Ian Fraser, talking naturally

Both Charles Moore and Gustav Kunze have made a visible mark on the Australian botanical landscape (or at least its labelling!), and while neither were anywhere near being major players, any story is made up of lots of small incidents and characters.

Moore was born Charles Muir in Scotland, but when his family moved to Ireland they changed their surname to Moore - no explanations available I'm afraid! Charles trained at Kew, and returned to Ireland to work as a botanical surveyor. His work impressed the English botanist John Lindley who was doing a lot of work on the Australian material which was flooding back to Europe, and at Lindley's recommendation Moore was appointed NSW Government Botanist in 1848 (aged just 28), which included responsibility for the botanic gardens.

Charles Moore, date and photographer unknown.
Courtesy State Library of New South Wales.

He got off to a bad start, through no fault of his own, because the man acting in the job, John Bidwill, was popular and was a local, and Australians were already starting to resent having London impose outsiders on them. The gardens' Committee of Management opposed him and attempted to undermine him for decades to come. Nonetheless Moore threw himself into the job with enthusiasm, and it was not an easy brief, to rejuvenate the badly run-down gardens while maintaining and restoring both their scientific and recreational values. His system of informatively labelling all specimens is still followed.

Within two years he was off collecting in the Solomons, New Caledonia and New Hebrides. He built an educational centre and lectured in it to students for the next 30 years. Later he conducted expeditions throughout wetter New South Wales, including Lord Howe Island, and into Queensland, and made trips to Europe, including on behalf of the citrus growers' association!

He corresponded with the great Ferdinand von Mueller of Melbourne and supplied him with many specimens, but later they reportedly fell out, though I can't ascertain the cause and von Mueller was still naming species for him at least until 1881.

Macrozamia moorei, in dry ironbark forest, Mt Moffat NP, central Queensland.
This big cycad - the largest Macrozamia species in Australia - was named by von Mueller for Moore in 1881.

Less gloriously perhaps, he notoriously had one JC Dunlop and his wife tossed out of the gardens for displaying 'uxorious affection'; it is not made clear to what extent they were affectionate! Dunlop was outraged and successfully sued Moore (in the Water Police Court??), but no less august a person than the Colonial Secretary crushed the unfortunate magistrate's ruling.

Moore became a very influential figure, and served on many scientific committees; he published a significant Handbook of the Flora of New South Wales in 1893, retired in 1896 - after guiding the gardens and botanical research in the state for 48 years - and died 'today' in 1905.

Pinkwood or Plumwood Eucryphia moorei, Monga National Park, New South Wales; named by von Mueller in 1863.
An ancient Gondwanan, with five Australian and two South American species.

Gustav Kunze died long before Moore, and never came to Australia, but he did have a significant and beautiful Australian genus named for him. Kunzea is in the family Myrtaceae, closely related to Callistemon and like that genus the flowers are dominated by long stamens.

Kunzea recurva, Stirling Ranges National Park, Western Australia.

Kunze was a German botanist and entomologist, professor at Leipzig University; fellow German botanist (and zoologist) Ludwig Reichenbach named the genus for him in 1828. Kunze was born in 1793 and died on 30 April 1851. His main botanical interests were ferns and orchids, but I'm sure he would have been pleased with his Australian namesake.

Kunzea parvifolia, near Canberra.
This lovely shrub covers disturbed land, including unworked farmland, in spring, in its
role as an ecological coloniser. For the same reason it is sometimes also regarded as a weed.

I'm about to go away for a few weeks, taking a group of people to central Australia - please come back and visit again when I get back!

BACK ON 4 JUNE.

Well, we're just back from a month's trip to central Australia, showing a group of people the natural wonders of that magnificent area. Naturally enough there will be postings here flowing from that trip, but I've got quite a bit of work to do yet on my pics before they'll be ready to use. So today, a somewhat flippant look at some scientific names of plants and animals which would elicit a big WHOOPS! from the perpetrating author if they could see them with the benefit of our knowledge. Their mistakes range from changes that take place in specimens after death, to mislabelling, to good old-fashioned typos. In each case, bad luck, the rules of taxonomy don't allow us to correct a published name, no matter how misleading or even downright erroneous it may be!

One of my favourites is that of the common and widespread Australian Green Tree Frog, a magnificent animal which happily lives in buildings throughout northern and north-eastern Australia. It's called Green for a very good reason, but bizarrely its scientific name is Litoria caerulea, caerulea being Latin for dark blue. The reason lies in a curious quirk of chemistry, whereby the frog, when preserved in formalin, turns blue!

Green Tree Frog, Karumba, Queensland.
The green colour is based on reflected blue light from specially shaped cells (more on that here)
passing through an overlay of yellow pigment - the yellow pigment was stripped off by the preservative.

A rather lovely little orchid, which only flowers in the spring after hot summer fires, is misnamed similarly; when dried the red flowers turn black - hence Pyrorchis ('fire orchid') nigricans ('blackish').

Undertaker Orchid, Brisbane Ranges NP, Victoria.
This common name derives from the same phenomenon as the scientific Pyrorchis nigricans.

In some cases the author completely misunderstood what they were naming; this is particularly obvious in some of the early names for marsupials.

Lumholtz's Tree Kangaroos Dendrolagus lumholtzi, Yungaburra, Queensland.
The 19th century German naturalist and collector, Salomon Mueller, coined the genus name
Dendrolagus, meaning 'tree hare'.

Yellow-footed Rock-Wallaby Petrogale xanthopus, Flinders Ranges, South Australia.
This one is even weirder - Petrogale means 'rock weasel'! This was down to John Edward Gray,
Keeper of Zoology at the British Museum, in 1837. Other marsupial genera were also named accordingly.

Fredrick Hasselqvist was a Swedish student of Linnaeus, who travelled through the middle east and Egypt, where he reported a bird that he said the Egyptians called Sacred Ibis; Linnaeus subsequently gave this name (ibis) to the bird. Sadly for both, it was the wrong bird...

Cattle Egrets Ardea ibis, Nowra, New South Wales.

Problems have arisen too when an atypical sample was used as the type specimen, on which the description and name was based. Snow Gums Eucalyptus pauciflora for instance have profuse flowers, but the specimen received by ill-fated Czech botanist Franz Sieber did not, hence the pauciflora - 'sparse flowering'. Another example is provided by the genus Xanthosia, the southern cross flowers, family Apiaceae. English botanist Edward Rudge received specimens from Sydney of the species he named Xanthosia pilosa - it was a bold decision to name the entire genus from the Greek for yellow on the basis of one specimen, and it backfired because not only are most species in the genus white-flowered, but X. pilosa itself is variable, and often has white flowers...

Xanthosia pilosa, Bundanoon, New South Wales.

A variation on this theme is provided by another genus, Ceratopetalum, family Cunoniaceae. The most familiar species here is NSW Christmas Bush C. gummiferum, which is also the type species. The genus name means 'horn-like petals', due to their shape. Unfortunately for the great John Smith who named the genus, another common species, the Coachwood of NSW sub-tropical rainforests, had no petals at all - it is hard to avoid the impression that Scottish botanist David Don was making a point when he called it Ceratopetalum apetalum, surely an utterly nonsensical name!

Coachwood Ceratopetalum apetalum, Morton NP, New South Wales.

Attempts to determine behaviour based on fossil evidence can be very exciting - but to set such opinions in stone (as it were) by basing names on them can be fraught. The Mongolian dinosaur genus we call Oviraptor (the 'egg thief'), one of the small hunters of the time, was so called by US palaeontologist Henry Osborn in the 1920s, because its skull was found virtually on top of a nest of dinosaur eggs. Later it became clear that the eggs were its own, and it was tending them when it died; I believe that its descendants' lawyers are preparing a case for defamation.

A simple typo can be fatal for an unwary author too - once published it can't be corrected, as a couple of eminent botanists have discovered. One of the most eminent, the Scot Robert Brown, wanted to honour his French colleague, the magnificently named Jean-Baptiste Louis Claude Théodore Leschenault de La Tour, botanist on the Baudin expedition to Australia. Unfortunately Brown's French failed him, and he omitted the 's' from Leschenault's name. It was corrected for a while, but eventually the taxonomy police ruled that Brown's error had to stand.


Lechenaultia biloba, Yandin Hill Lookout, Western Australia. A magnificent tribute to Leschenault, and we honour him as intended in the vernacular names - in this case simply Blue Leschenaultia.

Brachyscome is a familiar Australian daisy genus, named by another Frenchman, Henry Cassini, in 1816 - the name means 'short hair', but he soon after realised that the correct Greek construction when joining the words was Brachycome and corrected it (I confess that I much prefer the 'correct' version). This is a contentious one, but the ruling came down on the side of consistency, so Brachyscome it is in the Floras and on the labels in botanic gardens.

Brachy(s)come nivalis, Namadgi NP, above Canberra.

There are several significant examples from Australia of specimens being mislabelled (working too many late nights and long days?), or labels being illegible or even mixed up. The Squirrel Glider is Petaurus norfolcensis, but has never occurred on Norfolk Island and the specimen originated in Sydney.

Green Rosella Platycercus caledonicus, Ben Lomond NP, Tasmania.
This species is restricted to Tasmania, but somehow the specimen label read 'Nova Caledonia' (ie New Caledonia).

Laughing Kookaburras Dacelo novaeguineae, Canberra.
A very familiar Australian kingfisher indeed, but despite the name, not found in New Guinea.
Somehow the place of origin morphed from New South Wales to New Guinea, but in this case it seems to have been
a deliberate porky on the part of Frenchman Pierre Sonnerat, who obtained the skin in New South Wales, but wanted
to claim he'd explored New Guinea, so described it as from there. He had form - he also tried to pass off stolen penguin skins as having been collected by him in New Guinea! His compatriot Johann Hermann believed him and named it accordingly. It is ironic that Hermann's name was lost for over a century, and the species name gigas ('big'), applied by Dutchman Pieter Boddaert, was used, which in this case seems just. However in the 1950s Hermann's priority was established (he'd published just before Boddaert), perhaps unfortunately in this instance...

So, names... Just human conceits of course, albeit invaluable ones for communication. If we can be amused by them, so much the better. They're never as important and interesting as the organisms on which we've bestowed them of course though.

BACK ON FRIDAY (for Sweden's national day)

Today is celebrated by Swedes as their National Day, commemorating the election of Gustav Eriksson as first king of Sweden in 1523 (no, I know kings aren't usually elected, but he was - they do things differently there). This gave Sweden independence from a Danish-dominated confederacy, though the day wasn't formally celebrated until 1916, and didn't become the official National Day until 1983.

Nonetheless that's good enough for them, and good enough for our purpose, which is to celebrate Swedes whose names are commemorated in Australian plants and animals - in practice it's mostly plants. As was usual for the time, many of those celebrated had no connection with Australia or its biota, but were being honoured by their peers; at least today's featured Swedes were all biologists, not patrons or other non-biologists whose favours taxonomists often tried to win with a name.

I'll start with the one who really did come to Australia, Daniel Solander, a star pupil of Linnaeus himself (surely the greatest of all Swedish biologists) who was engaged by Sir Joseph Banks to sail as a naturalist on the Endeavour with James Cook in 1770. Solander had been invited to London to teach the new classification system, and became employed by the British Museum, from which he took leave to accompany Banks. Using the Linnaean system he catalogued the expedition's collections while still at sea; using little reference cards he filled 27 volumes of animals and 25 of plants. He became and remained a good friend of Banks, who employed him as librarian, but died in London aged just 49.

Geranium solanderi, Namadgi National Park, above Canberra.

There is an animal named for him too, the Providence Petrel Pterodroma solandri, named by John Gould 62 years after Solander's death. For a while there were two, but Coenraad Temminck's name Psittacus solanderi was pre-empted - the really weird thing is that it was Temminck himself who'd provided the earlier valid name!

