A Day of Surprises at the Red Desert Nature Reserve

We had chosen to go to the Red Desert, and Lulu was joining us. It was a fresh morning, but as we sat and had our tea, the day started to warm up. It is always wonderful to have fellow plant enthusiasts join us on a Thursday.

Life finds a foothold in the striking red sands of the world's smallest desert

As you walk through the gate into the Red Desert Nature Reserve, the firebreak along the boundary is always rewarding. Even if we only saw one flower, we would be happy; botanizing is not just about the plants, it’s about the special people you share it with. This makes a huge difference.

Lulu exploring

Afroaster hispida (Udlatshana) bears striking purple ray florets with a bright yellow central disc, all sitting on top of roughly hairy, green herbaceous stems. Its sessile, lanceolate leaves alternate all the way up the stem. If you look this plant up online, you will likely see it written two different ways: Afroaster hispidus and Afroaster hispida. Don’t worry—they are the exact same plant! It just depends where you stand in the world.

Afroaster hispida

We spotted Acalypha peduncularis (Brooms and Brushes) just off the path. Normally, this indigenous grassland survivor is dioecious—meaning you have completely separate “male” and “female” plants. But nature loves a plot twist. If you look closely at the base of these long, upright male flower stalks (the “brooms”), this exact little plant is also pushing out the deep reddish clusters of female flowers right near the ground! Finding a monoecious specimen like this was a treat for us plant nerds. It just goes to show that no matter how strict the textbooks are, the veld always has a surprise waiting if you look closely enough. Near the Acalypha was Gerbera piloselloides. Upon inspecting the leaves, you could immediately see why its traditional isiZulu name is indlebeyempithi—which literally translates to “the ear of the duiker.” This diminutive, shy forest antelope is famous for its soft, twitching ears that stay low to the forest floor to avoid detection. The plant mirrors this behavior perfectly; its velvety, tongue-shaped leaves form a fuzzy rosette flat against the soil, completely camouflaged in the veld. It acts just like its namesake, remaining entirely inconspicuous until it suddenly throws up its signature golden-furred flower stalks after a fire.

A monoecious Acalypha peduncularis

Gerbera piloselloides

Scattered around were Hypoxis argentea, densely enveloped in long, fine, white hairs with the iconic yellow stars. The leaves get their permanent, rigid, V-shaped profile from the heavily thickened, raised marginal veins. Lulu discovered a slender, erect flower stalk with buds that turned out to be Eulophia parviflora (Imfeyamasele)—its signature purple-tinted stalk, emerging pleated leaves, and compact cluster of olivaceous-green buds perfectly mirrored the distinctive growth habit of this resilient terrestrial orchid.

Hypoxis argentea

Eulophia parviflora

Nearby, we turned our attention to the dense, flat-topped golden clusters of compact flowerheads sitting on the tall, erect, velvet-woolly stems of Helichrysum nudifolium var. pilosellum (Boleba). Their heavily quilted leaves, etched with prominent parallel veins, seemed perfectly ready for the cold—and if you flipped them over, their undersides were completely blanketed in a soft, white felt. One would think it was winter.

Helichrysum nudifolium var. pilosellum

We dawdled along the path towards the centre of the Red Desert. As there had been far less rain than usual, the plants seemed to be holding back in anticipation of rain. As we came over the first crest of the famous red sands, to the left was a little Lobelia tomentosa (Woolly Lobelia) adding a beautiful splash of colour. The delicate, violet-blue, tubular asymmetric blooms looked stunning against the red sand.

Lobelia tomentosa

Framing the edge of the path in parts grew Seriphium plumosum (Bankrupt Bush), its intricately branched, wiry stems were densely blanketed in tiny, woolly tufts of silver-grey leaves, looking less like a typical grassland shrub and more like a branching colony of land-dwelling sea coral. Then there was a true master of diverse environments, Osteospermum moniliferum (Bietou). With an exceptionally long flowering season spanning from autumn through winter—and blooming on and off all year round—it is a resilient shrub that beautifully brightens the landscape with cheerful golden daisies set against its silver-webbed foliage.

