Champions on the brink.

Four trees are officially endangered; others face a doubtful future. Recognizing the biggest of these species can stem their slide toward extinction.

Whenever the topic of endangered species comes up the advice of Aldo Leopold is often invoked: he first rule of tinkering is to save all the parts." In AMERICAN FORESTS' Big Tree Program, we try to save the best of those parts by singling out individual trees that represent the biggest, and possibly the oldest, of their species. But we are perilously close to having a few champions also represent the last of their species.

Since the Endangered Species Act was passed in 1973, four trees in the continental U.S. have been listed as endangered: roundleaf birch, Florida torreya, Key tree-cactus, and Santa Cruz cypress. Although few in number, the plight of these trees represents most of the causes of species decline: habitat loss or alteration, introduced diseases and pests, commercial exploitation and development, over-collecting, and a naturally small geographic range.

The roundleaf birch was the first tree to be added to the endangered species list. A close relative of the more common sweet birch, it was discovered in 1914 by W.W. Ashe along what he recorded as Dickey Creek in southwestern Virginia. Evidently Ashe wasn't a great map reader because years later other botanists scoured Dickey Creek in vain for more specimens. By the 1950s the roundleaf birch was assumed to be either extinct or a figment of a taxonomist's imagination inspired by an aberrant sweet birch. Then, in 1975, Douglas Ogle and Peter Mazzeo rediscovered the rare tree along nearby Cressy Creek, now thought to be Ashe's original site. At that time the world's entire population of roundleaf birches consisted of just 41 individual trees scattered along a one-mile stretch of Cressy Creek.

The roundleaf birch suddenly became the sine qua non of botanists and covetous individuals. Within two years vandals and overzealous collectors had reduced the species to only 26 trees. The next year, 1978, the species was officially declared endangered and, with so few survivors, the champion was easily recognized. Unfortunately, protection on paper did not immediately translate to absolute protection in the field. Although the champion has survived, the natural population is now down to a paltry eight trees.

The good news is that the recovery plan approved by the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service in 1982 - the first ever for a plant - has been very successful. There are now 20 planted populations of roundleaf birch in the Cressy Creek watershed, totaling over 1,400 subadult trees. Many others now live in cultivation at botanical gardens, public arboreta, nurseries, and private estates around the country. Although none of the planted trees at Cressy Creek have quite reached sexual maturity, officials are so confident in the species' future that they recently down-listed its status to threatened. Full recovery is expected by 2010.

Meanwhile, the biggest roundleaf birch holds center stage and just keeps getting bigger. With its own fence, viewing platform, and interpretive materials, the champion is a living reminder of how close we came to losing the species for good. Since vandalism and collecting have been the primary threats, it was sheer luck that Ashe "lost" the species nearly 60 years before the Endangered Species Act could provide a safety net.

That same safety net, however, may not be strong enough to catch the Florida torreya in its slide toward extinction. "Unless we can pinpoint some causal agent and develop a treatment," says torreya researcher Sharon Hermann, "the prognosis is truly dismal."

The Florida torreya has been known by botanists since 1838 when it was common in its restricted habitat of cool ravines along a 21-mile section of the Apalachicola River in the panhandle of Florida. The trees were often cut for fuel, fence posts, and shingles, but the species wasn't in danger of extinction until the population crash of the 1950s. By 1962 no adult trees were left in the wild. Of the 1,000 or so individuals alive today, only four are sexually mature and they are all males. Up to 10 percent of the saplings die each year and many others are losing stature as they die back.

Why such a drastic decline? And after millions of years of survival, why wink out now? Unfortunately, we still don't know, although most scientists think the ultimate cause is human related. Many suspect an introduced fungal disease to be the culprit, but if so, it has not been found. "If the pathogen is not introduced," says Hermann, "we may have done something to the environment to stress the plants and make them more susceptible to a native pathogenic species."

