Fantastic Trees and Where to Find Them:

Spirit of the woods: The Taiwan catkin yew

In a research article published in 1920, British plant collector Ernest Henry Wilson (1876‡1930) remarked that “Formosa is indeed the ‘Pearl of the Orient.’” For Wilson, Taiwan owes this accolade to the “magnificent forests of evergreen Lauraceae and Fagaceae, the gigantic Chamaecyparis and the lofty Taiwanias which clothe her steep and rugged mountains.”

The Taiwan catkin yew (Amentotaxus formosana) is another endemic conifer that graces our mountains. In the early days after its discovery and scientific naming, this member of the yew family (Taxaceae) captured the imaginations of many conifer lovers. When it was first published internationally, the genus Amentotaxus was considered one of the most remarkable groups of gymnosperms discovered in East Asia by late 19th-century European botanists. The morphology of their seeds, covered with a fleshy red aril, distinguishes the genus from members of the pine and cypress families, which bear characteristic woody cones.

In 1952, botanist Li Hui-lin (1911‡2002) published a taxonomic review of the genus Amentotaxus, confirming the status of Amentotaxus formosana as a relict species from the ice ages that is endemic to Taiwan. The Taiwan catkin yew is distributed across old-growth broadleaf forests along the Southern Taiwanese stretches of the Central Mountain Range, at elevations of 800‡1,400 ­meters. Its southernmost habitat is Mt. Lilong in Pingtung County. Growing in close proximity to indigenous Paiwan settlements, these trees have been tirelessly guarding the land and its people since time immemorial.

However, in modern times the survival of the Taiwan catkin yew has been flagged up as an urgent issue. In 1988 the species came under the protection of the Cultural Heritage Preservation Act. “This is probably the first tree species in Taiwan that will be driven out of existence by global warming,” says Chung Jeng-der, chief of the Silviculture Division of the Taiwan Forestry Research Institute. Its population in the wild has decreased drastically because of its weak capacity for sexual reproduction, compounded by other factors such as climate disruption and shrinking genetic diversity.

In 2004 Chung set to work increasing the native population of Taiwan catkin yews. He first propagated new plants through asexual reproduction and induced them to flower, whereupon the sex of each individual could be identified. Pollination was then carried out by hand to help the trees reproduce sexually. In doing so, Chung was able to get round the difficulty of the species being dioecious—with each plant producing flowers of only one sex. But this was only half the story.

From pollination to seed maturation, the process takes some 15 months. The Taiwan catkin yew is similar to most other conifers in this respect, except that when its red fruit falls off, the embryo inside, which would eventually grow into a tree, is still immature. The seeds are put through a process called stratification, whereby they are buried in sandy soil and remain in a cold environment for several months. Stratification helps dormant seeds develop and reach maturity, so that they can germinate and grow into saplings.

Chung published the results of his restoration efforts in 2014. With the problems surrounding the sexual reproduction of the Taiwan catkin yew now being well understood, he is hopeful of an increase in its population in the wild. His project marks a new milestone in the conservation of this tree.

Catkin yews (genus Amentotaxus) derive their name from their catkin-like male cones. (courtesy of Chung Jeng-der)

The female cones of the Taiwan catkin yew have pollination drops at their apex—liquid secretions which help them receive pollen. (courtesy of Chung Jeng-der

Growing in an urban environment for several decades, these transplanted Taiwan cow-tail firs are as healthy as ever, attracting pilgrims of their own.

Conservation success: The Taiwan cow-tail fir

Another conifer, the Taiwan cow-tail fir (Keteleeria davidiana var. formosana), was taken off the list of the Cultural Heritage Preservation Act in 2009 thanks to the restoration work of the Forestry and Nature Conservation Agency. The success story represents a famous case in the conservation of endemic flora.

The Chinese name for the genus—youshan (“oil fir”)—is apt: Chung tells us that when a colleague drilled into the wood, “there was an eruption of oil-like sap.” Tall and straight, and with close-grained wood, the Taiwan cow-tail fir was used by the Japanese to make railway sleepers, and by residents of what is now New Taipei’s Pinglin District to make furniture. As one of the few conifers that thrive at low elevations, it has also been a horticultural favorite.

In addition to celebrated specimens in the Taipei Botanical Garden and at Pinglin Elementary School, there’s an old Taiwan cow-tail fir off Taipei’s Jinshan South Road with a history stretching back to 1931, when the island was under Japanese rule. Also in the capital, two Taiwan cow-tail firs flank the front entrance to the Presidential Office Building on Chong­qing South Road, as if standing sentinel there. They have engrossed many passersby with their luxuriant foliage and attractive cones, imparting a friendly air to the august-looking red edifice.

Even though Taiwan cow-tail firs produce reasonable numbers of seeds, their germination rates are low, which affects their chances of survival in the wild. With a view to helping them survive, researchers have used tissue culture technology to induce immature seeds to germinate. Other methods, such as establishing pollen banks and field gene banks, also help ensure the perpetuation of this precious ancient species.

Like acorns, conifer cones are very collectible.

The narrow, pointed leaves of Taiwan cow-tail firs form a sharp contrast to the foliage of broadleaved trees we often come across at low elevations.

Tenacity and resilience: The Taitung cycad

The Taitung cycad (Cycas taitungensis) has a robust, upright stem, with fronds of pinnate leaves spreading out at the top to form a crown. The whole exemplifies geometric perfection. It is this architectural character that makes the plant immensely popular.

