Let's Have Some Fun, Gus!

Day 29: Any time I'm out, I'm watching for the unusual. It's not a conscious process, but rather a subconscious one: registering the out-of-place against a backdrop of the commonplace, finding the needle in the haystack not by hunting for the needle but by giving hay second billing. This talent (and I admit it is a talent, although not one I worked to learn) has served me well over the years, allowing me to find new species for the Park, for my immediate area, for the county. When something catches my eye, it's nearly always accompanied by verbalization: "That's weird!" or "What the hell is that?" Such was the case while I was walking through the deciduous litter of my favourite Cowlitz Wildlife Area. A white crust fungus stopped me in my tracks. Closer investigation showed that it was growing from inside drill holes in a decaying alder. I don't know if they were made by a bird or insects, but I rather suspect the former. A cleft in the trunk also showed a substantial deposit of the growth. I photographed it, fully expecting to be able to at least place it in the proper genus when I got home. When that failed to produce the desired result, I sent the image off to David at the Burke Herbarium with the heading "Mystery Fungus." David knows me well enough to understand that means I've found something notable. In turn, he referred the image out to two mycologists, and sent me their replies with the addition that if indeed it was what they suggested, it would be the first record of it in the state. State! David wanted to know if I could get a specimen. I returned an apology: "I'm down flat with a reaction from my COVID booster," I said, "and we've got nasty weather coming in tomorrow." I'm sure my readers know what's coming next. Scientist that I am, with the possibility of adding a new species to the state list under my name, I lasted all of an hour before heading out the door. These two specimens are currently in my food dehydrator in preparation for submitting them to David. He will then refer them to a tame mycologist for microscopic analysis and chemical testing to determine if the species is indeed what we believe it to be. That was fun, Gus!

Reclamation

Day 28: Not much has changed in the 25-plus years since I first found this old guy. The leaf litter has gotten a bit deeper and the moss is having its way with the wooden wheel spokes, but for as damp as the forest is here, I would have expected his bones to have rusted away at least to a point that I could discern some level of decline. He was built to last, but at some point, I imagine his inner workings failed, and if the farmer serviced him and got him back on the job for a while, his demise was inevitable. Left where he took his last gasp, Mother Nature is doing her best to gather him to her bosom even though his spirit lingers.

Scenic View

Day 27: The last ten days or so have been rainy and blowy, so when the Weather Gods cut us a break yesterday, I decided it was time for an autumn hike through an area managed by Cowlitz Wildlife and Tacoma Power near Mossyrock Dam. The trees here are largely deciduous: alders, big-leaf maple, cottonwood, the occasional cascara and an abundance of smaller, shrubbier species. The hardwoods often provide me with excitement in the form of fungi and lichens I don't find elsewhere, and indeed I found a few gems during my walk. At some point in its history, this was agricultural land. A barn stood on this hill, as can be discerned from a base of concrete which was never removed. The pastureland below was previously obscured by mounds of blackberries, but was mowed this last summer in an attempt at weed control. Now it affords a beautiful view of the area, and one which took me entirely by surprise as I looped my way back to my car. It wasn't a long hike...a mere four mile circuit...nor one with any substantial elevation gain, but after weeks of sitting, it was just the perfect length for a few rather breezy hours outdoors.

Trillium Bonus

Day 169: I'd gone prowling in the local woods on a trillium hunt only a few days prior to a hike in the Mossyrock area, returning home without having observed a single leaf. Our populations of this native wildflower have suffered greatly from human predation (for that is what I choose to call it), and now they are no longer as abundant in our lowland forests as they were when I was a youngster. I suppose they would still be categorized as "common," although it has been many years since I would have chosen that term to describe their occurrence. Nowadays, each and every one delights me with its flower almost as much as the clusters of them in the acreage behind our house did when I was a child. I remember picking one, bringing it home to my mother who gave me a stern lecture on its fragile botany, and never again did I look at the plant in quite the same way. It may have been that lesson which first made me aware of man's sins against nature; in any event, I learned to respect and value plant life in situ from that moment forward. Perhaps that's why I make this annual pilgrimage to find the first trilliums of the season: penance, and to ask their forgiveness for the one of their number which I so brutally destroyed almost three-quarters of a century ago.