Seriphium plumosum

Osteospermum moniliferum

The Red Desert Nature Reserve has faced an ongoing invasion of Hakea sericea and Grevillea bandkii. As Uschi and Tracy walked along, they pulled saplings from the dry ground. It was not an easy task, and to many it may have seemed futile, but each one removed was one less. Once through the desert area of the reserve and out into the burnt grassland, Tracy crouched down to photograph the sun-worshipping Gazania krebsiana. Looking at them from the side, the backs of the petals revealed a striking two-tone olive stripe cutting through the yellow, proudly mirroring the iconic green and gold of our Springboks!

Category 1b invasives Hakea sericea and Grevillea robusta

Gazania krebsiana

Long, tall stems topped with fleshy green capsules towered over everything else. The papery remnants of old flower bracts clung to the capsules, strongly hinting at a Tulbaghia species. They had really put on a show, which we had unfortunately missed. As we looked across the burnt grassland, we saw Ocimum obovatum (Cat’s Whiskers), featuring clusters of crisp white flowers with deeply frilled, pink-striped lips. Long, incredibly elegant stamens swept outward like delicate whiskers from their dark calyces. Known traditionally as isandla-sokhenjana, it carries deep significance in African traditional medicine as a remedy for stomach ailments and as a natural hair restorer. If you love butterflies, then you’ll want this in your sun garden; its nectar-rich blooms and potent essential oils draw in striking Blues butterflies.

Tulbaghia species

Ocimum obovatum

The excitement grew as we saw more and more plants, including Tritonia gladiolaris (Pencilled Tritonia) nodding gently in the breeze. Their funnel-shaped, pale straw-yellow flowers with warm apricot accents lined up perfectly along slender stems. Its historical Afrikaans name is Bergkatjietee. Historically, early mountain travellers and local foragers dried the leaves and corms of this widespread species to brew a comforting, herbal wild tea while traversing the rocky grasslands.

Tritonia gladiolaris

Ah, Helichrysum griseum (Grizzly Everlasting). When encountering a pink-tinted everlasting in the field, it is easy to confuse it with a few closely related candidates, but looking closely at the flower head sealed the ID. Unlike Helichrysum appendiculatum, whose papery bracts are completely dull, the overlapping rows on our plant possessed a brilliant, glossy sheen that shimmered in the light. What really gave it away, though, was how the bracts “curled out.” Instead of laying completely flat, the sharp little tips curved sharply outward away from the centre, giving the whole cluster a wonderfully bristly, textured look—almost like a tiny, pink version of Rod Stewart’s hair. We also ruled out Helichrysum nudifolium var. oxyphyllum because our specimen lacked its signature bicoloured contrast of deep red outer scales and snowy white inner faces, opting instead for a rich, uniform gradient of deep rose.

Helichrysum griseum

The extremely drought-hardy Merwilla plumbea (Blue squill), with its misty lavender-blue buds and open starry flowers rising along the central stalk, was a breathtaking sight to behold against the recovering veld. As it is a highly sought-after muthi plant, it is near threatened, and finding a thriving specimen in the Red Desert was an incredibly meaningful highlight for our CREW team. Another diminutive member of the hyacinth family provided a delightful contrast to the towering Merwilla: Ledebouria revoluta (ubuhlungu). If Merwilla is the stately giant of the veld, Ledebouria is its beautifully detailed, miniature ground-hugging cousin. Pushing straight out of the charcoal-dusted soil, this tough little geophyte is an absolute master of post-fire survival. If you get down on your knees to look closely at the flower head, the individual blossoms are incredible, splitting open to reveal dainty pinkish-mauve petals that roll tightly backward to show off their tiny, bright filaments. 

