Hypogymnia Inactiva

Day 106: Just as I was about to start celebrating a second location for a different Hypogymnia ("tube lichen"), I said to myself, "Hang on a mo'...the medullary ceiling was dark, not white. That means it's..." (I grabbed the 40-pound field guide) "...it's inactiva." The narrow-lobed Hypogymnias are easy to confuse without that crucial datum, so I was glad I'd checked. No, I honestly don't have all the information committed to memory. I rely on books and other resources almost on a daily basis, whether it's for lichens or vascular plants. That said, there are different things to check for between genera in the field, e.g., presence and type of fruiting bodies, branching, base colour, whether a podetium (stalk) is hollow or solid, and those are the things I keep in mind when examining a specimen. Even then, it's all too often that I won't be able to differentiate species simply from macroscopic characteristics. If I can get "close enough for gov'mint work," I'm happy. With Hypogymnias, one of the most helpful field identification points is the colour of the medullary ceiling, so when I found this one, I pinched off one small lobe and peeled it apart. Hypogymnias are called "tube lichens" for a good reason. Their lobes are hollow, like balloon animals. Separate the blue-green top from the black lower surface, and the telling point will be what colour is on the inside of the top layer. If anyone had been close by, they would have heard me apologize, "Sorry, sorry. I can't tell who you are without doing this. Sorry!" as I nipped off an inch with my thumbnail. Yes, seriously.

Platismatia Stenophylla, Ribbon Rag Lichen

Day 105: The Pacific Northwest has its share of Rag Lichens, so-called because they have the feel of a damp dishrag when touched. Many of the species are quite "leafy," and can often be found growing on old cedar fences as well as tree branches. At least two are more "lacy" in appearance: Platismatia stenophylla (above) and P. herrei. Both of them form loose clusters which frequently become dislodged during wind events. I've learned to differentiate them on sight, but in the early days of my lichen adventures, I had to put them under the microscope to check for isidia/soredia (reproductive structures), present in P. herrei but absent in P. stenophylla.

Hunting Haareis

Day 104: They say timing is everything, and with a few years of experience behind me, I've gotten fairly good at predicting when the haareis ("hair ice") will emerge at Big Bridge. Conditions have to be perfect for its formation, a Goldilocks combination of temperature and humidity, and of course the presence of the fungus Exidiopsis effusa which is the most important component. The exact mechanism is unknown, but the general idea is that Exidiopsis forces moisture out of decaying wood following the medullary rays of the wood's structure, thereby creating threads of ice which may attain lengths up to eight inches. The longest I've personally seen would have been about two inches. The ones in this photo measure a little over an inch in length.

Now here's the story. I know where Exidiopsis lives in the general vicinity of Big Bridge, off trail and through an obstacle course of blackberry vines, salmonberry thickets, reed-canary grass and fallen logs. As I mentioned yesterday, I sent up a plea to the Frost Spirits, asking them to provide a good example so I'd have something to post on my blog. To that end, I parked the car and set off at a dead lope along the mile to Big Bridge. I was nearly there when I spotted one small tuft at trailside and, afraid it might disappear if a ray of sun hit it, I took pictures before continuing on to the main site. The core of Exidiopsis country yielded up a few more small specimens, and by the time I left the area, I was satisfied that I had material for a post. I took my time getting back to the car, and since at that point I wasn't so goal-oriented, I was more observant. Roughly a tenth of a mile from parking, I spotted a larger, more intricate cluster of haareis and the beautiful example shown above. Even closer to the car, I found more right along the side of the trail. I had been so intent on my mission that I'd gone right past the best of them all in my haste to reach Big Bridge. 

Mission to Big Bridge

Day 103: Sometimes when it feels like botany and natural history have closed their doors and rolled up the sidewalks, a trail will surprise me. I had a suspicion...no, I had a fleeting hope that Big Bridge could give me material for one post if I was willing to brave sub-freezing temps to make the 2-mile round trip hike. I shot a prayer to the Frost Spirits with a specific request, and off I went. A few steps before reaching the bridge, they rewarded me with...well, for that, you'll have to wait until tomorrow. But not only did I find what I was hoping to discover, I gleaned at least two more "blogworthy" photos which will cover the next couple of days. It's hard to find interesting material in the dead of winter, but this morning, the Big Bridge trail paid off.