Hypogymnia Physodes

Day 168: Collectively, the Hypogymnias are commonly known as "tube lichens." Why? If you examine one closely, you will see that the lobes are puffy, like miniature balloon animals. In some species, this resemblance is accentuated by each lobe being pinched at the base. Hypogymnia physodes does not exhibit these restrictions, but it has another characteristic which makes it relatively easy to identify, and one which gives it its common name of "Monk's-hood Lichen." The inset takes a closer view of the lobe tips, revealing the powdery or granular soralia (asexual reproductive structures) typical of this species. Where the soralia have fallen away, the tubular nature of the lobes becomes obvious. The lower surface of this lichen is black, but if it is separated from the upper layer to reveal the underside of the pale green top (the medullary ceiling), it will be seen to be white. Differences in the colour of the medullary ceiling are also diagnostic when trying to identify Hypogymnias.

Sweet Cardamine

Day 167: It was one of the few things on my list of goals which actually worked out according to plan during my hike in the Cowlitz Wildlife area near Mossyrock a few days ago, although I was an hour and a half into the walk before I spotted the first ones. Cardamine (Cardamine nuttallii) is one of our earliest flowering species, and for years, I served it badly by never being able to remember its name. Eventually, I struck upon the idea that "it's something to do with 'heart' and it starts with a C...cardio-, carda-...cardamine!" and now the common name is firmly cemented in my brain (or perhaps it's my brain which is cement). In any case, I believe it is at its prettiest when the flowers are still nodding, before they open out into the four distinct petals which are characteristic of crucifers. At this stage, one can imagine them as the skirts of faeries, an interpretation influenced by one of my favourite books from childhood, Elizabeth Gordon's "Flower Children." The book has nothing to do with hippies, having been published first in 1910, long before the psychedelic generation was born, and illustrates common garden flowers as flapper-style garments worn by humanesque figures. It was through that book that I learned at a very early age to identify columbine and buttercup. In fact, I would say it seeded my interest in botany even before I could read the words of the poems which accompany each drawing. Even today, I see faeries in the skirts of hollyhocks, old men in bearded corn, dancers in the iris' ballroom gowns, and tiny sprites in the dainty bells of Cardamine.

Stick Art

Day 165: First and foremost, Mother Nature is a scientist. Of that, there can be no doubt, but it is not always about improving design to make it more efficient or durable. Sometimes her creative side surfaces and then, if we are privileged, we may witness an exhibition of her art.

I had several goals in mind when I left home yesterday for a hike. Very few of them bore any fruit. I did manage to cover five or six miles without seeing or hearing another human being, although the buzz of a chainsaw was audible from the top of the hill. It temporarily drowned out the chorus of Pacific Tree Frogs who were singing their spring anthem in the wetland below, though not the voices of Canada Geese flying overhead. Once back in the forest, the chips and cheeps of woodland birds were the only sounds, and I was left to enjoy visual immersion in uncountable shades of green. Here and there, the Cardamine inserted a pale pink accent, its flowers nodding, unwilling to fully wake into the light, damp chill of the morning, and a few Trillium who had had too much rain at last night's party tried to shake off the aftereffects with limited success. There were no spring mushrooms, not yet, and the nettles were too far advanced to pick for tea. They were quite defensive, and expressed their sentiments toward being gathered by biting me through nitrile gloves. With "gathering" removed from my list on those two counts, "exercise" was the next best option. I decided to cover as much ground as the weather and mud would permit, with "photography" a given as it is any time I am out and about.

The wildlife area near Mossyrock Dam affords a variety of ecological niches. Managed by Cowlitz Wildlife under the auspices of WDFW, it offers woods, ponds, grasslands and thickets spaced throughout roughly 14,000 acres. There are only a few maintained trails and no "destinations," rendering it less popular with hikers than other areas. I have observed a number of interesting plants and fungi there, and a wealth of lichens, many of which I have yet to identify. I was walking the ADA trail when I found this stick, barely recognizable as such beneath its lavish embellishments of lichen and moss, Art in its purest form. The scientific half of my brain registered Ochrolechia (little round dots), Usnea (wiry threads), Platismatia (ruffled lobes) and a moss even as the artistic side exclaimed, "That's beautiful!" Ma Nature had succeeded in engaging my full appreciation, a feat no human artist has ever managed. All other considerations aside, the Stick was the highlight of my hike, and I don't say that lightly.

