Veins

Day 351: A second foray into my favourite spot yielded up enough Chanterelles for a good fry-up and a large bowl of soup, the amount I usually take when I am foraging. People often tell me that they don't trust themselves to harvest wild mushrooms, and indeed, that caution has its merits. However, there are "beginner" species which are quite delicious, and Chanterelles happen to be among them. So how do you distinguish a Chanterelle from other orange mushrooms, some of which are dangerous? Look at the underside. Where other mushrooms have gills, Chanterelles have raised veins. Sometimes they can look almost like gills, but after a few gathering trips with an experienced mushroomer, you will learn to tell the difference even on narrow-veined young specimens. Or at least most people will. Somehow, my fishing buddy never got the hang of it. When he, his brother-in-law and I used to go 'shrooming, we'd have to check his basket closely, and nine times out of ten, we'd be forced to make him throw away his collection because of some toxic gilled species he'd added in. He was the poster child for the phrase, "All mushrooms are edible...once."

Golden Hoard

Day 341: Ever since we got a good rain, I've been waiting for my instincts to suggest that it was a good day to go mushrooming. Yesterday felt "shroomy," so I headed off for a favourite spot, and within an hour, I'd filled my one-gallon "perhaps bag" (avoska) with more than enough for soup and a fry-up. I had decided that this year was the year I was actually going to dry some for use later in the winter, rather than saying with regret at the end of the season that I should have done so. Three-quarters of my harvest filled four trays with slices which dried to crispiness in eight hours at 130 degrees. After cooling overnight, the bulk of my Golden Hoard filled a quart jar. I will have to experiment with rehydrating them. If they are reluctant to take up sufficient moisture to become tender, I can always resort to putting them in a spice grinder to make chanterelle powder.

Get 'Em While They Last

Day 1: Today opens the fourteenth year of my daily blog, so it seemed appropriate to have an "in with the new, out with the old" post, and Shaggymanes seemed as good an example as any. Both of these photos were taken day before yesterday. The image on the left shows Coprinus comatus almost at its prime. The loose ring encircling the stipe of the one in the center indicates that it is just beginning to turn to ink. It would still be harvestable at this point, although the bottom part of the cap might need to be trimmed away before cooking. The 'shroom in the foreground has some darkening where the cap touches the stipe. This also is a sign that it's nearing the end of its optimum culinary desirability. The image at the right shows Shaggies which are well past their expiry date, having suffered from two days of rain. That said, this transition can occur in the space of 24 hours, so get 'em while they're fresh!

Shaggymane Hill

Day 365: When I first discovered Shaggymanes (Coprinus comatus) on a local but little-used hiking trail, I dubbed the spot "Coprinus Corner" and lodged the coordinates firmly in my mental GPS. Every year since then, the location has produced at least one bowl of soup. A few years ago, I found a few additional 'shrooms a bit farther up the hill and added two more spots to the map in my head. Yesterday, I decided to make a loop with a double purpose: to put some miles on my feet and to ascertain whether the hard rain had ruined all the budding Shaggies I'd seen last week. Since I didn't want to risk having them turn to ink if I carried them for the whole trip, I did the route in reverse of my usual pattern so that I would be closest to my car if I picked any. As I came down from the crest of the hike, this was what met my eye at the topmost recorded location. At least 85 percent of them were too far gone to harvest, but I managed to find enough firm ones for a very hefty bowl of soup. The ones at Coprinus Corner were past pull date. Now I think this area deserves renaming to "Shaggymane Hill."

Kautz Crossing

Day 334: For the way the rest of the week has gone, it comes as no surprise that I was stung by something big, black and bad-tempered while I was out looking for mushrooms this morning. I didn't ask for its ID, but since I wasn't dead by the time I got back to the car, it wasn't a bee. I knew it wasn't a bee anyway, because I saw it as I swatted it off the back of my hand. Nor was it a deer-fly, because I am having a typical "wasp" reaction: my hand has swelled up to the size of a basketball and hurts clear up to my ears. Slight exaggeration there, yes, but swollen and painful nonetheless. I almost aborted the second part of the day's plan...the part (forgive me, Kevin, for not sticking to the prospectus) formulated while I was looking for 'shrooms. I've been telling myself I wanted to walk up Kautz for the last couple of weeks, but the thought of hordes of visitors on the trail was a strong deterrent. Today was cloudy and cool, and I covered the mile to and from the creek crossing without seeing a soul once I'd gone past the viewpoint near parking. The joy of being alone in the woods even seemed to take the "sting" out of my poor hand as long as I was in motion. It wasn't much of a hike: mostly flat, only a mile (one way), nothing scenic, although the area has a unique charm due to having been scoured by a glacial outburst event back in 1947. Three-quarters of a century later, not much grows there except slide alder, lichen and moss. But did I find mushrooms? Nothing edible, no. It's been a rough week. Maybe I should get up on the other side of the bed tomorrow morning. Or not at all.

