The Veld's Own Clock

Every Thursday, the Pondoland CREW team boots up and ventures into the uMtamvuna Nature Reserve, regardless of the weather. This past Thursday treated us to a beautifully crisp winter’s day. Yet, looking across the landscape, you would never have guessed it was August. The sheer volume of flowers that were waking up on the sandstone plateaus made us wonder: Do these plants know something we don’t?

Alf and Maggie booted up and ready to botanise

Our calendar told us it was not spring, but the uMtamvuna veld clearly didn’t get the memo. Proving that nature answers to its own internal clock, the vivid pink-mauve, funnel-shaped corollas of Graderia scabra (Pink Ground-bells) were out to greet us. Its name is a bit of historical botanical code; the genus name Graderia is a deliberate anagram of its original 1781 classification, Gerardia, re-assigned by the prominent English botanist George Bentham in 1846.

Graderia scabra

Just a short walk further, the winter sun caught the fresh growth of Senecio glaberrimus—backlighting the smooth leaves and beautifully illuminating the hidden network of veins within them. 

Senecio glaberrimus

Scattered across the veld, Eriospermum mackenii (Perdepootjie) were out in full force. Their strikingly upright, green leaves with intense red margins looked like a fleet of tiny green sails catching the winter sun. Known in Zulu as insulansula, this perennial tuberous geophyte is traditionally kept to ward off lightning. Its underground tubers are also utilised in traditional medicine and are recorded as edible in specific regional contexts. We wondered which brave soul would give them a taste!

Eriospermum mackenii

Then we came across Clutia disceptata. This very unassuming dwarf perennial instantly caught our attuned eye. A testament to its evolutionary survival—it is perfectly dialled into the coastal grassland fire cycles, readily resprouting from a woody rootstock. It stands entirely apart from other Clutia species because its greenish-yellow flowers are prominently showcased, extending outward from the leaf axils on unusually long, slender pedicels rather than crowding tight against the main stem.

Clutia disceptata

Scattered across the veld, much like all the wildflowers, with our eyes to the ground we searched for the next botanical treasure. Alf and Anne spotted an exquisite Anemone afra. A single flower sat on top of a long flower stalk, its brilliant white sepals delicately kissed with a faint, brushed pinkish-purple margin. At its heart sat a dense, crown-like ring of vivid golden-yellow stamens encircling a tight green centre. At the base of the long stalk were its characteristically coarse, leathery leaves—deeply serrated and divided cleanly into three sharp leaflets. Why Anemone and not Knowltonia, you ask? Well, early on they were separated into their own distinct genus, Knowltonia, based on one clear physical rule: traditional Anemone species produce dry, winged seeds designed to be carried by the wind, whereas the Knowltonia group develops fleshy, dark, berry-like fruits. However, modern molecular biology and DNA sequencing have completely shattered that old classification system. The DNA proved that these fleshy-fruited African plants did not evolve as a separate branch; they evolved directly from within the heart of the true Anemone lineage. By leaving them in a separate genus, scientists were accidentally making the Anemone family tree incomplete. To fix the science and accurately reflect how these plants actually evolved over millions of years, taxonomists officially dissolved the genus Knowltonia and merged it into Anemone.

Anemone afra

Huddled safely in a mossy sandstone crevice, a pristine specimen of Gasteria croucheri (Impundu) watched us pass. Anne was quick to point it out. What a wonderful find. Its thick, lance-shaped leaves were beautifully patterned with pale green mottling, their tips heavily bronzed from the crisp winter weather. Tucked firmly away from the reach of grassland fires, it was a striking example of how these sandstone krantzes serve as a vital refuge for the reserve’s specialised succulent flora.

Gasteria croucheri

When we reached the top we doubled back to investigate the white bags that we had seen on the rocks at the edge of the krantz. Once close enough we realised that it was bags of green bananas that had been left to lure the baboons. For what exact reason we could only speculate. Nevertheless it was not a good sight.

Bags of bananas and blue drums used to lure Baboon

Acalypha peduncularis were flowering, and Dorothy had found a real conundrum. This species is traditionally documented as strictly dioecious—meaning “two houses,” where the male “brooms” and the female “brushes” live on entirely separate plants. Although it is rare but possible to find both sexes on a single individual across the wider genus, Dorothy’s discovery on this particular specimen is exceptionally unusual. We are not exactly sure what this Acalypha was aiming for, but its single stem pulled off a magnificent botanical stunt by developing a rare androgynous inflorescence on a single stalk: pushing out a dense male cylinder at the base, only to explode into a wild crown of spidery, crimson female styles right at the summit. Botany gone wild!

Acalypha peduncularis

 A rare androgynous inflorescence
Photo credit Dorothy

Tracy had walked off towards the edge of the krantz, and tucked safely away in the sheltered gaps of the rocks was a beautiful cluster of Pseudopegolettia tenella. Widely known as the bloukwasbossie, this hardy member of the Asteraceae family was sporting an absolute abundance of vibrant, pinkish-mauve flowerheads. Nestled into the cool sandstone cracks rather than the open grassland, this particular group had escaped the winter burns entirely, using the rocky fortress of the krantz edge to put on a dazzling, unblemished show of colour. Amongst a scrub nearby on the very edge of the precipice was an Asparagus africanus, its branches absolutely loaded with tight, creamy-white globes waiting to burst. The dense mass of miniature buds created a soft, foaming texture against the green.