Merwilla plumbea

Ledebouria revoluta

A brilliant splash of sunshine came from Helichrysum aureum (Golden Everlasting). Standing proudly right after the burn, this perennial herb throws up erect, woolly stems from a compact rosette of grey-green leaves. Perched atop each stem is a magnificent, solitary flower head wrapped in rows of incredibly bright, glossy, papery bracts that radiate outward like golden sunbeams. On a rocky sandstone patch, our eyes caught sight of Gladiolus inandensis (Early Pypie). The small, pristine, cream-white or gentle yellow flowers were a striking sight against the open veld. It’s hard to believe that these flowers could flourish in such a harsh environment. Then looking around the yellow flowers of Lasiosiphon kraussianus (Lesser Yellow-Head) stood defiant; the upright stems and soft, grey-green leaves were topped with a dense, rounded cluster of tightly packed, tubular blossoms. Beware of their beauty though—the entire plant is highly toxic to both humans and livestock. It contains unique chemical compounds that were used traditionally as an effective fish poison to temporarily stun fish in river systems. Why kraussianus is correct: botanical nomenclature requires the specific epithet to match the gender of the genus. Because Lasiosiphon is masculine, the epithet must use the masculine suffix -us rather than the neuter suffix -um.

Helichrysum aureum

Gladiolus inandensis

Lasiosiphon kraussianus

Dorothy and Tracy walked towards the rocky cliff hoping to find the Cussonia woodleyi; however, the arson fire that had burnt through the Red Desert had burnt over the edge, and they could not find it. While on the edge, Tracy watched ants busily running over the fruit of Ficus glumosa (Hairy Rock Fig). This tough tree often grows with its roots wedged into rock crevices. The small figs were clustered tightly on the branches, showing a beautiful contrast between the immature yellowish-green fruits and the ripe, velvety pinkish-red ones. Even the young growth buds and the undersides of the leaves were completely blanketed in fine, soft hairs, a perfect adaptation for a tree surviving out in the exposed elements of the reserve. They decided to sit on the rocks surrounded by the burnt shrubs and black soil. It was not the prettiest spot, but it was the reality. Uschi and Lulu joined them.

Ficus glumosa

Shortly after lunch they found Raphionacme galpinii, belonging to the milkweed family, Apocynaceae. It is a fascinating geophytic herb named in honour of the legendary South African botanical collector Ernest Edward Galpin. The whole plant is covered in hair, and when the buds open they reveal the most intriguing green star-shaped flowers featuring a unique structural corona like a crown that transitions into a rich dark purple, creating a sharp contrast against the green petals. The most significant part of the plant is completely invisible above ground. It grows from a massive, turnip-like underground tuber. A patch of Dimorphotheca fruticosa (Rankbitou) provided a beautiful change of pace. This tough ground cover is a true survivor, bearing large daisy flowerheads with pristine white ray florets framing a striking dark purple central disc. Turning a bloom over reveals a lovely mauve on the underside of the petals. Its alternating, spoon-shaped leaves are semi-succulent, a perfect evolutionary design for conserving moisture.

Raphionacme galpinii

Dimorphotheca fruticosa

Throughout the day, we had come across numerous digging sites from plant poaching. Seeing those fresh, empty holes in the soil was a harsh reminder of the constant pressure our unique wild flora faces from the illegal trade. It is a heartbreaking sight for any CREW team, but it highlights exactly why monitoring these reserves remains so vital.

Plant poaching is having a negative effect on diversity

A poachers bag neatly packed away for next time

It was time to head back to the car, so we turned away from the sea and ambled back. Senecio bupleuroides (Idwarane), with its long, narrow leaves, grew tightly from the base, looking almost like thick blades of grass with prominent parallel veins. The smooth stems branched out beautifully at the top, holding loose clusters of bright yellow daisy flowerheads that stood out clearly against the ground. Not spectacular, but still significant in the grand scheme of things. 

