Near Miss

Day 34: It may have been the thudding of our boots on the frosty ground which startled this young Long-Toed Salamander (Ambystoma macrodactylum) into moving just ever so slightly. In any event, the minor motion caught the tail of my eye and saved the little feller from an untimely end. I didn't even realize what had stopped me in my tracks, but as always when something moves in the woods where I'm not expecting motion, I froze and began scanning the ground. It took me a while to spot that yellow dorsal stripe among the leaves, and even after I located the culprit and had knelt down to take a picture, Yonit was attempting to figure out what had captured my interest. Our little amphibian friend never twitched another muscle. This species is generally inactive at this time of year, resorting to the protection of forest litter or possibly even burrowing underground to over-winter, so I was a bit surprised to see one. Sad to say, Long-Toed Salamanders are losing their habitat as small, unprotected wetlands are filled in, and farmed game fish are being introduced into upland ponds. Hopefully here in the relative sanctuary of a state park, the species will thrive.

Manke Mt. Morning

Day 33: It is rare that I hike with a companion other than when botanizing, so when my friend Yonit suggested a local non-Park hike, I almost told her I'd pass, more out of reflex than for any other reason. After a few minutes' consideration, I accepted her offer and we began discussing possibilities. Pack Forest was her initial suggestion, but they have done so much logging as part of their experimental forestry program that scenic hiking opportunities have dwindled so far as to be almost nonexistent. I suggested Nisqually State Park, and since Yonit had never been there, she left the selection of the route to me. I laid out a five-mile loop with a side trip up Manke Mt. The frost was still firmly on the pumpkin when we met at the parking area and geared up in our winter woollies, and by the time we'd gone two miles, we were both ready to shed a few layers before starting the uphill climb to this very minor summit. At 908' (276 meters), Manke hardly merits a dot on the map, but some years ago, someone nailed a carved sign to a tree to mark what they believed was the high point. Maps might disagree with that assessment by a few feet, but for us, the unofficial summit of Manke (as indicated by the sign) and halfway point of our adventure suggested a lunch of cookies before descending on a trail littered with maple leaves still frost-covered and crunching beneath our boots.

Wrecked On The Mashel

Day 162: In these days of COVID-19 and social distancing, it's becoming increasingly difficult for me to find natural-history material for my posts. Consequently, I thought I'd share with you a discovery from my last outing (possibly my last outing for some time, I'm afraid).

In my younger years, I thought nothing of setting off cross-country with my trusty map and compass in the tangled woods of the Pacific Northwest. These days, the knees and hips don't do so well in descending steep ravines, nor do they like climbing back out again, particularly when the climb involves heaving the entire body over fallen trees or clambering up on andesitic handholds supported only by the merest tip of boot toe. The bottom line is that the old grey mare, she ain't what she used to be, a fact I've had to face, like it or no. That's not to say I don't still go cross-country, but I go less far and I choose my routes with a sharper eye to potential obstacles like those infamous 40-foot cliffs which lurk between 20-foot contour lines. No, my exploring is somewhat more limited these days, and usually finds me on some "bunny trail" (as Kevin calls them), obscure paths created by a very few footfalls, human or animal as the case might be. I figure if the elk found a passage, the chance I could get through without breaking a leg is pretty good. However, if the bunny trail was made by repeated human use, there's a good chance there's something worth seeing at the end of it. In this instance, I was trying to access the Mashel River from Nisqually State Park. The bunny trail took me down a finger ridge where I found a car hung up in a tree. I'm not usually very keen on man-made artifacts even though they make interesting photographic subjects, but in this case, I thought I'd nose around.

I can't tell you the make of the vehicle, but it must have been a nice car at one time. I was able to determine that its seats provided "All Leather Comfort" and were manufactured by MoPa(something) from a small metal oval riveted to the frame. Shiny chrome still surrounded the broken gauges on the dash, but any other identifying ornaments had long since been removed. The paint was bluish, but whether that was the manufacturer's application or a black faded by sun and age, I couldn't tell. Content that I had learned all I could about a subject far outside my expertise, I let my imagination have its fling as it conjured up multiple scenarios for how the vehicle came to be in this spot, and that kept me entertained as I struggled back up the hill, hoping to find another bunny trail to explore.