Not Even A Button

Day 10: I hadn't expected anything when I made my first foray to Coprinus Corner about ten days ago. It's been too dry, but I had hoped to find a few Shaggymanes this morning, given that we've had almost an inch of rain over the last two days. It doesn't take much to pop them through the ground, and a friend reported seeing them near Olympia. Alas, my search was in vain. There was not even a single button in evidence. This is probably going to be a rather thin year for mushrooms, all things considered. My hike this morning was a short one (about a mile and a half), and there was simply no fungus of any sort to be seen. Tough times for an old Hobbit!

Hunting Up Dinner

Day 342: It looked pretty grim when first I stepped into the forest. There at my feet was a slice of lobster. No, I don't mean the seafood. I mean the stoplight-red fungus which emerges concurrently with chanterelles and is almost as popular with many collectors. I don't eat them, but that's the subject of tomorrow's post. In any event, I looked down on that neatly cut slice of lobster and said aloud, "Oh, this does not bode well." I had put two small perhaps-bags in my pocket as I went out the door on what I call "a mushroom walk," hoping that I'd find at least enough chanterelles for a lunchtime bowl of soup. I nearly despaired. On a different part of the trail, however, I began finding lobsters untouched, huge lobsters. Then the magic happened: my eye fell on two chanterelles less than a foot off the path. In a few more minutes, I had half a dozen in the bag. Ten minutes later, I encountered another patch, off trail and deeper into the heart of the woods. A wider sweep brought up even more, although they occurred largely in isolation. I took a different route back to the footpath, and in so doing, found the largest group of the day from which I harvested roughly a dozen. Yep, there's enough here for a nice fry-up and a bowl of soup. Chanterelles are on tonight's dinner menu.

First Chanterelle

Day 322: There has not been much moisture and it is very early in the season, but nevertheless, I tucked a perhaps-bag in my kit and set out yesterday morning on a four-mile walk to check a Chanterelle spot I discovered a couple of years ago. I honestly didn't expect to find any, given the circumstances, and thus was surprised when I found a button. Ordinarily, I'd have left it to grow, but my taste buds have been nagging me for wild mushrooms, and a quick scan of my immediate surroundings revealed enough additional buttons for a small bowl of soup. Having not yet had lunch, the decision to collect them was made by my stomach, not my head. There will be more, of this I am certain. The soup was delicious.

The Perhaps Bag

Day 15: You have probably seen me refer to my "perhaps bag" several times now without knowing the origin of the term or perhaps simply chalked it up to a Crow peculiarity. In fact, it comes from the Soviet era and the Russian word is "avoska," and generally is accepted to refer to a string bag, the precursor of today's reusable shopping bags. Russians carried their perhaps-bags with them when they went out, in the hopes that fortuitous circumstances might allow them to obtain a few groceries in a time of scarcity. In the autumn, I do not go out without a perhaps-bag, although perforce, mine must take the character of a baggie. Mushrooms would fall through the holes of a net bag. I wasn't anticipating chanterelles when I went out for a walk today, but I am glad I had my perhaps-bag with me.

Lycoperdon Perlatum, Puffballs

Day 360: It's been a long time since I found enough puffballs (Lycoperdon perlatum) for a bowl of soup, and that status remains unchanged. However, I did find a nice little cluster, all but one of which are shown in the photo above, and I was sorely tempted to gather them to add to the few chanterelles I had in my bag but did not. With puffballs, timing is everything and usually when I find them, they are too far gone to collect. Once the interior begins to turn brown (even faintly), they take on a bitter taste. There are a number of different edible puffballs, but Lycoperdon perlatum is the most common here in the Pacific Northwest. You can find them almost anywhere: deep in the forest, in your lawn, even poking up through hard-packed gravel along road edges or in your driveway. Lycoperdon perlatum is relatively easy to identify by the small warts on its surface, but with any puffball, it is always advisable to section one vertically and examine it for any evidence of gill formation. If it is marshmallow-like throughout, it's not an Amanita. That said, Lycoperdon is bothersome to prepare. Each puffball must be peeled like a hard-boiled egg, a process which often means sacrificing some of the flesh. A handful as small as this one might have yielded a whole tablespoon, so I left them to make more puffballs and made a mental note of the location for future reference.

