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ECOSYSTEMS
Destination content Christopher P. Baker, used from Moon Handbooks Costa Rica, 5th edition.
In 1947, biologist L.H. Holdridge introduced a system of classifying vegetation types or "zones" according to a matrix based on combinations of temperature, rainfall, and seasonality. Each zone has a distinct natural vegetation and ecosystem. Costa Rica has 12 such zones, ranging from tidal mangrove swamps to subalpine paramó, with stunted dwarf plants above the timberline atop the high mountains.

Costa Rican Natural History, edited by Daniel Janzen, provides a description of the vegetation types associated with each life zone. You can also obtain a life-zone map from the Tropical Science Center, Calle 1, Avenidas 4/6, San José; tel. 645-5122, fax 645-5034, email: montever@sol.racsa.co.cr.

Costa Rica's tropical situation, in combination with both a remarkable diversity of local relief and climates, has resulted in the evolution of a stupendously rich biota. Some habitats, such as the mangrove swamps, are relatively simple. Others, particularly the ecosystem of the tropical rainforests of the Caribbean lowlands and the Osa Peninsula, are among the most complex on the planet.

There is no barrier in Costa Rica to the entry of South American species of flora; as a result, the lowland rainforests have strong affinities with the selva (jungle) of South America and form a distinctive assemblage of species in which the large number of palms, tree ferns, lianas, and epiphytes attest to the constant heat and humidity of the region. The impressive tropical rainforest of eastern Costa Rica and the Osa Peninsula gives way on the central Pacific to a dry evergreen forest at lower elevations and dry deciduous forest farther north. These, too, are of essentially South American composition. Above about 1,000 meters, the species are fewer and the affinities with North America are stronger. In the Cordillera Talamanca, conifers of South American provenance are joined by North American oaks. Above the tree line (approximately 3,000 meters), hikers familiar with the mid-elevation flora of the high Andes of Peru and Ecuador will find many affinities in the shrubby open landscape of Costa Rica's cordillera.

FLORA: AN OVERVIEW

Costa Rica offers an extraordinary abundance of flora, including more than 9,000 species of "higher plants." It has many more species of ferns--about 800--than the whole of North America, including Mexico. Of heliconias (members of the banana family more familiarly known as "birds of paradise"), there are some 30 species. It is a nation of green upon green upon green.

The forests and grasslands flare with color--some flamboyantly so, as plants advertise the delights and rewards they offer, including the ultimate bribe, nectar. Begonias, anthuriums, and blood of Christ, named for the red splotches on the underside of its leaves, are common. My favorite plant is the "hot lips" (labios ardientes), sometimes called "hooker's lips" (labios de puta), whose bright red bracts remind me of Mick Jagger's famous pout or, perhaps more appropriately, Madonna's smile. The vermilion poró tree (the bright flame-of-the-forest), pink-and-white meadow oak, purple jacaranda, and the almost fluorescent yellow corteza amarilla all add their seasonal bouquets to the landscape. And the morning glory spreads its thick lavender carpets across lowland pastures, joined by carnal red (but unromantically foul smelling--a crafty device to enlist the help of flies in pollination) passionflowers.

Many plants play out the game of love and reproduction in the heat of the tropical night, when they emit fragrances designed to attract specific insect species. Other flowering species employ markings on their petals to indicate the exact placing of the rewards insects seek. Many orchid species, for example, are marked with lines and spots like an airfield, to show the insect where to land and in which direction to taxi. Others display colors invisible to the human eye, yet clearly perceptible by insects whose eyesight spans the ultraviolet spectrum. And a remarkable holly species (Ocotea tenera) occasionally changes sex, being male one year and female the next, to increase its chance of pollination.

The most abundant flora in rainforest environments are ferns, light-gap pioneers found from sea level to the highest elevations. The ancient terrestrial ferns once served as food for many a prehistoric beast. The big tree ferns--sometimes called rabo de mico (monkey-tail) ferns, an allusion to the uncurling young fronds--are relics from the age of the dinosaurs, sometimes four meters tall, with fiddleheads large enough to grace a cello. Others are epiphytic, arboreal "nesters," or climbers whose long leaves can grapple upward for 20 meters or more.

