Phlebia Radiata, Wrinkled Crust

Day 156: The crusts are a unique group of fungi which adhere closely to their substrate. They may appear on living or dead wood, and if a piece of tissue can be lifted, the underside can be observed to be without the pores noticeable in shelf fungi. The lower surface may be smooth, wrinkled or pimpled, and the upper surface may exhibit radiating folds and/or wart-like tubercles (both are present in this photo to some degree). Fairly common in the Pacific Northwest, Phlebia radiata (commonly known as Wrinked Crust or Radiating Phlebia) contributes to the overall ecology by facilitating the decomposition of wood. It largely affects hardwoods, but occasionally is found on conifers.

Cladonia Macilenta, Lipstick Powderhorn

Day 154: It's not often that you find a Cladonia you can identify in the field based on macroscopic characteristics and range alone, but given squamule size and shape, habitat (exposed to sunlight for the better part of the day), substrate and a few other details, I am going to venture out near the end of the limb to suggest an identification of Cladonia macilenta, commonly called "Lipstick Powderhorn." There are several other species in western Washington which also have red apothecia, but most have some other morphological feature which takes them out of the running. Several Douglas-firs along the exposed southern shoreline of Lake Scanewa bore a thick growth of tall, red-headed "push-pins," rather too dry and brittle for this early in the season. Lest you think that they might have only been recently exposed to the sun by storm removal of branches, I can assure you that these particular trees have stood in the open for twenty years or more, based on personal observation. I have many fond memories of Lake Scanewa, having sat with my fishing buddy along the shore with our lines in the water, waiting for one reluctant fish to take our bait. It was never a very productive spot, but the companionship was good, and the lack of other fishermen left Nature to speak undisturbed to us in the words of breeze and lapping water. She is never silent, Nature, and even as I muttered to myself as I examined lobes and podetia in minute detail, she was in my ear, reminding me softly of a friend now committed to memory. Good days, those.

Heterotextus Alpinus, Poor Man's Gumdrop

Day 153: It is with great delight that I say I have finally identified this darling little orange fungus as Heterotextus alpinus (syn. Guepiniopsis alpina). Commonly called "Poor Man's Gumdrop," "Jelly Cup" or "Alpine Jelly Cone," it's fairly common in the Pacific Northwest and is often confused with other orange jelly fungi. The defining features of the species are its short and stubby stalk-like point of attachment and a top surface which is somewhat concave. The fruiting bodies frequently hang from the sides or bottoms of decaying wood, looking ever so much like the "gumdrops" in their nickname, but don't let the common name mislead you. Although they are purportedly edible, reports from those who have tried them say that although they have the consistency of a slightly soggy jelly-bear, the taste is insipid and only faintly "mushroomy." They fruit in spring and autumn.

Inside Job

Day 152: The last several times I've been here, I've been there: out on the Cispus Arm above Lake Scanewa, paddling my kayak and patrolling for invasives. It made me think that I might not have done a survey for lichens on the faint trail I remembered as following the shoreline bluff eastward for a mile and a half, a perfect route for "social distancing" if ever there was one. I drove over to Scanewa yesterday expecting to find the last mile gated, but it was not. The parking area was empty. I'd gone less than fifty feet into the woods when I encountered the first evidence of winter storms, and the further I went, the more deadfall I found across the trail. Finally, a mere half mile in, I wearied of weaseling through tangled branches, mince-stepping through mazes of fir boughs and dead wood, and when I could no longer see any trace of the trail ahead of me, I said (in no uncertain terms), "Screw this!" I took a short connector on the way back, took photos of a few fungi I figured I'd never be able to identify, and then set off to walk a second trail leading north from the parking area. It too was inaccessible, overgrown with blackberry bushes. My third and last option heading west petered out in deadfall roughly a quarter mile in. Given the few pictures I'd taken and a cheering but disappointing result from searching for invasives (there were none), I wrote the whole trip off as "pointless." At home, I had to revise that opinion. Settling in with the field guides, I managed to identify all four species of fungus and lichen which I'd photographed, including a Cladonia. Not so pointless after all!

Formerly Known As...

Day 249: You'll find it happens a lot. One field guide lists a plant under one name, and a different field guide will call it something else. It can be very confusing, particularly to beginners who don't understand that taxonomy is a highly plastic discipline. Many times, plants will be reclassified as science discovers they are genetically linked to a different family than previously thought. Other times, a name change is functional, rendered in a new form to be more descriptive of the species. Common names...well, it's best we don't even go down that road. Plants entirely unrelated to one another may bear the same common name.

Case in point for fluctuating Latin: Silene latifolia alba, formerly known as Lychnis alba. Genus Lychnis is closely related to Genus Silene, the points of differentiation being the number of styles (the structure which bears the stigma) and the shape of the seed capsule. If you think the Latin is confusing, try the common names: White Campion, Cockle, Catchfly, Evening Lychnis (a reference to its prior and now outdated taxonomy). Who would think a little white flower could be so problematical? If you will forgive me the cross-referenced wordplay (she said with a wink), it would seem that this non-native species must not have been properly introduced.

Camofraug

Day 248: I couldn't resist the title, even though I believe this is a Western Toad (Bufo/Anaxyrus boreas), and he upstaged every other candidate for this blog from an eight-hour, 8.5-mile kayaking trip on the Cowlitz River. I have wildflowers, beautiful scenery, even an Osprey perched on a branch with half a fish in its talons, but the Marvelous Mister Toad takes the prize.

I'd put in at the spot I call Elk Landing, a nice sandy shingle which has been heavily marked with hoofprints whenever I've stopped there. It's a lovely spot for a lunch, or as was the case today, a place to take a breather from fighting wind and waves. I like to paddle up-river when I'm fresh and let the current give me an assist on the way back down, however today I was struggling for every inch of forward motion against a hard wind from the south. Whenever the river trended from roughly northeast to southwest, there were long-period rollers, cresting occasionally as whitecaps and breaking over the bow. It was the first time I've wished for a spray skirt on the 'yak. That said, I went farther upstream than I've gone before, but plans to make a park-to-park trip from Lake Scanewa to Cowlitz Falls were cut short when I was approximately a mile and a half from the campground. The wind was just too much, although I never felt I was in danger.