Concurrent with the population crash were a drought, nearby dam construction, fire suppression, and conversion of the uplands above the torreya ravines to pine plantations. If a native fungus is the bullet, the most likely smoking gun is fire suppression. The evidence is not conclusive, but the lack of natural fires in the uplands, which used to occur every one to three years, may have created problems. Denser canopies resulting from fire suppression may have limited the light available for torreyas. Also, since smoke is a natural fungicide, the lack of fire may have precipitated an epidemic.

Florida torreyas in cultivation are rare, and they include less than two dozen reproductive females. Some are also dying. Compounding the problem is the fact that germination may take more than a year and squirrels often eat the fruits before they fully mature.

This bleak picture is currently brightened by two small rays of hope. In 1989 the Center for Plant Conservation initiated a propagation program using Cuttings from wild plants to establish four living collections. If these survive to reproduce they may someday provide the stock to reintroduce the species if it becomes extinct in the wild. Also, a handful of wild torreyas are relatively healthy and may soon become sexually mature. Whether they are healthy by natural resistance or luck remains to be seen.

Only a few torreyas along the Apalachicola River reach above six feet, and none pass the size definition of a tree - not exactly a grove of champions. This is a species that normally grows to 60 feet or more. The biggest Florida torreya lives in relative isolation 600 miles away in a yard in Norlina, North Carolina. At 45 feet it is over four times taller than the tallest wild torreya, yet it would have been unremarkable if found among its cousins in Florida 50 years ago. But for a species on the brink of oblivion, every inch of growth, every healthy needle, and every viable seed on any Florida torreya, no matter how big or small, is priceless.

Another Florida tree on the endangered species list is also one of America's most unusual. It has no leaves, no bark, sometimes no branches, and its large white flowers open for only one night to be pollinated, most likely, by the rare Antillean fruit bat. These strange features are explained by its name, Key tree-cactus, but it still looks more like a prop for an alien planet on Star Trek than a tree that evolved on Earth.

Before this century the tree-cactus was abundant throughout the Florida Keys and at two locations in Cuba where it is now also endangered. Today, most of the species' rocky hammock habitat has been bulldozed for more important things like convenience stores. The most recent survey found only 300 individuals on six sites in the Keys. With such a low population in the wild, and very few plants in botanical gardens, the Key tree-cactus is particularly vulnerable to catastrophic loss. Even if it dodges all the hurricanes, this prickly tree still has to contend with the more prevalent human factors. Habitat loss is a major threat since four of the remaining populations are on private land in a part of the country that makes developers drool. But even on public lands the species is still poached by cactus rustlers who covet this rare cousin of the saguaro.

Of the two varieties of tree-cactus, only the unbranched Deering tree-cactus, Cereus robinii var. deeringii, has a champion. Picture a crooked 23-foot flagpole with spines. It was nominated by entomologist Michael Hennessey while he was studying Key tree-cactus, Cereus robinii, reproduction as part of the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service's recovery plan. Considering the rarity of this species, nominations for either should probably be left to researchers and resource managers directly involved with it to reduce the threat of poaching. So great is this threat, that the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service decided not to designate critical habitat or publish any location information. Big-tree aficionadoes will have to hope for the day when this peculiar tree is removed from the endangered species list for becoming too common.

The tree most recently protected by the ESA is the Santa Cruz cypress, added in 1987. Lake the other three, it met the advancement of western civilization handicapped by a specialized habitat requirement and limited geographic range. The species' five populations now total just over 5,000 individuals covering barely more than half a square mile in California's Santa Cruz Mountains.

The primary threats to the Santa Cruz cypress have been rural and agricultural development, logging, fire suppression, and genetic mixing with cultivated cypress trees. One-third of one grove was destroyed by a housing development. A portion of the Bonny Doon grove, by far the largest one remaining, was threatened by a proposed vineyard until an environmental review stalled the plans. Eventually, the Nature Conservancy stepped in to buy the land and create a reserve, but not before someone chopped down the then-champion Santa Cruz cypress, which weighed in at 270 points. No other trees since then have been nominated to replace it.

