The Heart of Pondoland is Burning

Thursday arrived again and the whole Pondoland CREW was back together. We sat in the sun under a dilapidated roof drinking tea, dunking rusks and chatting away. Then we headed to Western Heights, the largest plateau grassland within the Umtamvuna Nature Reserve. Geographically, it sits elevated on the inland, north-western side, running right up against the sheer 240-metre cliffs that overlook the deep Umtamvuna River Gorge. Our mood was jovial but apprehensive. We were on our way to botanise, but we knew we wouldn't be alone. The cattle would have beaten us there. No doubt, some never left.

Just one of the many herds of cattle

With each step it became more apparent the cattle are destroying these precious grasslands. It was not a day for celebration—the time for quiet contemplation is no longer.

Finding cattle deeper and deeper in the reserve
Photo credit Gail

Where rolling grasslands once exploded in a riot of colour after fire — delicate orchids, fire-adapted geophytes, and hundreds of plants found nowhere else on Earth — now lie scarred grasslands. The grass is mowed to stubble. The soil lies bare and black. Fresh green shoots promise a quick meal for cattle, but this is no renewal. It is slow-motion destruction.

A scene that has become all to common

Despite the heavy grazing pressure, the Pondoland CREW managed to find a few survivors pushing through the ash, though they were heartbreakingly few and scattered. Bright Gazania krebsiana daisy faces hugged the ground under the harsh winter sun, while isolated clusters of golden everlasting Helichrysum aureum provided a glimmer of colour against the blackened earth.

Gazania krebsiana

Helichrysum aureum

Out of the side of a sandstone boulder, a leafless Erythrina lysistemon tree stood out, defiantly pushing out intense scarlet flower spikes. Beautiful Polystachya pubescens and Crassula perfoliata var. heterotricha were flourishing directly on top of massive sandstone boulders, sitting safely out of reach where they could neither be eaten nor trampled under heavy hooves. Similarly, the unique brush-like white flowers of Haemanthus albiflos were growing deep in shaded, inaccessible rock crevices.

Erythrina lysistemon

Polystachya pubescens

Dorothy and Alf admiring Polystachya pubescens

Crassula perfoliata var. heterotricha

Haemanthus albiflos

Gail, our very own Euphorbia hound, spotted Euphorbia bupleurifolia. Growing along a seasonal stream was a magnificent Alberta magna—a member of the Rubiaceae family luckily not palatable to cattle. The reflexed thorns of Putterlickia retrospinosa and the hooked thorns of Smilax anceps make both of these safe from grazing as well. The Tricalysia capensis var. capensis shrubs were full of buds, with some getting a head start on pollination; and, you guessed it, they are also highly unpalatable to cattle.

Euphorbia bupleurifolia
Photo credit Gail

Alberta magna

Putterlickia retrospinosa

Smilax anceps

Tricalysia capensis var. capensis

Near the moist drop-offs into the stream were a couple of river-loving Psoralea glabra shrubs and Ochna serrulata bushes. Heading back up from traversing the edge, the amazing star-shaped bracts of Brachylaena glabra drew us in, and there were a few small Tulbaghia acutiloba.

Psoralea glabra

Ochna serrulata

Brachylaena glabra

Hilary and Uschi climbing back up

Tulbaghia acutiloba

We found a few more resilient species holding the line. The low-growing daisy Ursinia tenuiloba popped with bright yellow post-fire growth, while scattered Protea roupelliae trees stood tough against the ash, protected by their thick, fire-resistant bark. Meanwhile, hidden away from heavy hooves in the sandstone fissures, the grass-like fronds of Vittaria isoetifolia clung safely to the shaded rock faces. 

Ursinia tenuiloba
Photo credit Dorothy

Protea roupelliae
Photo credit Dorothy

Vittaria isoetifolia

Photo credit Uschi

This is Umtamvuna Nature Reserve, the crown jewel of the Pondoland Centre of Endemism. Part of the Maputaland-Pondoland-Albany Biodiversity Hotspot — one of only two global biodiversity hotspots in South Africa and one of only 36 worldwide — this area is internationally recognised for its extraordinary plant diversity. Towering gorges, coastal scarp forests, and sandstone grasslands support Cape vultures, rare trees, and insects found nowhere else. It is a living museum of evolutionary wonder — and it is being picked apart.

