Carla
Black and Angel Rodriguez from Panama wrote down their adventure
while tracking down Heliconia bella in a six page article. I
included the first two pages in this Information Bulletin. The
whole article will be published shortly in the HSI Conference
2004 web site, and maybe in the next HSI Bulletin.
3.
Hunting Heliconia bella
Carla Black
Heliconia
bella is indeed bella. Both Angel and I let out
more than a few exclamations of delight when we saw it for the
first time, then slowly calmed down to a quieter appreciation of
its demure size, the graceful turn of its leaves adorned by a
wine-colored rib, and the extraordinary crimson inflorescence
held low, a fan of petioles shading its cheeks.
The
story of finding bella is not as poetic however, and starts over
a year earlier, in April 2002. I had never seen H.
bella in cultivation, but that was not surprising,
since few people in Panama are interested in heliconias as
ornamentals. We knew that bella could be found near the
town of Buena Vista,* so we thought we'd go pick up some rhizomes
to add to our growing collection of heliconias. Adding an
extra day to the seven-hour trip to Panama City from our house in
western Panama, we planned a day and a half of heliconia
collecting before delivering my sister Lisa to the airport for
her trip home to Seattle.
We
didn't stumble across bella on that trip despite setting out in
various directions, hiking to the reasonable limits of legs and
trails, and finding impressive stands of H. metallica
and H. pogonantha. Cheerfully we dug
rhizomes, hauling them back down the trail in feed sacks
ingeniously supported by our belts rigged as forehead straps.
That is, until Lisa the Registered Nurse suggested we employ any
other technique not as likely to induce chronic neck pain; this
detail of heliconia collecting would obviously require some
thought in the future.
It
seemed that bella wasn't going to show herself so easily to
casual plant tourists. So in the intervening year we made
some inquiries and considered other possible routes out of town
which could lead us to the treasure. When we got the chance
to return to Buena Vista we were focused, prepared, and convinced
we would succeed. And this time, we scheduled just one day
to pull off the feat.
August,
2003: Finally, we were back on the hunt. Prudently,
we had parked the car some distance back, lacking confidence we
could get it out if we took it any farther. I am happiest
spending a day hiking, hoping to find something new, whether it
be a heliconia, a calathea, or a good look at a bug or a bird.
But today my frustration mounted along with the temperature.
Inside my black rubber boots my feet felt like honored guests at
a Turkish bath. The rainy season sun slowly steam-cooked us
as we traversed the base of the hill through tropical savanna.
The meter-tall grass looked dry in spite of regular afternoon
showers, and the woody plants were wiry and sparse. If I
didn't know better, I would be on the lookout for lions
sunning themselves after a successful hunt. Time was short,
and Angel and I were wasting the whole morning on the wrong side
of this hill called Cerro Blanco*, blindly following a tip we had
latched onto. There were no heliconias on this slope.
Not even an H. latispatha for encouragement.
Like
other Central American countries, Panama has two distinct
climates, one of the Pacific slope and the other of the Atlantic.
Panama seems particularly sharply divided because of the
narrowness of the isthmus and the continuous ridge of mountains
which extend east and west from the low point at the Canal.
The Pacific side, south of the divide, enjoys (or suffers)
a distinct dry season, lasting from about three months close to
the continental divide, to as long as six months on the Azuero
Peninsula which bluntly extends into the Pacific Ocean. The
Atlantic, or Caribbean side, to the north, suffers (or enjoys)
constant rainfall all year. Rain can fall throughout the
day and night, or perhaps not at all for three days then
constantly for the next three days. Heliconias grow on both
slopes of Panama, but there are more on the wet Atlantic side.
We
had just hiked out and around the dry Pacific side of Cerro
Blanco. This wasn't where we wanted to be. But if not
here, then where? What did the Cerro Blanco tip mean?
After an hour and a half we reached a house at a crossroads of
sorts. If you could call this washed-out rocky track
a road. The young man of the house was willing to
earn half a day's wages guiding us into the nearby woods,
taking us cross country to get away from the well-grazed pastures
and scraggly stands of overgrown coffee.