The Bear Went Over The Mountain

Day 159: You know the song. You probably sang it in Scouts or Guides or even just with your family while sitting around the campfire roasting marshmallows.

"The bear went over the mountain,
To see what he could see.
And all that he could see was
The other side of the mountain.
That's all that he could see."

I've lived my life by those words, and it's really been bothering me that I hadn't found an access to the Mashel River from Nisqually State Park, no matter how many bunny trails I went down. Oh, yes, there are other places to get down to river level, even along the north and west sides, but I wanted to get closer to the river's confluence with the magnificent Nisqually at a point opposite the end of a Pack Forest road. There had to be a way, although I was beginning to think I might need to take a rope. Yesterday, in an effort to socially distance myself (and more on that in a minute), I found not one but two routes down and a spur which dead-ended in a blackberry thicket. Neither of the trails terminated at anything even remotely resembling a sandy beach or rocky shingle, but my feet were within a foot of the water's edge at both sites, and that was good enough for me. In the process, I discovered another network of bunny trails, adding roughly two miles to my walk. Even so, I encountered one family who obviously had had the same thought that the woods would be a good place to achieve social distance, but when I got back to the parking area, I was horrified. Pick any warm, summery day in memory, and you would recall no more than three cars and one horse trailer occupying the spaces. On this occasion, it was packed! So much for sheltering in place! It's bad enough that you people are travelling to buy up all the TP, flour, sugar and other staples from our little rural stores. Can't you just stay the hell out of my woods?

Boogers Identified

Day 152: Perhaps the most useful phrase in the world of science is this: "Looks like I was wrong." If you can't make yourself say it, you have no business calling yourself a scientist. I felt quite sure of my identification of this particular fungus when I found it growing on a tree in the Park that I posted it with the label "Ascotremella faginea," and that was even after I'd examined a sample under the microscope. A few days ago while hunting for something else entirely, I came across a reference to the nearly-identical Exidia candida. I made mental note of the distinction and a promise to myself that if I ever encountered another specimen of "boogers," I'd look at them with a different eye. During a walk on Tuesday in Nisqually State Park, I ventured down a little-used bunny-trail and almost immediately came to a booger-infested branch across the trail, the fungus identical to the specimen I'd found in the Park some years ago. At this stage in its development, the morphology (specifically the colour) indicated Exidia. Consequently (and because I'm only human, and like to bury my mistakes), I have gone back and edited all previous posts referring to the fungus. I may be guilty of being wrong, but I do not want to further the offense by leaving erroneous information where it might be accessed by inquiring minds. That said, Exidia is considered an "artificial" genus. No gene sequencing has been done, and its classification is based solely on morphologic characteristics. In other words, there's a lot of "wiggle room" here, plenty of space to use those telling words, "We were wrong."

Lichenomphalia Umbellifera

Day 151: Yesterday, we talked about an ascomycetic fungus (i.e., a fungus which reproduces like a lichen), so today, we'll switch it around and talk about a basidiomycetic lichen (i.e., a lichen which reproduces like a mushroom). I told you this was a confusing field. Now you should have a better grasp of what I meant.

Now as you know, lichens are a symbiosis of fungus, algae and yeast. The algae come in two forms: green algae and cyanobacteria ("blue-green algae"). They are the photosynthetic partner in the ménage à trois. One type or the other is always present in a lichen, and is generally obvious in the colour even though some orange and yellow lichens might make you doubt my word. This is germane to the discussion, as you'll see shortly.

You're walking down the trail, looking for cool things, and your eye is caught by a cute little creamy white or tan mushroom growing out of an old stump. It looks like a little umbrella. You can see that it has gills if you look at the underside of the cap, so your immediate assumption is that it is a fungus. You're only partly right. Lichenomphalia umbellifera produces a fruiting body which resembles a mushroom in more ways than just visually. Its spores are produced externally by basidia, specialized cells on the margins of its gills, as opposed to most other lichens whose spores are produced in internal asci.

