Have Trunk, Will Travel : Giant Plants Are Now Big Business. The Problem: Getting Them to Their Destination in One Piece.

THAIS AGUIRRE climbs up the rutted dirt road that cuts through the field of oversize cactus. She checks her order sheet once more, then scans the thousands of specimen plants that litter Silhouettes of the Desert’s steeply pitched slope in Vista, Calif. She ignores the slender cactuses that grow in dense patches of greens and pewters. Her gaze stops on a Euphorbia ingens , a waxy, cactus-like succulent with branching arms that stands tall and alone. Its sculptured look makes it a top seller among interior “plant-scapers” and designers. But for cactus movers, the tapered base on this 10-footer presents a problem, as does the long arm that juts out midway up the stalk. Even if the South African succulent can be safely dug up, its single arm can snap when it is lying on its side with hundreds of other plants in the truck. The solution: paper--even more than the ample amount usually used to protect the Euphorbia ingens ‘ prominent ridges, which are easily bruised or broken.

So two men stuff crumpled wads of butcher paper between the branches to stabilize them during the move, then start to wind the paper around and around the plant. Meanwhile, other workers use long, thin scoop shovels to dig out the base. Suddenly the plant begins to wobble and the diggers pause, to make sure that the plant won’t uproot itself. “Now we play catch as it comes down,” says Aguirre once most of the roots have been severed. The fields are so steep that it’s impossible to use cranes or forklifts. Instead, the men strain to lower the newly dug 300-pound plant onto a co-worker’s protected shoulder, where it will rest until it’s completely padded. His legs shake with the strain as the others race to finish the job.

When fully wrapped, the Euphorbia ingens looks like a giant, mummified Tootsie Roll Pop. Silhouettes owner Connie Tarman recalls the time when an agricultural inspector at the Arizona state line stopped one of her shipments and called the police. “They were sure that we had illegal aliens, standing (with their arms up), pretending to be cactus,” she says.

One task finished, Aguirre heads off to look for the next plant on the order, a 12-foot version of the last find. But nothing in this field will work. She has to bypass the crop of multiples--single plants with two or more separate stalks or clumps--because they’re more expensive ($350 to $500 each wholesale, with about a 250% markup for retail) than the single-stalk plant that the decorator has ordered ($200 to $250 each).

Suddenly a voice sounds from Aguirre’s beeper. “Add on. Need Mexican fence posts, a 10, nine, eight, seven, six.” The dense stand of Mexican fence posts, tall, light-green cactus about 8 to 10 inches in diameter with shallow ridges edged in grayish white, lies low and to the right. Aguirre squeezes through the thicket to find the plants she wants, then directs the removal crew. “Wrap more paper around the top so it doesn’t snap,” she directs. “Cushion it real good.” On these plants, the new, soft growth at the tip is the most delicate part.

The plants are stored in an old greenhouse until they can be loaded, layer upon layer, into the truck. The number of succulents to be shipped--779; the price--$20,000.

Business lately has been good. Though the Southwest look has been popular since the early ‘80s, within the past year, sales of specimens at Silhouettes--which claims to be the country’s largest wholesaler--have jumped. Like many of their orders, this load is destined for a new luxury hotel in Arizona. That’s not as crazy as it sounds. Though the state is known for its own giant desert cactus, the saguaro, many of the plants installed in interiors are succulents from the more humid climates of Africa and South America; they can’t stand life outdoors in the Arizona desert. So, since they would have to be raised in greenhouses in Arizona--cooled in summer, heated in winter, it’s far cheaper to buy them in temperate Vista, which is considered to be the succulent and cactus capital of the world.

GUARANTEEING that plants arrive intact becomes something of an imperative when they can cost more than $50,000. There’s no single right way to move giant cactuses and succulents, but there is a wrong way. Although they’re heavier than people usually think, “most cactus are fragile,” says Bill Cook, co-owner of the Plant Shop’s Botanical Gardens in Reseda. “They’re water-storage mechanisms with cells and thin skins.” Awkward to handle due to weight, shape and spines, the spongy plants can break just as easily as their outer layer can tear. Snapping off a spine is inconsequential, but a break in the pad or flesh will either scar it, reducing its value, or invite infection, which could kill the plant.