Deep tracks mark the grassland

Broken fences. Lack of support for rangers and management. Desperate herders driving cattle through gaps to graze on protected land. Arson fires lit out of season. Snare lines and hunting dogs finishing off what little wildlife remains. Cattle trampling through sensitive seeps leave deep, lasting scars — compacting soil, destroying delicate wetland vegetation, and accelerating erosion. These grasslands also form part of the region’s natural water infrastructure. Their deep root systems trap sediment, filter and purify rainwater, and regulate its slow release into rivers and aquifers. When repeatedly burnt and trampled, this living sponge collapses. Erosion accelerates. Sedimentation rises. Water quality deteriorates. The foundation of long-term water security is being choked.

Muddy pools along once prestine streams

This is not abstract conservation. This small but exceptional grassland reserve is every bit as important as the larger, more famous game reserves in South Africa’s bigger picture. It safeguards irreplaceable environmental diversity and raw natural beauty that cannot be found anywhere else. These ecosystems purify our water, prevent catastrophic erosion on fragile cliffs, store carbon, and hold the key to future resilience in a changing climate. Instead, they are being turned into impoverished pasture.

Cattle left to wonder and graze freely

The grassland is being degraded before it has a chance to rejuvenate

The situation is serious and frustrating, especially with chronic resource constraints — but it is far from hopeless. We cannot remain silent. Not speaking is siding with the cattle herders who are dismantling the reserve piece by piece. The fight for Umtamvuna is the fight for Pondoland’s soul. With urgent funding, repaired boundaries, genuine community partnerships, and enforced fire management, this reserve can still recover and bloom — with spectacular post-fire displays, and cliffs alive with endemic colour.

But time is running out.

Every cow in the ashes is another warning. Every broken fence is another surrender. Being silent is not an option. The Pondoland Centre of Endemism is crying for help.

Pondoland CREW
Tracy Taylor, Alf Hayter, Hilary Henderson, Dorothy McIntyre, Uschi Teicher,
Anne Skelton, Maggie Abbott, Gail Bowers-Winters

Western Heights

Waiting for Rain – Winter Botanising at Umtamvuna Nature Reserve

There was much laughter and many stories to share as the Umtamvuna C.R.E.W. (Custodians of Rare and Endangered Wildflowers) group reunited after several weeks apart. Both Maggie and Gail had been travelling, and it was wonderful to have everyone back together again.

For Gail, the return to Umtamvuna Nature Reserve was quite an adjustment. She had just returned from the Western Cape, where she had spent time botanising with fellow botanist Jean amongst the extraordinary winter flora that makes the Cape Floral Kingdom world-famous. There, winter is a season of abundance. Here on the KwaZulu-Natal South Coast, winter tells a very different story.

The grasslands lay dry beneath a pale blue sky, the earth scorched from winter fires, and many of the bulbs and tubers slept safely beneath the soil. They patiently awaited the life-giving rains that would awaken them. It is one of nature's remarkable strategies—many geophytes survive months of drought and fire by storing energy underground in bulbs, corms or tubers, emerging only when conditions are right. When those first summer rains finally arrive, these seemingly lifeless grasslands will transform into one of South Africa's most spectacular floral displays, with thousands of flowers painting the landscape in every imaginable colour.

Yet even amongst the blackened earth, life refused to surrender.

Emerging defiantly through the crisp, fire-blackened grass were the silvery, star-like flowers of Hypoxis argentea, the slender strawberry-pink flower spikes of Acalypha peduncularis, the cheerful golden daisies of Ursinia tenuiloba, and the delicate flowers of the Pondoland endemic Indigofera rubroglandulosa. 

Growing from rocky crevices where little soil exists, Polystachya pubescens displayed its elegant orchid flowers while Merwilla plumbea stood proudly amongst the rocks. Merwilla plumbea, commonly known as the Blue Squill, survives fire remarkably well thanks to its large underground bulb, which stores both nutrients and water. It has also been used in traditional medicine for generations, although unsustainable harvesting threatens wild populations in some areas.

These plants deserve admiration. They endure prolonged drought, survive intense fires and flourish where many other species could never persist. Fire, often perceived only as destructive, is in fact an essential ecological process within these grasslands. Many indigenous plants have evolved alongside regular fires, which remove old vegetation, recycle nutrients and create the open, sunny conditions that allow countless wildflowers to thrive.