We
looped back towards the car, working our way uphill on a
well-used path into the coffee. This looked better than the
savanna, but we had to get out of the cultivated area, even
though it was shaded by mixed species of trees and the unkempt
coffee itself threatened to revert to forest. Leaving the
trail, we beat our way through the coffee trees. Spider webs
tickled and I wondered what sort of arachnids dangled at the ends
of the silks and would be making their way up my legs. I
was last in line--how does that saying go about the snake in the
trail? He is startled by the first to pass by, prepares as
the second passes, and strikes the third? Well, I trusted
my knee-high boots to protect me and hoped that today's serpents
weren't set to strike higher than my shins. Thankfully, we
didn't see any (though I don't doubt a few saw us).
Enormous
bird's nest anthuriums in the ravines were impressive, their
broad leaves fooling us into thinking we were finally onto
something. But no. Strangely, we still hadn't seen
even one heliconia. On any other trip I would have enjoyed the
morning's tromp; today, however, the lack of results was a bit
alarming. Our time was half-up. We would eat lunch
and work out a new strategy. Heliconia bella
was here somewhere, and we had reason to believe we would find it
on Cerro Blanco.
Back
at our car, a reliable 4x4 four-door Toyota pickup, the only
thing to do was to return to town then continue north out the
other side, the wet side. Our return route would avoid a
tricky stream crossing where earlier we had managed to get two
opposite wheels spinning in the air, thereby disabling power to
the remaining two. If we didn't handle the situation right,
we ran the risk of toppling the truck down into the stream gully,
from which nothing but a hefty winch would save it. Though
I'm not one to jump to the worst conclusion, I didn't see an easy
solution to this predicament. Neither of us was strong
enough to push uphill and over rocks for the pickup to get its
own grip. Fortunately it was Sunday, and two pedestrians
who wouldn't have been out any other day of the week were heading
towards Buena Vista. And fortunately, they were willing to
take off their shoes, roll up their slacks, and get into the
stream to help. After 20 minutes of shoring up the road and
digging a few of the biggest rocks out of the way, we were ready
to give it a try. Three of us would push hard enough and
far enough to get at least one more wheel on the ground, then the
car would have to take over; we couldn't count on a second go at
it. Still with doubts about our chances, Angel spun the
wheels and the two passers-by and I shoved with all we could
give, being careful to leave ourselves an escape route if the car
slipped back. The truck grabbed hold, lurched forward, and
bounced ahead, out of danger! Thank goodness! Extracting
the truck from a ditch wasn't my idea of fun and I was very happy
to have avoided a really tough situation. Back on the road,
the incident got us thinking about adding a limited-slip option
to the drive train. And how it is good planning to travel
really bad routes on a Sunday.
Buena
Vista, like so many other towns at the ends of the rib roads that
radiate from the backbone of the Interamerican Highway, is set on
the dividing line between the climates of Panama. With only
two paved roads transversing the Panamanian isthmus from
sea to sea, the Atlantic side's informal network of perpetually
muddy roads and foot tracks becomes the plant hunter's highway
system. But I wasn't expecting any road signs to our
special destination! We carefully picked our way over rocks
and and squished through mud holes. Here and there young
couples were working on their new weekend houses; only the young
have the enthusiasm to fight the pervasive dampness and bad roads
to build here. Along with the subsistence cattle farmers,
they were converting this rain forest into something
“useful,” gouging chunks out of forest and heliconia
habitat. A fear rose from deep down: did bella
survive human incursion? As if to answer, we finally saw
our first heliconias since arriving in Buena Vista! Leaving
the car at the entrance to a side road, we walked on, hoping for
undisturbed forest along the little-used route. It was 3:00
in the afternoon of our only day for heliconia hunting; our
fingers were crossed that this would be the spot.
The
H. thomasiana were spectacular, both in
quantity and the beauty of the inflorescences at their peak.
At home I had something tagged as thomasiana, but it was a tiny
anemic thing and I hadn't seen it bloom; well, at least we would
have something to take back. The stand of H.
trichocarpa – or was it H. colgantea?
– was a bit past its prime, but graceful nonetheless. Mine
at home is from a different source, so one from here wouldn't
hurt.
H.
Trichocarpa. H. Colgantea.
Those of us pursuing our heliconia hobby in relative isolation
have depended almost solely on what I call The Book: Heliconia
by Kress and Berry. It is a tremendously useful reference,
but there are times when an additional picture or more detailed
descriptions could help nail an ID. Very few images are
readily available on the internet, my other mainstay of
information. My recent acquisition of Heliconias,
Llamaradas de la selva colombiana by Kress, Betancur,
and Echeverry will be a great aid in identifying many of our
native Panamanian species. So we struggle along without the
benefit of an expert, enthusiast, or grower nearby. The
only time I have gone hunting with knowledgeable people was near
home with Mike and Mila Anderson of Highland Heliconia in Costa
Rica. They helped me see four distinct variations of H.
nutans, while confirming that they were all indeed the
same species. A small step perhaps, but one that shed light
on the possibilities in Heliconia.