Today the Santa Cruz cypress is relatively secure in the short term with a number of local, state, and federal regulations in effect. Since the controversy between developers and conservationists has subsided, a new champion would probably be safe. However, the species' fate depends on consistent regeneration, naturally enhanced by fires that stimulate the tight cones to open and drop their seeds. Prescribed burning is a touchy subject in an area peppered with residences, so managers are developing methods to simulate the effects of fire. If that is successful, the future of the Santa Cruz cypress will be relatively secure.

Although there are only four mainland trees on the official endangered species list, they are not the only ones in trouble. The Gowen cypress, a close relative of the Santa Cruz cypress, is a candidate for the endangered species list. The butternut. Fraser fir, and eastern hemlock are considered at risk of becoming endangered. The Franklinia became extinct in the wild over 200 years ago. Even if we could guess at its original habitat along the southeastern coast, it's uncertain whether any of the now-cultivated varieties could survive in the wild.

Other trees without ESA protection but considered by the Center for Plant Conservation to be endangered include the pyramid magnolia, Allegheny plum, Kearney sumac, Florida-privet, and Ozark chinkapin. Except for the Kearney sumac and the Gowen cypress, all have champions that represent hope for their very survival. And all this is to say nothing of the many endangered trees of Puerto Rico, Hawaii, and other U.S. islands whose geographic isolation and small size have made their native species particularly vulnerable (See Little Island, Big Trees on page 48).

There is currently a lot of controversy surrounding the Endangered Species Act. Nearly everyone wants it changed. Some want to strengthen it and add an ecosystem perspective; others seek to weaken the regulations that conflict with business and private interests. But no matter what changes are made, the ESA will still mark the battle line between those who view endangered species as commodities, impediments to Progress, or threats to national or personal economies, and those who see them as sacred beings, sibling species, or at least good neighbors to be respected and valued as unique expressions of life.

In the coming years administrations will come and go, power will shift within Congress, and the economy will rise and fall in relatively short cycles. Meanwhile, species like the Florida torreya that have been around for millions of years will continue to be endangered by human activities and float like unsaved files on a computer screen. We can sit idly by until someone pulls the plug, or we can protect the files now and store backups for the future. Like the U.S. Fish & Wildlife Service's brochures say, extinction is forever; endangered means there's still time.

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RELATED ARTICLE: Making a Place for Gentle Giants

For me and so many others, trees are stalwart symbols of precious days past - the old red maple whose branches bore a budding gymnast, the weeping willow that shielded me from monsters, the row of elms that stood in as goalposts for weekend football games, my grandparents' apple tree that bore odd-shaped, super-tart fruit.

Many of us take trees so much for granted that it can take disaster, disease, or development to rekindle our emotions and spur us into action. Or it can take the realization of just how majestic these giants really are. For many, the impetus is provided by the biennial National Register of Big Trees, this year featuring some 840 trees - each standing as the largest known example of its species.

In the case of the national champion yellow-poplar or tuliptree (Liriodendron tulipifera) in Bedford, Virginia, local developer Thomas Robinson planned to cut down the tree to make room for a housing project until he was informed of its significance. The town's official history maintains that this national champion, which stands 146 feet high with a crown spread of 125 feet and a circumference of 374 inches, has attracted visitors from other states and countries. It is also the star of advertisements for The Davey Tree Expert Company - sponsors of the National Register of Big Trees. Robinson - swayed by popular opinion - donated the land surrounding the tree, valued at more than $10,000, to Bedford. Today the champ's home turf is known as Poplar Park.

Another giant that faced its demise through development was New York City's Bedford-Stuyvesant southern magnolia (Magnolia grandiflora), the state's largest. When the tree was considered an impediment to Brooklyn's urban-renewal process in the 1970s, community activist Hattie Carthan gathered more than 100 kids and enough money for its survival. The tree is now a New York City landmark.