Dorothy and Lulu heading back

Senecio bupleuroides

It is amazing how much the landscape reveals when you slow down and really look. Berkheya insignis, with its thistle-like flower buds densely armoured in overlapping rows of fiercely spiny bracts, held its tight heads closed as it waited for the perfect moment to open. While these compact, prickly spheres would soon burst into large, solitary golden medallions that add an intensely vivid splash of colour to the landscape, the plant keeps its soft tissues fiercely protected in the meantime. Its leaf margins are armoured with stiff, needle-sharp spines to ward off grazing animals.

Berkheya insignis

We stumbled upon another fascinating Acalypha, Acalypha punctata. While we had marvelled at the monoecious curiosity of Acalypha peduncularis earlier, this species stood proud and strictly dioecious. Our specimen was a striking male plant, pushing up long, erect, densely packed flower spikes blanketed in hundreds of tiny, cream-and-crimson blossoms that looked like miniature furry catkins. If you ran your fingers along the alternate, lanceolate leaves, the margins were sharply and coarsely serrated, looking like miniature green sawblades. But the true magic was hidden on the leaf surfaces themselves—they were peppered with microscopic, embedded gland dots (punctata meaning dotted) that release volatile oils to protect the plant from the intense, baking sun. It was a beautiful reminder of how many diverse variations a single genus can hold across the very same grassland patch. A flash of magenta caught our eye and, on closer inspection, it was a little Hilliardiella oligocephala. What looks like a single blossom is actually a tight colony of individual tubular florets. Each minute tube splits into tiny five-pointed stars, with delicate, deeply split styles gracefully protruding to entice passing pollinators. There had been quite a few Senecio variabilis throughout the day, but this one begged to have its photo taken. The perfect snowy-white puffball dotted with a few remaining purple florets, sitting between the two tight, deep purple-red cylindrical buds, was whimsical and reminded us of the magic around us. And just like that another day out botanising with Pondoland CREW had come to an end.

Acalypha punctata

Hilliardiella oligocephala

Senecio variabilis

Beauty, Fire, and the Cattle Crisis

The air was dry and thick, beneath us, the ground was begging for rain. In this landscape, only the truly resilient survive. Luckily, botanists are resilient. After tea we set out eagerly to see what we could find.

Cattle grazing Umtamvuna Nature Reserve

Our first flower of the day was Othonna natalensis (Natal geelbossie). The lovely fleshy grey-green leaves and bright yellow, radiate flowerheads were like beacons against the burnt earth. It is fortunately not palatable to cattle as it contains bitter compounds. Nearby, Pentanisia prunelloides (Broad-leaved pentanisia) had pushed out from the burnt earth. The noticeably hairy, ovate leaves lack petioles, but that’s not what caught our eye. It was the striking, clusters of tubular blue-lilac flowers. Another resilient survivor was Hypoxis hemerocallidea (African potato). Its hairy, strap-like leaves were just emerging, crowned by a brilliant, canary-yellow star-flower that practically glowed against the ash. Also shooting up immediately after the burn was Helichrysum nudifolium var. pilosellum (Boleba), topped with a flat, dense, rounded cluster of bright golden-yellow corymbs composed of tiny, button-like flower heads.

Othonna natalensis

Pentanisia prunelloides

Hypoxis hemerocallidea

Helichrysum nudifolium var. pilosellum

Standing out in stark contrast against the blackened landscape, all of these species perfectly demonstrate the evolutionary genius of Pondoland’s flora. They are “geophytic pyrophytes.” Their thick, woody underground rootstocks (the geophyte trait) protect them from the intense heat of veld fires, allowing them to act as ecological pioneers (the pyrophyte trait). By hiding safely beneath the soil line, they use the fresh ash nutrients and unfiltered sunlight to burst into bloom long before the dominant sourveld grasses can crowd them out.

Still waters mirror the rugged beauty of Umtamvuna

Leaving the charred area behind, we moved into a sweep of unburnt grassland and down toward a flowing stream. Adding a dramatic splash of scarlet was Erica cerinthoides (Fire heath). A delicate Wahlenbergia species caught our eye. A proud member of the Campanulaceae (bellflower) family, its perfect little star, with pale mauve petals balanced gracefully on an ultra-wiry stem.