The epiphytic environment is extremely poor in mineral nutrients. The bromeliads--brilliantly flowering, spiky-leafed "air" plants up to 120 cm across--have developed tanks or cisterns that hold great quantities of rainwater and decaying detritus in the whorled bases of their tightly overlapping stiff leaves. The plants gain nourishment from dissolved nutrients in the cisterns (it's a symbiotic relationship: often the host tree will put roots down into the epiphyte to absorb its nutrients). Known as tank epiphytes, they provide trysting places and homes for tiny aquatic animals high above the ground. Costa Rica has more than 2,000 species of bromeliads (including the pineapple)--the richest deposit of such flora on the isthmus.

All plants depend on light to power the chemical process by which they synthesize their body substances from simple elements. Height is therefore of utmost importance. When an old tree falls, the strong, unaccustomed light triggers seeds that have lain dormant, and banana palms and ginger plants, heliconias and cecropias--all plants that live in the sunshine on riverbanks or in forest clearings--burst into life and put out big broad leaves to soak up the sun, to flower and to fruit. Another prominent plant is the poor man's umbrella (sombrilla de pobre), whose name you'll remember if you get caught in a downpour while in the rainforest; its giant leaves make excellent impromptu shelters.

Orchids
It's appropriate that the orchid is the national flower of Costa Rica: the country has more than 1,400 identified species, the richest orchid flora in Central America. And countless others probably await discovery. At any time of year you're sure to find dozens of species in bloom, from sea level to the highest, subfreezing reaches of Chirripó. There is no best time for viewing orchids, although the beginning of both the dry season (especially in the wettest rainforest regions) and the wet season are said to be particularly favorable.

Steven Hodel Orchid Photography 
Photo by Steven Hodel

Orchids are not only the largest family of flowering plants, they're also the most diverse--poke around with magnifying glass in hand and you'll come across species with flowers less than one millimeter across. Others, like the native Phragmipedium caudatum, have pendulant petals that can reach more than half a meter. Some flower for only one day; others last several weeks. Orchid lovers should head for the cloud forests; there the greatest diversity exists in humid--not wet--mid-elevation environments where they are abundant as tropical epiphytes (constituting 88 percent of orchid species).

While not all orchids lead epiphytic lives--the Spanish called them parasitos--those that do are the most exotic of epiphytes, classics of their kind, so heartachingly beautiful that collectors can't resist their siren call and threaten their existence.

Orchids have evolved a remarkable array of ingenious pollination techniques. Some species self-pollinate. Others attract insects by sexual impersonation. One species, for example, produces a flower that closely resembles the form of a female wasp--complete with eyes, antennae, and wings. It even gives off the odor of a female wasp in mating condition. Male wasps, deceived, attempt to copulate with it. In their vigor, they deposit pollen within the orchid flower and immediately afterward receive a fresh batch to carry to the next false female. Male bees and other insects are known to use the pollen of orchids as a perfume to attract females. Then there's the orchid called La Putita de Noche ("Little Prostitute of the Night") because by day it smells of nothing but at night no decent person will let it into the house.

Guile seems to be the forte of orchids. Another species drugs its visitors. Bees clamber into its throat and sip a nectar so intoxicating that after the merest taste they become so inebriated they lose their footing and slip into a small bucket of liquid. Escape is offered up a spout--the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel. As the drunken insect totters up, it has to wriggle beneath an overhanging rod, which showers its back with pollen. Pollination techniques have become so species-specific that hybridization of different orchid species is avoided by each having developed its own morphological configuration to attach its pollen, and receive it in return, to a specific part of the insect's body.

Places to See Orchids: The Orquídeas de Monteverde is an exquisite orchid garden in Monteverde, in Guanacaste. Lankester Gardens, near Cartago, features more than 800 orchid species, including the collection of Charles Lankester, whose garden it once was. Orchid Alley, at La Garita in the central highlands, offers a stunning array of orchids for sale, suitably packed for export. Nearby, at Palmares, is Jardín de Las Guarias, the largest private orchid collection in the country, all raised by farmer Javier Solorzano Murillo. Orchidologist Eugenio Esquivel has a nursery open to visitors in Puriscal.

An annual orchid show is held each March at Instituto Nacional de Biodiversidad (INBio), near San José.

If you're serious in your study, check out the Field Guide to the Orchids of Costa Rica and Panama, by Robert L. Dressler (Ithaca, NY: Comstock Publishing, 1993).