Glossy Black-Cockatoo Calyptorhynchus lathami, named by Temminck for English ornithologist
John Latham in 1807, a fact he'd apparently forgotten 14 years later when he tried to name it again for Solander!

After Solander's early death, Banks appointed Jonas Dryander, another pupil of Linnaeus, to replace him as his private librarian - Swedes were much in demand at the time, thanks in large part to Linnaeus. A very large and impressive genus of Western Australian members of the family Proteaceae was named for him; to much consternation and angst however it seems that Dryandra will be subsumed - for excellent taxonomic reasons I hasten to add - into the larger and more widely familiar genus Banksia.

Dryandra sp. (at least for now, perhaps) near Albany.

Other eminent Swedes also bloom on in Australia, though the original owners of the names never came here or studied Australian plants. In my part of the world the best known is the man who gave his name to the genus of the Australian Capital Territory's floral emblem Wahlenbergia gloriosa. (That's a story, and a controversial one, in itself, but we talked about that here, in an earlier post.)

Wahlenbergia stricta (and visitor), family Campanulaceae, Canberra.
Goran Wahlenberg, who German Heinrich Schrader commemorated with the name in 1821, was a botanist and
medical professor who specialised in Arctic plants.

Abraham Baeck was another late 18th century botanist-physician, who became personal physician to the King of Sweden; he was also a close friend of Linnaeus, who honoured him with a mostly Australian genus of Myrtaceae.

Baeckea utilis, Kosciuszko National Park.

Swedish Royal Physicians are better represented in Australia than most of us probably suspect - a widespread genus of aromatic Australian shrubs in the garden herb family, including some familiar east coastal ones, is named for another one.

Westringia rigida, Nullarbor Plain, western South Australia.
Westringia was named for Johan Westring by English botanist John Smith.
Westring mixed his royal caring duties with studies of lichens.

Johann Frankenius was another eminent Swedish botanist and anatomist who made the first complete listing of Swedish plants. Again it was Linnaeus who honoured him with the name of a delightful Australian plant genus - though he was not, as one apparently reputable source suggests, a friend of Linnaeus, since he died some 40 year before Linnaeus was born.

Massed Frankenia sp., in dry lake bed near Mount Magnet, inland Western Australia.
The genus is widely spread in Mediterranean parts of the world, though the majority are Australian.

Finally, yet another botanical colleague of Linnaeus is found in many damp places in Australia, New Zealand and the Pacific, where sedges grow.

Gahnia grandis, Cradle Mountain National Park, Tasmania.
The saw sedges have savage little silicon teeth along the edges of the leaves,
which I'm sure is no reflection on Henry Gahn for whom they are named.

So, happy day to any Swedish readers I may have! If you can't visit soon, at least know that you're well represented in our bushland. And I trust the rest of you will join me in raising a glass to our Swedish friends. Skål!

BACK ON TUESDAY

Driving the empty bus home recently from our central Australian tour, we stopped off at Warrigal Waterhole near Mount Isa, deep in the tropics in north-western Queensland. 'Warrigal' is a word once widely used - though less so now - for a Dingo, though it has also been applied to Aboriginal people living in a traditional manner, and feral horses. Since the root word was apparently from the language of the long-gone Sydney people (whose name may have been something like Dharuk) the use for the waterhole is either a 'whitefella' application, or a 'sounds like' borrowing from the local Kalkadoon language.

Whatever the origin of the name, it was a delightful spot and an hour flew, despite sitting on granite rocks!

The access road is a four wheel drive track, and we had to abandon our bus early on and do a five kilometre return walk across rapidly warming open country - well it was only about 30 degrees, but warm enough.

The bus waits patiently; the road was more deeply rutted and gouged
than this picture suggests.

This is arid land, with tumbled gibbers (wind polished rocks tumbled from the eroding hills) and spiky Spinifex Grass (Triodia spp.) dominating. There are many termite mounds (the termites live by harvesting the spinifex), and a scattering of eucalypts and acacias.

Beautiful country in itself, but we were just passing though...

When we reached the gorge, there was still a serious obstacle to bypass...

He could well have been feral, but even 'domestic' cattle here are pretty wild;
we cautiously climbed the rocky hillside above him, and were relieved when he ambled off.

The waterhole itself is a beautiful oasis, cool and shady. Such places in desert lands are crucial for wildlife, and are great (and very pleasant) places to watch it.

The photos which follow were of birds drinking on a little sandy beach just out of picture in the
right foreground, and the rocks just behind it.
Even without them, the coolth of the shade and the reflections would have been beguiling enough.

While we were there ten bird species came in - of them I only failed to photograph a Grey-headed Honeyeater. One of the most ubiquitous - and delightful - birds in Australia is the Willie Wagtail, found from city centres to remote desert sites. And of course there was one here to keep an eye on us!

Willie Wagtail Rhipidura leucophrys, a fantail.

The most ubiquitous of the drinkers were Grey-fronted Honeyeaters Lichenostomus plumulus, found across much of inland Australia.

Grey-fronted Honeyeaters, above and below.
See here for a posting on this widespread genus of honeyeaters;
when I wrote it however I didn't have any photos of this species!

In the background of this photo is a young Long-tailed Finch Poephila acuticauda, here at the south-eastern edge of its tropical distribution. I hadn't expected to see them here, and it was one of four finch species which visited while we watched. Another finch gave us perhaps the most pleasure though, as we'd missed it in central Australia, and this was really our last chance for the trip.

Painted Finch Emblema pictum standing above the Grey-fronted Honeyeaters.

Painted Finches (showing black and red, in the foreground and on the rock to the left)
are widely found in the dry country, but only in rocky ranges where there is permanent water.
There is also a Long-tailed Finch at back left, and the ever-present Grey-fronted Honeyeaters.

Another Painted Finch (or rather the one above again), and top left (blurred by its movement) a Zebra Finch,
numerous throughout the Australian arid lands.

Zebra Finches Taeniopygia guttata (I've stopped pointing out the honeyeaters!).
Their little toy trumpet tootling calls are one of the key sounds of the outback. They are
superbly adapted to desert living, and I'll tell their story in their own posting one day.

The fourth species of finch was the pretty little Double-barred Finch Taeniopygia bichenovii, with blue bill and owl-like face; only one very poor photo I'm afraid.

One bedraggled little Double-bar, post-bath (plus Willie Wagtail, and the honeyeater of course).
Actually this is such a bad pic that I'm going to insert a better one of them, from a Darwin back yard!

Back to Warrigal Waterhole, where two species of elegant little doves were also much in evidence.

Diamond Doves Geopelia cuneata (red eye ring) and Peaceful Dove G. placida (blue eye ring, at the top) are,
like the finches, seed-eaters which must drink daily. Diamond Doves are Australia's smallest pigeon.

Lastly, a few individuals of one of our favourite dry country birds made a brief visit, but the bigger flock was too nervous of our presence to come down while we sat there.

Budgerigars Melopsittacus undulatus are real children of El Niño, breeding into vast flocks in the good times,
dying in the millions in droughts, with just a few surviving to build the new populations.

I've sat by many desert waterholes, but I can't remember such a peacefully busy time as we spent watching the birds come to Warrigal Waterhole.

BACK ON FRIDAY

It's been a while now since I offered one of my intermittent series on colour in nature. The last two series were on yellow and blue. I mention these specifically because both are essential to understanding green in animals. Among vertebrates in particular, green pigments are almost unknown (like blue), and what looks green to our eyes is a clever sleight of hand (or eye), almost universally formed by a combination of yellow pigments (especially carotenoids which, as mentioned in the earlier article, must be obtained from plant material) and structural blue. In very brief, this involves light scattering by appropriately sized 'bubbles' in feathers or skin which reflect only blue light - there's a lot more detail in the earlier posting, linked above.

Musk Lorikeet Glossopsitta concinna, Coles Bay, Tasmania.
The lorikeets are little nomadic blossom specialists, all basically green.
(They are also shameless with regards to colour coordination!)

Like virtually all green birds, the lorikeets' feathers are really yellow, with blue light reflecting through them, which our eyes interpret as green. Presumably green confers camouflage protection in foliage - though in the case of the parrots, the contrasting other colours (mostly pigments) might seem to defeat that purpose! Here are some more examples - enjoy!

Mulga Parrot male Psephotus varius, inland Western Australia.
These stunning little parrots are found throughout much of the Australian inland -
not just in Mulga, woodlands dominated by Acacia aneura.

Yellow-crowned Parrots (or Amazons) Amazona ochrocephala and Mealy Parrots A. farinosa,
Blanquillo clay lick, Peru.

Spotted Catbird Ailuroedus melanotis, Atherton Tablelands, tropical Queensland.
An apparently 'primitive' bowerbird which doesn't build display bowers.

Western Violaceous (White-tailed) Trogon Trogon chionurus, Cerro Blanco Reserve, Ecuador.
For non-Americans, trogons are one of the most delightful surprises in the neo-tropics.

Crimson-rumped Toucanet Aulacorhynchus haematopygus, Paz de las Aves, Ecuador.
An exquisite tiny toucan, sometimes seen at fruit feeders.

The principle applies not just to birds however. Frogs, despite famously being green (though most aren't!), have no green pigments either. Their skin structure is very complex; blue frogs have a layer of dark melanophores, overlaid by iridophores that reflect blue light. Green frogs have a layer of yellow pigmented xanthophores on top of that - extraordinary! But clearly to those frogs that possess it, green is an important colour to be.

Litoria moorei, Margaret River, south-west Western Australia.
This beauty is known as the Motor Bike Frog for its remarkable call.

unidentified tree frog, Bwindi Impenetrable National Park, Uganda.

I believe that green reptiles get their colour thus too, though I'm not sure that much work has been done here.

Amazonian Racerunner Ameiva ameiva, Manu National Park, Peru.
Widespread in the neotropics, and introduced into North America.

Green tree snake Thrasops batesii, Limbe Botanic Gardens, Cameroon.

Many green butterflies too rely on yellow pigments and reflected light to achieve the effect; the microstructure of butterfly and moth scales is extraordinary.

butterflies, Manu River, Peru.
Million of butterflies congregate on the river banks, where their coiled proboscises
are as useful for taking up water as nectar.

Splendid Ghost Moth Aenetus ligniveren, Namadgi National Park, above Canberra.
This moth astonishes me - both wings and fur are green, both achieved by bending light to suit its needs.

beetle, perhaps a cockchafer, subfamily Melolonthinae, on Acacia, Leeuwin Naturaliste NP,
south-western Western Australia.
I am confident that this too relies on light diffraction.

What I am uncertain of with regard to the beetle is whether pigment is also involved, or whether a different wave-length is being reflected, so that it is green, rather than blue light being bounced to our eyes. Certainly several bird groups use this more direct approach to produce green. Here are some examples.

Rainbow Bee-eater Merops ornatus, Fraser Island, Queensland.
Australia's only bee-eater, but a pretty nifty one!

Dollarbird Eurystomus orientalis, a roller, and also our only species; they are closely related to bee-eaters.

Rufous-tailed Hummingbird Amazilia tzacatl, Ecuador.

Broad-billed Motmot Electron platyrhynchum, southern Ecuador.
Motmots are also in the same order as bee-eaters and rollers, probably not a coincidence that they
share this green-producing mechanism.

Emerald Dove Chalcophaps indica, Lord Howe Island.
Many fruit doves share this characteristic too; this one is found from India to Australia.

A very few birds however do produce their own green pigments; best known are the wonderful African turacos, which manufacture turacoverdin, a copper-based porphyrin, from fruit. The turaco reds, turacins, are derived similarly; it has been calculated that the feathers of a red and green turaco contain some 20mg of copper, to derive which some 20kg of fruit must have been eaten, which would take two to three months! Clearly he is making a statement.