Along the forest margin, the first flower buds of Erythrina were beginning to open. Within days the bare branches would erupt into brilliant scarlet flowers, providing an important nectar source for sunbirds, bees and other pollinators at a time when few other trees are flowering. Nearby, Brachylaena glabra was producing masses of flowers and beginning to set seed, ensuring the next generation of this handsome indigenous tree.

While the rest of the C.R.E.W. members botanised across the grasslands, Gail and Tracy decided to venture into a section of forest neither had previously explored.

The contrast was extraordinary.

Above them, cattle grazed on the emerging leaves of Hypoxis while smoke drifted across the hills after sections of grassland had been intentionally burnt to encourage fresh grazing. Below, the forest was cool, sheltered and filled with towering trees. Every step revealed another surprise.

The terrain was steep and rugged. Gail rested her hand against what appeared to be a sturdy tree trunk, only for the dead tree to suddenly collapse with an almighty crash. Fortunately Tracy was already further down the slope. Gail immediately recalled her dear friend Jean's often-repeated warning, "Trees kill people." On this occasion those words came frighteningly close to becoming reality.

Following the dry, rocky stream course, they noticed where the fire had crept right to the forest's edge. Here they found Carissa bispinosa in flower. Its gleaming white, star-shaped blossoms released an exquisite perfume that filled the still forest air. This attractive shrub produces edible red fruits enjoyed by birds, which in turn disperse its seeds throughout the forest.

Nearby, the tiny ruby-red flowers of Gymnosporia rubra glowed amongst the foliage. Although easily overlooked because of their size, these delicate flowers are remarkably beautiful when viewed closely.

Adding a touch of wildlife excitement were several Ityraea nigrocincta, commonly known as jumping flowers. Despite their name, these fascinating insects are not flowers at all but colourful planthoppers. Their remarkable camouflage allows them to resemble flower buds or seed capsules, helping them avoid predators. Tracy explained that if startled they can even shed part of their tails to escape danger, although fortunately these individuals seemed perfectly content to remain where they were.

Further into the forest Tracy spotted a thriving colony of the terrestrial orchid Corymborkis corymbis. Unlike many orchids that cling to tree branches, this species grows on the forest floor in deep shade, producing tall leafy stems that later bear elegant sprays of creamy flowers. A mental note was immediately made to return towards the end of the year to witness them in flower.

As the afternoon wore on they realised Anne would soon begin wondering where they had disappeared to, so reluctantly they turned back.

Baboons barked from somewhere amongst the cliffs above. Towering vertical rock faces blocked any easy route home, forcing them to search for another way out. Emerging from the forest, they found themselves beside smouldering ash where grey plumes of smoke drifted into the winter sky. The dense bracken, normally impossible to penetrate, had been burnt away, revealing scorched leaves of Anemone that had previously been hidden beneath the vegetation.

Looking upwards, our eyes fell upon a magnificent Cussonia sphaerocephala and a Ficus glumosa  clung impossibly to the cliff faces.

At our feet stood a solitary Euphorbia bupleurifolia, a remarkable succulent with a stout, sculptural stem and a crown of narrow leaves gathered at the top like a living rosette. Often called the pine cone euphorbia because of its textured, overlapping leaf bases, this species is beautifully adapted to life on hot, dry, rocky slopes where water is scarce and survival depends on clever storage. Like all euphorbias, it contains a milky latex that is toxic and can irritate the skin, a useful defence against grazing animals. Its flowers are tiny and inconspicuous, hidden within the specialised structures known as cyathia, but the plant’s true beauty lies in its extraordinary form and resilience. One plant was enough to stop us in our tracks.

Nearby grew a single Boophone disticha, one of South Africa's most iconic bulbous plants. Its enormous fan-shaped leaves emerge from a bulb that sits proudly above the soil surface, and although famous for its striking flowers, Boophone is equally renowned for its powerful medicinal compounds. Traditionally used with great caution, it reminds us that many of our indigenous plants possess remarkable chemistry developed through millions of years of evolution.

Scrambling back up the steep slope "black-footed like baboons", Gail and Tracy finally emerged onto the grassland where the rest of the C.R.E.W. team could be seen in the distance. Excitable waves were exchanged across the hillside as stories from two very different botanising adventures merged into one. Anne had spent part of the afternoon herding wandering cattle away from sensitive botanical areas, adding yet another chapter to the day's events.