In a similar vein, Jacksonville, Florida's Treaty Oak (Quercus virginiana) - under whose branches, legend has it, treaties were signed with local Indian tribes - presides over its own seven-acre city park. Developers planned to cut this tree down in 1948 in the name of progress until Jessie Ball dupont, philanthropist and wife of Alfred duPont - millionaire son of the chemical company family - responded to a plea from the Garden Club of Jacksonville by purchasing the property upon which the tree stood. According to the Jessie Ball dupont Fund, Mrs. dupont conveyed the land to the city, stipulating that it should be used only for a public park.

At Old Tucson movie studios in Arizona, maintenance crews lovingly tend to the national champion Jerusalem-thorn (Parkinsonia aculeata), which has starred opposite such luminaries as John Wayne, Jimmy Stewart, Emilio Estevez, Steve Martin, and Clint Eastwood in movies ranging from Rio Bravo and Winchester 73 to Young Guns and Three Amigos.

"We pay special attention to this tree - including enlisting the expertise of the state forest service and undergoing a major project to stake it up - since it is the largest of its kind," Old Tucson's head gardener Gary Allen says. The tree - which survived a recent fire on the studio grounds but now has a split trunk, making it susceptible to high winds - is the focal point of the studio's themed-attraction area.

Dedicated individuals, inspired by the grace. beauty, age, history, and the environmental benefits of these regal relics, have done much to teach others the importance of preserving these trees - the biggest and oldest we know. And the Register is inspiration to all who read it to search for, measure, and nominate the biggest trees they can find in hopes of preserving even more of these gentle giants. - EMILY KNACK

RELATED ARTICLE: Planting Potential Champions & Learning History Too

Being one-on-one with a big tree is good for the ego; that massive trunk and broad canopy inspire awe while reminding us of our small place in the ecosystem. Try to imagine that giant 200 or 300 years ago: a seedling emerging in a totally different world. That's one of the beauties of these champion trees; they're both a link with the past and a hope for the future.

AMERICAN FORESTS combines the past, present, and future in a practical program called Living Classrooms. Hundreds of schools throughout the country have planted these special tree groves on their school grounds or in adjacent parks and open lands. Students combine tree planting and care with curriculum materials to learn about history, science, and the environment.

The trees in Living Classrooms come from AMERICAN FORESTS' Famous & Historic Trees collection. We have located and authenticated hundreds of special trees, some alive when Columbus sailed for America, others growing during the American Revolution or on Civil War battlefields.

A Living Classroom consists of 20 Famous & Historic Trees selected by teachers and their students. AMERICAN FORESTS provides the trees, fertilizer, tree stakes and shelters, and written and video directions for planting. Teacher-designed curriculum materials on urban forestry, sustainable development, history, and science are provided. And as these trees continue to grow, they will continue to educate generations of children.

Consider the possibilities with a Revolutionary War Living Classroom that includes offspring of the Patrick Henry osage-orange, which grows at the patriot's home in Red Hill, Virginia, and is the national champion for its species. The Marquis de Lafayette, who fought for the American colonists and was wounded at the Battle of Brandywine in Pennsylvania, had his wounds attended while leaning against what is the parent tree of the Lafayette sycamore. Its "TreeStory" is used as a jumping-off point for students to learn about historical links between the U.S. and its foreign allies.

Students can learn about the Civil Rights movement by choosing to plant offspring of the Martin Luther King Jr. water oak. The tree grows in front of the Brown Chapel AME Church in Selma, Alabama, where the famous civil-rights march to the state capitol began.

Hundreds of Living Classrooms are being planted by schools every year. Corporate and institutional sponsors provide the trees and the educational materials to schools in their area. Who knows. . . one of the trees we plant in a Living Classroom today may one day reign as a national champion.

To learn more about how you can become involved in providing Living Classrooms to schools in your area, or how to purchase a Famous & Historic Tree for your own yard, please call 800/320-8733 for a copy of our Famous & Historic Trees catalog.