In the vast headwaters of the Orinoco, a casual Instagram photograph became the unlikely seed of a scientific discovery — a giant water lily, its pads stretching two meters across, growing where no such plant was thought to exist. Carlos Magdalena, a specialist at Kew Gardens, recognized the geographic impossibility in the image and set in motion nearly two years of preparation, culminating in a midnight expedition through flooded Colombian rainforest guided by Indigenous knowledge. The result was the formal recognition of Victoria colombiana, only the fourth known species in its genus, with a
Instagram Photo Leads to Discovery of Rare Giant Water Lily Species in Colombia
Nature is still full of surprises and wonder.
So this all started because someone posted a photo on Instagram without realizing what they'd found?
Exactly. Jeremiah Harris was just documenting his trip to Colombia, photographing plants he encountered. He thought he was looking at a common species.
But how confident are we that this is actually a new species and not just a regional variant of an existing one? What does the formal description actually show?
The taxonomic work compared it against herbarium specimens—Kew alone holds 6.4 million dried plant samples. The differences were significant enough to warrant a new species designation.
And the midnight expedition—that wasn't just dramatic storytelling, right? They actually needed that flowering specimen?
They needed it. Without a flower, botanists can't complete the formal description. It's the standard requirement for species documentation.
Thirty to fifty plants in the wild is the estimate, but how solid is that number? Are they saying they've surveyed the entire region?
They've identified three lakes where the species appears, and satellite imagery suggests more may be visible during drier seasons. But the terrain makes comprehensive surveying difficult.
What happens now? Is this species protected?
They're working toward an official critically endangered designation. There are also plans to cultivate specimens in Bogotá and potentially establish a backup population in a more accessible location for both conservation and ecotourism.
The ecotourism angle—is that a genuine conservation strategy or does it risk drawing too much attention to an already fragile population?
That's the tension. The idea is to establish it in Indigenous territory where local communities can benefit and help protect it. But you're right that it's a calculated risk.
And the Indigenous guides—how central were they to actually finding these plants?
Essential. Melo's knowledge of the waterways at night in complete darkness is what made the breakthrough possible. This wasn't a discovery by outsiders; it was a collaboration.
Le Pouls
- A botanist's instinct — that a plant was growing somewhere it simply should not be — transformed a social media post into a two-year scientific mission.
- With their return flight hours away and only flowerless specimens found, the expedition teetered on the edge of failure, unable to complete the formal classification science requires.
- At 1 a.m., an Indigenous boatman named Gustavo Melo led the team deeper into flooded darkness, staking the entire effort on his intimate knowledge of the terrain.
- Just before sunrise, a single flowering plant was found in a hidden jungle lake — enough to save the expedition and anchor a new species to the scientific record.
- Victoria colombiana now exists in the formal ledger of life, but with only 30 to 50 individuals estimated in the wild, its recognition and its endangerment arrived almost simultaneously.
- Conservation efforts — seed collection, cultivation, potential ecotourism — are racing to secure a future for a species that science barely had time to name before it risked disappearing.
In the vast headwaters of the Orinoco, a casual Instagram photograph became the unlikely seed of a scientific discovery — a giant water lily, its pads stretching two meters across, growing where no such plant was thought to exist. Carlos Magdalena, a specialist at Kew Gardens, recognized the geographic impossibility in the image and set in motion nearly two years of preparation, culminating in a midnight expedition through flooded Colombian rainforest guided by Indigenous knowledge. The result was the formal recognition of Victoria colombiana, only the fourth known species in its genus, with an estimated 30 to 50 individuals remaining in the wild. It is a reminder that the living world still holds secrets, and that discovery often begins not in a laboratory, but in a moment of careful attention.
A photograph posted to Instagram set in motion a chain of events that would end with the formal recognition of a plant science had never documented. Carlos Magdalena, a water lily specialist at the Royal Botanic Gardens in Kew, saw the image — a giant water lily floating in Colombia's Inírida River — and immediately understood the problem: Victoria water lilies were not supposed to grow there. The Inírida sits in the headwater drainage of the Orinoco, well outside the known range of any Victoria species. The geography alone suggested something extraordinary.
Magdalena turned to satellite imagery and found the plants' distinctive circular silhouettes visible from space. He contacted Mauricio Bernal at the Jardín Botánico de Bogotá, and together they began planning an expedition with Indigenous guides — Nilo Rodríguez, Jaime Hernández, and Gustavo Melo — who knew the waterways intimately. Nearly two years of preparation followed before the team departed for the field.
The expedition nearly collapsed. By the fifth day, with their flight back to Bogotá scheduled for 9 a.m., the team had found only two plants — neither in flower. Without a flowering specimen to press and preserve as a herbarium voucher, formal species description was impossible. At 11 p.m., Magdalena explained the situation to Gustavo Melo, their boatman from the Indigenous Tucano community. Melo said he knew where to look. At 1 a.m., with ten hours remaining, the team headed deeper into the flooded rainforest in complete darkness.