Soon the convoy of Jimnys headed home, disappearing in clouds of red dust that billowed behind them like charging bulls across the winter landscape.

Winter at Umtamvuna may appear harsh and lifeless to the casual observer, but to those willing to look closely it is a season rich with resilience, quiet beauty and promise. Every dormant bulb, every fire-adapted wildflower and every hidden forest orchid is waiting patiently for the rains that will once again transform these grasslands into one of South Africa's greatest botanical treasures.

    Euphorbia bupleurifolia 

    EUPHORBIACEAE    

Cycad Spurge

South African endemic

Critically Endangered A2acd+4acd

                                              

Indigofera rubroglandulosa
FABACEAE
South African endemic

 

    

    

          Polystachya pubescens

ORCHIDACEAE

Brachylaena glabra 
ASTERACEAE
South African endemic

Hypoxis argentea 
HYPOXIDACEAE

Acalypha peduncularis
EUPHORBIACEAE

Merwilla plumbea
HYACINTHACEAE
Near Threatened A2bd

Ursinia tenuiloba 
ASTERACEAE
South African endemic

    Corymborkis corymbis 

        ORCHIDACEAE

    Carissa bispinosa 

APOCYNACEAE

Gymnosporia rubra
CELASTRACEAE

Ityraea nigrocincta

Jumping flowers

       GO!  Lovely but NO.

                                     

Pondoland C.R.E.W.

Anne Skelton, Uschi Teacher, Tracy Taylor, Maggie Abbott,
Dorothy McIntyre, Alf Hatter and Gail Bowers-Winters

"The true botanist learns that even in the quietest season, nature is never asleep—it is simply preparing for its next masterpiece."

Winter Botanising at Beacon Hill

Maggie was visiting family in the UK, Gail was in the Cape, and Alf and Dorothy had family visiting them. With Hilary and Uschi opting out, it fell to Anne and Tracy to represent the team. Undeterred by the weather, the duo headed up to Beacon Hill at Umtamvuna to see what Pondoland sandstone endemics they could spot after the burn.

On the way to Beacon Hill, they decided to stop at Banners Triangle to have a look. How disappointing. This small tract of land is normally a smorgasbord of flowers, but not that day. However, Tulbaghia acutiloba (Wild garlic) was out in plenty. A member of the Amaryllidaceae family, the small trumpet-shaped flowers borne in a cluster have distinctive, strongly reflexed green perianth segments surrounding a fleshy, conspicuous tangerine ring corona.  There was also Gerbera natalensis (Groenteebossie) pushing up through the bare ground. It was a treat to see these all decked out in their winter attire. Their flower heads and stems emerged densely blanketed in incredibly thick, woolly white hairs to protect them from the winter cold. Interestingly, their leaves only develop well after they flower, allowing the blooms to make the most of the open soot before any foliage gets in the way.

Tulbaghia acutiloba

Gerbera natalensis

The wind followed them to Beacon Hill, where they enjoyed a cup of warm coffee and some nougat to celebrate Anne’s birthday. The Brachylaena discolor (Bosvaalbos) at the car park was so full of flowers and giving off the most beautiful scent. Anne and Tracy then pressed on towards the stream, the icy wind in their faces. The first Berkheya setifera (Buffalo-tongue berkheya) darted around in the wind. It had to be pinned down for a photograph. It gets its common name from the incredibly rough, sandpapery leaves that feel exactly like a rough bovine tongue. Just a few steps further along toward the stream was Gerbera ambigua (Ucabazane). Unlike Gerbera natalensis, the flowers emerge from a fully formed basal rosette of active, mature leaves and the flower stem has significantly fewer coarse, shaggy hairs. An infusion of its pounded leaves is traditionally used in Zulu medicine to soothe stomach aches, while the roots are prepared to treat coughs.