Now you're asking, "But what makes this a lichen? It looks like a mushroom to me." That's because you're not looking at the whole picture. The thallus (the main body) of Lichenomphalia is that pea-green and eminently algal substance coating the wood from which the "mushroom" grows. Fruiting body and thallus are parts of the same whole: a basidiomycetic lichen found fairly commonly on decaying stumps in the Pacific Northwest.

Things are not always what they seem to be at first glance.

Natural Art

Day 65: As a scientist, I am always picking things up to get a closer look, maybe using a magnifier, sometimes even nicking a small sample for examination under the microscope. However, that doesn't mean that I can't appreciate natural art when I find it. While most of Mother Nature's handiwork seems rather random to the human aesthetic sense, occasionally she elects to bridge the gap with something more to our tastes: balanced arrangements, colours which compliment one another, mixtures of visually appealing textures, etc. Admittedly, sometimes the line between science and art is blurry, and in those cases, I nearly always allow the right brain its moment of appreciation before permitting my analytical tendencies to dominate. In this particular instance, I'd been looking closely at a specimen of fungus, but when I raised my head and noticed this fragment of lichen (Evernia prunastri) perfectly laid out on a bed of decaying cottonwood leaves, science took a back seat. Its dichotomously branched lobes were artfully displayed, as if to illustrate the definition of the term on its page in the living encyclopedia of the forest.

Tremella Mesenterica On Hardwood

Day 61: Natural history lesson for the day: it is often helpful to identify the substrate on which a lichen or fungus is growing. Some species prefer hardwoods to soft, as is the case with Tremella mesenterica, commonly known as Witches' Butter. It has a close look-alike in Dacrymyces palmatus which, conveniently, exhibits a preference for softwood such as Doug-fir. When the wood on which the fungus grows is too badly decayed to sort out, we must resort to microscopic examination of the spore-producing basidia. Both Tremella and Dacrymyces are common in the Pacific Northwest. While identification of the substrate isn't a foolproof way of separating them because Dacrymyces also occasionally occurs on hardwood, if you observe an orangy-yellow jelly fungus similar to the one shown in this image and it is growing on rotting alder, it is undoubtedly Tremella mesenterica.

Hypogymnia Tubulosa

Day 61: This little bugger threw me for a loop. I discovered many examples of it while hiking recently in Nisqually State Park, and I thought I recognized it by the knobby, sorediate tips of the lobes. That said, it didn't want to fit into the description of Hypogymnia hultenii because (as I discovered when looking back at my own post from October 14), hultenii was an exclusively coastal species. I'd seen it at H. J. Carroll Park in Chimacum! So, it was back to the forty-pound field guide (Brodo's Lichens of North America) and more head-scratching because hultenii had originally been classified as a Cavernularia. As I am accustomed to doing any time I encounter a Hypogymnia, I had peeled the layers apart to examine the medullary ceiling (the underside of the top surface) and had noted that it was a light grey-tan. That and the sorediate lobe tips identified it as Hypogymnia tubulosa (Powder-headed Tube Lichen). Sure enough, when I re-read the information listed under "Cavernularia hultenii" (now Hypogymnia hultenii), it compared it to H. tubulosa. It's always nice when the haystack yields up the needle without having to resort to chem tests.

Pierced Ear

Day 59: Whodathunk it? Mother Nature has a pierced ear! It only makes sense that she'd keep up with trends, but I was still surprised to see her decked out in fine fashion on a little-used trail in Nisqually State Park. As for the fungal ear, it was not in a position for me conducive to examination of the underside, although it appears to display teeth rather than pores when viewed from this angle. This would suggest Cerrena unicolor, as opposed to Trametes versicolor (Turkey Tail) which has pores in the manner seen on many other species of shelf fungus.

Schizophyllum Commune, Split-Gill Fungus

Day 46: I raised my leg to step over the log, looked down to be sure I wasn't going to scrape off any lichens or moss, and there it was. "Schizophyllum commune!" I said, rather loudly for being in a quiet forest. "Well, that just made my day!" I'd already scored with an Usnea I thought was new to my Life List (see my post from the 26th), and hadn't expected to find anything else exciting along the "bunny trail" I'd decided to follow. Nisqually State Park is proving quite productive as far as botany, lichenology and mycology go. I have yet to find a new slime mold there, but we'll have to see what next year brings.

