HELP – what is this plant? It’s a Puya chilensis…

This weird spikey plant was spotted at Errislannen, near Ballyconneely, Co Galway. It grows upwards like an echium, though straighter and thicker, and was grown from seed collected in Tresco. Anyone got any idea what it is? The brain is getting exhausted from all the racking I’m giving it…
Have found out; it’s a Puya chilensis:

Puya is a genus of over 160 species, the majority of which are to be found on the mountains and foothills of the Andes. They are bromeliads but not the epiphytic, tree hugging sort but terrestrials, with strong root systems buried in the earth. Of the eight species grown in the Abbey Gardens, it is Puya chilensis and P. berteroniana that are the most effective when it comes to pulling the birds, as it were. The basic form of these species is a large rosette of slender, pale green, blade-like leaves, which make for a plant both striking and graceful. Over the years they form extensive clumps, spreading along the contours of the land, the rosettes standing up to 2m high. Puya chilensis was first introduced on Tresco in 1848 and was planted on a terraced bank in the middle of the garden. It now occupies, to the exclusion of all vegetation except the wily bramble, a commanding site over 30m long and 8m deep. This thick swathe of puya has inched its way down the bank over the past 154 years, leaving behind it snaking trails of stout brown trunks.

Each spring the clumps of puyas send up great spikes, 2-3m high, atop which cluster the flowers. The actual flower head is about 1m long and packed with racemes of chunky flowers, the sterile tips of which stick out, affording a perch for thirsty birds. In silhouette, the ensemble is akin to a huge medieval mace. The individual waxy blooms are 6-8cms long, providing a deep receptacle for the nectar that the birds, bees and even some gardeners find so compelling. Yes, I must confess… the flesh is weak…I have succumbed to the sensual delights of the Puya. A recently opened flower, plucked on a dewy morning, contains a delicious nip of syrupy nectar, providing a honey espresso for the jaded gardener, as well as the busy pollinator.

For the horticulturalist, the attractions of the Puya in bloom are not limited to illicit nectar drinking. The individual Puya flower is a thing of beauty and wonder. The flowers of P. chilensis are a strident green-yellow, bright without being lurid, as if lit from within. Puya berteroniana has one of the most improbably coloured flowers that I have ever seen. It is a deep shade of metallic blue-green, which luxuriantly offsets the orange pollen-tipped stamens.

There is a sinister aspect to the Puya: the margins of the leaves are edged with fiendish, hooked thorns. These are bad news for the weeding gardener, but far worse news for the sheep of the Andes. Woolly fleeces become easily entangled and a grazing sheep can find itself pinned helplessly to the fringes of the huge clumps of Puya like a piece of wind-blown fluff. Marooned, the sheep will perish from starvation. On the positive side, the unfortunate creature does provide a handy slow-release fertilizer for the Puya. In a less direct way, sheep have proved a far greater threat to the Puya. On the harsh mountain slopes of the Andes there is precious little fuel for the local shepherds. The Puya contains a highly flammable resin and the shepherds’ fires have served as pyres to entire communities of Puyas.

Since 1843 P. chilensis has endured some harsh spells of weather on Tresco. Snow, frost, wind-chill of –20 and hurricanes has yet to trouble seriously this venerable plant. For those wishing to try a Puya on the mainland this is a reason for optimism. Nevertheless, I would advise caution. I would mature a Puya in a pot for a few years before leaving it to the merciless elements: fatten it up. Of course, it will have to go in that sunny, well-drained spot by the south facing wall that you have kept free for just such an opportunity. Now wait 15-20 years and then, God willing, you too can relish the gorgeous nectar of the Puya. Simple. Just keep an eye on those sheep.

Alasdair Moore
Tresco Abbey Garden
29th April 2003