Elk Shed

Day 345: Stumping along in the deep, dark forest, you never know what you may find. I had taken a detour in order to explore a small shelf of moss-rich ground which looked like it might be chanterelle country, but finding only lobsters (which I do not eat), I began climbing back up from the terrace via a different route. Why waste energy in retracing my steps? I already knew there weren't any mushrooms along the descent. Unless I came to a dead end in an impossible tangle of downed limbs and trees, exploring new territory might bring a bit more for the dinner table or subject matter for a natural-history post. I had just rounded a rather large tree to avoid a steeper slope when something caught my eye. "That's not a branch," I said aloud. "That's an elk antler." One tip was broken, but the critter who wore it must have been an impressive beast. I moved his shed crown into a sun-fleck for the photo, and then replaced it where I had found it, hoping that it may lichenize in time and give me more material for discussion. I seriously doubt anyone else will follow this route, although a similar and somewhat larger antler I found in the same area a few years ago has disappeared.

Hobbit-Sense

 

Day 344: It took every bit of my hobbit-sense to find this small sampling of Chanterelles today, but I figured if I didn't go out now, the hard rain we have coming in on Wednesday would destroy any which might have popped through the ground. I knew it was too early, despite the fact that some years, I've harvested them in early September. I don't know their timetable, not consciously, but that same hobbit-sense for mushrooms told me that I was not likely to find many, not yet. Indeed, the recent rain (the first we've had in weeks) had spoiled many of the buttons, mold already growing on their caps, but I don't pick buttons. I leave them there to make more Chanterelles, using the wisdom which tells me it's not a good idea to saw off the branch I'm sitting on. This is a conservation strategy anyone who has ever gone mushrooming with me has heard me preach. I've seen too many "gold mines" plumbed to extinction by greedy professional mushroom-hunters. While this handful won't make a dinner, I can at least say that I didn't go out of 2020 skunked.

Lobster Eating A Russula

Day 332: After experiencing three "near miss" scenarios as I was walking up the highway last spring, I decided to abandon my local rambles in favour of the exercise bike. Now that traffic is somewhat diminished, I thought I'd take a chance on a morning walk. I didn't find much worth mention, but I did see several lobsters eating Russulas. Now before you think I've taken leave of my senses, I am referring to the fungus popularly called "Lobster," Hypomyces lactifluorum. Hypomyces is parasitic on russula and lactarius, and although it's prized by many mushroom hunters, its indiscriminate eating habits incline me to avoid it. Many russulas are boring; others are toxic. I do not know that Hypomyces neutralizes the alkaloids in Russula emetica, for instance, and would prefer not to find out that the host's purgative qualities remained. Likewise, some Lactarius species are quite acrid. In fact, I have heard various collectors describe the taste of Lobster as "fishy," hence its name. Others claim they don't notice a fishy flavour at all. Perhaps the taste depends on the host species. In any event, I like Lobsters, if only for the fact that they are an indicator of things to come. It won't be long now before the first Chanterelles pop through the duff.

Puget Sound Garter Snake

Day 11: The next time I see this guy (or one like him), I will use the proper form of address when I request a portrait: "Would you mind, Mr. Pickering?" There are two subspecies of Common Garter Snake in the Pacific Northwest: Puget Sound (Thamnophis sirtalis pickeringii, above) and Valley (Thamnophis sirtalis fitchi). The most obvious distinction is in their colour. Fitchi is striped with yellow and marked with red dots, while pickeringii sports a vivid aqua blue. Both can be found in grasslands where sufficient moisture is present. Mr. Pickering took me somewhat by surprise because I was focused on a forest of Shaggymane mushrooms about a foot to his right. I would never have forgiven myself if I had trodden on him. He was warming himself in noonday sun, not moving a muscle even when I knelt down to gather the 'shrooms. Life's rough when you're a snake and the nights are cold.

Soup Mix

Day 10: I know I'm repeating myself here, but this has been an amazing year for mushrooms. I decided to take the long way around to Coprinus Corner, not expecting to find any Shaggymanes in good condition in the wake of our recent cold temperatures and rain. About three-quarters of a mile into my walk, I spotted a couple of Chanterelles, so pulled out my "perhaps bag" and knife on the principle that when Mother Nature offers you a gift of any size, you show your appreciation by accepting it. Three Chanterelles is enough for a cup of soup; five or six are needed for a lunch-size bowl. A mile and a half further on, I found my first Shaggys. Only one was in condition to pick, but I collected it and added it to my perhaps bag. In another hundred yards, I found myself in the middle of a Shaggymane supermarket. At that point, I could afford to be selective, taking only prime specimens and leaving those starting to ink or only a few inches tall. Before I'd finished up the five-mile loop, I had plenty for a lunch and a dinner, and I'd left dozens, a hundred or more, growing on the path to propagate future meals.