Finding Hypoxylon Fuscum

Day 149: I have often remarked to friends that I have no need or even particular desire to travel to foreign lands because there is so much to see right here in the Pacific Northwest. Almost every time I go out, I stumble across something new or odd, whether it's a species I haven't previously observed or a morph/sport/aberration of something common and familiar. My "score" from yesterday's four-mile walk was Hypoxylon fuscum, and for that identification, I have to thank a slime mold expert who set me straight on its fungal nature. I'd hoped for a new slime. Nope, it's a fungus.

Hypoxylon is a pioneer, one of the first fungi to colonize the decaying wood of its chosen host. It disappears rather rapidly once it has invaded the cell structure and broken it down into a form more readily used by other fungi like the Tremellaceae which are frequently associated with it. Unlike most other fungi which are basidiomycetes, i.e., their spores are formed externally, it is an ascomycete, i.e., its spores are contained in internal capsules called asci (singular, ascus) like those in most lichens. Just as a sidebar here, it should be noted that there are a few lichen genera which are basidiomycetes (Lichenomphalia for one), exhibiting a mushroom-like fruit which sheds spores from its gills. Likewise, there are other fungi which are ascomycetes. Confused yet? Please remember that lichens are a symbiosis between fungus, algae and yeast. Hypoxylon is purely fungal. This species (Hypoxylon fuscum) is one of two known from Washington, hosted by Red Alder (Alnus rubra).

A Sure Sign, Cardamine

Day 148: Hooray! I have been hunting for Cardamine for several weeks now and until today, hadn't even spotted cotyledon leaves (not that they're easy to find with this plant). The eruption of Cardamine means that spring is truly just around the corner. I was also surprised to see some early Oxalis flowering in the Cowlitz Wildlife area near Mossyrock Dam. I'd gone lichen hunting, wanting to breathe good, pure air and give my winter lungs a workout. I may have gone into "social distancing" mode, but I will continue to take exercise in the superlative atmosphere of our Pacific Northwest forests. Today's choice of trail took me up a few small hills whose summits I had not previously attained, and one section of the pathway was so lined with Red Alder hosting Menegazzia terebrata (Tree Flute lichen) that it shall henceforth be known the Menegazzia Spur in my mental atlas of botanical waypoints. As I mentioned a few days ago, now that I've identified it, I'm finding it everywhere. No complaints from me on that score! It's also one of my favourite spots for early Cardamine, so maybe I was cheating just a little, hunting it down where I knew it would be easiest to find.

Parked And Forgotten

Day 146: "I forgot where I parked the car!" It's been years since I discovered this less-than-mint-condition vehicle alongside a short nature trail near Mossyrock Dam. I'm no expert on Things Automotive, but my best guess would be that it was a farm truck. There isn't enough left of the rear portion to hazard a further identification, nor are their any clues as to its make, although "Ford" would probably be a safe bet. The wooden wheel spokes make it particularly intriguing in the fact that they have endured the ravages of time equally well, possibly better than the metal itself. That said, the Pacific Northwest jungle will eventually reclaim it entirely, to be overgrown with moss, lichen and berry bushes until its molecules are the only remnants of its history, its story as silent as its erstwhile horn.

Oligoporus Petticoats

Day 143: Just to ensure that none of my readers think I am an insufferable know-it-all, I present to you one of the all-too-frequent botanical puzzles I've come across recently. I have spent several hours trying to move from genus (Oligoporus) to species with a growing sense of futility. In the first place, the visual information I could extract from the specimen was inadequate, but more obstructive yet is the fact that there simply aren't field guides which cover the less common species of bracket fungus, and any scientifically detailed on-line information is locked firmly behind academic blockades which only allow access to those with research-level credentials. My files are full of images titled, "Unknown" or "Identify." Equally, they occupy pages in my mind so that should I happen to stumble across some obscure clue or secret pathway leading to a conclusion, I can follow it. I do not forget these "unknowns"; they haunt my dreams and keep me awake at night.