Just before sunrise, they reached a hidden lake and found five more water lilies — one of them in bloom. The team documented seven plants across two lakes, then raced back to catch their flight. The specimens were deposited in Bogotá's herbarium, and the formal scientific work began. The new species, named Victoria colombiana, was described in the journal Phytotaxa — only the fourth known member of its remarkable genus.
Satellite analysis later identified a third lake, and the total wild population is estimated at between 30 and 50 individuals. The species is critically endangered almost from the moment of its naming. Conservation efforts are now underway: seed collection, cultivation programs in Bogotá, and discussions about establishing a protected population within Indigenous territory. There is even hope that one day Victoria colombiana might grow at Kew Gardens, alongside the cousins it took so long for science to distinguish it from.
A photograph posted to Instagram five years ago set in motion a chain of events that would culminate in a midnight boat race through a flooded Colombian rainforest and the formal recognition of a species that science had never documented. The plant in question was a giant water lily, its circular pads stretching up to two meters across, floating in the Inírida River in Colombia's Guainía region—a place where such plants were not supposed to exist.
Carlos Magdalena, a water lily specialist at the Royal Botanic Gardens in Kew, England, saw the photograph posted by Jeremiah Harris, an American who runs a carnivorous plant nursery. Harris had taken the image during a trip to the Inírida region and had casually identified it as Victoria amazonica, a species already well known to science. But Magdalena recognized something was wrong. The known range of Victoria water lilies does not extend to the Inírida River, which sits in the headwater drainage of the Orinoco, South America's third-longest river. The geography alone suggested the possibility of an undescribed species.
Magdalena began searching satellite imagery of the Inírida and its surrounding lakes, scanning for the distinctive circular silhouettes of Victoria pads. He found them—multiple plants visible from space, confirming that something worth investigating was growing in that remote corner of the Amazon. He reached out to Mauricio Bernal at the Jardín Botánico de Bogotá and together they began planning an expedition. They worked with Indigenous members of local reserves—Nilo Rodríguez, Jaime Hernández, and Gustavo Melo—who knew the territory and its waterways. Rodríguez recalled seeing the water lilies as a child but said he had not observed many in recent years. Nearly two years of preparation followed before the team was ready to depart.
When they finally reached the Inírida, the expedition seemed destined to fail. By the fifth day, with their return flight to Bogotá scheduled for 9 a.m., they had located only two individual plants—and neither was flowering. A flowering specimen was essential. Botanists rely on pressed and dried plant material, called herbarium vouchers, to formally describe and distinguish species from one another. Without a flower, they had no way to complete the scientific work. The water levels were high and the rainy season had been intense, making the plants appear stressed.
That night, at 11 p.m., Magdalena explained their predicament to Gustavo Melo, the expedition's boatman from the Indigenous Tucano community, a group known for exceptional navigational skill. Melo said he knew exactly where to find more specimens. With ten hours remaining before their flight, the team departed at 1 a.m., heading away from the airport and deeper into the flooded rainforest in complete darkness, trusting Melo's knowledge of the terrain. Just before sunrise, they reached a small lake in the middle of the jungle. There they found a second population containing five additional water lilies—and one of them was in flower.
The team documented seven plants across two lakes before rushing back to the airport in time for their flight. The specimens were deposited at the herbarium in Bogotá, and the formal scientific work began under the supervision of Maarten Christenhusz, a plant taxonomist working in Wales. The new species was named Victoria colombiana and formally described in the journal Phytotaxa. It joins only three other known species in the genus Victoria—a remarkably small family for plants so large and distinctive.
Satellite analysis revealed a third lake where the water lily was present, and the team estimates between 30 and 50 individual plants exist in the wild. The species is extremely rare and faces extinction. The terrain that makes the plants accessible by boat during high water becomes nearly impassable on foot when water levels drop in the dry season, creating a paradox for conservation efforts. The team is pursuing an official assessment of the species as critically endangered and is working toward long-term protection, including the possibility of establishing a naturalized population in a more accessible lake within Indigenous territory. Efforts are also underway to collect seeds and cultivate plants in Bogotá, with the hope that one day Victoria colombiana might grow alongside its cousins at Kew Gardens.
Citations marquantes
This is one of those extraordinary stories where Indigenous and horticultural knowledge, with the help of social media and technology, came together to uncover a truly extraordinary botanical achievement.— Carlos Magdalena, Royal Botanic Gardens, Kew
This new giant water lily can even be seen from space, which is a striking reminder of how much we still don't know about life on our planet.— Maarten Christenhusz, plant taxonomist