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WILDLIFE
Tree ferns hold their secrets close. But now, scientists are finding new ways to unfurl them
In an underground carpark at the University of Auckland, James Brock manhandles patients out of a van and lugs them inside, their tops brushing doorways as he strides through the corridors of a windowless basement. On weekdays, this clinic is frequented by human patients, doctors, technicians and medical researchers. This Saturday morning, however, it’s playing host to tree ferns—three of them, which until two days ago were lined up next to an array of other native ferns at a local garden centre. In preparation for their appointment, the tree ferns must be immobilised. Brock, who is British, bearded, and an ecologist, winds plastic wrap around their trunks and lower fronds with the help of two technicians, Scott Jonas and Beau Pontré. Jonas swaddles a ponga in a final layer of yellow plastic, then lays it on a gurney. Over top, he arranges a set of flexible foam and wire frames called coils. A topknot of foliage protrudes off the end of the gurney, and Pontré carefully adjusts the greenery so it won’t get caught in the machine. “We want all our patients to be comfortable,” he says. Then Jonas wheels the gurney into the magnet room, its ceiling adorned with bright images of flowering pōhutukawa. He slides the strapped-up ponga inside a big white pod that looks like a giant sunbed. A Spotify “Just Chill” playlist is softly crooning inside. Brock watches through the window in the neighbouring control room, crossing his fingers and muttering “please work!” under his breath. He and this unlikely team are probably the first people ever to give a tree fern an MRI. Keep reading...
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