Pseudopegolettia tenella

Asparagus africanus

Meanwhile, Dorothy had been ambling around on top of the ridge, where she found the completely sun-dependent Gazania krebsiana. These bright yellow, daisy-like flowers open wide under clear skies but tightly close up at night or during sudden cloud cover to protect their pollen and save moisture. The beautiful bicolored flowers of Gerbera ambigua—also called the botterblom—nodded in the wind. Dorothy's photo beautifully captured their nodding heads alongside a distinctive rosette of elliptic, dark-green leaves. These leaves feature deeply pressed veins on top and a dense, felt-like, woolly white coating underneath to survive the harsh ridge winds. We could have done with a matching extra layer ourselves in that chilly wind!

Gazania krebsiana
Photo credit Dorothy

Gerbera ambigua
Photo credit Dorothy

As we sat for lunch, a quiet silence fell over the Pondoland CREW—an essential pause allowing the group to rest and soak in the environment before moving on to the next set of botanical finds. This is Thursday’s.

uMtamvuna's own map of Africa

After lunch we headed down towards the edge of the gorge. Along the way we saw a dense colony of Helichrysum nudifolium var. pilosellum; its compact clusters of golden-orange flower buds beamed against the quilted dark green leaves. Tracy and Uschi spent a few moments at a Clutia cordata. Although it didn’t have any buds or flowers yet, it was instantly recognisable by its striking vegetative profile. Standing in direct contrast to the narrow foliage of the Clutia disceptata we had seen earlier, this “heart-leaf clutia” was showcasing its beautiful, broad, heart-shaped leaves that clasped tightly and structurally down the length of the stems. It is always so enriching when we can compare different species from the same genus in real time.

Helichrysum nudifolium var. pilosellum

Clutia cordata

Anne called to us to come and have a look at the large fruit on a Behnia reticulata. Seeing the fleshy fruit resting against its distinctive glossy foliage was just amazing. True to its name reticulata, the leaves beautifully displayed their intricate, geometric network of fine parallel and cross-veins beneath the crisp winter sun. Nearby, Anne pointed out another Asparagus africanus—this time in full, splendiferous flower! Turning over a leaf of a nearby Tricalysia capensis var. capensis (Forest Jackal-coffee), we were treated to a clear view of its domatia—fascinating little specialised hollow structures tucked neatly into the axils where the secondary veins meet the central midrib. Acting as tiny “homes” built by the plant to shelter predatory mites in a brilliant symbiotic defence partnership, it was an incredible reminder of the hidden engineering tucked away in the uMtamvuna scrub.

Behnia reticulata

Asparagus africanus

Tricalysia capensis var. capensis

Hypoxis angustifolia put on a real show. Small bright yellow stars were scattered en mass between the new shoots of grass. A photograph just would not have done the spectacle justice. In between, rising like a miniature, patterned fortress out of the blackened soil, a striking Ledebouria revoluta caught our attention. Its scaly, weathered bulb neck stood exposed by the recent burns, crowned by a neat rosette of thick leaves heavily mottled with deep purple spots. Emerging directly from the centre of the spotted foliage were two tight, upright, cone-like spikes packed with deep purple-grey buds. Under a Syzygium cordatum and barely visible was a diminutive Merwilla plumbea, completely dwarfed by the Umdoni. 

Hypoxis angustifolia

Ledebouria revoluta

Merwilla plumbea

Then, as we walked back towards the cars with a rather chilly wind at our backs, we came across Gladiolus inandensis. It is strictly endemic to the rocky sandstone grasslands of KwaZulu-Natal and the Eastern Cape. The small white to cream flowers blushed with purple added an elegance to the burnt landscape and definitely filled your hearts with awe.

Time to head back to the cars

Gladiolus inandensis

We were back at the cars and preparing to leave when Tracy and Anne started to notice that there had been a worrying amount of plants poached, the clean, sharp cuts made by a spade still clearly visible. As they mulled around counting the dig sites—in excess of 20—they noticed some more bags. Tracy proceeded towards the bags while Anne went to fetch the car. Along the way, Tracy stopped to photograph Pentanisia prunelloides. This incredibly hardy perennial was sporting its signature, compact globe of vibrant, bright blue, star-like flowers. Even amidst the sudden gloom of discovering the poached ground, these bright blue spheres stood as a beautiful reminder of why we do what we do. Nearby, Thunbergia atriplicifolia—commonly known as the Natal primrose or isiphondo esincane in Zulu—was beginning to flower.

Pentanisia prunelloides

Thunbergia atriplicifolia

The bags on the rocks were full of bananas as well, and beneath them the rocks were covered in macadamia nut shells. Again, our thoughts went to the reason for the baiting. Certainly, it is not legal to do this. There among the nut shells, a large Merwilla plumbea laid claim to Umtamvuna Nature Reserve. Despite the threats to this highly significant reserve, the sight of that resilient Merwilla plumbea standing its ground felt symbolic. It reminded us that while the threats are real, so is the endurance of this ecosystem. We left Umtamvuna with a mix of feelings—but you can’t keep a good botanist down.

Bags of bananas and macadamia nut shells strewn over the rocks

Merwilla plumbea

Maggie's photograph of a rock creature

Uschi's rock shrew waiting to be turned into a prince