Oh,
good, an Orange Gyro H. latispatha. Mine
had suffered a decline, and I was happy to replace it. This H.
ramonensis looked a bit different from the one I had
collected some 200km. away so we took some of that, too. Finally,
when the collecting was done and the plants set alongside the
road in individual feed sacks with their tags dropped in, the
daily afternoon thunder shower caught up with us. Out came
the erst-while parasol I had used out on the savanna, now
magically converted into umbrella. What a handy piece of
tropical outdoor gear! Fortunately, the road was wide
enough to walk comfortably with my portable shelter, and solid
enough to return in the car to load the rhizomes.
But
where was H. bella? It would be dark
in an hour, and it hadn't shown itself yet. We
painstakingly made our way farther along the muddy main road, not
willing to give up and go back. With a courageous and skilled
driver in a car equipped with wide tires and chains for the mud,
we could continue on to the Atlantic coast, but that will be
another trip. By now we felt closer to finding it, at least
having seen a few other members of the genus, and decided to
stretch our schedule and stay until noon the following day.
We'd come looking for H. bella, and no H.
thomasiana, H. ramonensis, H.
trichocarpa, or beautiful H. latispatha
would make this trip a successful one.
It
being Sunday, we found plenty of people to ask about local tracks
through the woods. We were now on the northern flank of the
Cerro Blanco massif. But when we asked for Cerro Blanco, we
were inevitably directed back to the dry side. We would
have to abandon our tip, and go on instinct and deduction. So
the new question was: is there a trail up this hill which really
is, but is not called, Cerro Blanco? Sure, came the reply.
And sure, Miguel here can take you first thing in the morning.
Seven o'clock would be fine. A healthy person could reach
the high point in three hours. We had just three hours for
the round trip. Though we wouldn't make it to the top, this
was our last shot and it would have to do.
The
rural workday begins at 7:00, an hour after first light, so our
appointed hour was quite reasonable. At the stroke of
seven were impatiently waiting for Miguel. Twenty minutes
later, when we had just about given up, he finally arrived.
It is a good thing we didn't lose all patience; by heading out on
our own we would have missed the faint fork in the trail and
wasted another morning wandering.
Miguel
came outfitted for a morning in the jungle in jeans, a t-shirt
with a long-sleeve shirt over it, rubber boots and a baseball
cap, all well-worn. His equipment and supplies consisted of
a machete. What were those essentials in our knapsacks that
weighed us down 15lb. each? Two liters of water, snakebite
kit, first aid kit, the better part of a dozen homemade banana
muffins, field notebook, feed sacks, tagging supplies, a machete,
a couple of hand towels, no insect repellent (which I sometimes
regret always forgetting to pack), and a very sharp knife. Miguel
carried our 10lb. all-steel shovel which had been worked to
machete-sharpness. It is awkward to carry, but a marvel at
digging all but the beefiest H. mariaes
– we have another tool on the drawing board for those jobs.
Thankfully,
I stayed focused on the goal as we hiked up the ridge. With
the slightest invitation I would have stopped to collect a little
more H. pogonantha, some all-red H.
irrasa, a piece of H. vaginalis,
and a healthy chunk of a small-flowered red heliconia which has
not been identified yet. I would get some on the way out if
we had time. Thankfully, I have not yet fallen head over
heels for bromeliads, ferns, marantas, calatheas, aroids, or
palms. My pack would have been overloaded in the first
kilometer; as it was, I couldn't resist completely and gathered a
few small specimens as I went, careful not to waste any time.
The plants' exotic and striking forms of were ever-changing
as we climbed higher. Narrow-niche species came and went as
we moved along. This piece of forest was as beautiful as
any carefully arranged garden. Maybe, just maybe, we would
see a different species of Heliconia.
Now
thankful for my rubber boots on the muddy trail, we continued
climbing, the sweat beginning to tickle our faces in the still
air as the day warmed up. Every once in a while we noted a
heliconia that we would dig on the way back down. The red
ribbed one looked interesting, even though it wasn't in flower.