As for Schizophyllum, look closely at the top image and you'll see how it got its common name of Split-Gill Fungus. It releases its spores from splits which develop along the length of each gill when fully mature. When Schiz first starts to grow, you might pass it over as "just another bracket fungus." The young fans demonstrate zonal colouration in shades of brown. I had never observed the species in as many stages of development as this one log provided. Young brackets, looking ever so much like Turkey-tail (in honour of Thanksgiving, of course) wouldn't have given me reason to look more closely. What inspired me to explore the log more intimately was the bracket in the lower right image which is just beginning to grow its "fur" from its point of attachment. Who knew? I have not encountered a species description anywhere which covers the early growth phases in any depth. So, I give you for Thanksgiving that for which I am most grateful in my life: the joy and thrill of discovery.

Usnea Pacificana

Day 44: For the second time this month, I've used UV to identify a lichen species. Y'see, I'd gone to the library and since I was out and feeling rather desperate for post material, I decided to go for a short, chilly walk in Nisqually State Park, hoping to get home before it started snowing. I took a different turn than usual, and after about half a mile, I found a "bunny trail" heading off toward the Mashell. Well, why not? A few hundred yards in, a very stringy, pendulous Usnea caught my eye. Having not had a Cunning Plan when I set out, I was poorly equipped, i.e., my aide mémoire for Usneas was still on the shelf at home. I examined the specimen for identifying features (cigar-shaped branches, isidia/soredia, red spots, annular rings), making note of each mentally. As I started to walk away, I saw a detached piece on the ground. Into my pocket it went! And I'm glad I brought it home, because without seeing its response to UV, I couldn't have nailed it down. That said, this is perhaps the sixth species of Usnea I've identified in Nisqually State Park. And you were wondering why I spend so much of my free time hiking there?

Ridiculously Lichenicolous Stick

Day 27: This is a Ridiculously Lichenicolous Stick. RLS's are not uncommon in the Pacific Northwest and come in a variety of types depending on their individual ecologic niches. My area (that in the vicinity of Mount Rainier National Park and Eatonville) is notable for its extensive Usnea population. Although I only took one specimen from the RLS which I identified as Usnea scabrata, there may have been different Usneas interspersed with it. In fact, I probably could have spent an hour or more studying the RLS had I had my aide mémoire and a hand lens in my pack. Unfortunately, I did not. That said, what was notable about the RLS was not its abundant Usneas or the nearly-hidden Parmelias hugging more tightly to its bark, but the fact that it (the RLS) was pointing its four-foot length to my planned route as if giving a nod of approval to the hike. Things like advice from an RLS signify to those of us who spend large portions of our time in the woods.

Cladonia Squamosa

Day 25: Squamous...that was what caught my eye: the sheer squamosity (and yes, that's a legitimate word) of this particular Cladonia. Oh, you're thinking I should define that in layman's terms. How about "scaly?" The squamules are the little leafy green bits and in Cladonias, and are usually found at the base with one or two notable exceptions. In those exceptions, they aren't distributed in a manner which allows the patchiness of cortex (skin) over medulla (inner portion) to be easily observed. Examination under a 40x hand lens revealed a few teeny-tiny brown apothecia (fruiting bodies) at the tips. Cladonia squamosa prefers the moist forests of the mid- and lowland areas of the Pacific Northwest and elsewhere in North America where it is widespread. Like most Cladonias, it exhibits a fondness for rotten logs, but within the genus, it is more sensitive to pollutants than some of its kin. It seemed to be enjoying the air circulation on a plateau 20 feet above Ohop Creek near its confluence with the Nisqually River.

