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Australian Plants in their own Garden

Bush Tales from the northern Flinders Ranges

Horst Weber

In September 1997 I spent four weeks at Arkaroola, a private nature reserve in the northern Flinders Ranges, South Australia. During those weeks of field work on plants in semi-arid regions, I spent a lot of time on Acacia Ridge, an 8 km marked walking trail, as well as a perfect native garden.

Acacia Ridge, Arkaroola, Northern Flinders Ranges; 8 km walking trail with a good variety of plants. Select the thumbnail image or highlighted phrase for a higher resolution image (51k). Photo: Horst Weber

Dust was choking everything. Although no more but a fine, translucent veil, carelessly discarded by the wind, it held the country in an iron grip, firmly imposing a mood of its own. Right now the late afternoon sun should have painted the jagged mountain ridges and meandering creek beds in vivid, emotional colours. Yet its magic had been broken, its rays rendered powerless by by a flexible, inescapable light mesh of dust.

Sensing the powdery dust on my lips, feeling its grains in eyes, ears and nose I considered my project. Four weeks of field work on plants, photographs, drawings and notes presented quite a challenge to a non-botanist like myself. Yet these parched leaves and shrivelled fruit were more than I had bargained for. Would I be able to develop my compilation of plants profiles for a small book?

"We had a few drops of rain last night, and more persistent rain has been forecast for the next few days. That should wash this dust away!" Raelene had read my thoughts. Arkaroola's helpful manageress showed me my accommodation and left with a smile: "Just wait and see. The dust will wash off and everything will spring to life, no worries!"

Right enough, less than a week separate the charming tune of fat drops on corrugated iron from signs of change. Elbowing from underneath shoe-sized boulders, tiny yellow flowers emerge along freshly moistened creek beds. Shortly afterwards Australian bugle (Ajuga australis) flashes its deep blue against a backdrop of sand, boulders and bright yellow Showy groundsel (Senecio magnificus). Nearby tall, slim Sturt's nightshade, or Targomindah nightshade, (Solanum sturtianum) reach upwards, gently swaying in the wind, ever so evasive of the camera lens.

When hill walking in Ireland it is not unusual to witness low cloud and mist rolling in over hilltops, enveloping landscape and walker. Strolling along in the soft, wafting grey it seems to blend naturally with springy turf and reed tufts and flexible heather rolling along gently curved granite. The picture is complete and without contradictions.

When the mist rolled in to Arkaroola, it took me completely by surprise. Somehow, the sharp-edged, hard and stony ground, the rocky outcrops and deep gorges were not supposed to be wrapped in this floating, grey, moist cotton. Definitely not "my" Acacia Ridge which was more or less tucked away in low cloud. Naturally, the ferns along the ridge were thriving and my skin and nostrils were definitely relieved about newly found humidity but somehow I never lost the feeling that desert rock and mist were not supposed to be together in one place.

It was during those duller days that I discovered a plant I had never seen before. About 10 m away from the track, halfway down a massive single slab of rock a Common fringe myrtle (Calytrix tetragona) had established itself a comfortable home.

Sharpy Coulthard of the Adnyamathanha Aboriginal people takes visitors on a Bush-Tucker Walk into Mawson Valley. This morning ten of us are eager to learn a few snippets of thousands of years of knowledge. Sharpy's calm, quiet voice carries this rare, pleasant authority from which no listener desires escape. With great ease and skill his words are swiftly weaving a comfortable net and we readily allow our attention to be caught.

Survival in the desert is built on knowledge and skill. Where and how to obtain water and food? How to avoid danger in all shapes and form? How to heal and repair when things have gone wrong? This morning we will gain a few glimpses into this complex matter.

Still in sight of the village, Sharpy's face suddenly beams with delight. A Potato bush (Solanum ellipticum) has utilised the recent rains and grown a fresh, edible fruit. The plant is similar to a Tomato bush (Solanum quadriloculatum), but the first one bears an edible fruit while the latter one is poisonous. My ears pop up when I hear the next question. Someone has been told somewhere that the plant we are looking at is a Tomato bush. Naturally, with two plants so similar, one being poisonous one edible it would be nice to know for sure. So, which is which and who is right? I have never been able to tell the two apart, so I am especially eager to hear the answer.

Sharpy asks us to inspect the branches and leaves and look for prickles. We find plenty on the branches but just a few on the leaves. This, Sharpy explains, is important. The Tomato bush will have scattered prickles along the leaves' midribs but none on the blades. Unfortunately there is no Tomato bush around to compare the two right there and then. With only one precious fruit to look at a second way of telling the nutritious from the poisonous plant cannot be explored. We would have to pick the fruit and open it. The edible one is 2-celled while the poisonous one is 4-celled.

Browsing through some literature that evening I am not surprised to find that Sharpy is right. Furthermore, one possible reason for the confusion about the plants reveals itself. The poisonous Wild tomato (S.quadriloculatum) is known by two common names, both including the word tomato (the second being Tomato bush). But the edible Velvet potato bush (S. ellipticum) bears common names like Potato bush, Wild gooseberry, Velvet nightshade, and, unfortunately, Tomato bush.

Having seen many fruit of the Native pear on Acacia Ridge I am amazed to learn that it is actually edible. Carefully, Sharpy opens a fruit. Inside, held together by a milky, sticky substance is a cone of flat, tightly packed yellow-green seeds, not unlike lentils, but larger and pointed, also slightly curved to form the cone.

The pointed end of the cone is totally white. These are neatly and tightly packed feathery hairs, attached to each seed. While we are sampling some seeds, eagerly following Sharpy's explanations, sun and wind gradually dry out the sticky substance, detaching the seeds from each other and unfolding each seed's feathery wings, upon which they gracefully take to the air.

Four weeks later, the initial shock about dryness and dust is forgotten. Elated, I lean back into the sand at Arkaroola Waterhole. Ringing in my ears are Doris Lessing's words, spoken about Africa, yet equally true about the northern Flinders Ranges:

"That is not a place to visit unless one chooses to be an exile ever afterwards from an inexplicable majestic silence lying just over the border of memory or thought ... gives you the knowledge that man is a small creature among other creatures, in a large landscape."

As the day comes to a close, a peregrine falcon performs his skilled aerobatics amidst an enthralling, dust-free light show of deep-red cliffs, dark blue sky and brave Native pines (Callitris glaucophylla) clinging to narrow crevices above a perfectly still waterhole.

References

• Barker, S., et al., Explore the Flinders Ranges, Royal Geographical Society (S.A.)
• Lessing, Doris, Collected African Stories, Triad Grafton
• Sprigg, R.C (1984), Arkaroola-Mount Painter - The Last Billion Years, Lutheran Publishing House, Adelaide.

Horst Weber is a teacher and IT-manager at the German Cultural Institute, Goethe-Institut in Dublin, Ireland. For more than 10 years he has been fascinated with arid Australia and he is particularly fond of the Flinders Ranges and Arkaroola. During his field work in 1997 he collected data for a small book on plant profiles. Horst thanks the AUSTRALIAN GEOGRAPHIC, Singapore Airlines, Arkaroola Pty. Ltd. and Flair Travel (Dublin) for their support.