We had taken home a similar-looking lennartiana two weeks earlier
from a somewhat distant location, and this seemed different so we
were willing to take a chance on it. Our policy is to not
collect heliconias which aren't flowering; at our level of
expertise the likelihood of taking home duplicates is too high.
The
trail was marked with slats of wood painted with numbers. Miguel
thought they indicated distance, we thought elevation. As
we passed 975 after hiking for an hour (surely we were making
better time than 1km/hour!), Miguel casually pointed down to
bright red flowers on the right. Is that what you're
looking for?
Yes!
Heliconia bella! A dozen beautiful
plants embellished the sloping forest floor. I couldn't
take my eyes from it. Without thinking where it would fall,
my pack was off, and I tumbled down the short incline to the red
inflorescence that sparkled in the forest. Now, crouching
next to Heliconia bella, I was feeling a
certain disbelief with our good fortune. In spite of my
bravado and optimistic talk, I knew it was a long shot to find H.
bella, and I had been worried that maybe it hadn't
survived human progress in the region. I was relieved.
I was thrilled!
The
sense of urgency which had permeated the last day and a half
evaporated as we made our way from one plant to another. Bright
yellow flowers stood in contrast to the red bracts whose tips
curled back delicately. The inflorescence isn't delicate,
however. It is a strong, thick pyramid of overlapping
bracts with just a little rachis showing, narrowing sharply from
base to the tip. There was no mistaking it when
seeing the flower, though we didn't really know what plant habit
to expect. You can imagine our palms flying up to smack our
foreheads when we realized that the “not-lennartiana”
was actually a bella escaped from this otherwise close-knit
cluster growing at 1000m elevation.
The
plants looked healthy and vigorous in slippery red clay soil. At
first the forest seemed dim, but we enjoyed a few minutes of
sunshine and the forest floor was well illuminated with patches
of sun spotting the ground. As noted in Heliconia,
50% to 75% shade seems accurate. H. bella
forms small clumps of one to three flowering stems. This
colony (we don't know if there are others) occupies a very
limited area, with few individuals growing outside the invisible
line it has set for itself. We counted 80 plants in
undisturbed forest, not counting numerous young seedlings.
Curiously,
we saw very few orchids along the trail. It turns out that
only recently a high-end forest resort in the Canal Area ordered
three hundred wild orchids to decorate their grounds, and most
had come from along this trail. On any day of the week
Miguel could take an orchid to a reseller in town and get $5 for
it – very nearly a day's wages. How did he get them
out of the trees? He cut the trees down, of course. Only
because I objected, giving him the
conservation-means-tourism-means-real-money lecture, did he
refrain from downing a 10cm. diameter tree to take the only
orchid we saw all morning. Saved for at least one more day.
My
joy at finding H. bella was so obvious that
later I felt sorry we had taken anyone with us. I can only
hope that Miguel shrugs the whole thing off, thinking we are a
little nuts. I hope, too, that the Panamanian appetite for
heliconias remains minuscule, and that nobody orders 100 H.
bellas, since they could all be taken in a morning
without a second thought.
Back
at home, I have six rhizomes planted in three different locations
and situations. I sincerely hope the rhizomes strike
because I would like to have it nearby to enjoy! But more
importantly, I want to share H. bella in
order to preserve it. Seeds may provide another source of
plants; three individuals are giving it a try: Endre Guttman and
Bryan Brunner in Puerto Rico, and Bill Fittz, an orchid grower in
our home town. Between us all, I am (naively?) optimistic
that the community will soon have H. bella
in cultivation. Here in Panama we will be keeping an
eye on the natives.
Rediscovering
H. bella has led us to meet some of you via
the internet, to renew our membership in HSI after a lapse, and
to feel less alone in our affection for heliconias. It has
also sparked our imagination to do more plant hunting, and we are
setting out to document all of the heliconias in Panama. It
is a job we expect will take many years, if it is not altogether
too big a task for enthusiastic amateurs. We look forward
to meeting many more of you as we continue to hunt the heliconias
of Panama!
*Place
names are changed to help protect the wild population of Heliconia
bella.
Carla
Black and Angel Rodriguez live and garden at 1310m. in
Volcan, Panama. After 5 years of heliconia collecting, they
have recently decided to specialize in the Panamanian heliconias
and in highland species. Contact them via their website: www.volcanbaru.com
They have posted a special bella gallery at:
www.volcanbaru.com/bella/