Touraco page from Birds of Western Africa, Borrow and Demey, Helm Guides.

It has recently been recognised that a few other birds - some jacanas and pheasants, and the Indonesian Crested Wood-partridge - also produce turacoverdins.

Another class of chemicals, biliverdins, are also utilised by some animals as green pigments - mostly these are invertebrates, but they are used in some fish bones that are green (!) and oddly, in emu and cassowary eggs!

Emu eggs, south-western Queensland.

Grasshoppers and mantids also employ biliverdins.

unidentified grasshoppers:
Currawinya NP, south-west Queensland (above),
and Mt Kupé, Cameroon (below).

Praying Mantis, subalpine Namadgi National Park, above Canberra.

And finally, for today at least, some of the many green caterpillars take their pigments from the degradation products of photosynthesis that they eat - a useful camouflage tool.

Hawkmoth (?) caterpillar, Uluru National Park, central Australia.

It may or may not be easy being green, but it's certainly a complex process becoming so!

BACK ON TUESDAY

This is another in a sporadic series on my favourite tree groups, triggered perhaps by seeing the beautiful Desert Figs growing on rock faces in the central desert ranges recently.

Desert, or Rock Fig Ficus brachypoda (formerly known as F. platypoda), John Hayes Rockhole, East MacDonnell Ranges, central Australia.
This species also grows in wetter tropical areas to the north, but survives in the relatively humid situations
of the desert ranges.

Desert Figs often grow in apparently impossible situations, sending roots down for metres
from where the seed lodged to find soil and eventually a water table. This distorted tree
is at Ellery Creek Big Hole, West MacDonnell Ranges.

This stunted specimen has sent roots out, mostly in vain, searching for sustenance.
Kings Canyon Rim Walk, George Gill Range.

And this one is in an even more exposed situation, surviving somehow in sand on top of the plateau
above Palm Valley.

This is just one species - and in terms of habitat an atypical one - among some 900 Ficus species, found throughout the world's tropics. This makes it one of the largest plant genera in the world and it is an ancient one, hence its very wide distribution. One characteristic is the milky latex, which in Ficus elastica produces a rubber (though this is not the Rubber Tree Hevea brasiliensis,from Brazil).

Another is the fruit, which apparently led figs (specifically Ficus carica) to be the first cultivated plant, known from sub-fossils of sterile figs (which could only have been produced by cultivation) from 11,000 years ago in what is now Palestine.

Desert Fig fruits, Kings Canyon, George Gill Range, central Australia.

These fruits are not what they seem; in fact they are a cluster of numerous tiny fruits, enclosed, like the flowers from which they form, on the inside of the 'fruit'.

Fallen fig 'fruit' - the actual tiny fruits and flowers are visible on the inside of the casing,
which is comprised of the fused stems of the fruit.

The pollinating wasps hatch inside the infructescence - to give it its formal name - and feed on special infertile flowers before mating. The males die, never seeing the world outside their fig. As the females leave they collect pollen from the male flowers near the entrance, and take it to another fig which they pollinate while laying their eggs. It's up to you if you want to think about that when you next bite into one...

Many fig plants, including the Desert Fig, belong to a fig group called Banyans, or Strangler Figs. Stranglers are mostly rainforest figs which start life when a fruit is deposited by bird or fruit bat on a tree branch or rock face high above the ground, then sends down roots to find ground. They are not parasites, but will eventually kill the host tree, not by 'strangling' but by shading out its canopy, denying it essential sunlight.

This Small-leafed Strangler Fig Ficus obliqua still contains the trunk of its host tree,
clearly visible through the root network.
Chichester State Forest, New South Wales.

More Small-leafed Stranglers from Chichester State Forest (above and below).
They have become huge dominant trees in their own right, with their own massive crown and load of epiphytes, especially (in the photo above) Birds Nest Ferns Asplenium sp.

Eventually all trace of the doomed host tree disappears, as its trunk rots and the fig 'fills in' the gap.

Small-leafed Strangler Fig buttresses, enclosed now so that the host is completely gone.

These aerial roots can become massive if they simply descend vertically without following the host's trunk. One of the most famous such trees is the Curtain Fig Ficus virens near Yungaburra on the Atherton Tableland, tropical Queensland.

Curtain Fig; the remarkable curtain formed when the host tree toppled sideways to lean against a neighbouring tree.
The fig went with it, putting down roots to the ground from all along its angled trunk
and eventually taking over the new host.

In some banyans these aerial roots provide props which allow the tree to spread out to cover vast areas. One specimen of the Indian Banyan Tree Ficus benghalensis was recorded as growing on a palm tree in the Kolkata Botanic Gardens in 1786. By 1911 the palm had long gone and the banyan covered nearly a hectare, supported by over 500 trunks.

Roots becoming supporting trunks, Moreton Bay Figs or Banyans Ficus macrophylla, Lord Howe Island.

So far all the illustrations are of Australian figs, but as I mentioned there are species throughout the tropics.

Figs and Euphorbias dominating woodland east of Masindi, Uganda.

Fig fruit, Inca Track above Machu Picchu, Peru.

Almost wherever you are reading this there are likely to be figs, either natural or cultivated. They deserve our unreserved appreciation.

BACK ON SATURDAY

Lieutenant-Colonel William Paterson is not much remembered these days in Australia, compared with some of his apparently less admirable contemporaries in the early days of the colony. I think that's unfortunate; while he was undeniably the wrong man for the job he was actually doing - he seems to have been most amiable and averse to conflict - his passion for natural history, and botany in particular, will always endear him to me. I'm happy to play my small part in refreshing our memories of him, to mark the 204th anniversary of his death.

Colonel William Paterson, 1799; artist William Owen.
Courtesy Art Gallery of New South Wales.

He was a Scot, born in 1755, who was always interested in botany from his boyhood, a passion apparently imbued in him by his father, a professional gardener. In 1777 Lady Strathmore from a neighbouring estate, who shared his love of botany, was instrumental in sending him to South Africa for three years to collect plants for her. Sadly for all concerned, during this period Lady Strathmore's husband died and she entered into an unfortunate remarriage to a man who not only disapproved of his new wife's botanical interests but took over her money and cut off Paterson's cash supply, leaving him grievously in debt.

He enlisted into the army in 1781, probably to help alleviate his financial woes, but also to take him to new places and new plants. Based on his South African experiences he wrote the snappily titled Narrative of four journeys into the country of the Hottentots of Caffraria, which he shrewdly dedicated to Sir Joseph Banks, for whom he later collected plants in Madras. It seems in fact as though a major purpose in his life was to find favour with the great botanical patron.

In 1789 he was made a Captain in the New South Wales Corps and given the task of both recruiting and commanding a company which he was to take to the New South Wales colony, where he arrived in 1791 and was immediately made commander of troops on that most brutal of convict outposts, Norfolk Island. His determination at this time was to collect a specimen of every Norfolk Island plant, as well as rock specimens and insects, during his 16 months of service there. Back in Sydney in 1793 he made one of the first attempts to enter the Blue Mountains by boat along the Grose River; with the knowledge of the time it wasn’t a silly idea at all, but he found that the waterfalls somewhat restricted navigation to the boat. He did of course make plant collections here including some hitherto unknown species.

Twining Fringe-lily Thysanotus patersonii Family Anthericaceae, Canberra.
This is one of my favourite spring flowers around here, named for Paterson in 1810,
the year of his death, by fellow Scot, the great botanist Robert Brown.

By now he was second in command of the Corps and for much of 1795 acted as colony administrator during the interregnum before Governor Hunter arrived. While always apparently scrupulous and ethical himself - he later died in poverty - he notably failed to rein in the corrupt practices of those under his command, who were widely and publicly trading in spirits.

In 1796 he went home on sick leave with an eye infection, taking plants for Banks and advising him on trees to be planted in the colony. He was elected a Fellow of the Royal Society, made Lieutenant-Colonel and sent back here as Lieutenant-Governor to Governor King in 1799. Of these honours I suspect that he most prized the fellowship as he had previously sought it but been advised by Banks to wait until he had proved himself further.

When the arrogant and ambitious disgraced soldier John McArthur tried to embroil Paterson into his personal dispute with the governor over his rights to make money however he chose, Paterson was offended and fought a duel with him, in which Paterson was wounded in the neck. McArthur was arrested and sent back to England. Paterson recovered and collected new palms, hibiscus and ferns on the north coast. He took a personal interest in the collections of Matthew Flinders’ botanist Robert Brown when they visited Sydney in 1803 and accompanied the French zoologist Peron in the field when the mighty Baudin expedition dropped in.

Patersonia glabrata, Ulladulla, New South Wales.
In 1807 Robert Brown (see previous caption too), named this lovely and
widespread iris genus for Paterson.

Although ill-health forced him to relinquish most of his duties, when London wanted to set up a colony in northern Tasmania to thwart any intentions that the French may have had, they selected Paterson to command the colony. With him were his wife, 66 soldiers (including two drummers) and 74 convicts. He changed sites a couple of times until he finally settled on the current Launceston site – Australian historical doyen Manning Clark refers to him as an ‘amiable procrastinator’. This was probably not the best personal characteristic for a man in his senior position, especially with the catastrophic events occurring in Sydney in early 1807, where Governor Bligh seemed to have lost the plot entirely. It wasn’t that his priorities – of banning rum as a trading medium and concentrating on self-sufficiency in agriculture in preference to relying on wool and other trade – were bad in themselves. Rather it was the powerful enemies this made, and his arrogance, obscene tirades against all who opposed him and brutality to those in his power.

Bligh was arrested and deposed, and it was a reluctant Paterson who as Lieutenant-Governor finally had to return from Launceston to take over. This was after all, going to interfere rather severely with his plant collecting! Himself a target of Bligh’s abuse, he took the mutineers’ side, and ordered Bligh to leave the colony. His year of command while waiting for Governor Macquarie was frankly disastrous. Ill and drinking to cope with the unwanted pressures, he gave away land to anyone who requested it, and left effective control to the officers who'd deposed Bligh. When the time came for him to go back to England to participate in the trial of the mutineers, he was cheered aboard by a huge crowd of citizens as a ‘benevolent and likeable man’ in Manning Clark’s words. Sadly he died soon after while rounding Cape Horn.

Patersonia occidentalis, Bee-keepers Nature Reserve, Western Australia.
This is the only western member of the genus.

I suspect that if Paterson had not joined the military he could have had a happy life as a plant collector, with Banks' patronage, but life sent him on a much less happy path. Nonetheless he made the most of his opportunities to contribute to our knowledge of Australian botany and natural history in general, though well out of his depth in his day job. I wish things had worked out better for him, but life's not like that - and at least he lived to see his name perpetuated in a flower genus that he would have known well.

BACK ON WEDNESDAY

A week or so ago I got a phone call from an old birding mate, with the peculiar question "How many Australasian Bitterns have you seen this morning?". Very peculiar in fact - he knew as well as I that there have been no reports of this cryptic and extremely rare species in the Australian Capital Territory (ACT) for at least 70 years. In other words no living birder had seen one here. Needless to say work suddenly lost its importance and I drove across to the far side of town, to an urban wetland in the northern suburb of McKellar, to join half a dozen excited hard-core birdos watching this remarkable bird lurking, as they inevitably do, in the reeds.

Australasian Bittern Botaurus poiciloptilus, McKellar Wetlands, Canberra.
When I posted this pretty ordinary picture on the Canberra Ornithologists' Group's email line,
it was the first photo ever published of this species taken in the ACT.
There are estimated to be less than a thousand left in Australia, perhaps the same in New Zealand,
and apparently none surviving in New Caledonia.
I have had one record of this species on my life list, from about 40 years ago in the South Australian
deserts. It's worried me often though; was I good enough back then?, could it have been
an immature Nankeen Night Heron? Finally my conscience is clear!

