Schnurr Columbine !!install!! Page
By the 1960s, the Schnurr Columbine was unofficially considered extinct. This is not the end of the story. Enter the Fennimore family of Colorado Springs. David Fennimore, a high school biology teacher, had read Schnurr’s original 1931 paper as a graduate student. He became obsessed. Every summer, he dragged his reluctant wife, Eleanor, and their two teenage children up treacherous slopes with a tattered copy of Schnurr’s hand-drawn map.
They had found the Schnurr Columbine, alive and thriving, in a micro-habitat less than 200 square feet. The rediscovery was kept secret for five years to prevent poaching. Eventually, the Fennimores worked with the U.S. Forest Service to protect the site. Today, the exact location remains undisclosed to the public, though a small interpretive sign at the Pikes Peak Highway overlook mentions the flower's story. schnurr columbine
In the high, thin air of the Colorado Rockies, where the growing season is measured in weeks and the wildflowers cling to life in shattered granite, one plant stands apart. It is not the tallest, nor the most fragrant. But to those who know its story, the Schnurr Columbine is a living legend—a botanical anomaly that might have vanished if not for the dedication of a single family. By the 1960s, the Schnurr Columbine was unofficially
Charles Schnurr found it once. The Fennimore family found it again. And today, thanks to careful stewardship, this pale, spiky jewel continues to bloom in the cold wind, reminding us that sometimes the rarest things are hiding right where we’ve already looked—if only we look closer. "In the end, it wasn't a grant or an institution that saved it," Margaret Fennimore-Torres says. "It was a family who loved a mystery more than a vacation." Have you seen an unusual high-altitude columbine? Contact the Colorado Native Plant Society at [email protected]. David Fennimore, a high school biology teacher, had
The verdict? A natural, stable variant—unique to the Pikes Peak massif. In 1931, it was formally named Aquilegia schnurrii in his honor. Here is where the story takes a somber turn. After its discovery, the Schnurr Columbine was never found again. For nearly 40 years, botanists scoured the Pikes Peak region. Expeditions returned empty-handed. The type specimen—the single dried plant in New York—became a ghost. Many concluded that the original population had been destroyed by a rockslide or over-collecting.
The spurs were too long. The color was wrong—a pale buttercream rather than the standard blue. The leaves were fuzzier, almost silvery. He collected a single specimen, pressed it carefully, and sent it to the New York Botanical Garden.