TROPICAL RAINFOREST

Once upon a time, about 140 million years ago, near the beginning of the Cretaceous period in the age of dinosaurs, before the freezing embraces of the Ice Ages, thick evergreen forests blanketed much of the world's warm, humid surface. Today's tropical rainforests--the densest and richest proliferation of plants ever known--are the survivors of these primeval jungles of ages past.

Waterfall by Photographer Steven Hodel 
Photo by Steven Hodel

These forests, the largest of which is Brazil's Amazonian jungle, are found in a narrow belt that girdles the earth at the equator. In the tropics, constant sunlight, endless rains and high temperatures year-round spell life. The steamy atmosphere and fast nutrient turnover have promoted favorable growth conditions and intense competition, allowing the forest flora to evolve into an extraordinary multitude of different species, exploiting to the full every conceivable niche. Nowhere else on earth is biological productivity and diversity so evident: tropical rainforests contain more than half of all living things known to man (the number of insect species in a hectare of rainforest is so great that no successful count has been made).

Only superficially does the rainforest resemble the fictional jungles of Tarzan. Yes, the foliage can indeed be so dense that you cannot move without a machete. But since only about 10 percent of the total sunlight manages to penetrate through the forest canopy, the undergrowth is generally correspondingly sparse, and the forest floor surprisingly open and relatively easy to move about in. Within the shadowed jungle the dark subaqueous greens are lit here and there by beams of sunlight pouring down from above. (The plants array their leaves to avoid leaf shade; others are shaded purple underneath to help reflect back the light passing through the leaf; and the "walking palm" literally walks across the forest floor in search of light on its stiltlike roots.)

The stagnant air is loaded with moisture. There is supposedly even a fungus that flourishes inside binoculars and cameras and eats away the protective coating of lenses. To a visitor, the tropical rainforest seems always the same: uniform heat and stifling 90 percent humidity. But this is true only near the ground. High in the tops of the trees, where the sun comes and goes, breezes blow, and moisture has a chance to be carried away, the swings in temperature between day and night are as much as 15 degrees, whereas the humidity may drop from 95 percent, its fairly constant nighttime level, to as low as 60 percent as the sun rises and warms the forest. Thus, within 30 vertical meters, two distinctly different climates prevail.

Botanists have distinguished among 30 or so different types of rainforest, whose species content is determined by temperature and rainfall. Tropical evergreen rainforest exists in areas of high rainfall (at least 200 cm) and regular high temperatures averaging no less than 25° C (77° F). In Costa Rica, the lush tropical evergreen rainforest of the Caribbean lowlands gives way on the Pacific side to a seasonally dry evergreen forest in the well-watered south.

Costa Rica's tropical rainforests are places of peace and renewal, like a vast vaulted cathedral, mysterious, strangely silent, and of majestic proportions. As one writer says: "a fourteenth century stonemason would have felt at home [in the rainforest], with its buttressed, moss-columned, towering trees and dark recesses."

Plunging deep into the forest, visitors are soon struck by how much variety there is. While in temperate forests distinct species of flora congregate neatly into distinctive plant "neighborhoods" with few other species interspersed, in the rainforest you may pass one example of a particular tree species, then not see another for half a mile. In between, however, are hundreds of other species. In the rainforest, too, life is piled upon life--literally. The firm and unyielding forest floor is a "dark factory of decomposition," where bacteria, mold, and insects work unceasingly, degrading the constant rain of leaf litter and dislodged fruits into nutrient molecules.

Strange-shaped umbrellas, curtains, and globes of fungi proliferate, too. They are key to providing the nourishment vital to the jungle's life cycle. While a fallen leaf from a North American oak may take a year to decompose, a leaf in the tropical rainforest will fully decay within a month. If these precious nutrients and minerals thus released are not to be washed away by the daily drenching of rain, they must be reclaimed quickly and returned to the canopy to restart the cycle of life. The trees suck up the minerals and nutrients through a thick mat of rootlets that grow close to the surface of the inordinately thin soil. To counteract their inherent instability, many species grow side buttresses: wafer-thin flanges that radiate in a ring around the base of the tree like the tail fins of rockets.

The dark nave of the rainforest cathedral is rich with ferns, saplings, and herbaceous plants, seeping in moisture. For every tree in the jungle, there is a clinging vine fighting for a glimpse of the sun. Instead of using up valuable time and energy in building their own supports, these clutching vines and lianas rely on the straight, limbless trunks typical of rainforest tree species to provide a support in their quest for sunlight. They ride piggyback to the canopy, where they continue to snake through the treetops, sometimes reaching lengths of 300 meters. One species spirals around its host like a corkscrew; another cements itself to a tree with three-pronged tendrils.