While we were there, a White-bellied Sea-eagle drifted over. These magnificent birds appear regularly but sparsely here - not in the same category as the bittern, but certainly not an everyday sighting.

White-bellied Sea-eagle Haliaeetus leucogaster; not the McKellar Wetlands in the background,
but the Southern Ocean at Point Labatt, South Australia!

The next day, other birdos at McKellar found another bittern species, the tiny Little Bittern Ixobrychus dubius; this one is also commoner than the Australasian but is still very rarely sighted and officially described as a Rare Visitor here, though I suspect it could be resident in the ACT. Its habits and habitat make sightings very unlikely and infrequent.

This is as good a look as you're likely to get of a Little Bittern, and is also one I prepared earlier;
this time at Jerrabomberra Wetlands in Canberra a couple of years back.

So, from all this one might conclude that McKellar Wetlands is a veritable hotspot for unusual birds. Well maybe, but...

And here's where the Patagonian Picnic Table comes in. You may surprised to hear that the cold wet and windy far south of South America even has picnic tables! Well it does in fact, but we're not talking about that Patagonia, but a hamlet in Arizona, which has a roadside rest area with picnic table a little out of town. Back in the early 1970s a resting birder was delighted to come across the first Black-capped Gnatcatcher ever seen in the US (it is Mexican); in the ensuing rush, someone else recorded the first ever North American sighting of a Yellow Grosbeak (this must refer to the Southern Yellow Grosbeak), and then some other notable goodies.

So, did this mean that the picnic area formed fabulous habitat for rare species? Possibly, but almost certainly not - it's just that lots of experienced people looking for rare birds are going to turn some up from time to time, and when they do, more birders come and... well, you get the picture. Had we not been gathered to revel in the Australasian Bittern, the sea-eagle would doubtless have drifted over without anyone noticing. Had not people been peering diligently into the reeds for hours, it is unlikely that the Little Bittern would ever have been noticed.

It happens in other fields too of course. A couple of summers back I was invited to see a very special orchid for our part of the world; the Horned Orchid Orthoceras strictum is only found in the ACT in a small area on Black Mountain near the city centre. I'd never managed to find it, so I was thrilled to finally see it for myself.

Horned Orchid, Black Mountain.
This is the only Australian member of the genus, with another in New Zealand.

Having enjoyed this for as long as we liked (once you've found them, they're easier than bitterns to keep track of!), we inevitably poked around, and of course the aura of the distant picnic table hovered over us. Firstly there was a colony of the strange Small Duck Orchid Caleana (formerly Paracaleana) minor. This is not so rare, but they're not easy to find, and I'd never before found this colony.

Small Duck Orchids, Black Mountain. Very ducky!

Finally, not far away again, another species I'd never managed to find - the Late Beard Orchid Calochilus therophilus, so called because it is the last of the genus to flower locally. This is a scarce member of a favourite genus of mine (we share an obvious adornment for a start), recorded from only three far-flung sites in the ACT.

Late Beard Orchid, Black Mountain.

Had we not been attracted to this site by the Horned Orchid, and probably had I not been with a couple of other skilled pairs of eyes, I'd never have seen the other two.

Perhaps too the reverse side of this phenomenon is displayed by the use of Where to Find... guides, and web sites. How often have we driven past rare and exciting animals or plants, because we're heading determinedly for the place to find them?

Anyway, it all got me thinking, and if you're reading this line it's probably triggered some interest in you too. Thanks for taking the trouble.

BACK ON SATURDAY

Little Española, in the far south-east of the Galápagos archipelago, is among the oldest of the islands (other than those that are already submerged, further to the east), eroding away into the sea. The whole archipelago of exposed volcanic peaks is riding the Nazca Plate towards South America; the youngest islands are the western ones, still passing over the 'hot spot' where fiercely hot magma is close to the crust's surface. Española's days (or millenia) may be numbered, but meantime it is one of the most exciting place for wildlife in the whole of the Galápagos, which is saying a very great deal!

The location of Española is indicated by the red arrow; the volcanic 'hot spot' is currently under Isabela and Fernandina
to the west, and the whole archipelago is sailing east with the Nazca Plate.

There is so much to say about Española that I won't attempt to do so in one posting; it is probably most famous for seabirds, so let's start today with them. The Waved Albatross Phoebastria irrorata is the world's only tropical albatross and virtually the entire world population breeds on Española (there are a few breeding pairs on Isla de la Plata off the coast of central Ecuador). This is no coincidence; albatrosses rely on the wind (which is why nearly all species live in the permanently howling winds of the far southern oceans), and find it virtually impossible to take off from flat ground, because of their weight and hugely long wings. Only on Española is there flat ground for breeding alongside cliffs that face the prevailing winds for takeoff. When the winds fail in January and February they move closer to the mainland to fish.

The walking track - to which it is compulsory to keep - runs near the edge of the colony, but not close enough to nesting sites to cause problems. It is a remarkable experience to watch the great birds displaying to reinforce pair bonds, and to encounter the huge calm curious chicks, shabby as they moult into adult plumage.

Waved Albatross colony, Española.

They are a beautiful and imposing bird seen close up.

Courtship, above and below, involves exaggerated stepping, sky-pointing, mellow honking
and loud beak slapping, like children sword-fighting.

It requires some imagination to see the cheerful buffoonish chicks as the infinitely
graceful adults they will soon become.

To watch them lumber into the wind, or simply drop over the cliff edge, then soar overhead
or even below us along the cliff, is nothing less than thrilling.

And finally, if you were wondering about the 'Waved' part of the name, here's the answer,
in the delicate filigree pattern on neck, breast and flanks.

But when you can finally tear yourself away from the albatross colony there are other special seabirds to admire from close range too, including two species of booby. These lovely tropical gannets have been known as boobies in English for over 400 years; it is apparently derived from Spanish bobo, a fool, based on their trusting habits which enabled sailors to slaughter them with ease at breeding colonies. We really are shockers at times! Blue-footed Boobies are the ones most readily encountered throughout the Galápagos, though they are actually the least abundant of the three species - the other two however breed only on remote islands, so are less evident to most visitors. I can't ever imagine not stopping to admire the Blue-foots though!

Blue-footed Booby Sula nebouxii, Española.
The egg is just visible under the breast.

And fortunately Española is one of those remote islands, and supports a healthy breeding colony of Nazca Booby Sula granti. This is a primarily Galápagos species, formerly regarded as a sub-species of the more widespread Masked Booby Sula dactylatra.

Nazca Booby colony on plateau, Española.
They are bigger birds than the Blue-foots, and like the albatrosses appreciate the advantages of cliff-top takeoffs.

Nazca Booby pair.

Nazca Booby with eggs, Española. They nearly always lay two but, as in some other bird species,
the second chick is just insurance, and if its older sibling survives, it will not.

Gulls are also present, both visitors and permanent residents.

Franklin's Gull Leucophaeus pipixcan, a non-breeding migrant from North America.
And what an excellent place to avoid the northern winter!
(Sally Lightfoot Crabs in the background.)


The exquisite Swallow-tailed Gull Creagrus furcatus on the other hand is essentially a Galápagos endemic, with a small colony off the Colombian coast the only other breeding site. It is also the world's only nocturnal gull; I remember my delight at looking out of the cabin window one travelling night and seeing one flying alongside in the glow of the boat lights.

There is much more to tell you about Española however, and next time, more birds, plus mammals and reptiles!

BACK ON TUESDAY

While the seabirds are the obvious focus of any visit to Española, there is much, much more to enthral us as well. For a start, if you're excited by ocean blowholes (and who isn't?) there's a pretty good one near the Waved Albatross colony.

Blowhole, Española.

The island, like most of the smaller Galápagos isles, is covered by low vegetation, some shrubby, some no higher than herbs.

Carpet Weed Sesuvium edmonstonei, family Aizoaceae, a Galápagos endemic.

Which brings us to a key aspect of the Galápagos which, having never been part of any continental mainland, boasts large numbers of endemic species which have developed in isolation.The most recently arrived of these endemics, at least among the birds, is the conspicuous Galápagos Hawk Buteo galapagoensis, whose ancestor (something very like the modern Swainson's Hawk B. swainsoni) arrived from the mainland only some 300,000 years ago. Their conspicuousness is misleading - there may be only 130 breeding pairs left throughout the archipelago, following loss of prey species to exotic animals. They will eat anything, living or dead, but cannot survive where the Lava Lizards (see below) are absent.

Galápagos Hawk cleaning up Sea Lion placenta on Española beach.

Two of the most evident Galápagos endemic animals on any Galápagos beach are Galápagos Sea Lions and Marine Iguanas; Española is no exception.

Galápagos Sea Lion pups Zalophus wollebaeki; Bahia Gardner on the north shore of Española
supports a major colony.

The Española sub-species of Marine Iguana Amblyrhynchus cristatus venustissimus is regarded as the
most colourful of all; no problem finding plenty to admire!

As everywhere in the archipelago there are the famous 'Darwin's Finches', but the Large Cactus Finch Geospiza conirostris can only be found here and on even more remote Genovesa, and the distant and inaccessible Darwin and Wolf islets.

Large Cactus Finch male, Española.

However, Española goes further than some of the other islands, and boasts its own endemic species, found nowhere else even in the Galápagos. One of these will accompany you on your walks; the Española Mockingbird Mimus macdonaldi derived from the more widespread Galápagos Mockingbird M. parvulus, which in turn seems to have descended from wayward Long-tailed Mockingbirds M. longicaudatus from Ecuador.

Española Mockingbirds, above and next two photos.

Like most Galápagos animals, these mockingbirds have no fear at all of humans!

Then there are two endemic Española reptile species, one of which you will certainly see, the other you'll need some luck for. Lava Lizards Microlophus spp. are members of the Neotropical ground lizard family and are restricted to the Galápagos; however those on Española are not only the largest and most colourful of them all, but are found on no other island.

Española Lava Lizards; female above, male below.

The Galápagos Racers Pseudalsophis spp. are a closely related group of five species (relatively recently recognised) of colubrid (back-fanged) snakes restricted to the islands. They grow to over a metre long, are remarkably swift, as their name suggests, and like other colubrids are mildly venomous. Lava Lizards are an important part of their diet, but they also prey on finches and small iguanas. The Española Racer P. hoodensis (Hood is the English name for Española) is another endemic to this tiny island. We were lucky to come on one in the dunes by Bahia Gardner, made sluggish by the cool of the evening; this was a highlight among many.

Española Racer, Bahia Gardner.

So, Española... Most tours and cruises don't go there, but I'd really suggest you look for one that does when you visit the fabulous Galápagos.

BACK ON FRIDAY

Feathers to a bird are, if not the Meaning of Life, then the necessity of it. They insulate (this was their original purpose), they disguise from enemies or display to their rivals and intended mates, and of course they enable flight, one of evolution's most difficult challenges. (It has only arisen on four occasions in all the vast history of life - in birds, bats, insects and pteranodons, just once in each case - compared to some 40 separate times for the compound eye, oft cited as the most unlikely result of evolution.) If they are not operating at optimal efficiency, the bird may well die from heat loss, or fail to catch dinner or succeed in becoming someone else's, or be insufficiently attractive to a mate, in itself a form of death.

Blue-faced Honeyeater Entomyzon cyanotis preening, Griffith, New South Wales.

So care of feathers is critical to life itself, and a considerable portion of a bird's day is devoted to preening to achieve this. It is often closely associated with bathing, either in water or dust, but we've discussed that before and we'll focus on the direct preening today. Each feather - and there may be tens of thousands of them in larger birds or cold climate ones - must be individually 'combed' with the bill (or sometimes the foot), so that each tiny barbule 'zips' properly with the adjacent one and the whole feather must perfectly align with its neighbours. Dirt and parasites must be removed - a single bird may be carrying a dozen species of feather-eating lice, each restricted to that bird species, and each restricted to a single part of the bird's body!