Blah But Beautiful

Day 363: Blah Coral (Ramaria acrisiccescens) is no mushroom hunter's idea of a prize, not by a long shot. The common name tells you all you need to know about its desirability as a foodstuff. Nevertheless, the corals present (in my opinion) one of the most photogenic growth structures in the fungal kingdom. They are out in abundance presently, poking their spires up through moss and leaves, giving the forest a brush of sea-floor artistry and making one wonder if the dryads have "gone mermaid" for a season. So much forest life depends on fungus. In the macroscopic view, animals and insects consume them, and they aid the decomposition process. From the microscopic point, vast swaths of mycorrhizae extend beneath the soil surface, breaking down materials into forms which can be utilized by plants of all sorts. Some plants (the mycoheterotrophs) cannot exist without a fungal partner. Blah Coral may not have any gustatory appeal, but it and its fungal kin are vital to the health of the forest.

Textbook Specimen

Day 361: During our mushroom foray yesterday, I showed Ed a few of the other species I can recognize easily, and elaborated on what field identification points I was using to make my determination. He is anxious to learn about mushrooms, so of course the first lesson I gave was this: "Never eat a mushroom if you're not 110% sure of your identification." There were a lot of unknowns along the trail, but also Russulas of different colours and good ol' Lobsters, which gave me the opportunity to explain why I don't eat them; to wit, Lobster is a fungal overgrowth which largely occurs on Russulas, and you don't know which Russula may lie beneath the Lobster's bright orange coating. Some Russulas can cause severe gastric distress, so I avoid Lobster entirely. Then as we walked along, we suddenly came into a patch some 50' in diameter which was heavily populated with huge Amanita muscarias, some with flattened caps as large as dinner plates. They were the only ones we'd seen on the entire hike, and included this textbook-perfect specimen. I took the opportunity to expand Ed's education on field points, but also to explain that some mushroom toxins (particularly amanitotoxins) linger forever in the liver, continuing to damage the organ beyond the toxins' immediate effects. That said, there is no 'shroom so photogenic as this species, so I hunt them every year...with my camera.

Ed Goes Mushrooming

Day 360: My weaving friend Ed came up for a visit, and suggested that we could go for a hike today. I had several options to suggest, and after we'd narrowed it down to three, I said, "Okay, would you rather go for a longer hike or go mushrooming?" but then it occurred to me that we could do both fairly easily. We started with the longer walk, picking up a few chanterelles on the way. I led him down a spur on the way back to the car, thinking (as I had done with Arnie in the same area) that we could connect with another trail to take us back to parking. We were talking as we walked, and went right past the short leg where we should have turned, kept going for another mile or so until agreeing that turning back might be preferable to going on. A two-mile plan morphed into a 4-5 mile actuality, but at least we had a good start on mushrooms in the "perhaps bag." It was a good thing we'd found them there, because the second spot only yielded up about half a dozen more, although what we'd gathered was plenty to make a good lunchtime soup for both of us. It was Ed's first mushrooming experience, and a delightful day all around.

Arctium Sp.

Day 334: "How'd we miss that on the way up?" I asked. Arnie replied, "Burr, Cocklebur...that's the common name I know it by. You know weeds..." I said, "Burdock. Hang on..." Great digging in the mental archives was causing smoke to come out my ears. "Arctium!" I said at last. "Arctium...it's in there somewhere" (tapping my head) "Arctium...lappa. Arctium minor? Minus? There's two of them, and they're hard to tell apart." At that point, Arnie wrapped his hands around the base, and I could tell he was getting ready to take decisive action. "And they've got a tap root that goes all the way to China!" I warned. There was a loud snap, and Arnie was left holding three stalks which had broken off from the root right at ground level. "Um...the other one is bigger," I pointed at the second plant. He dug down an inch in the soil to reveal where someone had previously cut a 3/4" stem. New growth was coming out from just below the cut. "They're godawful hard to get rid of," I elaborated. "Got one on my Land Trust property that's about ten feet tall." Arnie broke the stems to inhibit photosynthesis, if nothing else, but neither of us had anything to bag them in, so we wound up leaving them behind. Sometimes seeds continue to develop even after the stalk has been cut, but that appeared to be our only option. My trouser pockets were already full of chanterelles, and there are some sacrifices I'm simply not willing to make. Nor was I particularly keen on hiking with burdock burrs in my britches! As it turned out, my pictures aren't good enough to tell if the petioles have ridges, so whether this is Arctium lappa or Arctium minus, I can't say. "Arctium sp." will have to do.

