Hypogymnia Hultenii

Day 1: It seems fitting my newest lichen discovery should take the honour of opening this tenth year of daily natural history posts. I don't often travel outside my own environmental niche, but when I have occasion to do so as I did yesterday, I make a point of exploring the regional ecosystem. I'm a scientist. You can't expect me to enjoy hitting the shops or tourist attractions. No, you should look for me in the woods somewhere. Look down, because I'll probably be on my hands and knees. That's exactly what happened when I found this Hypogymnia. There was only one piece of it, dropped from some branch well over my head, but it shouted at me visually because it just Didn't Look Right according to my mental field guide. As I examined it more closely, I made note of the distinguising features: flatter lobes than most other Hypogymnias, knobby collections of soredia at the lobe tips (what had caught my eye in the first place), rough lower surface. It took me a while to sort it out when I got home because it had undergone a taxonomic change and was in Brodo under the old genus Cavernularia, but eventually I came to Hypogymnia hultenii, a coastal species. Made sense, because after all, I was on the Olympic Peninsula. My day had been made, as they say, and there was Morris dancing yet to come. Happy New Year!

Evernia Prunastri And Usnea Scabrata

Day 365: I often refer to lichens as the "wildflowers of winter," in part because that's when many of them form their fruiting bodies, but largely because that's when they're at their best. Even after a hot, dry summer, a little rain and a few humid days is all it takes to restore them to their former vigour. Some, like Evernia prunastri (foreground) and Usnea scabrata (behind it and in the background) will be so stiff and crisp at the end of the summer season that they crackle underfoot, but soon return to a pliable, sometimes even limp state once they have absorbed sufficient moisture. As with these three here (a Parmelia is just barely visible left of the yellow leaf), mixed species often share the same substrate, everyone getting along famously, no one competing for dominance. I'll leave you with that thought as Year 9 of this blog closes. Don't worry. I'll be back.

Fungal Fingers Of Fate

Day 364: At the main entrance to Pack Forest and just north of the gate house, you'll see a small rise with a set of steps leading up about four feet and a sign which says, "Model Forest Trail." The whole area is no more than 250 feet on a side, so you kinda wonder what it's all about. As you follow the path, you may notice a grapefruit-sized rock with a legend painted on it, like "1000 Rd." or "Hugo Peak." Eventually it registers: this postage-stamp of land is actually what the name implies, a scale model of Pack Forest. Now you begin paying attention to the layout. Yes, there's the canyon, deeply ditched but of course without the Nisqually running along its bottom, and here the 1000 Rd. splits to make its eventual loop. As you climb up (a whopping elevation gain of about ten feet), you come to Kirkland Pass and the junction of the 1000 and 2000 Rds. Following the 1000 down toward the Mashell, you begin to enter a meadow (represented by moss) and there, right before your very eyes, is something which has no full-scale equivalent: the fungal fingers of fate show in the photograph or, as I like to call them, the "bean sprouts."

It's been several years since I first discovered Clavaria vermicularis growing in the Model Forest. I would assume that their spores were brought in with the load of soil which now beds the moss. There was only a handful then and, in subsequent annual autumnal visits, no more than a few groupings ever appeared until now. As I've mentioned previously, fungal diversity and sheer biomass is at an all-time peak this year. 2019 will definitely go down in my book as the Year of the Fungus. I was not expecting to find more than a few threads of vermicularis in the heart of the moss "meadow," but not only were they present in abundance there, the hillside behind them (all three feet of it) sported a Mohawk of fine white clubs in a strip roughly six feet long by a foot wide. Obviously, the mycelium found this year's cooler, damper summer much to its liking, as did I.

Shaggy Soup From Coprinus Corner

Day 363: I had the most delicious lunch from Coprinus Corner, my favourite spot in chswnekdisneld... "What's that, Crow? I didn't quite catch what you said." No, you didn't, nor am I likely to repeat it anywhere within the hearing of a friend of a friend of a friend who might possibly be the friend of a mushroomer. Knowledge of the locations of good mushrooming spots requires a security clearance which makes "maximum" look downright lax. I discovered Coprinus Corner some time back while exploring a disused trail for no other reason than I wanted to see where it wound up. I nearly tripped over a substantial colony of Shaggymanes growing smack in the middle of the path. Because it was autumn, I had a "perhaps bag" in my pack and the hope of chanterelles in my heart. I wasn't even thinking about Shaggys, my favourite soup 'shroom. Judicious harvesting practices have ensured the health of the patch, but this year, it went over the top with respect to production. I easily left at least half of what was available and choice when I gathered these, never mind the ones which had started to ink along the lower margin. There were many more buttons just barely peeping through the soil. Even so, this collection was sufficient to make two large bowls of Shaggy Soup, thick with mushroom bits.

Blah Beauty

Day 362: The Pacific Northwest is famous for its diverse Coral fungi. Like the holotype of its brilliant red cousin R. araiospora, the specimen from which Ramaria acrisiccescens was described botanically was collected only a few miles from my house. It is much more abundant than araiospora; in fact, I was compelled to watch where I was walking yesterday to avoid stepping on it. While these examples were hand-sized, others were as large as a gallon milk jug. When seen in the scattered light of sun-fleck forest, the translucent branch tips fairly glow, suggesting that its common name of "Blah Coral" was ascribed to it for its lack of gustatory appeal rather than its aesthetic quality.

Aleuria Aurantia

Day 361: It's only natural that we associate autumn with the colour orange. Farmers' fields are filled with ripe pumpkins, the leaves are turning, those delicious Chanterelles are springing up alongside other orange mushrooms and fungi, including the thin-fleshed, delicate Aleuria aurantia, commonly called Orange Peel. And that's what it looks like: little bits of orange peel discarded by some thoughtless hiker. Unlike citrus peels, Aleuria is short-lived in the environment. If not exactly ephemeral, they disappear within a couple of weeks of their appearance, the brittle flesh breaking into bits quite readily. "Aurantia" is Latin for "orange" (as in the colour). The root word "aurum" means "gold," and of course you already knew that the chemical symbol for the metal is Au on the periodic table. Occasionally, the outer surface of young specimens of Aleuria aurantia may be covered with a whitish fuzz. This disappears rapidly as the cups mature. Orange and forest green have always been two of my favourite colours. No wonder autumn is the season I love best.

Fuligo Septica

Day 360: Despite a rather abrupt passage from warm summer to chilly autumn, the slime molds were out in force this last week. Maybe the change in the weather caught them with their plasmodial pants down, or maybe they've altered their plans for world domination to include winter assaults, but in any event, I was thoroughly surprised to find not one but three different species out and about in the woods. They're normally at their most active during warm weather. Although they can be difficult to tell apart when in the early stages of development, I feel I can identify this one as Fuligo septica with some assurance because I've seen it at this location before (several times, as a matter of fact). I hope it doesn't feel overly proprietary toward the Chanterelles in the area because I would not wish to get on its bad side.