Why, you might wonder, is this so important to me? For one thing, I believe that knowledge should be easily accessible to everyone, but that isn't at the root of the matter. The seminal reason is that I feel knowledge of Nature increases our connectivity with it, even when that knowledge is something as artificial as a taxonomic designation (in practice, much of botanical taxonomy demonstrates morphologic and/or genetic links, but the regrettable current trend is moving more toward naming species for people). We are more likely to consider "John Smith" a friend than we are "that guy with the glasses and brown hair"; we are more likely to be interested in the habits of a Varied Thrush than we are of "that whistling bird which looks kinda like a Robin." The name...the application of specific syllables to a thing links us to it more strongly than does the simple observation of it.

Monday night, I had dinner with a friend who is an ecopsychologist. In the course of his pursuit of a doctorate in the field, we exchanged many letters exploring Homo sapiens' connections with Nature (or lack of them). Our conversation over the meal set me to thinking once again about the scope of Man's growing disassociation with the natural world. I don't have an answer to the problem, but I intend to do what I can to increase the knowledge of it, even when it means I have to admit I can't identify a species.

Bridge Over Rainey Creek

Day 14: Rainey Creek is not a place you want to visit during mosquito season, but during early spring or mid-autumn, the walk to the bridge can be a delightful diversion. However, if you go during hunting season, you should be advised to wear orange. The brush is thick in places, and you wouldn't want your movement to be mistaken for that of an elk or pheasant. The first half-mile follows an old road, but once you've crossed the bridge, muddy trails take you in various directions. Today, I explored a branch I'd never followed and as enticing as it was to think about continuing on when the path began to climb after a short ways, I had other things on my agenda and decided to leave it for another visit when I can make botany a priority. That said, I was pleased to find the Usnea Tree doing well...but that's for tomorrow's post.

An Elegant Script

Day 148: I've always thought of myself as a keen observer of Nature, but in following my passion for lichens, I've discovered a vast, miniature world I never knew existed, and in places I've visited hundreds of times. Take Graphis scripta, for example. This photo shows it much larger than life, and in the Cowlitz Wildlife area where I was hiking a few days ago, it is abundant on almost every Red Alder in the forest. The lirellae seldom measure more than 5 mm. in length and here, few exceed 3 mm., yet in places, they are so dense as to appear almost solidly black. In others, they may cover much of the lower six feet or so of any given tree trunk in the graceful, uniform distribution shown here. The same abundance is true of Ochrolechia laevigata, one of the disk lichens. What else have I missed by not looking closely enough at my surroundings? What other beauties have been right under my nose?

Cardamine Nuttallii, Bittercress

Day 147: Poor little Cardamine! Every year when I find it, I say to myself, "Uh-oh, I've forgotten what that is again." I then proceed to go through the alphabet mentally, "A, B, C...okay, it has a C in it..." but I don't pick up the cue until I get to "N...it has an N...Na, Ne, Ni, No, Nu...Nub, Nuc, Nud..." until at last I come to "Nut! Nuttallii! Cardamine nuttallii!" I retrieve other "lost words" in similar fashion with great success, although why I don't get it when I say "Ca..." is a mystery.

This photo was also taken during the Great Skunk Cabbage Expedition, although in a different location and before the rain began in earnest. I got a little muddy on a short hike through the Cowlitz Wildlife lands near Mossyrock Dam, but in addition to the Cardamine, I found the most lavish example of Graphis scripta hieroglyphics I've encountered to date, but that's for my next post. Stay tuned for tomorrow's episode of "Life In Lichenopolis."

Trametes Versicolor, True Turkey-Tail

Day 44: Got your Thanksgiving turkey? I've got the tail! Trametes versicolor is a highly variable species, but it is the one which gives the "turkey-tail" fungi their generic name. It is the one "true" Turkey-Tail; all others are merely capitalizing on its fame. It is quite common in the Pacific Northwest, but there are several look-alikes just waiting to confuse you.

So how do you tell if your turkey-tail is real Turkey-Tail? Why, by putting it through a Turkey-Tail Test, of course! One on-line mycological reference gives the criteria:

1) Does it have pores on the lower surface?
2) Are there 3 or more pores in the span of one millimeter?
3) Is the upper surface velvety or faintly hairy?
4) Is the upper surface some colour other than white or grey?
5) Is the colouration zonal?
6) Is the fungus flexible and thin?

In summary, if you've answered yes to all these questions, the fungus in your hand may be green, brown  or even orange, but it's a Turkey-Tail. Mind those pores, though...put a hand lens and a good ruler in your field kit. You'll need them.