Memories and Mushrooms

Day 333: I seldom think to take pictures of human subjects, and now I'm kicking myself because Merry got to meet a new uncle yesterday, a friend I have not seen for years. Arnie was up from southern Oregon visiting family, and took a day out to make a long detour to spend time with me. The possibility of rain had led us both to think that we wouldn't be able to get in the hike we'd hoped to take, but by noon, the weather looked good enough to chance it. En route to Big Bridge, we picked a handful of early chanterelles, reminding me of one of the last times I'd gone hiking with Arnie in the Park before he retired. We got to Big Bridge, decided to go on a little further, and as these things go when you have two people who don't like to file flight plans, we thought we'd make a loop out of the trip and headed up another trail, hoping to make a connection. As it turned out, the connector was so overgrown that we missed it and kept going, climbing instead of descending, and about three miles in, we both decided that going back was preferable to going on when we had no idea where we might end up. We laughed over our old Park escapades in pursuit of rare and elusive plants: Arnie losing the route, me getting stuck in a bog, and others. It seemed like every time we went out in the field together, there was some Event-with-a-capital-E. Good memories, those! In the end, we covered about six miles, each of us pointing out plants and challenging the other one to remember the names (neither of us is as young as we used to be). We got back to the house, solved several of the world's and the Park's problems vicariously, and Merry got to spend more time with his new uncle. It wasn't until after Arnie left that I realized we hadn't eaten all day! I had a quick bowl of yogurt before going to bed, worn out in a good way and happier than I've been in months.

At Big Bridge

Day 102: In the hopes of finding more elaborate examples of haareis (hair ice), I took a walk out to Big Bridge yesterday, but with the clarity of hindsight, I know now that I should have waited another hour or two for the frost to melt. I found only a few small formations, widely dispersed, and no more than an inch long. That said, it was a lovely but chilly hike of a little over a mile to the bridge on hard-frozen ground. I have to admit it was a relief not to be travelling it when it's muddy. As part of the Nicholson Horse Camp trail system, the path gets pretty well chewed up by horse hooves, and there are almost always abundant equestrian "land mines" to dodge. Still, Big Bridge is my number-one site for haareis, and at this time of year, most of the horsey crowd is staying at home. The photo on the left was taken facing west from the bridge and shows the area where haareis appears. The photo on the right is the view to the east.

Wild Ginger

Day 140: As an amateur botanist, I am sometimes faced with having to identify a plant which is not in bloom. Leaf shape and arrangement (opposite or alternate) are good starting points, but from there, it gets a little more involved. Does the leaf clasp the stem? Is it fuzzy, and if so, is it fuzzy on both the top and bottom? What about the leaf margins (edges)? Are they smooth, serrated, incised? Is the stem round or angular? Determination of these and other factors can distinguish one species from another, the operative word in the sentence being "can" as opposed to "will." Fortunately, Wild Ginger (Asarum caudatum) is pretty distinctive and since it is one of my favourite wildflowers, I recognize it easily even from twenty feet away. "Oh!" said I, "Look at what I found!" I was not expecting to see it on my hike yesterday, so it took me somewhat by surprise. In fact, I found it in three locations, the third at least half a mile distant from the other two, and on property where (if I were of a mind to) I would be allowed to "lift" a root for transplant to my yard. For now, I've placed it on my mental map so that I can return when its exotic, long-tailed flowers emerge. See ya later, Gingie!

