Deep in the shadows of redwood understory, when winter rains still drip on the mosses and ferns, an unusual flower heralds the beginning of the blooms—a sort of “flower new year” before spring. It bears a common name worthy of a death-metal band: the fetid adder’s-tongue (plus two less-metal alternatives: slinkpod and brownies) and a scientific name worthy of a Barry White cover band: Scoliopus bigelovii. From January through March, this little lily-family flower turns the heads of those observant enough to spot it in the dark winter light.
Imagine that Dr. Seuss sketched a flower—how would he stylize it? Clownishly large green leaves with purple polka dots: check. Deep purple-brown stripes running down the length of the bloom: check. Wavy lines coming off it, to depict its stinky scent: check (at least, in my imagination).
What appear to be petals are not. These graceful striped ovals tapering to a point are sepals—structures that protect the reproductive parts of flowers as they form (think of the small green leaves just beneath the bloom of a rose). They rest underneath the real petals, which are three dainty, dark, upward-pointing wisps that encircle the flower’s reproductive parts. The evolutionary purpose behind those purple polka dots on the leaves is still a scientific mystery. I try not to personify plants, but I still like to imagine those spots are solely for flair.
What about that “fetid” stink? I’ve heard it described as wet dog, stinky gym socks, or rotting meat, and maybe one of these days I’ll be lucky enough to catch a whiff. Perhaps I don’t get close enough; perhaps it blends in with the earthy aroma of a damp redwood forest. The purpose of the aroma is to attract its pollinators: flies and fungus gnats.
Fungus gnats are the same little insects you might find buzzing around overwatered houseplants. They love the funky smell. While it might seem surprising for tiny gnats to serve as main pollinators, it makes sense given the dark forest-understory setting, where sun-lovers like bees are hard to come by. Fungus gnats aren’t the most efficient pollinators. They can’t fly far, and their tiny hairless bodies are just mediocre at picking up pollen grains. But they are frequent visitors and are usually found in large masses, which makes up for some limitations. Eighty percent of success is showing up, as Woody Allen said.
When the insects land on the long, runway-like sepals, they are rewarded with a small amount of nectar. Each flower bears three complete pollination units, with all the reproductive bits manifested in triplicate, which increases the chances of successful pollination. More often than not, the gnats do manage it. I have a whole new respect for the tiny creatures buzzing around my houseplants. Bumblebees they are not. But they get the job done for our fetid friends.
These plants also spread their seeds in a remarkable way. Each seed comes with fatty packets, called elaiosomes, affixed to it. Ants love this, and will carry the whole calorie-dense prize back to their nests as one would an extra-large pizza. Ants are very sanitary creatures, and after consuming the elaiosome, they discard the denuded seed at their designated ant garbage pile. Seed dispersal by ants is called myrmecochory (impress your friends at parties with that one). Biologists have theorized that it helps seeds survive, by allowing them to safely incubate in clusters in or near an ant nest, away from seed-eating predators.
From Santa Cruz through Humboldt County, find the fetid adder’s-tongue in the moist, shady understories of redwood forests or mixed conifer forests. The comically big leaves will tip you off to the petite flowers. Adder’s-tongues grow from rhizomes, or modified underground stems, so where you see one, you’re likely to find more.
Bring your A game to spot this spotted beauty. I’ve either walked past these flowers or arrived too late more times than I’d like to admit. In her 1900 book The Wild Flowers of California, Mary Elizabeth Parsons said it well: “Unless we hasten, we shall be too late to see its curious flowers.” It’s a secretive bloom, but worth the hunt.
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