Erica cerinthoides and pollinator

Wahlenbergia species

Our focus shifted to the damp stream banks where dense colonies of Disa tripetaloides (Pinkspot Disa) were clinging tightly to the edge. Their slender stems bore delicate white-and-pink flowers, intricately dotted with magenta spots. Firmly anchored by an extensive underground network of runners and stolons, these beautiful terrestrial orchids are so rewarding. Growing among the Disa orchids was Erica aspalathifolia; most of its delicate flowers had aged into a beautiful burnt orange, except for a few that were still a warm, creamy white.

Disa tripetaloides

Erica aspalathifolia

As we admired the Disa, a herd of 47 cattle came trotting down to the once-pristine stream. As we watched helplessly, the damage caused by these trespassing cattle was no longer to be ignored. Deep criss-cross cattle paths now scar the grassland like fresh lashes across living flesh. We feel every one of them. The banks of the stream are totally obliterated in areas, and where the cattle entered the stream to drink, the water turned muddy. Umtamvuna is bleeding!

Cattle in the stream

Umtamvuna Nature Reserve lies at the heart of the Pondoland Centre of Endemism. This is the very birthplace of one of the richest and most unique biodiversity hotspots on Earth. Many of the species found here exist nowhere else on the planet. That makes this place not just special, but irreplaceable.

Umtamvuna Nature Reserve the heart of the Pondoland Center of endemism

There seems to be no end to the illegal cattle grazing in the reserve. Year after year — and now week after week — the situation is getting worse. At times it feels like we don’t know whether to cry or to shout.

Devastating evidence of illegal cattle grazing

Damage done by the cattle

Across the stream, and with our backs turned toward the cattle, we hunted for Euphorbia bupleurifolia. Anne found a lone Euphorbia where there had once been a good population, highlighting yet another conservation crisis: plant poaching. But then, a Berkheya speciosa seemed to call us out of our melancholy. Its brilliant yellow ray florets gleamed against the winter sky.

Hunting for Euphorbia bupleurifolia

Euphorbia bupleurifolia

Berkheya speciosa

The day’s emotional rollercoaster took another sudden turn when Hillary called out in absolute triumph. She had found Eulophia parviflora! This slender terrestrial orchid was a magnificent reward—its yellow petals and purple-brown veined sepals standing proudly on a delicate stem. It was exactly the antidote we needed. It was a clear, defiant statement that despite the threats pressing in around us, Umtamvuna’s true magic still refuses to be erased.

Hillary beaming after finding the Eulophia parviflora

Eulophia parviflora

Between some rocks in a seep, the large, apple-green leaves of a Maesa lanceolata (False Assegai) were backlit by the winter sun, transforming the leaves into translucent green sheets. The pale midrib and intricate, net-like lateral veins glowed like fine golden filigree, revealing a hidden structural beauty that you completely miss from a distance.

Maesa lanceolata

Macaranga capensis (River Macaranga) is a fast-growing tree belonging to the spurge family, Euphorbiaceae. The large, heart-shaped leaves are especially striking, featuring a beautiful and unique palmate venation pattern with pale veins that radiate elegantly from the base. This architecture is emphasized by its peltate leaf attachment, where the long leaf stalk inserts directly into the underside of the blade, creating a beautiful shield-like appearance.

Macaranga capensis

Peltate leaf attachment of Macaranga capensis

We chose a rocky area on the side of a deep gully in the winter sun to eat lunch. To the right, growing out of the rock, was a Diospyros scabrida (Hard-leaved Monkey Plum). Its rigid, compact branches hugged the stone, sporting leathery leaves with an exceptionally glossy sheen. This particular shrub turned out to be a female specimen, proudly bearing solitary flowers emerging singly from the leaf axils. Each drooping, bell-shaped bloom was cradled by a large, distinctively hairy calyx. It is truly a dynamic shrub that adapts and thrives in varying conditions.