Little Bridge

Day 139: Three weeks ago (February 10, actually), my readers accompanied me vicariously to Big Bridge, a landmark on the Lower Elk Spur trail. Snow prevented me from taking them on a walk to its counterpart Little Bridge (above) which likewise spans Sahara Creek, but on the Upper Elk Spur. A cross-trail connects the two spurs higher up and west of here, but today I chose to continue east on the ADA trail instead. It is also a loop, but what the land owners mean by "ADA" is most certainly not the same definition used by the Fed. Notable features along its purportedly "accessible" length include a tessellation of baseball-sized rocks in the surface, ankle-deep mud and one bridgeless stream crossing. Other hazards would be equally difficult for a wheelchair to navigate. In any event, I could not recall having ever hiked the eastern portion of the ADA trail, or if I had, it was so long ago that it faded from memory. I will say that the trails have better signage now than they did two or three years ago, although nothing to indicate how far it is from point A to point B. But then, that's what an Adventure is about, isn't it?

Big Bridge On A Frosty Morning

Day 120: Let's step away from the loom for a bit to take a walk up to Big Bridge. It spans Sahara Creek where the Lower Elk Spur Trail crosses it and then begins to climb into Elbe Hills to connect with Upper Elk Spur and a maze of logging roads. It might not be the most pleasant hike in the world because this trail system was designed for people who enjoy the backcountry from horseback, but if I can break away from watching where I step to look at the surroundings, it'll do in a pinch for a brief moment of "forest bathing." It's fairly close to home, so close that I decided to walk to the trailhead (a distance of three miles one way), conserving gas for more important outings and giving myself a little more exercise in the process. Perhaps I bit off slightly more than I could conveniently chew after months of inactivity. Perhaps I should have turned around short of my goal, but such is not my nature. I pushed on to Big Bridge even when I knew the bottoms of my feet were beginning to blister. Upon returning to pavement an hour later, I began to regret my decision despite the magnificent ice-encrusted mushrooms I'd discovered along the path. As I hobbled back home on three miles of unforgiving asphalt, I told myself I should have known better. This is what happens when you stretch "halfway" to "three-fifths."

Unbecoming Nomenclature

Day 41: I have to admit that the first time I heard Icmadophila ericetorum referred to as "Fairy Barf," I thought my leg was being pulled, or rather I should say that I thought the person who said it was applying their own personal "pet name" to the species. Lichen common names are not standardized like those of most vascular plants, so it's a bit of a free-for-all out there. Surely no one would call a lichen "Fairy Barf!" Little did I know at the time of lichen taxonomists' predilection for determining acceptable nomenclature while (apparently) stinking drunk, or I would have understood. Needless to say, I have since encountered the term in numerous references. Although I don't like it (I dislike common names anyway), it does seem to be peculiarly descriptive of the species' pale pink apothecia. The light green crust beneath them is the lichen's thallus (body), and its hue fails to supply a better suggestion. In any event, although I can't speak to a timetable for when the fairies deposit it, you're likely to find it on decaying stumps of cedar.

Ramaria Acrisiccescens, "Blah Coral"

Day 9: "Blah Coral." Yes, that is the common name of this fungus, a coral often found in Pacific Northwest evergreen forests. It's easy to see why it got the name "Blah." The colour is unremarkable: a uniform light tan which ages to brown. Interestingly enough, the holotype of this species (Ramaria acrisiccescens) was collected in 1966 just a few miles south of my home, followed a year later by holotype collection of another Ramaria (R. araiospora) in the same locale. Older specimens may exhibit abundant dichotomous branching, i.e., each leg splitting into two parts, then into two again, up to nine times. Its Latin nomenclature reflects its unsuitability for the table: "acri-" defining its sharp (acrid) taste and "-siccescens" (pronounced "sick-essence") speaks to the dryness of the flesh. While some corals are edible, this one is just...blah.