Brachylaena discolor

Berkheya setifera

Gerbera ambigua

Amongst the amber leaves and spent flower buds of Watsonia, was a lone Watsonia pillansii (Pillans’ Watsonia) in flower — late or maybe early, but in its own time. It was a beautiful sight against the dry winter foliage. Eagle eyed Anne spotted a Genlisea hispidula. This extraordinary, highly specialized carnivorous plant belongs to the Lentibulariaceae family. It thrives exclusively in wet, nutrient-poor sandstone seeps and boggy areas. What makes it completely unique is its underground hunting strategy. It has no true root system. Instead, it uses subterranean, hollow, modified leaves that are twisted into tight spirals. These underground “corkscrews” use inward-pointing hairs to lure, trap, and chemically digest microscopic soil organisms and protozoa to gain nutrients missing from the sandstone soils. A true botanical wonder.

Watsonia pillansii

Genlisea hispidula

In the distance they could see the blazing, scarlet-orange flowers of an Erythrina. So they made their way through the Watsonia. Tracy clambered through the thicket to get close enough to take a photo. While South Africa boasts a few regional variations of these trees, a close look at the branches confirmed that this was indeed a Erythrina lysistemon (Common Coral Tree). Unlike Erythrina afra whose petals curve sharply backward to expose a shaggy mass of stamens, or Erythrina latissima with its woolly grey flower bases, the flower spike of Erythrina lysistemon is neat and structured. Its large uppermost standard petal wraps tightly downward like a sleek hood, keeping the stamens completely enclosed, sprouting from slender branches scattered with sharp, hooked thorns. A sunbird protested their presence and so they moved off.

Erythrina lysistemon

Erythrina lysistemon

A few meters away were some very tall Psoralea glabra (Narrow-leaf fountain-bush). There were still a few wind-beaten clusters of dainty, pea-shaped flowers that showed off a beautiful soft lavender-mauve colour. The petals faded into a clean white toward the base, sitting neatly in dark green calyx cups. The fine, needle-like green leaves gave the tall branches a lovely feathery appearance as they moved in the relentless wind.

Psoralea glabra

They ducked under the branches of a Syzygium cordatum (Waterberry) and hopped across the stream. Growing right in the stream bed was some invasive Ginger Lily—specifically of the Hedychium genus. It is a highly aggressive alien plant that quickly displaces native vegetation. Anne and Tracy jumped into action to remove it! Growing nearby were some Cinnamomum camphora (Camphor tree) saplings, an equally troublesome invasive tree. Once they had successfully uprooted them, Anne and Tracy set about smashing the ginger tubers to smithereens. Feeling triumphant and thoroughly satisfied with their impromptu alien-busting session, they enjoyed some well-deserved chocolate.

Category 1b Ginger Lily

Category 1b Cinnamomum camphora

Anne: 1 Ginger Lily: 0

The weapon, the victim and the result

With renewed vigor, Anne and Tracy continued up the hill. Fighting the new grass for space was Ursinia tenuiloba (Umuthi Wezifuba). Its bright yellow flowers stretched towards the sun, while their delicate, finely divided leaves were almost hidden. In regional folk wisdom, it is sometimes referred to as the “mamba antidote”. An old local legend claims that if a black mamba bites a human, it will immediately seek out and eat this specific herb. Best not to hang around too long and find out if there is any truth to it. Next, Tracy excitedly pointed out the ruby-red of what could only be Indigofera rubroglandulosa—a firm favourite after a burn. With its incredibly eye-catching, pea-shaped flowers, it just adds pure joy to the scorched surroundings. Its stems and flower buds are completely encrusted in tiny, sticky red glands, definitely worth investigating.

Ursinia tenuiloba

Indigofera rubroglandulosa

Zigzagging through the burnt veld, they stumbled upon the unmistakable, bright pink spikes of Graderia scabra (Pink Ground-bells). This tough, low-growing little grassland pioneer is actually a hemiparasite, attaching underground to grass roots to thrive in these nutrient-poor sandstone soils. The clumps were covered in neat rows of leafy bracts, cupping tightly packed flower buds waiting to open. Waving around in the wind nearby was a lustrous Helichrysum aureum (Golden Everlasting). Little pollinators clung tightly to the bright, golden-yellow disc florets, refusing to be blown away from the centre of the capitulum by the unforgiving wind.