Yellow-billed Spoonbill Platalea flavipes, Canberra, carefully 'combing' a single wing feather.

Key to most preening is a waxy oil produced by the uropygial gland at the base of the tail. It is collected on the bill and wiped into the feathers - understandably this is particularly significant to waterbirds, though most other groups also utilise them. The birds in the following photos appear to be accessing the gland prior to applying the oil.

Male Australian Darter Anhinga novaehollandiae, Canberra.

In close up, the gland is visible at the bill tip.

Kelp Geese Chloephaga hybrida, Puñihuil, Isla de Chiloé, Chile.
They are strongly dimorphic; the male is the white one, recharging with oil.

Marabou Stork Leptoptilos crumeniferus, at dawn, Jinja, Uganda.

Australian Pelican Pelicanus conspicillatus, Nowra, New South Wales.

Other bird groups, notably ratites (the flightless giants of the southern continents), pigeons, parrots and woodpeckers, don't have the valuable gland and many of these rely on powder down, obtained from special feathers which, unlike all others, grow perpetually and are not moulted and regrown each year. They are scattered amongst 'normal' feathers (or in herons for instance, are concentrated into a couple of patches) and their tips readily disintegrate into powdery talc-like keratin which scatters through and 'reinforces' the other feathers.

Mealy Parrots Amazona farinosa, Blanquillo Clay Lick, Peruvian Amazonia.
The 'mealy' name, meaning 'floury', is due to plentiful powder down.

Both the Spinifex Pigeons Geophaps plumifera, Alice Springs, central Australia (above)
and the Red and Green Macaws Ara chloropterus, Blanquillo (below)
are using powder down to preen.

Some parts just can't be reached with a bill (especially the head) and feet must be used to comb out the feathers, though presumably it can't be as effective.

White-necked Heron Ardea pacifica, Grenfell, New South Wales.

Golden-headed Cisticola Cisticola exilis, Canberra.

Olive-backed Oriole Oriolus sagittatus, Nowra, New South Wales.

Additionally, mutual grooming - 'allo-preening' - can also help to reinforce pair bonds, as well as getting the job done.

Apostlebirds Struthidea cinerea, Cobar, New South Wales.
One of the most sociable birds in the world, the behaviour here reinforces bonds for the whole group.

Major Mitchell Cockatoo Lophochroa leadbeateri, MacDonnell Ranges, central Australia.

African Silverbills Lonchura cantans, Waza National Park, northern Cameroon.

Finally, let's just enjoy a few more birds at their daily maintenance and repair sessions - it's late Friday afternoon of a busy week here...

Brolgas Grus rubicunda, Rockhampton, Queensland.

Brown Pelican Pelecanus occidentalis, Puerto Ayora, Galápagos.

Flightless Cormorant Phalacrocorax harrisi, Fernandina, Galápagos.

Great Crested Grebe Podiceps cristatus, Lake Alexandrina, South Australia.

Little Raven Corvus mellori, Kosciuszko National Park, New South Wales.

Mistletoebird Dicaeum hirundinaceum, Goolwa, South Australia.

Australian White Ibis Threskiornis moluccus, Darwin.

Nazca Booby Sula granti, Española, Galápagos.

Superb Fairy-wren Malurus cyaneus, Canberra.

You probably see birds undertaking this task - doubtless mundane, though vital, for them but fascinating for us - more often than you realise. Take time to enjoy the moment next time, knowing what they're up to.

BACK ON TUESDAY

It's probably fair to say that Ronald Gunn is not widely known, at least outside of his adoptive home in Tasmania, and outside the world of botanical history. Part of the fault is his own - though hard-wording and a most diligent field collector, he published very little of his work, leaving that to others.

Born in South Africa in 1808, he followed his army father to Reunion, Scotland and Barbados, and eventually into the army himself, albeit as a clerk. Urged by his older brother William, he resigned and sailed to join him in Hobart, where Ronald obtained a position under William as overseer of convicts in Launceston, and later became police magistrate and eventually private secretary to Governor Franklin. He went on to be a member of the Tasmanian parliament, and then Deputy Commissioner of Crown Lands and State Coroner.

Ronald Gunn in 1848, by Thomas Bock; courtesy State Library of New South Wales.

From our perspective however, his key appointment was as estate manager for William Lawrence in 1841, before he (Gunn) went into politics. Lawrence was one of Tasmania's leading land owners and a highly intelligent and scientific man in his own right, but the key connection for Gunn was the development of his friendship with Lawrence's son, the ill-fated Robert. Young Lawrence only lived in Tasmania for eight years before his premature death on his 26th birthday, but in that time he was an assiduous correspondent with and collector for the great British botanist William Hooker, then of Glasgow University, later director of Kew Gardens. Lawrence introduced Gunn to Hooker, and for the rest of his life Gunn travelled throughout the state, including its very wildest parts, gathering plant specimens to send to Hooker.

Gunn's Willow-herb Epilobium gunnianum Family Onagraceae, Namadgi National Park near Canberra.
The type specimen was collected in Tasmania, and named by German Epilobium specialist Heinrich Haussknecht.

He became close friends with Hooker's son Joseph, who spent some time in Tasmania travelling with him; Joseph in due course would succeed his father at Kew, and achieve his own eminence in the botanical world. Gunn of course supplied him with plants too.

Deciduous Beech Nothofagus gunni Family Nothofagaceae, Cradle Mountain NP, Tasmania.
This is one of the very few deciduous plants native to southern Australia.
It was named in Gunn's honour by his friend Joseph Hooker.

While best known for his plant expertise, as befitted a good naturalist of his age - and he was a very good one - Gunn also took an active interest in zoology and geology. He was responsible for sending the first live Thylacine back to England, and accompanied John Gould on his Tasmanian expeditions. In addition he took an active interest in the reptiles and snails of the island.

Eastern Barred Bandicoot Perameles gunnii; now almost extinct on mainland Australia, but still
quite common in Tasmania. The type specimen was sent by Gunn to London, where it was named
for him by zoologist John Edward Gray.
Photo courtesy Wikipedia Commons.

He edited the Tasmanian Journal of Natural Science and was recognised in London by being elected to both the Linnean and Royal Socities - both most prestigious appointments. His private herbarium is now part of the National Herbarium of New South Wales (an oxymoronic name, but one which dates back to pre-Federation days).

The orchid genera Gunnarorchis and Gunnia were named for Gunn, but they
have since respectively been subsumed into Dendrobium (above) and Sarcochilus (below).

He died in 1881, widely respected both for his scientific and social contributions. At least 50 plant species, the majority of them Tasmanian, were named for him. Joseph Hooker (not William, as claimed by Wikipedia) wrote in his introduction to his Flora Tasmaniae: "There are few Tasmanian plants that Mr Gunn has not seen alive, noted their habits in a living state, and collected large suites of specimens with singular tact and judgment. . . . accompanied with notes that display remarkable powers of observation, and a facility for seizing important characters in the physiognomy of plants, such as few experienced botanists possess". At the time it would have been hard to imagine a more significant endorsement.

Baeckea gunniana Family Myrtaceae,Cradle Mountain NP, Tasmania.
This shrub is also found in montane bogs on the mainland but was probably collected originally by Gunn,
and named for him by German botanist Johannes Schauer.

BACK ON TUESDAY

I think the story of flower pollination is one of the great narratives of our planet, and I love telling it, though preferably out in the bush surrounded by the flowers and their attendant animals. However that's not very practical for us, so let's make a start here. It's too big and beautiful a story to tell in one sitting and I anticipate it will take at least half a dozen chapters, which will appear from time to time.

The early land plants - whose ancestors came ashore into shallow estuaries and coast lines only some 450 million years, after nearly three billion years of life in the oceans - had no flowers, no seeds. Like their aquatic ancestors they relied on water to permit sperm to swim to eggs. In time dominant groups of plants developed the seed, a wonderful package of fertilised embryo, with food and water to start it out in life, insulated from the drought and cold of the world so that plants could at last spread into the bare inland.

An idea of how the entire world looked until about 360 million years ago, when the evolution
of the seed allowed plants to colonise the forbidding wastelands.
Lava fields, Bartolomé, Galápagos.

A related development was the wrapping of the sperm into its own tough packaging, which we call pollen, and which was cast to the winds. It's a hideously inefficient system - the chance of a pollen grain landing on the female receptacle of the right species at the right time is minuscule, and only a fraction of a fraction of a percent of pollen produced forms a seed. As a result, vast quantities of pollen must be produced. Nonetheless, it works and conifers and cycads - the great dynasties of pre-flowering seed plants - dominated the world for some 250 million years. Indeed in vast areas of high altitudes and high latitudes where conditions are too harsh for animal pollinators, they still do dominate.

Black Cypress Pine Callitris enlicheri, Family Cupressaceae, Cooma, New South Wales.
Female (large woody) and male (small and pale brown) cones.

However, some 130 million years ago in China, according to the fossil record (longer ago, and perhaps in western Gondwana, according to some genetic evidence), plants took the next Great Leap Forward.

Archaefructus liaoningensis, one of the oldest known flowering plant fossils.
Courtesy Wiki Commons.

Pollen is high in protein, and doubtless early beetles - ancient insects - blundered around collecting some to eat, and in the process accidentally transferred some to other plants. And here was an evolutionary opportunity - if the plant could persuade the beetle to selectively take pollen to another of its species, it would be a massive advantage. It would be like addressing an envelope to a destination rather than dropping millions of identical letters from an aeroplane in the hope that one or two fluttered to the right doorstep, as the conifers were doing.

Beetle on Xanthorrhoea flower spike.
The early beetles weren't the ideal carriers, relatively clumsy, hard-shelled and (it has been
unkindly suggested) not all that bright!

For effective pollination, plants need pollen-carriers which could visit relatively distant populations of the same plant species. The arrival of more mobile insect groups such as flies, bees and wasps, moths and butterflies, and even more modern beetles, with better sensory apparatus than the early beetles, provided an immense opportunity and, for most of the past 100 million years, the evolution of flowering plants and insects has proceeded as an inextricable partnership.

Native Bee on Xerochrysum sp., National Botanic Gardens, Canberra.
The underside of the body, especially the thorax, is covered with yellow pollen,
sticking to the hairs.

Fly on Xerochrysum sp., National Botanic Gardens, Canberra.
Pollen can be seen adhering to the legs.

See-through butterfly on daisy, Milpe Reserve, north-west of Quito, Ecuador.

In particular, butterfly proboscises are known from 190 million year old fossils - much older than the oldest known flowers - presumably originally for taking up water and resin, but they were pre-adapted for nectar and as the flowering plants exploded in diversity across the world, so did the butterflies and moths.

Male Australian Painted Lady Vanessa kershawion Xerochrysum sp., National Botanic Gardens, Canberra.Note coiled proboscis.

Pollen wasn't a great reason for insects to visit flowers, from the point of view of either party. It comprises complex proteins and isn't easy to digest, and of course the last thing the plant 'wants' is to have its pollen eaten. (I'm talking here in evolutionary terms, not really being anthropomorphic!) Further, the worst result of all would be having the insect carrier deliver the precious pollen uselessly to the wrong flower, ie of another species.

So two problems needed to be solved by the evolving plants. The insect had to be given another reason than pollen to visit, and the flower had to be visible, and recognisably different from the competition.