Identifying Arctium Lappa

Day 8: There are two species of Burdock in Washington state, Arctium lappa (Large Burdock) and Arctium minus (Small Burdock). These plants originated in Europe and Asia where they were cultivated for their edible roots. Both species have become problematic outside their native regions and are considered invasive here. They like nitrogen-rich soils, so I was rather surprised to find two specimens in the forested area where I was hiking yesterday. Since the heads needed to be disposed of in a manner which would prevent the seeds from developing (something which may occur even after a plant has been uprooted), I bagged them and brought them home. This also allowed me to examine the plant so I could determine which species I'd found. Arctium lappa's petioles (the "stem" connecting the leaf to the main stalk) have distinct ridges as shown in the inset; those of A. minus do not. As I've seen on the Nisqually Land Trust's Ohop Valley property, Large Burdock can turn into a ten-foot tall bush. Fortunately, the two specimens I removed were only 12-18" in height, but both had numerous burrs. The trail on which they were found is open to horses, so I am inclined to think that the species was inadvertently introduced to the area by burrs or seeds carried in a hoof or saddle blanket. Many invasives are spread by accident; hikers should always "de-seed" their clothing and boots before entering a new area.

At Buck's Crossing

Day 7: I'm glad I didn't file a flight plan because once again, where I intended to go and where I wound up were about two trail miles apart. In the process of getting to and from Sahara Creek Camp (the eventual turn-around point of today's adventure), what was intended to be a casual hike mutated into an invasive-plant patrol. Instead of doing three miles, I did seven, and found two specimens of Great Burdock (Arctium lappa), something I have not seen previously at this elevation or on forested land. I also filled my perhaps-bag with chanterelles on the way back down, and I'm still puzzling as to how I walked right past them in the morning. I'll blame it on the beautiful golden light filtering through the maples; that, or perhaps the depth of crunchy maple leaves on the ground. In an amusing side note, the elastic waistband of my britches failed unexpectedly, and I did the last two miles of the hike holding my trousers up with one hand. Never a dull moment around here!

Fruitless Loop

Day 158: Like a frootloop, I decided to go for a hike today even though I went to Morris dance practice last night and didn't get home until midnight. Now that I have a (damn) Discover pass, I no longer have to walk two and a half miles up the road to get into the Nicholson Horse Trails system. I can just drive up and park! Theoretically, this means I should be able to hike farther on trail, but today I inadvertently took a different trail than I'd intended and wound up having to loop back on a connector which rather diminished my enthusiasm for the project. It was a fruitless loop, one with no interesting lichens, no lovely wildflowers other than a few Oxalis which weren't open, and (good-news/bad-news) no invasives to report. Still, it was good to be out, and the trails were drier than they usually are at this time of year. Lowland hikes are not my favourites, but somebody has to be on the lookout for invasive species.

Membranous Dog-Lichen, Peltigera Membranacea

Day 170: As if lichens weren't fascinating enough by themselves, existing only by cooperation between fungus and algae, their common names are utterly intriguing. Peltigera membranacea (Membranous Dog-Lichen) is a member of the larger family of "pelts," which includes among other Dog and Fan Lichens such oddities as Freckle Pelt, Frog Pelt, Carpet Pelt, and Born-Again Pelt. Other families have even more peculiar names: Rock Pimples, Ragbag, Sea-Storm, Spray Paint. Who thought up the vernacular nomenclature? And what had he been drinking? I can understand Oakmoss and Bearded Lichen, but what about Naked Kidney and Salty Rock Tripe? Gritty British Soldiers? Bloody Comma? It's enough to make me wonder whether my love affair with these complex lifeforms has its roots in science or etymology.

Lucky Horseshoe

Day 169: 'Twas my good fortune to find a lucky horseshoe, but not so lucky for the hapless horse who had preceded me on the Upper Elk Spur trail by a day or so. Lost to the sucky mud, this shoe also appeared to have been improperly nailed, as witnessed by the spikes sticking out sideways. Poor Nellie or Ned had been headed uphill and must surely have been lame by the end of the adventure.

So what is it about horseshoes and luck? Some people say they should be hung above a doorway with the ends pointing upward so that luck will be captured in the curve. Others say the bend should go at the top so that luck will shower on anyone who passes beneath the shoe. I've never suffered any ill effects from having a points-up shoe above my front door, though neither can I say I've gained any boons. Like Ned/Nellie, I'm just happy if I can keep my shoes on my feet.