The bully of the forest, however, is the strangler fig, which isn't content to merely coexist. While most lianas and vines take root in the ground and grow upward, the strangler figs do the opposite. After sprouting in the forest canopy from seeds dropped by birds and bats, the strangler fig sends roots to the ground, where they dig into the soil and provide a boost of sustenance. Slowly but surely--it may take a full century--the roots grow and envelop the host tree, choking it until it dies and rots away, leaving a hollow, trellised, freestanding cylinder.

Image © Bob Race

The vigorous competition for light and space has promoted the evolution of long, slender, branchless trunks, many well over 35 meters tall, and flat-topped crowns with foliage so dense that rainwater from driving tropical downpours often may not reach the ground for 10 minutes. This great vaulted canopy--the clerestory of the rainforest cathedral--is the jungle's powerhouse, where more than 90 percent of photosynthesis takes place. Above this dense carpet of greenery rise a few scattered giants towering to heights of 70 meters or more.

The scaffolding of massive boughs is colonized at all levels by a riot of bromeliads, ferns, and other epiphytes (plants that take root on plants but that are not parasitic). Tiny spores sprout on the bark, gain a foothold, and spread like luxuriant carpets. As they die and decay, they form compost on the branch capable of supporting larger plants that feed on the leaf mold and draw moisture by dangling their roots into the humid air. Soon every available surface is a great hanging gallery of giant elkhorns and ferns, often reaching such weights that whole tree limbs are torn away and crash down to join the decaying litter on the forest floor.

The Babylonian gardens of the jungle ceiling--naturalist William Beebe called it an "undiscovered continent"--also host a staggeringly complex, unseen world of wildlife. The rich rainforest green backdrops the jewel colors of its many inhabitants. Sit still awhile and the unseen beasts and birds will get used to your presence and emerge from the shadows. Enormous morpho butterflies float by, flashing like bright neon signs. Is that vine really moving? More likely it's a brilliantly costumed tree python, so green it is almost iridescent, draped in sensuous coils on a branch.

Scarlet macaws and lesser parrots plunge and sway in the high branches, announcing their playacting with an outburst of shrieks. Arboreal rodents leap and run along the branches, searching for nectar and insects, while insectivorous birds watch from their vantage points for any movement that will betray a stick insect or leaf-green tree frog to scoop up for lunch. Legions of monkeys, sloths, and fruit- and leaf-eating mammals also live in the green world of the canopy, browsing and hunting, thieving and scavenging, breeding and dying.

Larger hunters live up there, too. In addition to the great eagles plunging through the canopy to grab monkeys, there are also tree-dwelling cats. These superbly athletic climbers are quite capable of catching monkeys and squirrels as they leap from branch to branch and race up trunks. There are also snakes here. Not the great monsters so common in romantic fiction, which dangle, says David Attenborough, "optimistically from a branch, waiting to pick up a human passer-by," but much smaller creatures, some twig-thin, such as the chunk-headed snake with catlike eyes, which feasts on frogs and lizards and nestling birds.

Come twilight, the forest soaks in a brief moment of silence. Slowly, the lisping of insects begins. There is a faint rustle as nocturnal rodents come out to forage in the ground litter. And the squabbling of fruit bats replaces that of the birds. All around, myriad beetles and moths take wing in the moist velvet blanket of the tropical night.

Recycling Nutrients in the Rainforest

Image © Bob Race

One of the most important differences between tropical and temperate environments is what biologists call "species richness." A natural forest patch of a few hundred acres in Michigan, for example, might contain 25-30 species of trees; an equivalent tract of Costa Rican rainforest might contain more than 400. Ohio, at twice Costa's Rica geographical size, has only about 10 species of bats; Costa Rica has more than 100.

Why such complexity, such stupefying abundance of "species" in the neotropics--the tropics of the New World? It all has to do with the rapid pace of nutrient recycling and the way the natural world competes most effectively for nourishment.

