Northland
Long ago, in my early 20s, when I had abundant hair and a waist, I found myself hitch-hiking on the back of a coal truck in India.
Russell Fransham encounters Nepal’s trumpet flower at home and abroad
Iwas headed into Nepal’s Himalayan foothills on my way to Kathmandu. As you do. Several locals sat on top of the coal with me in 35oC heat but the breeze was welcome relief as the old truck started to climb up through lush monsoon forest. A young lad played haunting music on panpipes as the landscape changed around us. When the winding road got steeper, the truck’s dying radiator kept boiling so we would stop for 10 minutes to cool down, then a kilometre further on we’d stop again.
The forest was a revelation to me. I leapt off the truck at every stop and scrambled a few yards in among the trees which turned out to be enormous red rhododendrons growing among huge mossy boulders with water trickling and dripping everywhere. They were in flower. Among the rocks were cascades of white and yellow Coelogyne orchid flowers but no leaves yet, as they don’t appear till after the flowers.
I was surrounded by so many beautiful plants and flowers I had never seen before. We climbed that mountain range for hour after hour with many radiator stops. I was in heaven. That day changed my life. I realised then and there that I wanted to do this for the rest of my days.
Among the undergrowth that day, I noticed big, scrambling vines.
They had heavy stems which seemed to slither across the mountainside and loop high into the trees searching for sunny openings where their white trumpet flowers clustered in abundance.
Thirty years later, a friend gave me a Beaumontia grandiflora plant, but it was only when it flowered that I recognised it from that amazing day in Nepal on the rainy side of the mountains.
Beaumontia grandiflora is also called Nepal trumpet flower and Easter lily vine.
It is found throughout south and east Asia.
It grows incredibly fast during the humid warmth of summer here in Northland but drops its old leaves as winter ends at the same time as fresh new leaves emerge. The shiny leaves are about 20cm long and deeply corrugated with brownish hairs beneath and the stems drip with white latex when cut. The creamy-white flowers appear in terminal clusters in spring, giving off a spicy perfume on sunny days.
After many years, I’m still dithering over whether to let the vine romp up to the top of the nearby palm trees. In the meantime I’ve kept it as a large bush by frequent cutting back – not easy as the huge new shoots will grow 5m in a couple of months in summer, reaching to twine around any trunk they find or snake across the lawn. He who mows the lawn is not amused.
Beaumontias belong to the Apocynaceae family, the dogbanes, which are mostly subtropical with milky sap. They include oleander, frangipani and swan plants. But unlike these examples, the Nepal trumpet vine is not listed as toxic to people or animals although the bitter white sap prevents it being eaten. I notice it irritates my skin if I touch it. It very seldom seeds in New Zealand, so is not weedy either.
Propagation is easiest from seed, which is produced in fat, woody pods, tightly packed with the papery flat seed typical of the dogbanes. Cuttings are slow and difficult, but I’ve had success with accidental root cuttings when I chopped too close to the trunk, severing small roots which then sprouted leaves.
I have seen a magnificent specimen locally, trained along a sturdy timber fence in full sun where it flowers over spring and summer. It is a superb climber for a sturdy pergola where its perfumed trumpets hang below the beams. The tropical-looking foliage creates a pool of cool shade through summer.
Every time I see my lush pile of Beaumontia grandiflora in bloom, I’m taken back to that amazing day on the road to Kathmandu and my startled yelp when I realised the coal-blackened face in the truck’s side mirror was my own. I am extremely sad to report that Russell passed away in December. He suffered a heart attack and died 10 days later in hospital. We will miss his wonderful writing and tremendous enthusiasm and expertise. His last column will be in the March issue. – Jo McCarroll