The first was solved by the development of a special gland called a nectary in the base of the flower, which produced a simple sugar solution, nectar - an energy source in other words, which was a great prize for any animal. Its sole purpose was to bribe the insects to visit. The second was by an increasingly complex system of 'flags', based initially on leaves, which we now know better as petals and sepals. And the pollinators, the early flies, bees, wasps, butterflies, moths and flower beetles, were quite capable of recognising and remembering these flag messages.

A mighty and earth-changing partnership was established.

Hoverfly, Syrphidae, on Bulbine bulbosa, Asphodeliaceae, Canberra.
As it accesses the energy treat in the nectary, it is encountering the pollen
on the fluffy anthers and the waiting club-like female stigmas.

Later, another and more distantly effective signal was added, to bring potential pollinators within sight of the petals. This was scent, another chemical released to the breezes. Poets have waxed lyrical on flower scents, but as usual they weren't developed for our benefit. The poets shouldn't be too disappointed at this realisation however - if blowflies were better pollinators, more flowers would smell of rotting meat rather than of roses!

Wilga Geijera parvifolia, Rutaceae, western New South Wales.
This rather lovely spreading tree of inland Australia, is one which does
attract blowflies to its somewhat putrid-smelling flowers.
(Ironically it is in the same family as famously sweet-smellers such as oranges and boronias!)

In the next episode, in a week or so, I want to explore how flowers and inflorescences (the arrangement of flowers on a stem) became more and more complex and specialised.

MEANTIME, BACK ON SUNDAY FOR AN ANNIVERSARY OF SOMEONE WHO IS A BIT OF A HERO OF MINE

Allan Cunningham was one of the great botanist-explorers of Australia, but his interests were strictly in that order. He travelled in order to find new plants, and new places were good places to look for hitherto undescribed plants. However he was a very competent bushman, was keenly aware of the colony's need for viable routes between already settled areas, or from settlements to new grazing land, and was thorough in describing what he'd found.

He was born in southern England in 1791 to a Scottish father. (I keep coming upon Scots in my readings about Australian explorers and biologists, but maybe it's just that my own heritage makes me more aware of them!) He worked for a while in a law office in London, but that didn't suit him and he got work instead as a clerk in the Kew Gardens herbarium. Here he met such botanical luminaries as the great Robert Brown (another Scot! but it's OK, I'll stop that now), who in turn put him in touch with Sir Joseph Banks himself. Banks recommended that the gardens employ Cunningham as a collector - he was quite right, but I have no idea how! Banks by now was 70 years old and had already decided he no longer needed a full-time collector, but he was happy for Kew to supervise Cunningham and pay him.

Swamp Daisy Actinodium cunninghamii, Stirling Ranges National Park, south west Western Australia.
Despite the common name it is in the family Myrtaceae, with eucalypts and bottlebrushes!
It was named by the German botanist Johannes Schauer, a specialist in Western Australian myrtaceous plants,
in 1836, towards the end of Cunningham's life.

He sailed for Brazil in 1814, aged 23 - it was to be another 17 years before he saw England again. It must have been an extraordinary experience for a young man who, as far as I can tell, had never before left Britain. After two years he was ordered to sail for New South Wales, another sudden and dramatic contrast for him; he arrived in the summer of 1816, just before Christmas.

Soon afterwards he accompanied the notoriously grumpy Government Surveyor-general John Oxley to the western plains of New South Wales. Oxley was frustrated with the relative lack of success in finding new grazing lands, but Cunningham was delighted with his 450 or so plant specimens. He walked home across the Blue Mountains from Bathurst so his horse could carry the plants.

River Oaks Casuarina cunninghamiana, Deua National Park, New South Wales.
This casuarina is only found within metres of water courses, and is the dominant tree of river corridors
in near-coastal southern New South Wales; inland it is replaced by River Red Gums.
It was named in honour of Cunningham, ten years after his death, by Dutch botanist Friedrich Miquel.

He then spent five years on a series of exploratory voyages with Philip Parker King, sailing in the little Mermaid, and later the Bathurst, right around Australia more than once. His health was suffering, but he never flagged.

Rattlepod Pea Crotolaria cunninghamii, south-west Queensland.
This most striking big pea grows on bare desert dunes.
It too was named for Cunningham after his death, by his old patron,the great Robert Brown.

Back on land he undertook a series of inland expeditions, especially to northern New South Wales and southern Queensland (which at that stage was still part of New South Wales). He discovered the Pandora Pass, leading from the coast through the rugged Liverpool Range to the rich Liverpool Plains, formerly described by Oxley. From there he proceeded to the equally rich Queensland Darling Downs, and on a subsequent trip pioneered the route from there over the ranges via Cunningham Gap to Moreton Bay (now Brisbane). In between he made numerous shorter exploratory trips and spent some months collecting in New Zealand. He was the first botanist to visit the Limestone Plains where Canberra now stands.

Bangalow Palm Archontophoenixcunninghamiana.
Named long after Cunningham's death by the German botanist Heinrich Wendland.
(Apologies for the muddy old slide - I must get up there again some time!)

On Norfolk Island in 1830 suspected escaped convicts stole all his equipment, but the government declined to offer him compensation. Perhaps the government reasoned that once they'd escaped, the convicts were not longer their responsibility!

Hoop Pine Araucaria cunninghamii, National Botanic Gardens, Canberra.
A rainforest conifer of the east coast tropics and subtropics, and north into New Guinea.
Named by William Aiton, first director of Kew Gardens, who employed Cunningham as clerk, then collector;
however Aiton somehow mucked up the publication and it was left to Robert Mudie, much-published naturalist
and author of The British Naturalist, to sort it out in 1829.

In 1828 he requested permission to return to Britain - they were tough employers, those botanic gardens! - which was granted, after two years consideration. He lived near to Kew, spending most of five years sorting his specimens for the herbarium and writing papers on his experiences. Australia hadn't finished with him yet though. After only a year he was asked to become New South Wales Colonial Botanist, but he managed to pass the job to his younger brother Richard; like Allan he also worked at Kew as a clerk, but in his case it had been for 17 years, much of his work involving Allan's flow of specimens.

Maytenus cunninghamii Celastraceae, Tregole National Park, southern Queensland.
Named by Sir William Hooker, who succeeded Banks as director of Kew Gardens in 1841,
naming the small tree again well after Cunningham's death.
It is widespread across northern Australia in dry forests and vine thickets.

Richard followed in his brother's footsteps across the plains beyond the Blue Mountains, but was killed by Aboriginal people with whom he had been camping, apparently due to cultural misunderstandings - it seems that he might have been delirious with a fever at the time. This time Allan couldn't refuse the invitation to replace him and took up the position in 1837. What he hadn't realised was that the job included responsibility for the governor's vegetable garden; he baulked at having to supply the governor and his colleagues with carrots and cabbages, and resigned to resume what he termed the "more legitimate occupation" of plant collecting.

Ancient Myrtle Beech Nothofagus cunninghamii;a magnificent old temperate rainforest
tree in Weldborough Forest, Tasmania.
Another one named by William Hooker to honour Cunningham.

In another visit to New Zealand he apparently contracted pulmonary tuberculosis - he certainly returned from there with it - and died in Sydney in 1838, having had to give up a place on the Beagle surveying north-western Australia.

I've always admired Cunningham for his quiet passion for understanding the natural world, and his self-effacing stoicism and commitment. (And of course for his Scottish ancestry.) Wherever I go it seems there are plants, and even lizards, which help me to remember him.

Cunningham's Skink Egernia cunninghamii, a common colonial-dwelling big skink which inhabits
mostly rock outcrops in our part of the world.
Named in 1832 by (I am almost certain) zoologist John Edward Gray, later of the British Museum.

BACK ON THURSDAY

This series started recently here, with the beginnings of the great pollination partnership between flowering plants and animals. From early on in the development of the partnership, competition was strong between neighbouring plant species for the services of the insects that were already being trained to associate the flowers' scents and 'flags' - petals and sepals - with an energy reward. How to be more noticeable? A very simple one is for flowers to be held high over a low-growing plant.

Silky Swainson-Pea Swainsona sericea Fabaceae, south of Canberra, a threatened species.
The flowers are waved high above the ground-clinging foliage.

Another way of course is to have huge flowers, but that's pretty risky - a single flower can be damaged by weather or by animals interested in eating it rather than seeking its nectar. A better solution is to have lots of little flowers clustered; such a cluster can last a long time by having successive flowers open over a period of time, and the loss of individual flowers is of no moment. Here are some common Australian examples, but you'll know of plenty of equivalents, wherever you live.

Firewood Banksia Banksia menziesii, Badgingarra NP, Western Australia.
As with many flower spikes, the hundreds of flowers here are opening from the base - the top half
of the spike presently comprises buds.

Rose Banjine Pimelea rosea, Cape le Grande NP, Western Australia.

Raspberry Jam Tree Acacia acuminata, Christmas Rock Nature Reserve, Western Australia.
In wattles the true nature of the flower balls or spikes is best seen in the buds, before the
numerous stamens hide the individual tiny flowers.
(The common name is from the astonishing scent of the cut wood.)

Candles Stackhousia monogyna Stackhousiaceae, Canberra.
A very common spring flower round here; the spikes are far more obvious than the individual small flowers.

The most familiar such clusters of flowers however are found in the daisies. The 'basic' daisy flower is a cluster of hundreds of tiny florets growing from a common base.

Billy Button Craspedia sp., Namadgi National Park, above Canberra.

However many other daisies have taken this sleight of hand a step further by adding 'petals', often in contrasting colours, around the head of florets. These 'petals' are in fact sterile florets whose sole purpose is to draw attention to the fertile disc florets.

Olearia tenuifolia, Mount Tennent, south of Canberra.
The purple sterile ray florets contrast dramatically with the fertile yellow disc florets.

Yet other daisies utilise colourful papery bracts - modified leaves - instead of ray florets to make the tiny disc florets more conspicuous.

Alpine Paper Daisy Xerochrysum subundulatum, Kosciuszko National Park, New South Wales.
The bracts are stiff and shiny (hence the common name).

Other unrelated plant groups have arrived independently at the same solution, with often dramatic results.

Flannel Flower Actinotus helianthus Apiaceae, Pilliga NP, New South Wales.
Here the tiny flowers can be clearly made out if the picture is enlarged, surrounded by
soft 'flannel-like' bracts.

Waratah Telopea speciosissima Proteaceae,Budderoo NP, New South Wales.
Like the related banksias, waratahs have numerous clustered flowers (though seated on a flat
disc rather a spike), but have gone further, with the big red leafy bracts to make them even more obvious.
(This is the state flower of New South Wales.)

Royal Hakea Hakea victoriae Proteaceae, Fitzgerald River NP, Western Australia.
This is an amazing plant, growing metres high in the heathland (see below); the small white flowers (here
represented by the woody fruits) are hidden down among the leathery cabbage-sized leaves,
whose bright colours draw attention to them.

Royal Hakeas in the landscape, Fitzgerald River NP.
The species only grows in this park, one of the most botanically diverse places on earth.

So far we've looked at multiple flowers - inflorescences - but I'll end today with a couple of examples of single flowers which have taken unusual evolutionary steps to become more visible.


Pigface Carpabrotus sp., Kalbarri NP, Western Australia. The fertile stamens are in the centre of the flowers. There are no true petals - the numerous 'false petals' are staminodes, sterile structures derived from stamens which are playing the part of petals to increase visibility. (The fruiting structure, not seen here, is alleged to resemble a pig's head...)

And lastly, perhaps if we wanted to draw attention to plane flying overhead, we might flash a mirror. It seems that the familiar buttercups, members of an ancient flowering plant group, are doing just that!

Buttercup Ranunculus sp. Tallong, New South Wales.
The shiny petals are due to a layer of reflective subsurface cells.

Next time, we'll explore how individual flowers became more complex, to distinguish themselves from their neighbours of other species.