Graderia scabra

Helichrysum aureum

Still searching amongst the fresh grass growth, they came across the tiniest Acalypha. It can be incredibly tricky to tell Acalypha peduncularis and Acalypha punctata apart at this stage, especially right after a fire when they are just starting to push up out of the soot. Their female brush-like flower heads look virtually identical. If you flip a leaf over and look closely (a hand lens helps!), and the underside is covered in small, distinct, translucent or dark glandular dots, then it’s Acalypha punctata. If the leaves are hairy but completely lack these gland dots, then it’s Acalypha peduncularis. Acalypha peduncularis gets its name from its long, elongated peduncles. Given that the stalks hadn’t reached full maturity yet, it is probably best to note it as “Acalypha punctata (or perhaps Acalypha peduncularis)”. 

Acalypha punctata (or perhaps Acalypha peduncularis)

Moving along, they were delighted to find a patch of Helichrysum ecklonis still showing their shimmering blush pink inflorescences, sitting on long, dove-grey stalks rising from velvety, ground-hugging leaf mats. They stopped for lunch in the shelter of some boulders, once again surrounded by ash. After lunch they started to head back. Sheltered from the wind behind a large rock was Dimorphotheca fruticosa its long, slender stems reached upward, lifting solitary daisy heads that were just beginning to unfurl toward the sky, showing off the gorgeous, soft pink and lilac blush lining the undersides of their petals. Interestingly, Dimorphotheca means “two-formed fruit” or “two-shaped seed box” in ancient Greek. This refers to the plant’s clever evolutionary survival strategy where a single flower head produces two completely distinct types of seeds: flat, winged outer seeds designed to fly away on the wind, and heavy, wrinkled inner seeds that drop straight down to secure the home turf.

Helichrysum ecklonis

Dimorphotheca fruticosa

As they walked along, they admired Acalypha peduncularis. Unlike the earlier Acalypha, it was easy to identify this one with its long peduncles. The subterranean rhizome, packed with fuel, allows the plant to regenerate and instantly dominate the open sun long before the surrounding grasses can recover. In the distance, it was impossible not to notice Aloe maculata (Common Soap Aloe); their rich orange flower heads radiated warmth on a cold winter’s day. These robust, spotted aloes are a vital winter lifeline in the grassland, their tubular, nectar-rich flowers acting as a magnet for hungry sunbirds when little else is in bloom. Especially after a fire. The Lasiosiphon kraussianus (Lesser Yellow-head) flowerheads were bent over in the wind, which was now at Anne and Tracy’s backs, pushing them along—but you can’t hurry botanists! The rounded terminal flowerheads are heavily cloaked in a protective, velvet armour of shimmering silver-silky hairs, lifting 18 to 45 bright canary-yellow tubular flowers straight up out of the soot. Known locally as isidikili, these striking yellow spheres looked like little radiant orbs bobbing in the wind.

Acalypha peduncularis

Aloe maculata

Lasiosiphon kraussianus

Pelargonium luridum had turned the burnt landscape into an open-air art gallery. This species is famous for its shape-shifting foliage, and the leaves were an exquisite sight. A beautiful Asparagus africanus (African Wild Asparagus) had sprung up. Down at the base of the stems revealed a fascinating sight: a dense, protective armour of coppery-brown, scale-like modified leaves wrapping tightly around each shoot, heavily armed with sharp, reflexed thorns. This structural shield insulates the tender growing tips from the elements.

Pelargonium luridum

Pelargonium luridum

Pelargonium luridum

Asparagus africanus

Just as Anne and Tracy were about to cross the stream, a luminescent magenta Oxalis smithiana (Star-leaved Sorrel) waved at them. Its solitary, jewel-like flower was impossible to miss against the blackened terrain. Its luminous magenta petals transitioned into a glowing lime-green and yellow throat. A closer look right behind the blossom revealed its highly unique foliage; unlike typical broad clover leaves, its leaflets are split into exceptionally narrow, thread-like lobes that help it conserve moisture against the biting elements.

Oxalis smithiana

Growing on the dry stream bank was Osteospermum moniliferum (Bush Tick-berry). True to its name moniliferum—which means “necklace-bearing”—it was laden with rings of bead-like fruits. They were in all stages of development: tight green clusters sitting alongside old, drying orange florets, and fully ripe, glossy, purplish-black berries that are heavily relished by local birds and wildlife. Then, with one foot in front of the other, they followed the path back. Tracy couldn’t help but wonder about the “over there” that they didn’t explore—what did they miss? Botanical FOMO is real! Thank heavens there is always next week!

Osteospermum moniliferum

The path home