In the temperate world, with the warm days and sunlight of spring, plants burst forth with protein-rich buds, shoots, and young leaves, which appear simultaneously in a protein "pulse." Animals bring forth their young during this period of protein abundance: birds return from the south to lay eggs and raise their broods, insect eggs hatch, frogs and toads crawl out of hibernation to reproduce. Come autumn, the same plants produce a second protein glut as tender berries, seeds, and nuts, which critters pack in to sustain themselves through the hardships of impending winter. The synchronized budding and fruiting of foliage is so great that all the hungry mouths gobbling protein hardly threaten a plant species's survival.

In the tropics, by contrast, the seasonal cycle is far less pronounced: sunlight, rain, and warm temperatures are constant, and plants germinate, grow, flower, and seed year-round. Hence, there is no distinct protein surplus. Leaf fall, too, occurs continuously and slowly in the tropical rainforest, unlike the autumnal drops of temperate deciduous forests, and the same tropical conditions of heat and moisture that fuel year-round growth also sponsor fast decomposition of dead leaves. The humus that enriches the soils of more temperate latitudes doesn't have a chance to accumulate in the tropics. Thus, soils are thin and, after millions of years of daily rainfall and constant heat, leached of their nutrient content.

Result? The ecosystem of a tropical rainforest is upside down when compared to forests in the temperate zone, where nutrients are stored in the soil. In the tropics they're stored overhead: in the densely leafed canopy. Leaves and young shoots represent a major investment of scarce nutrients, which plants cannot afford to have gobbled up by hungry multitudes of animals, insects, and birds. Hence, says one biologist, "It might be said that the plants 'want' to be different from one another in order to avoid being devoured." Intense competition has pressured tropical plants to diversify greatly, to disperse, and to develop defense mechanisms, such as thorns or sickening toxins. Other species stagger their production of shoots and new leaves throughout the year so that they never expose too much new growth to predation at any one time.

Because plant protein is scarce at any given time, and because plants have evolved stratagems to guard it, animals have been forced to compete fiercely. They've diversified like the plants, and competition has resulted in notable examples of specialization, with individual species staking claims to a narrow ecological niche in which other creatures can't compete. One bird species eats only insects driven up from the ground by army ants, while its droppings provide food for a certain species of butterfly.

Through these intricate associations, specific plants and predators become totally dependent on one another. A perfect example is the ant acacia, a tree common along the Pacific coast. The plant is weak and defenseless, a poor competitor in the upward race for sunlight, and easily overshadowed by faster-growing neighbors. Its tiny nectaries (glands that exude sugar) and leaf-tip swellings filled with proteins and vitamins are tempting morsels for hungry insects and birds. None, however, dares steal a nibble, for a species of tiny yet aggressive ants acts as the acacia's praetorian guard. In exchange for the honeylike food that they love, the ants defend their plant fiercely. Any predator foolish enough to touch the acacia is attacked; if a vine threatens to envelop the tree, the ants cut the vine down. If the branches of a neighboring plant threaten to steal the acacia's sunlight, the ants will prune the interloper; if a neighbor's seeds fall to the ground beneath the acacia, the insects will cart them off before they can germinate. If the ants were to become extinct, the plant would never survive. If the plant disappeared, the ants would starve. Each is inextricably in the debt of the other.

TROPICAL DRY FOREST

Before the arrival of the Spanish in the early 16th century, dry forests blanketed the Pacific coastal lowlands from Panamá to Mexico. Fires set by the Spanish and by generations of farmers and ranchers thereafter spread savannas across the province, whose flat alluvial plains and rich volcanic soils are perfect for crops and cattle ranches. Today, the dry forests cling precariously to some 2 percent of their former range--a mere 520 square kilometers of Costa Rica in scattered patches centered on the lower Río Tempisque of Guanacaste. Far rarer than rainforests, they are significantly more endangered, especially by fires, which eviscerate whole forest patches, opening holes in which ecological opportunists--weeds and grasses such as African jaragua--rush in. Eventually savanna comes to replace the forest.

Unlike Costa Rica's rainforests, the rare tropical dry forest is relatively sparsely vegetated, with far fewer tree species and only two strata. Canopy trees have short, stout trunks with large, flat-topped crowns, rarely more than 15 meters above the ground. Beneath is an understory with small, open-top crowns, and a layer of shrubs with vicious spines and thorns. Missing are the great profusion of epiphytes and the year-round lush evergreens of the rainforest.

