The worldview I’m now in the process of mapping out is based on what might be my favorite place on earth (to the extent I can say that after having spent only five days there, back in 2009). It’s Lord Howe Island, Australia, roughly 800km northeast of Sydney and southeast of Brisbane. The watercolor won’t be done for a few months, but since my descriptions of a place and the work it inspired rarely fit into a single post anyways, in this one I’m going to go ahead and cover the first part, maybe stirring up some anticipation….
A forest of the endemic kentia palm, Howea forstereana, at the base of Mt. Gower at the island’s southern end.
Lord Howe is in some ways the quintessential South Pacific island, with turquoise coral lagoons, dense stands of palms, and craggy emerald mountains. Actually, though, its latitude is equivalent to southern Georgia (the state) and a confluence of warm and cold currents give it a unique mix of tropical and temperate elements. It has the world’s southernmost coral reefs, home to both temperate and tropical fish species; and, while those palms might look like coconuts from a distance, in fact coconut palms have never been grown there successfully. (This interesting climatic edge condition—or “tension zone” as I’ve called it— won’t be the theme of the watercolor, but it does relate to the “climate journeys” and “long gradients” that I’ve been writing about off and on for the past few years.)
The island is roughly 10km long and less than 2km wide on average. It stands out among tropical and subtropical islands for its native ecosystems being remarkably intact—90% of its original forest cover remains and around 80% of that is still relatively undisturbed. Most of the latter carpets the bulky southern half of the island (on the right in the image), still only around 2km wide, which squeezes in two cinematic 800m peaks—Mt. Gower and Mt. Lidgbird. The the upper reaches, especially the flat-ish summits that are mostly isolated by sheer cliffs, support a dense, stunted cloud forest with a “lost world” feel. It’s home to two endemic palm species each in their own genus, four endemic species of tree fern, the large and somewhat sinister Lord Howe Island currawong (an endemic subspecies) that still doesn’t seem to fear humans, and (at least according to my guide…I don’t think he was actually correct) the world’s largest heath and the world’s largest moss.
Fairy tale-like cloud forest just below the summit of Mt. Gower.
A fearless Lord Howe currawong (Strepera graculina crissalis).
A little mountain palm (Lepidorrhachis mooreana).
More little mountain palms, on the Mt. Gower summit.
Me at the summit of Mt. Gower (the island’s highest point), with Mt. Lidgbird just beyond. The 8-hour hike from the coast was the toughest day hike I’ve ever done, especially the portion along a narrow ledge above 100m cliffs. (There was a rope, but it wasn’t much comfort.) No rock climbing, but parts of the hike got close.
In contrast, the skinnier northern half of the island has mostly flat (the location of the settled areas) or rolling topography. The forest at these lower elevations is considered “subtropical rainforest,” but it doesn’t feel very rainy compared to the mossy, drippy environment on the peaks. (In fact I’ve also seen it oxymoronically described as “dry rainforest.”) But much of it does still have a very tropical feel thanks to two other endemic palm species that tend to grow in much denser stands than the two mountain palms. One of these is the kentia palm, one of the world’s most popular houseplants and garden plants, the export of which is the island’s largest industry after tourism. The more rugged headlands at the northern tip of the island are covered by lower, scrubbier vegetation—probably because of thinner soil, but maybe also because clouds generated by the mountains have even less influence there.
Inside a stand of kentia palms, most common near sea level.
The fourth endemic palm, the curly palm (Howea balmoreana), concentrated at slightly higher elevations than the kentia.
An endemic variety of strangler fig, Ficus macrophylla f. columnaris.
Another tropical-looking endemic, pandanus forsteri, most common along watercourses.
The low-elevation forest has a less exotic and luxuriant appearance in areas without the palms, pandanus, or strangler figs.
The scrubbier northern tip of the island, with Mts. Gower (right) and Lidgbird in the distance across the lagoon.
The British were the first to visit Lord Howe, in the late 18th century (there’s no record of pre-European discovery), and following the usual pattern for islands it didn’t take long for several bird species to be hunted to extinction and for non-native mammals (goats and pigs) to be left there as a future food source. The island soon became a provisioning stop for the growing Pacific whaling industry, and was first permanently settled in 1834. In the following decades the decline of whaling, increasing scientific interest, tourism, and the growing horticultural importance of a native palm (requiring nurseries but no large plantations) seem to have elevated the status of the natural environment above what was typical for remote islands during that period.
The small percentage of non-forested land is mostly cow pasture.
Today the resident population is about 350, and while tourism has become the island’s biggest industry only 400 visitors are allowed at any one time. Lord Howe has also been a remarkable success story in terms of reversing past ecological damage, especially for an inhabited island. Pigs, cats, and goats were eradicated in the last few decades of the 20th century, and rats and mice—the former responsible for additional extinctions—have been eliminated through an intensive (and very controversial) program of blanketing the island with poisoned bait by hand and helicopter in 2019. (When I was there ten years earlier I remember hearing that the plan was going to involve evacuating all people, cows, and—Noah’s Ark-style—representatives of endemic bird species during the process. That was apparently scaled back somewhat, with the residents and much of the cattle population remaining.) These eradications have led to a significant and perceptible rebound in native species populations. Also you might have read about the 15cm-long Lord Howe stick insect or “tree lobster” recently rediscovered under a bush on a nearby rock called Ball’s Pyramid—now it can likely be re-introduced on the main island where rats had wiped it out. Exotic plants are also an issue as on most islands, though there have been successful efforts at controlling invasive weeds, and on a more experiential level I remember non-native trees being rare in public areas of the settled zones. (The main exception was Norfolk pines, which bugged me particularly because they stood out so much.)
So compared to other inhabited, biologically significant islands I’ve visited (especially Robinson Crusoe, of somewhat comparable size and population yet almost entirely transformed or degraded), Lord Howe is exceptional. The indigenous landscape feels present everywhere; it hasn’t been reduced to tiny fragments that you need special guidance—or an actual guide—to find. (Getting to the cloud forest does require a guide, but not because it’s been destroyed in all the more accessible places.) The human elements that do exist are limited enough to be picturesque in a way—garden- or storybook-like.
The island’s main cemetery.
A small waterfront park and memorial.
This sense of smallness, tameness, or “quaintness” goes beyond the cultural landscapes. To me the kentia palms look like coconut palms in miniature. The gnarled, fairy tale-like cloud forest isn’t to my knowledge called “elfin” forest but that description is applied to similar environments in other parts of the world, and the docility of the wildlife (I half expected the birds to start talking) only reinforces the image. Plus of course there’s the “miniature world”-like quality of the island as a whole—its tiny area combined with all the topographical and corresponding ecological variety crammed into it, and all the species found nowhere else (I’ve only mentioned a few of them). The difficulty of the Mt. Gower climb felt misplaced in a way.
I probably don’t need to reiterate that this “world-at-my-fingertips” quality, overlaid with a sense of fragility, is a common theme in the worldviews, and the one I’ve just begun will be no exception. (For the sake of simplicity it won’t deal with the constructed landscape component, though a later one might—in the vein of others that have focused on the built-”natural” juxtaposition.) To be continued!
Darren
For more information on the Lord Howe environment, especially relating to conservation measures, check out these links that I’ve drawn from:
The Lord Howe Island Rodent Eradication: Lessons Learnt from an Inhabited Island