And Happy Turkey-Day from Lichenopolis!

The Spirit Of Adventure

Day 43: The spirit of adventure courses strongly through my veins, never mind that I don't go as far or fast as I once did. Mountains don't have to be 14,000' tall to have an "other side," and bridges still lead to undiscovered worlds where exploration may bring a "life list" lichen to light. I cannot resist the pull of a trail fading into the distance; I must pursue it until I can go no farther, whether turned back by the lateness of the day or by the counsel of my joints. A stump on the horizon becomes a goal, and once attained, another takes its place in a succession of small victories. Driven by an insatiable curiosity, I go no farther than "halfway," the point of stamina which dictates return indisputably, but I am not content until "halfway" has been reached. It is just that which compels me: the bonus of discovery. When the progress of my travel tells me it's time to go home, I always wonder what I might have found if I'd just taken one more step.

Usnea Faerie

Day 42: Look closely, and you may see a Lichen Sprite among the strands of Usnea longissima beside Rainey Creek, an avatar of Nature husbanding her charges with love and kindness. Like the Usneas she shepherds, this faerie is sensitive to air-borne pollutants, and thus as a species, is becoming rarer and rarer in the modern world. Rainey Creek offers the perfect habitat for Usneas and their faerie guardians, but it's best to visit in the autumn or winter. The sprites and visitors alike vie with highly competitive mosquitoes during the spring and summer months.

Comparative Lichenology

Day 41: East meets West for today's essay! A friend recently sent me two lichen specimens from Maine in the hopes that I could identify them for her. One of them was a member of the generic category of "Old Man's Beard lichens," specifically Usnea filipendula (Fishbone Beard, top photos). It put me in mind of my favourite among the Usneas, Methuselah's Beard (U. longissima, lower photos), so I thought it would be fun to present them paired, and thus took a short hike to a location where longissima is abundant.

As you can see, Fishbone is much more compact and delicate. Longissima grows in graceful strands up to ten feet in length. Filipendula branches abundantly, and Methuselah's Beard consists of threads on a central stem, much like a Christmas garland. A microscopic view reveals that isidia (grain-like reproductive units which detach easily from the thallus) are present on both specimens, but are more numerous in the case of filipendula. Both species are excellent air-quality indicators. Sensitive to even small amounts of pollution, Usneas only grow where the air is pure.

Taxonomic Nomenclature

Day 44: Taxonomic nomenclature is not a static science. As research progresses (particularly in genetics), species need to be reclassified, not only within a genus, but sometimes into a different genus entirely. Sphaerophorus venerabilis got off easy. It was formerly known as Sphaerophorus globosus, which in fact is more descriptive of its knobby apothecia than its present name. It is a beautiful and graceful thing, and invariably when I find it, I think, "Wow! What's that?" only to discover upon arriving home that I've bookmarked the page in Brodo and left a note to myself regarding the change in its taxonomy. Today, it surprised me once again. I literally stumbled across a downed branch heavily populated with Lettuce Lung (Lobaria oregana), and while I was admiring it, I noticed the Sphaerophorus. "Wow! What's that?" I said to myself, not realizing I was revisiting the phrase, and then took a dozen or so photos from different angles. I also noted at least two species of Liverwort on the same branch. Don't get your hopes up. There is no comprehensive field guide to the liverworts of the Pacific Northwest.

Parked

Day 37: "Honey, do you remember where we parked the car?" I've had days when I wondered if this would be the fate of mine and have spent ten minutes wandering around a crowded parking lot looking for the kayak rack which I eventually remember I removed last week. My spatial memory fails me in the city, lamp posts and buildings not registering in my mind with any distinction. However, I remember clearly where this ancient vehicle was abandoned in the woods, just past the open grove of maples where the trail takes a 90-degree turn and abruptly becomes boot-sucking mud. How it got there is open to conjecture. The land on which it sits is administered by Cowlitz Wildlife now, but it may have been home to workers employed in building Mossyrock Dam at some point. Maybe when the project was completed, the owner left it behind, its wood-spoked wheels in too poor condition to take on the road. That's one theory, anyway. Any identifying insignias have been removed, but I suspect it is a Ford. Wasn't everything a Ford in those days (whatever "days" those might have been)? I wish it could tell me its story. I'm sure it must have seen some adventures, poor old thing.