BACK ON MONDAY

Having a couple of other matters demanding attention at the moment (ones more related to earning a living than is writing a blog post!), I thought to take the easy way out and just offer you some hopefully attractive pictures of some lakes. Inevitably I soon starting thinking more about lakes, and what they are, so my offering has become a bit more than just a series of images, and hopefully is more interesting for that.

A lake is of course a body of water, though there is no consensus as to just how big (ie how large it has to be to graduate from being a mere pond or pool); different suggestions range from a couple of hectares to 40 hectares. It can't be connected to the sea (so is usually, but not necessarily, fresh water), and is land-locked except for an inflow and outflow channel, though these are optional. However, there are several kinds of lake, based on origins and flow characteristics.

While less obvious in Australia (where we tend to be a bit light on with regard to water anyway), lakes originating with glacial activity, past or ongoing, form a substantial portion of the world's lakes, so let's start there. Glaciers can gouge out hollows which later fill with water, or dam valleys with moraine material left behind as melting glaciers retreat.

Dove Lake and Cradle Mountain, Tasmania.
Tasmania underwent major glaciation during the last glacial period, far more than did the mainland.

Lake Cootapatamba, Kosciuszko National Park, New South Wales.
These southern alps also had minor glaciation until 10,000 years ago, and Cootapatamba
derives from that. It is Australia's highest lake.

El Cajas National Park, in the high Andes above Cuenca, central Ecuador, is studded with glacial lakes,
above and below. The altitude here is over 4000 metres above sea level.

Further south, glaciers are still very much a part of the Andean landscape, and glacial lakes abound.

Lago Todos de los Santos near the Argentinian border with Chile,
east of Puerto Varas.

Lake in the high pampas, Andes east of Coyaique, Chilean northern Patagonia.

Further south still, the mighty peaks of Torres del Paine National Park in far southern Chile are not part of the Andean chain, but are actively glacial and at their feet are some superb lakes.

Lago Nordenskjold, Torres del Paine National Park.
In front of the towers (above) and with wind ripping the surface from the water (below).

In Australia, in the arid inland, many lake are endorheic - that is the flow is only into the them, and they are dry much more often than not, though they are based on vast ancient rich lake systems, with flamingoes, fresh water dolphins and crocodiles not so long ago. Mostly they are salty, because of ongoing evaporation.

Lake Amadeus, near Uluru, central Australia.
Part of a vast 'fossil' lake system, 500km long and covering 1750 square kilometres.

Lake Gilles, South Australia, in its normal state (above)
and as much more rarely seen (below, in September 2013).

Waterholes, often called oxbows, or billabongs in Australia, form when a river changes course - as often happens during floods especially - and the old bed is cut off from the main stream and fills during times of overflow from the new bed. In arid Australia such waterholes can also form in the main bed which very rarely flows, but deep holes retain water for considerable time; they are critically important to life in desert landscapes, and can have their own endemic fish and invertebrate species.

Combo Waterhole near Winton, north-western Queensland.
(It was here that the great Australian bush poet and journalist A.B. ('Banjo') Paterson was inspired
to write Waltzing Matilda, sometimes thought of Australia's 'other national anthem'.)

Cocha Salvador, Manu National Park, Amazonian Peru, at dawn.
A large oxbow lake.

Volcanic craters can fill with water to form sometimes large lakes.

Crater Lake near Kibale, Uganda.

Larger crater lake, Queen Elizabeth National Park, Uganda.

And while in that part of the world, many of the great east African lakes are formed on the great rift which is splitting Africa. Such lakes are unusual in that they are getting deeper faster than siltation can fill them up.

Lake Edward, Queen Elizabeth NP, Uganda (above)
and Lake Victoria, Entebbe, Uganda (below).
Two mighty rift lakes.

Fresh-water lakes can form in the dips behind sea dunes.

Meroo Lake, south coast New South Wales.

And unlikely as it seems, sand can support lakes well above sea level, though it is unusual. Some famous examples, 40 or so of them, are on Fraser Island, off the southern Queensland coast.

Lake Mackenzie, Fraser Island, a perched lake on sand.

So, a brief review of some lakes I have known... I hope you enjoyed the journey too.

PS I've just realised that this is the first posting ever by me without a named plant or animal, so I should rectify that.

Chilean Flamingoes in glacial lake in front of the Towers, Torres del Paine NP.

BACK ON THURSDAY

This is chapter 3 in the fascinating - to me anyway! - story of pollination; see here for the previous episode. It didn't take plants long, in evolutionary terms, to devise numerous ways, visual and chemical, to be more obvious to compete with their neighbours for the essential insect pollinators. We looked at some of these strategies last time.

Another is to put out advertising hoardings - "get your lovely fresh energy-enhanced nectar HERE!" - in the form of nectar guides on the petals, to direct their customers straight to the source. They weren't the last advertisers to assume that their clients weren't bright enough to work things out for themselves!

Alpine Gentian Gentianella muelleriana, Kosciuzko National Park, New South Wales.

Pelargonium rodneyanum.

Lilac Lily Schelhammera undulata, Family Colchicaceae, Budderoo NP, New South Wales.

We see these as contrasting colours, and it's likely the insects do too, but it's not safe to assume that a butterfly sees the same colours that we do - it probably doesn't in fact. For instance many, perhaps most, insects can see much shorter wavelengths than we can - once they get shorter than what we interpret as violet, we just lump them all as 'ultraviolet', but if a butterfly could speak it would probably have names for another half dozen or so colours that we could never imagine. By viewing flowers under ultraviolet light we can see nectar-guide streaks otherwise invisible to us - but we still have no way of seeing what a butterfly or wasp sees.

But all this was but a prelude to more and more sophisticated specialisation - after all the point is not just to have the pollen taken from you, but to be reliably delivered to another flower of the same species. Colour is one way of narrowing the field of overlap with competitors; insects see best at the yellow-blue end of the spectrum. Another is petal number (and for current purposes I'm using 'petal' loosely to include both petals and sepals). Some insects can in fact 'count' to some degree, so a major direction was towards reducing the number of petals and keeping them constant; insects learnt to associate these petal numbers – 'iconic numerals'– with a favoured food source. This was a big step forward from earlier flowers with no regular shape, and varying numbers of petals clustered randomly. It led to flat flowers with set petal numbers.

The next major move was into three dimensions - ie a tubular flower like a Daffodil or Correa. It not only excludes most pollinators - ie assisting the goal of specialising - but more accurately guides the pollinator past the flower's sexual organs.

Brachyotum quinquenerve Melastomaceae, Manu NP, Peru.

So far, all the flower shapes I've considered have been radially symmetrical ('actinomorphic') - ie any line drawn across the flower will divide it in half. This limits the potential for variation.

Correa barkeriana Rutaceae, Barren Grounds NR, New South Wales.

The next stage of complexity was to a flower that is bilaterally symmetrical - only one line, down the middle, can divide it in half.

Wedge Pea Gompholobium huegelii, Canberra, is relatively simple.
Carousel Spider Orchid Caladenia (Arachnorchis) arenicola Perth, (below) is more complex.
In each case only one pair of mirror images can be obtained, by running a line down the
centre of the front of the flower.

The advantage of this may not be immediately obvious, but it removes the limitations on flower shape variations imposed by the requirement that the flower has to be uniformly shaped. Evolution can now tweak infinitely by altering the top or bottom of the flower without changing the other, or by changing each differently.

So, why not free yourself entirely of restrictions on variation by having no symmetry? It is intriguingly rare, but apparently some tropical bird- and bat-pollinated flowers have indeed taken this path. Unfortunately I can't offer you any examples, and any help with finding some would be greatly appreciated!

Next time, a whole new suite of bigger and better customers!

BACK ON MONDAY

On this day in 1821 the Argentine General José de San Martín, having led the Army of the Andes (comprising Chileans and Argentinians) to victory in Lima over the last significant Spanish stronghold in South America, declared Peru to be independent. True independence actually took a little longer, but this is the day of national celebration every year. I'm not going to attempt an overview posting on Peru here - apart from anything else there is so much of the country that I've not yet seen.

Instead I'd like to draw your attention to this wonderful country today by introducing you to just one magnificent and remarkable lake, deep in the Amazon basin. Cocha Salvador is a very large oxbow lake, a former great bend of the Manu River cut off by floods and now forming a deep still backwater with rainforest down to the shores.

Primary rainforest on the shores of Cocha Salvador.

The Manu Reserved Zone is a vast wilderness within the Manu Biosphere Reserve, inhabited by indigenous people and only otherwise accessible to researchers and visitors accompanied by authorised and environmentally trained guides. Cocha Salvador is in this reserve, not in Manu National Park as often claimed in web sites of companies who go there - the park itself is closed to all visitors except authorised researchers. It is near to Machiguenga Lodge, owned and operated by the Machiguenga people. I have to say that last time I was there the project was not thriving, but I'd love to be told that things have improved since then.

The lake is accessible by boat along the river, then a short walk through the forest before embarking on simple heavy rafts, poled along; only one group at a time may be on the water, by booking through the Parks Service.

We arrived at dawn for a highly memorable excursion.

Sunrise over Cocha Salvador.

The key aim of any visit to Cocha Salvador is to encounter one of the most impressive, and rarest, big mammals in South America. The big oxbow lakes - and they are few - are key habitats for Giant Otters Pteronura brasiliensis, an endangered species across their northern Amazon Basin range. Heavy hunting for skins has reduced its numbers to no more than 5,000; it is listed as Endangered. Even in remote Manu it is estimated that only a dozen families survive. One of these is in Cocha Salvador.

Giant Otters really are big - up to 1.8 metres long and weighing 30kg, though in pre-hunting days much larger individuals were reported. They are highly social, unlike most other members of the weasel family, and each animal may eat up to 3kg of fish a day, so large rich hunting grounds are needed.

They are also highly vocal, and their squeals, whistles and whining calls help to locate them.

They are far from the only large animals in the water though, and there is an ongoing struggle with the Black Caimans Melanosuchus niger, the largest member of the alligator family, which can grow to five metres long. Both otters and caiman prey on each others youngsters; the otters will also team up to attack larger caiman.

Big Black Caiman, Cocha Salvador.

Waterbirds are also abundant, especially in the forest fringes.

Amazon Kingfishers Chloroceryle amazona hunt from perches. These are
large kingfishers, up to 30cm long. This is a male.

Tiger-Herons are a secretive group of herons, sometimes regarded as the most primitive of living herons.
Fasciated Tiger-Herons Tigrisoma fasciatum are widespread in northern South America and Central America,
but are most readily seen in quiet backwaters such as Cocha Salvador.
This is a young bird.

Unlike the tiger-herons, Great Egrets Egretta (or Ardea) alba - or perhaps a complex of closely related species - can be found throughout the world. They are always a delight, even in remote places where rarer birds are also on offer.

Limpkins Aramus guarauna are always exciting to see, as the sole member of their family. They live on
big water snails, and gained largely unrecognised exposure by providing the call of the
Hippogriph in the Harry Potter movies.

And it's not often you can see two single-member families in one morning's outing (bird-nerds value
such things!), but we managed it on Cocha Salvador. Sunbitterns Eurypyga helias are not bitterns at all; their
closest relative seems to be the enigmatic Kagu of New Caledonia.

Muscovy Duck descendants can be seen in farmyards throughout the world, but their
wild ancestors Cairina moschata can generally only be encountered now in remote Amazon waters.
(Their odd name incidentally has nothing to do with Moscow, but was a reference to the supposed
musky smell of the meat.)

Dead trees in the water support big colonies of hanging nests, belonging to Yellow-rumped Caciques Cacicus cela, common members of the icterid family - the 'North American blackbirds' whose ancestors crossed south on the Isthmus of Panama a few million years ago.

Yellow-rumped Cacique colony (above) and an owner-builder (below).

