expanding and preserving its open spaces. At that time, the Mount Diablo State Park was only 6,788 acres, but thanks to her impassioned efforts it was enlarged and today encompasses more than 20,000 acres. Thus, it is entirely possible that, but for Mary Bowerman, the Mount Diablo buckwheat—and possibly other plants also—would indeed have become extinct.
Bowerman had remained an avid botanist, hiking and collecting plant specimens well into her nineties, and delightfully she lived just long enough to hear about Michael’s discovery. She died a few months afterward at ninety-seven years of age; her memorial service was held in Mount Diablo State Park, among the flowers she had worked so hard to protect.
The Secret of a Rocky Mountain Ledge
The Snowdonia hawkweed (Hieracium snowdoniense) is a little perennial with bright yellow flowers from the highlands of Wales, where it was found only in Snowdonia—and there only on seven mountain ledges. It was first described in 1892, but from 1950 no sightings were made; it was presumed to be extinct. Overgrazing by sheep was almost certainly the cause, for they not only destroyed the fragile mountain environment but also nibbled at the plant itself.
And then in 2002, about fifty years from last sighting, botanists discovered one plant on a rocky, steep north-facing cliff near Bethesda—very close to where the species had last been seen, and where it had been searched for, unsuccessfully, again and again.
Tim Rich, head of vascular plants at the National Museums and Galleries of Wales, was leading the expedition. I called him, asking how it had felt to rediscover this plant. He said: “We were literally capering about for joy on the mountain ledges like lunatics when we found it.” I was still smiling at this mental picture as he continued, “It may not be the most spectacular plant in the world, but to me, at least, it is very beautiful.”
This was an exciting find. It resulted in the removal of sheep from the immediate area. And, of course, the collection of seeds. These germinated without difficulty, and seedlings are being grown at the National Botanic Garden of Wales. Rich says that other surveys are planned, and it is hoped that once sheep have been fully removed the plant can be reintroduced to areas where it once grew.
Flowering Robbins' Cinquefoil at Monroe Flats, White Mountains, New Hampshire (credit: Doug Weihrauch/Appalachia Mountain Club).
Stolen for Its Beauty
Unlike the plants in the previous tales, Robbins’ cinquefoil (Potentilla robbinsiana) was never presumed extinct. It is a dwarf alpine perennial found only in the White Mountains of New Hampshire where it is, today, very rare indeed. Individual plants, which can live for at least twenty-five years, are found struggling to survive only in the most rugged areas.
In 1824, when it was first described, the Robbins’ cinquefoil had a much larger distribution. Unfortunately, the beautiful little plant attracted the attention of collectors—both scientific and private—who were eager to acquire specimens for their collections. Literally hundreds of these dwarf mountain cinquefoil were removed from their natural habitat. They were considered so common that you could apparently buy a plant for just ten cents in Boston.
It is part of human nature to want to own beautiful things, and when the object of our desire is a part of nature our greed or ignorance can have a devastating impact. Other plants, especially some species of orchid, have been collected to extinction. I wonder how many of the Robbins’ cinquefoil that were bought for ten cents actually survived? And when one died, did anyone grieve that a small piece of nature had been prematurely killed?
That collecting frenzy, of course, died away, but not before it had taken a huge toll on the populations of the little plant. And then, as it struggled to maintain itself, another severe threat to its survival surfaced—the recent huge increase in the number of visitors to the White Mountains. And the main hiking trail was routed right through the last stronghold of the Robbins’ cinquefoil. The heavy foot traffic proved very damaging not only to the cinquefoil but also to other mountain flora, along with their fragile habitat. I have seen, firsthand, the damage that “nature lovers” can wreak on the environment. How many Robbins’ cinquefoil, I wonder, were wounded, even killed, by hiking feet?
Fortunately, many organizations are now collaborating to protect this special gem of the wilderness. The hiking trail has been successfully rerouted, and horticulturalists are researching ways to increase the number of Robbins’ cinquefoil. They have succeeded in reintroducing seedlings into the natural habitat, and are hopeful that Robbins’ cinquefoil will start colonizing another peak where it once grew. In 2002, thanks to these efforts, the Robbins’ cinquefoil was moved from “Critically Endangered” to the “Endangered” category on the federal list of endangered and threatened plants.
Flowering Erica verticillata at Rondevlei Nature Reserve (credit: Victoria Wilman).
A Tale from Cape Town
Erica verticillata is a very beautiful plant that can grow up to three yards high, and producing large numbers of striking pink tubular flowers in the summer. When I look at the photos, I wonder how it could possibly have come so close to extinction. Erica verticillata—known as erica—originally grew in a seasonal wetland habitat in acidic, sandy soils on the Cape Flats of South Africa. And then, with a repetition of the familiar story, the flats were taken over for agricultural and urban development. It was thought to have vanished in the wild at the beginning of the twentieth century. The last specimen to be collected in 1908 is in the herbarium at Kirstenbosch Botanical Gardens in Cape Town.
About seventy years later Deon Kotz, a horticulturist at Kirstenbosch, made photocopies of the herbarium sheets describing erica, determined to search for the lovely plant in the remnants of its original habitat. He was not successful—but in 1984 David von Well, a Kirstenbosch scholar, was looking through those photocopied sheets and with great excitement realized that he had actually seen a single individual erica growing in Protea Park in Pretoria. This caused a stir—and David Cooke of Kew, hearing about the discovery, realized there was another growing at Kew. Then a third was found by the foreman at Kirstenbosch, wonderfully named Adonis Adonis, in a clearing just behind a well-used trail in the botanical garden itself! And a fourth was identified that had been growing in a European garden since the mid–nineteenth century!
Victoria Wilman handles an Erica verticillata seedling at Rondevlei Nature Reserve (credit: Victoria Wilman).
New plants have been successfully propagated from cuttings from each of these four survivors. But it took a while to figure out what was necessary germinate the seeds, a fascinating piece of detective work that I heard about from Victoria Willman, who for several years worked to propagate plant species of the Cape Flats area. Throughout the historic range of erica, she told me, periodic fires naturally occurred every five to forty years. And this seems to have been essential for the plants growing there. The fires swept through the thick vegetation, leaving open areas that were then colonized by new plants.
And horticulturists found out that chemicals in the smoke, coupled with the autumn change in temperature between day and night, stimulates seed germination as the winter rains begin. To mimic this situation, material from erica, including old flower heads and green leaves, is ignited and the smoke is collected and allowed to settle. This concentrated smoke extract is then dissolved into the water used to irrigate the seeds planted during the autumn. When I visited Kew, they told me that they receive bottles of this water for the erica seeds they are growing there!
Work has now begun to restore populations of erica in the wild.