Diospyros scabrida

As we started to finish lunch, each of us began to explore the dry, rocky gully. Tracy’s eyes caught a tiny flash of movement on a nearby leaf—a flatid planthopper nymph. It was an astonishing little creature, completely coated in a powdery, white wax and sporting a dramatic, feather-like tail of extruded waxy filaments that looked like a miniature firework frozen mid-burst. It sat perfectly still, a master of eccentric defense, ready to sacrifice its brittle waxy tail to any predator foolish enough to strike.

Flatid planthopper nymph

Directly behind it, weaving through the undergrowth, a scrambling Behnia reticulata (Forest Smilax) vine bore the silent scars of a different insect encounter. Some of its leaves had been meticulously stripped down to their bare bones. Specialised leaf beetle larvae had eaten away every trace of the soft green mesophyll, leaving behind nothing but the stark, bleach-white skeletons of their parallel and net-like veins. The lacy, geometric lattices hung like fragile cobwebs in the winter light—a reminder that even in the shade of the gully, the relentless, quiet cycles of consumption and survival never pause. 

Behnia reticulata

Draped over a large boulder was a Plectranthus saccatus subsp. pondoensis. Perfectly adapted to this harsh, rocky microclimate, its highly succulent, fleshy green leaves clung to the rock while its long, trailing stems cascaded downward into the shadows. Sprays of mauve flowers nodded gently in the light.

Plectranthus saccatus subsp. pondoensis

Uschi was so elated to find, tucked into the steep gully wall, a specialized trio of ferns: Christella dentata, Blechnum punctulatum var. krebsii, and right next to it, Blechnum capense. As Anne, Alf, Hillary, Tracy, and Uschi ventured down the gully, they were met with a wonderful surprise. Growing on top of a large boulder was Clivia robusta, a true giant of the Pondoland flora. Its imposing, architectural fan of broad, dark green strap-shaped leaves gave rise to a dense umbel of pendulous, tubular flowers—their deep orange lobes tipped with distinct collars of pale green, glowing softly in the shadows of the gully canopy.

Specialized trio of ferns

Clivia robusta

Deciding to clamber up over the boulders and out of the gully brought them face-to-face with Mystacidium venosum. This tiny, stemless epiphyte is endemic to southern Africa. Its pure, crystal-white flowers resemble tiny, intricate snowflakes, and each star-shaped bloom features sharply pointed petals and a long, slender, backward-curving nectar spur.

Mystacidium venosum

Colonising the rocks and surrounds as we came out of the gully was Nephrolepis cordifolia (Tuberous Sword Fern) a highly aggressive Category 1b Invasive Species in KwaZulu-Natal. It is extremely difficult to eradicate because of its robust survival mechanisms. After spending some time removing and crushing the tubers we decided the rest was for another day. As we ambled along the edge of the gully our mood quickly turned back to one of frustration as we encountered the terrible damage done by the cattle.

Nephrolepis cordifolia tuber

Dorothy had started to walk back to the car. You might think that would be a swift walk, but in botany, it never is—there is always something more to see. Dorothy was lucky enough to spot Kohautia amatymbica (Tremble tops). Its specific epithet, amatymbica, serves as a rich cultural marker, named in honour of the AmaThembu people of the Eastern Cape. Right nearby was the low-growing dwarf shrub Searsia pondoensis, showing off its attractive, upright, feather-like leaves. Finally, the vibrant yellow Gazania krebsiana brought a radiant burst of colour to the fresh burn.

Kohautia amatymbica

Searsia pondoensis

Gazania krebsiana

Another beautiful pyrophyte shooting up after the burn was Indigofera rubroglandulosa, its vivid rose-pink pea flowers bright against the charred earth. As we headed back, the contrast of the day stayed with us. Umtamvuna is a paradise under siege—caught between the evolutionary genius of its ancient flora and the modern pressures of human encroachment. Yet, seeing its resilience firsthand reminds us exactly why we cannot stop fighting for it.

Indigofera rubroglandulosa