November through March, no rain relieves the parching heat. Then, the deciduous dry forests undergo a dramatic seasonal transformation, the purple jacaranda, pink-and-white meadow oak, yellow corteza amarilla, scarlet poró, and the bright orange flame-of-the-forest exploding in Monet colors in the midst of drought.

MANGROVE ESTUARIES

Costa Rica's shorelines are home to five species of mangroves. These pioneer land builders thrive at the interface of land and sea, forming a stabilizing tangle that fights tidal erosion and reclaims land from the water.

Mangroves are what botanists call halophytes, plants that thrive in salty conditions. Although they do not require salt (they in fact grow better in fresh water), they thrive where no other tree can. Costa Rica's young rivers have short and violent courses that keep silt and volcanic ash churned up and suspended, so that a great deal of it is carried out of the mountains onto the coastal alluvial plains. The nutrient-rich mud generates algae and other small organisms that form the base of the marine food chain. Food is delivered to the estuaries every day from both the sea and the land so those few plants--and creatures--that can survive here flourish in immense numbers. And their sustained health is vital to the health of other marine ecosystems.

Image © Bob Race

The nutrients the mangrove seeks lie near the surface of the acid mud, deposited by the tides. There is no oxygen to be had in the mud: estuarine mud is so fine-grained that air cannot diffuse through it, and the gases produced by the decomposition of the organic debris within it stay trapped until footsteps release them, producing a strong whiff of rotten eggs. Hence, there is no point in the mangroves sending down deep roots. Instead, the mangroves send out peculiar aerial roots, maintaining a hold on the glutinous mud and giving the mangroves the appearance of walking on water.

The mangroves draw oxygen from the air through small patches of spongy tissue on their bark. The irrepressible, reddish-barked, shrubby mangroves rise from the dark water on interlocking stilt roots. Small brackish streams and labyrinthine creeks wind among them like snakes, sometimes interconnecting, sometimes petering out in narrow cul-de-sacs, sometimes opening suddenly into broad lagoons. A few clear channels may run through the rich and redolent world of the mangroves, but the trees grow so thickly over much of it that you cannot force even a small boat between them.

Mangrove swamps are esteemed as nurseries of marinelife and as havens for water birds--cormorants, frigate birds, pelicans, herons, and egrets--which feed and nest here by the thousands, producing guano that makes the mangroves grow faster. The big birds roost on the top canopy, while smaller ones settle for the underbrush. Frigate birds are particularly fond of mangrove bushes and congregate in vast numbers along the swampy shorelines of the Golfo de Nicoya. The bushes in which they build their nests rise some two to three meters above the mudflats--just right to serve as launching pads.

A look down into the water reveals luxuriant life: oysters and sponges attached to the roots, small stingrays flapping slowly over the bottom, and tiny fish in schools of tens of thousands. Baby black-tipped sharks and other juvenile fish, too, spend much of their early lives among mangrove roots, out of the heavy surf, shielded by the root maze that keeps out large predators.

High tide brings larger diners--big mangrove snappers and young barracudas hang motionless in the water. Raccoons, snakes, and, as everywhere, insects and other arboreal creatures also inhabit the mangroves. There is even an arboreal mangrove tree crab (Aratus pisonii), which eats mangrove leaves and is restricted to the very crowns of the trees by the predatory activities of another arboreal crab, Goniopsis pulcra.

Mangroves are aggressive colonizers, thanks to one of nature's most remarkable seedlings. The heavy, fleshy mangrove seeds, shaped like plumb bobs, germinate while still on the tree. The flowers bloom for a few weeks in the spring and then fall off, making way for a fruit. A seedling shoot soon sprouts from each fruit and grows to a length of 15-30 cm before dropping from the tree. Falling like darts, at low tide they land in the mud and put down roots immediately. Otherwise, the seedlings--great travelers--become floating scouts and outriders ahead of the advancing roots.

The seaborne seedling can remain alive for as long as a year, during which time it may drift for hundreds of miles. Eventually, it touches the muddy floor and anchors itself, growing as much as 60 cm in its first year. By its third year a young tree starts to sprout its own forest of arching prop roots; in about 10 years it has fostered a thriving colony of mangroves, which edge ever out to sea, forming a great swampy forest. As silt builds up among the roots, land is gradually reclaimed from the sea. Mangroves build up the soil until they strand themselves high and dry. In the end they die on the land they have created.

The Land | Ecosystems | Fauna | History | Arts and Culture | National Parks

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