Sometimes the job takes professionals. Kevin Coniff and Bob Turner move trees for a living. Most of their work is in palms, but in their four years of informal partnership, they’ve moved more than 50 large cactus or succulents. Their favorite part of each job is planning the move. “We try to figure out where the center of gravity would be, where the weak points of the tree will be so we can try to overcome them,” Coniff says.

They’d begun working out their moving strategy for a recent job, a 14-foot dragon tree-- Dracaena draco , also known as dragon’s blood dracaena because of its crystalline red sap--months before the owner made up her mind to part with the tree. They would use Turner’s 14 1/2-ton crane to heave the 8-ton tree onto the flatbed that would take it to the growing field that Coniff leases. To stabilize it during the ride, they’d try something new: dropping the tree into a section of culvert pipe that would already be on the flatbed, then shoveling in 10 yards of wet sand to hold it steady.

Two days after the owner finally agrees to sell, Coniff and Turner are readying the specimen for its cross-town journey. They clip back the foliage that hangs low, making the tree’s 19 heads look like pineapples. The trimming reveals the branching pattern, and it cuts the trauma of the transplant by reducing the number of leaves that the tree will have to supply with its temporarily diminished stock of water.

Coniff and three helpers start to pad each of the tree’s 52 branches with a section of foam or carpet, which they snugly fit, then cover with burlap to keep it from slipping once they attach the crane’s straps. Coniff bounces the branches with one hand to see which joints are weak. They move easily. A buttress on the underside of the branches strengthens them against gravitational pull, but no such reinforcement exists on the top. To keep that inside joint from snapping, Coniff and Turner have to brace the branches with an intricate wooden web cinched tight with wire cables that they’ve run through sections of old garden hose, so they don’t cut into the bark.

The men wrap and brace into the evening and again the following morning. When their crew finally starts digging, they use an ax rather than a chain saw to cut through those large roots that can’t be broken with shovels; they want to make the cut clean. The smooth wound, which they’ll cover with pruning tar later, will seal better than a jagged chain-saw cut would.

A crowd begins to gather when the crane starts up at just after 10 a.m. “I think they offered her $1,000,” a neighbor speculates. In truth, the price, which will take into account the cost of removing several other trees--one sick, two of small value--has yet to be set.

Minutes later the tree starts to pull loose with a series of muffled pops. It rises five feet and stops. The workers trim the hanging roots and chop at the width of the root ball, since it’s too wide to fit into the culvert pipe.

Before the flatbed starts up, the movers discuss the itinerary. It has changed three times since morning, and with each new decision, a scout must determine the exact heights of signals, wires, signs and underpasses along the way. If they can lift up the 18-foot wires the plant will have to clear, this path will work, the team decides. Coniff and one of the laborers climb into the tree for the ride.

The caravan slowly pulls out from the curb, Coniff’s pickup in front, the crane behind. At 25 m.p.h., each bump sends tremors through the plant’s trunk, branches and bracing, but they hold steady. The load is about two feet higher than Coniff had anticipated. He grabs the low wire that his assistant has hoisted with a rake and flings it behind him. It clears the rest of the branches. Wire after wire is raised and hurled back until Coniff yells “Hot!” and the two men drop to avoid an electrical line. They miss one wire. The truck driver, who has been weaving to avoid obstacles, doesn’t see it. The wire flicks Coniff across the nose and upper lip before it rips from the pole. “There goes one,” he yells, unfazed. He’ll report it later.

That’s the only wire they hit. And aside from a single tip of the dragon tree that snaps halfway off when the truck gets too close to a telephone pole, the plant survives the trip unscathed. For Coniff and Turner, that’s the whole point. “Anyone can move something big,” says Coniff. “The challenge is to try and move it undamaged.”