And on the way back to the basic wharf, don't forget to keep an eye into the tree-tops - monkeys are a highlight of the Amazon.

Colombian Red Howler Monkey male Alouatta seniculus; their pulsing roar, like a great wind,
is one of the sounds of the Amazon for me.

So, Happy National Day to my Peruvian friends - and thank you for sharing Cocha Salvador with me!

BACK ON FRIDAY

If you've just arrived in this story, here's the most recent episode; you can follow back from there if you like.

Undoubtedly birds had long taken sporadic advantage of the nectar and pollen on offer from insect-attracting flowers, though the quantities available would scarcely have made it worth their while. However given their advantages over insects as potential pollen couriers - the ability to cover much greater distances carrying much more pollen, and bigger brains to recognise more complex cues and differences in flowers - it was inevitable that some plants would adapt their strategies and make bigger investments to employ them.

Brown Honeyeater Lichmera indistincta on Melaleuca viridifloris, Barkly Tableland, Northern Territory
(above and below).

The development of bilateral symmetry (see the link above) could progress further, to produce flowers that only a bird could probe.

Eastern Spinebill females Acanthorhynchus tenuisostris on Pityrodia sp.,
National Botanic Gardens, Canberra.

The characters of a bird-pollinated flower will be different from those of an insect-specialising one. They are likely to be red, pink or orange - this is more to hide them from insects, which see best at the yellow-blue (and beyond) end of the spectrum, as birds can see these colours perfectly well too. They will be tube-shaped or have large protruding stamens, and must have strong stems and flower stalks. The corolla - the collective petals - must be strong enough to bear their weight, but without offering a landing platform that insects can use. Anthers and stigmas must be distant from the nectary, so that the bird's forehead is contacting them while the tongue is collecting nectar. And because birds need bigger rewards, the flowers not only produce more nectar, but are often clumped or in spikes to increase their attractiveness.


Dusky Honeyeater Myzomela obscura, on Grevillea sp., Darwin. Such flowers tick all the boxes to attract bird pollinators.

It would of course be no good for the plant to give a bird all the nectar it wants - the whole point is to send it off, with a pollen shipment, to another flower. In fact most bird-pollinated plants seem to produce approximately 5-20% of a bird's daily needs. A bird can dip into over 50 eucalypt flowers per minute, compared with a bee's maximum of about six.

Important work done by David Paton of Adelaide University back in the 1970s, on New Holland Honeyeaters Phylidonyris novaehollandiae in the heathlands of central Victoria, showed the importance of nectar to such species.

New Holland Honeyeater with Calothamnus sp., Cape le Grande NP, Western Australia.
Note the pollen on its forehead.

Paton discovered that the birds relied on nectar as their key energy source; their abundance, breeding success and physical condition all depended on nectar abundance and distribution. They needed small flying insects as a protein source, but could get all they needed in ten minutes, even if at an energy loss. Their energy requirements however demanded several hours of foraging a day. Very good news for the plants!

Australia seems to have an inordinately large number of bird-pollinated plans compared with other areas. Over a thousand Australian plant species are known to be visited by over 100 bird species; in Europe and North Africa there appear to be none at all, and in North America just a handful. The honeyeaters, the largest Australian bird family with some 70 species (some 10% of the bird fauna), are predominant.

Eastern Little (or Brush) Wattlebird Anthochaerachrysoptera, on Banksia serrata,
south coast New South Wales.

Western Little Wattlebird Anthochaeralunulata on Banksia speciosa,Esperance, Western Australia.

Scarlet Honeyeater Myzomela sanguinolenta on bottlebrush, Callistemon sp.
Cape Hillsborough NP, Queensland.

Other groups are also significant however, notably the lorikeets, small brightly coloured nomadic parrots which often descend in flocks.

Musk Lorikeet Glossopsitta concinna, on Eucalyptus leucoxylon, Coles Bay, Tasmania.

Rainbow Lorikeet Trichoglossus haematodus, Rosedale, New South Wales.

Many other Australian groups take nectar to a significant degree, though are not as single-minded as honeyeaters and lorikeets; they include silvereyes, woodswallows, other parrots, thornbills and pardalotes.

Silvereye Zosterops lateralis on Callistemon, Canberra.
(From the balcony outside my study window in fact!)

In Africa the obvious nectar specialists are the glittering sunbirds, 130 species of nectar-lovers (some of which are Asian, with one in northern Australia). They resemble some of the smaller long-billed Australian honeyeaters to a surprising degree - but we ought not to be surprised, given their very similar lifestyles.

Scarlet-chested Sunbird Chalcomitra senegalensis, Entebbe Botanic Gardens, Uganda.
This species ranges across most of Africa.

And of course in the Americas, especially the Neotropics, are the superb hummingbirds, nearly 350 species of superb aerialists, the ultimate hoverers. Some of them are specialists in just one plant species, or a few closely-related ones, to a degree not found elsewhere. This of course is a plant's dream.

Sapphire-vented Puffleg Eriocnemis luciani, El Cajas NP, high Andes, southern Ecuador.
This one is almost cheating by perching to feed! I can (after many attempts) offer you
a couple of examples of hummers feeding more typically, hanging implausibly in the air in front of the flower.

Green Violetear Colibri thalassinus on Nicotiana flowers, near Cusco, Peruvian Andes.

Bearded Mountaineer Oreonympha nobilis, also near Cusco, and also on Nicotiana.
This one is much less common, being limited to the southern Peruvian Andes above about 3000 metres.

While less bird species than insects are involved in pollination on the part of both plants and animals, in the southern hemisphere in particular they are a key part of the fabric. Keep an eye out for them - it really is a great story!

BACK ON WEDNESDAY

I had the privilege of redoing one of my favourite walks recently, during our trip to central Australia. Ormiston Pound and Gorge walk is one of the most spectacular half-day circuits in the entire country, and readily accessible to most people - unlike some other red centre walks it is reached by bitumen road, and the 7km walk itself is well within the capacity of anyone moderately fit person.

It's 130km west of Alice Springs along Larapinta and Namatjira Drives, involving a drive along the southern face of the superb West MacDonnell Ranges. You can do it as a day trip from The Alice but the drive itself warrants a day of your time, and you can either camp at the start of the walk (in the Parks Service camp ground) or stay in basic units at nearby Glen Helen Resort (don't think of planted palm trees and waiters - it's actually quite nice!).

Typical roadside panorama of the West MacDonnells from Larapinta Drive, en route to Ormiston.

The circuit walk starts in the (mostly dry) bed of Ormiston Creek, and begins with a steady but well-graded climb to a spectacular lookout over the Ormiston Pound, a broad sandy plain ringed with sandstone hills. It descends to the pound and crosses it through open woodland and spiky hummock spinifex grass, before entering Ormiston Gorge and returning to the start with some rock-hopping, depending on the water level. This was the fifth time I've done the walk, and the only time the gorge has actually been closed because of high water; on each other occasion I've avoided even getting wet feet.

Taken just after the start of the walk, looking back at the dry bed of Ormiston Creek.
The grass in the foreground is spinifex, Triodia spp., which dominates much of arid Australia.
Below is typical of the hillsides for the first part of the walk

The gullies in particular - which the path follows and crosses - support a variety of plant and associated animal life.

Curry Wattle Acacia spondylophylla (above) really smells wonderfully of curry spices;
it and Red Wattle A. monticola (below) thrive on the exposed rocky slopes.

Native Cotton Gossypium australe family Malvaceae; a true cotton.

Butterfly Bush Petaloystylis cassioides Family Caesalpinaceae.
A far more abundant genus in this family - which is sometimes now included in the huge pea family Fabaceae -
is Senna (formerly included in Cassia). It can also be found along the walk, as with everywhere else in inland Australia.

Senna artemisioides; this is an extraordinarily variable species, with at least nine named subspecies in central Australia
all with entirely different foliage and ,many of them co-existing and forming hybrids...

Spinifex Pigeon Geophaps plumifera, one of the delights of the far inland, where
it can be found on any rocky, spinifex-clad habitats. This one was enthusiastically displaying
to his intended, hidden behind the spinifex clump; neither party was at all interested in us.

Grey-headed Honeyeater Lichenostomus keartlandion Corkwood Hakea lorea.

Little Woodswallows Artamus minor, the smallest of the six Australian woodswallow species - all are
closely related to Australian magpies and currawongs, and not at all to true swallows.
This species is sometimes regarded as hard to find, but its apparent scarcity is simply
a function of its remote habitat. Like all woodswallows they huddle endearingly
in between aerial sorties.

Panther Skink Ctenotus pantherinus.This robust skink was hunting insects while staying close to the safety of the spinifex clump.

After all this excitement - and the climb - the short detour up a narrow ridge to sit and look out over the panoramic pound is very welcome.

Ormiston Pound, ringed by the rugged folded sandstone hills of the West MacDonnells, above and below.

The view back to lovely Mount Sonder, made famous by sublime Arrernte artist Albert Namatjira,
is pretty splendid too.

From here we descend to the open plains, passing through spinifex and low rocky ridges.

Sharp-capped Mallee Eucalyptus oxymitra in spinifex grassland.
'Mallee' is a term for multi-stemmed shrub-form eucalypts found in drier low soil nutrient situations.

Finally we enter the deep shady gorge, with tumbled boulders on the sandy creek bed. It is a truly beautiful section of the walk- and the shelter is welcome on a hot or windy day.

Ormiston Gorge; the trees in the creek bed are River Red Gums Eucalyptus camaldulensis,which have managed to establish themselves despite infrequent but severe floods.

Determined River Red Gum seedlings.

The tumbled boulders in the bed are comprised of purple quartzite, formed from sandstone under immense pressures, often those associated with orogeny - mountain building.

I'm no geologist, but I find these exquisite.

Up on the rock walls are plants clinging to life but above the floodwaters.

Variable Daisy Brachycome ciliaris.

Ghost Gum Eucalyptus aparrerinja.
These are wonderful trees at any time; this one is truly extraordinary; I have not tilted the camera!

Towards the end of the gorge pools appear, deep and cold.
If you're lucky you'll be able to walk around them - mostly you can.

These of course attract life and species not seen elsewhere on the walk.

Little Pied Cormorant Microcarbo melanoleucos.One of the world's smallest cormorants, found anywhere in inland Australia.

Scarlet Percher Diplacodus haematodus; I am always delighted to find dragonflies in the far inland
(and indeed anywhere!).

Blue Skimmer Orthetrum caledonicum

Shortly after these pools we meet people pottering along for a short walk from the carpark - we feel a bit sorry for them, and what they've missed - and a nice formed path. It means lunch and shelters and seats are near to hand, but it's not quite the same as where we've been, with the butcherbirds fluting from the cliffs and emphasising silence, and the colours of rock, tree trunk and sky.

But please, don't just take my word for it....

BACK ON SUNDAY, TO CELEBRATE ANOTHER ANNIVERSARY

On This Day, 30 April; Charles Moore and Kustav Kunze died

WHAT did you say it's called?!

On This Day, 6 June; Swedish National Day

An Hour at Warrigal Waterhole

Naturally Green

Featuring the Fabulous Figs

On This Day, 21 June; William Paterson Died

The Patagonia Picnic Table Effect

Stunning Española, a Galápagos jewel; part 1

Stunning Española, a Galápagos jewel; part 2

Preening; how birds stay beautiful - and alive...

On This Day 13 March; death of Ronald Gunn

The Pollination Story; part 1, beginnings

On This Day 13 July: Allan Cunningham's Birthday

The Pollination Story; part 2, getting noticed

As You Lake It

The Pollination Story; part 3, specialising

On This Day, 28 July; Peruvian Independence Day, Cocha Salvador

The Pollination Story, Part 4; the birds arrive, dream customers

Ormiston - one of the great walks