Chicken-of-the-Woods

Day 341: I'd seen it a couple of days earlier and was in too much of a rush to turn around and find a safe spot to get off the road to Paradise, but when Dreimillers and I noticed it again, Joe pulled over and we walked back. No mistaking it: Chicken-of-the-Woods (Laetiporus conifericola). We hadn't been the only ones who recognized it. Every "shelf" within arm's reach had been neatly pruned of its tender outer rim with a knife. I've never eaten it, but my mother collected it whenever she found it. That said, polypores tend to be a bit on the woody side, and only the youngest Chickens are suitable for the table. Older specimens become tough, later turning chalky. Whenever I've found them, I've let them be, content to simply enjoy their striking nature.

The Golden Hoard

Day 328: I went gold-mining on my way home from work yesterday and found a pretty good seam. It's still a little early for Chanterelles, but by the time I'd added a few more to this pile, I felt I had enough to share with a Park friend who had expressed a desire to try wild 'shrooms. I drove back up to the office to deliver them, only to discover that he'd gone home early. I was unable to reach him at home, so entrusted his share of the Golden Hoard to Kevin, trusting that they would not mysteriously disappear before reaching their intended destination. That said, I could tell by the glint in his eye that Kevin is hoping the scales will balance against his thoughtful produce-share contributions as the season progresses. He's kept me in veg this summer, and I hope to repay with a fungal feast or two.

Chicken and Chanterelles
Cut chicken breasts into one-inch cubes. Slice chanterelles to 1/4" thick, and cut into larger ones into pieces, leaving some of the small buttons whole. Fry unbreaded chicken and a healthy dollop of minced garlic in a small amount of shortening until the chicken is almost done, stirring to brown on all sides. Add chanterelles and cook until tender, but be sure some liquid remains in the pain. In a small bowl, combine flour and cold water until you have roughly three tablespoons of flour/water paste. Add a little of the hot mushroom liquid to the paste, and then simultaneously add the paste and 1/4 cup milk to the chicken and 'shrooms. Add salt and pepper to taste, and serve over rice.

Mushroom Memories

Day 283: By and large, mushroom hunters are secretive people who defend their favourite locations with a wall of silence. Many of us prefer to go out alone, and some (myself included) have been known to lay a false trail by parking well away from the most productive spots and then hoofing it overland through terrain which might deter any local who happened to recognize our vehicles. Occasionally, though, we are moved to include a trusted friend in our pursuits, but only after a thorough vetting. I was introduced to a particularly productive patch of chanterelles by my fishing buddy's brother-in-law Eddie. The three of us picked it for a number of years until the bridge washed out, cutting off the only feasible access. When Uncle Eddie passed away, his mushroom basket came to me and although I now use it to hold wool when I'm spinning (preferring to keep my fungi hidden in a bag in my pack), its golden sheen is enhanced by a varnish of memories from the time I spent with Eddie and Sande in the woods. After the bridge was rebuilt, our chanterelle spot was found by commercial pickers as was my alternate location and, within a mere pair of years, they had depleted the sites beyond any hope of recovery. By then, however, I'd found another spot and had been judiciously picking my "one fry-up and a bowl of soup" in a manner which left the mycelium healthy.

Before he retired from his job as the Park's Plant Ecologist, my dear friend Arnie asked me if I'd take him 'shrooming. There would have been no person in whom I could have placed a greater trust, so I agreed. We gathered just enough chanterelles for our two households to have a meal apiece, leaving behind the buttons and older fruiting bodies to continue the cycle. Arnie moved to southern Oregon the following spring, and we've stayed in touch, sharing our botanical discoveries regularly. Yesterday, I received a gift from him: a luxuriously soft bamboo-viscose/cotton t-shirt imprinted with (you guessed it!) two gorgeous chanterelles.

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!

The Perhaps Bag

Day 364: During the Krushchev era when food shortages were common in the Soviet Union, Russian shoppers (particularly women) would carry a string bag called "avoska." The word translates roughly as a "perhaps-bag," as in "Perhaps today there will be bread," or "perhaps I will be able to purchase an egg." At this time of the year, I carry my own version of the perhaps-bag: a gallon ziplock, a clean plastic grocery bag, or sometimes when I forget, the spare cloth field bag I keep in the trunk of the car. Today, "perhaps" paid off big-time. While hiking a disused trail, I came across several flushes of Shaggymane mushrooms, my favourite soup-fungus. I had a "perhaps-knife" with me as well, having cut 'shrooms with my thumbnail more times than I like to admit. These are just a few of the best. Shaggymanes are a members of the Coprinus family, i.e., inky-caps. They deteriorate into black goo in just a few days. Tune in tomorrow for "Shaggymane Hunting 101."