The earliest record of the Taitung cycad dates back to 1920, when Japanese botanist Shunichi Sasaki (1888‡1960) collected specimens on the banks of the Beinan River in Taitung. Other examples were later recorded near the Luye River and the Qingshui River. Today, these places—the Coastal Mountain Range in Eastern Taiwan and the Luye Valley near Taitung’s Hongye Village—are still this cycad’s main habitats.

A species that can be traced back to the Mesozoic era 140 million years ago, the Taitung cycad is a veritable living fossil that has preserved its primal appearance. Its taxonomy, though, has a checkered history. In the early days, scholars wrongly identified it with the Taiwan cycad (Cycas taiwaniana) discovered by British botanist William Carruthers (1830‡1922). It wasn’t until 1994 that researchers realized that the cycad which grew in Taiwan was actually a different species. However, the principle of priority in the International Code of Nomenclature meant that the scientific name of C. taiwaniana—even though the species is in fact native to Southern China—couldn’t be changed. So the native Taiwanese species was instead named after Taitung, where it was first found.

But the story doesn’t end there. A research article published in 2022 notes that the Taitung cycad and the sago cycad (C. revoluta), native to the Ryukyu Islands, show “larger intra- than inter-specific variations.” The authors identified a “continuous gene flow” during speciation, with the “migration from C. taitungensis to C. revoluta” being “stronger than in the opposite direction.” However, because the latter was named way back in 1782, the Taitung cycad, which didn’t receive its scientific name until 1994, would have to defer to C. revoluta. Since the publication of these findings, C. taitungensis has been regarded as a synonym of C. revoluta.

Despite environmental challenges, Taitung cycads remain undaunted, growing on steep, rocky slopes and in exposed terrains rich in limestone, demonstrating typical Taiwanese tenacity and resilience.

The caterpillars of the endemic butterfly Chilades pandava peripatria feed solely on the tender young leaves of cycads. Because the Taitung cycad produces new leaves only once a year, the population of these butterflies used to be kept in fine balance. In recent years, however, the invasion of cycad scale insects (Aulacaspis yasumatsui) has threatened to disrupt this balance. (courtesy of Chung Jeng-der)

Members of the family Cycadaceae have a sturdy stem, with a crown of fronds at the top. From a distance, they look like scaly tree ferns (Cyatheaceae) or palms (Arecaceae).

In the climate of Southern Taiwan, the Taitung cycad flowers every year. This photo shows a female strobilus. (courtesy of Chung Jeng-der)

Protective magic: The Formosan date palm

If the Taitung cycad finds vertiginous mountainous places congenial, the Formosan date palm (Phoenix hanceana), flourishes in harsh seaside environments. Prior to the dominance of plastics, this native plant, along with other natural materials such as silvergrass, was used to make brooms. Widespread across coastal lowlands, it has been inextricably bound up with traditional rural life.

In days gone by, locals would dry the fronds of Formosan date palms on public roads. They are of such a firm texture that they wouldn’t be crushed by pedestrians or vehicles. Far from affecting road traffic, the practice gave a charming touch to rural landscapes. When not busy with farmwork, neighbors would gather in their courtyards to bind the dried and trimmed fronds with hemp cord. The brooms created in this way were sturdy and durable, thought to be even more fit for purpose than bamboo brooms. Linnei in Kaohsiung’s Linyuan District and Xiangshe in Pingtung’s Wandan Township used to be known for producing date palm brooms. The plant also features in the material culture of Taiwan’s indigenous peoples.

Farmers, however, have had mixed feelings about the Formosan date palm because its leaves, which are as sharp and pointed as thorns, cause discomfort to water buffalos. Over the years, some farmers actively removed the Formosan date palms growing near cultivated fields, with the result that we now come across them mainly on wild cliffs and slopes, or next to temples. On the cliffs adjacent to Provincial Highway 11 (the Hualien‡­Taitung Coastal Highway), we can catch a glimpse of these handsome soldiers braving the ­elements.

Having survived the ice ages, not only does the Formosan date palm embrace life with gritty determination, but its presence also graces many parts of Taiwan. Several places across the island are named after it, such as Kanglang Village in Taoyuan’s Xinwu District, Hsinchu’s Kangle Village (whose old name was Kanglangzhuang), and Kanglangjiao in Yunlin’s Taixi Township.

Though plastic brooms are cheap and easy to come by, Formosan date palm brooms are believed to possess the power to ward off evil. Our forebears preferred to use these “heaven and earth brooms” for cleaning on festive occasions, as they served to drive out malign forces and usher in auspicious influences. Legend has it that the spiritual efficacy of these brooms was such that even gods and ancestral spirits would be swept away if one wasn’t careful. So after welcoming the God of Wealth on the fifth day of the Lunar New Year, people had to resist using brooms to clean their ceilings.

These and other native trees have fascinating stories to tell us. Far from being confined to the botanical world, they have long been absorbed into Taiwanese culture. Carrying ancient genes that date back to the ice ages, they have also become deeply rooted in Taiwanese folk traditions.

The scaly patterns of leaf scars on their trunks distinguish Formosan date palms from the widely cultivated date palm, Phoenix dactylifera.

While farmers used to have mixed feelings about them, Formosan date palms are nowadays often planted along our streets.

Many Formosan date palms can be seen at the Sudong Tunnel, which was selected in 2020 as one of Taiwan’s top ten cycle routes.

 With the passage of time, making palm-frond brooms is no longer viable as a business, but the plant itself remains layered with local memories. (courtesy of Hou Maokun)

Making palm-frond brooms was once a common sight in rural Taiwan. This time-honored craft now arouses curiosity. (courtesy of Hou Maokun)