Hypogymnia Enteromorpha, Budding Tube Lichen

Day 24: I've spoken in the past about "micro-ecologies," those little pockets where very specific conditions allow a species to survive, e.g., a sheltered bend on a streambank where sunlight falls only a few hours a day and snow fails to accumulate to any significant depth in winter, where soil pH and minerals meet tight criteria, and humidity is neither too high nor too low. Some plants are like Goldilocks: if it isn't "just right," it won't do. On a somewhat larger scale, an elevational change of a mere 500 feet can open a habitational window, limiting the range of some species while opening it up for different ones. Sometimes these species can be quite similar in appearance to their counterparts at higher or lower elevations, so it's always best to check and note important field characteristics for later identification. My hike to the Nisqually River yesterday yielded up two lichens I don't recall having seen previously. This one (Hypogymnia enteromorpha, or Budding Tube Lichen) caught my eye because it was more densely packed than those I find closer to home. Under scrutiny, I found its lobes demonstrated a tendency to bud along the margins rather than being exclusively dichotomously branched. Mentally noting small openings at the ends of the lobes and a black medullary ceiling led me to its identity, and I was able to leave it in the field, happy as Larry in its preferred environment.

All Der Leaves

Day 23: All der leaves have fallen...cottonwood, maple, willow, cascara, an errant oak, and yes, alder leaves, all have fallen and lie on the old road/trail to the Nisqually-Ohop Creek confluence in a blanket of mottled brown. Unlike a normal Pacific Northwest autumn when they'd be wet, slick, gooey and a serious hazard to your health on several different levels, this year they are dry and crunchy and make a wonderfully satisfying sound as you shuffle through them. I needed to get out today without too much physical challenge, so I chose this easy trail in Nisqually State Park which runs something between a mile and a half to two miles from parking before it dead-ends at the water. The elevation loss is minimal, maybe a couple hundred feet, and on such a gentle slope that you don't really notice until you start climbing back up. There's not a lot to see along the way other than Usnea-covered branches and in season the occasional mushroom, but it's a pretty walk and can be taken as leisurely or as vigorously as one might wish. I loafed my way down today, ambled back in no particular rush, stopping to look at lichens, enjoying the sound of the river, searching for a woodpecker drumming on a tree somewhere out of sight, and surprising a coyote who went bounding off into the forest in a crackle and crunch of leaves, affronted by a human in his personal domain.

Nisqually State Park

Day 17: Between nasty-cold weather and a sore knee, perambulations through Nature's wonders have been at a minimum for the last week or so, and my disposition has taken a turn toward decidedly crabby as a consequence. You hear a lot about Vitamin N these days, and my body demands more of it than most. So, what's to do? Bundle up and head for a relatively flat trail! Nisqually State Park offers a variety of old roads to walk with elevation changes of no more than about 500 feet. That's "flat" in my book, so I headed out with no particular plan in mind except to start at the beginning and go until I was "halfway." That's my criterion for turning around, and I'm a good judge of it, always leaving a little wiggle room for the trip back. I parked in the main parking area and started down the gut. I'd got roughly this far (about a quarter of a mile) before the real Plan surfaced in my mind. It seemed like a good time to explore some of the "bunny trails" which lead vaguely off to either side. The first one headed toward the river, but I was fairly certain it wouldn't descend to it and I was right. It wound in multiple mileage-adding S-curves, occasionally skirting the edge of the bluff but never providing a view of the river, then twisting back into mixed forest with its glades of ferns and thickets of salal. Once, it ventured within twenty feet of the main trail before bending back riverward. I followed it until it forced me back onto the main track. Not satisfied that I'd gone halfway, but not wanting to repeat another recent hike, I headed back toward parking, but then diverged onto a second "bunny trail" just to see where it would wind up. A mile or so later, it dumped me out onto a different road. I recognized the area, and since I knew where the road would take me, I just hoofed it back to the car. Did I find anything interesting? Maybe. I'm waiting for confirmation of an ID.

Bisporella Citrina, Lemon Discos

Day 13: Hiking in deciduous forest affords opportunities to find things you wouldn't see among conifers. I can't say what prompted me to stop at this particular point on the trail, but had I not done so I wouldn't have noticed teeny-tiny little orange spots on a piece of decaying wood. Moving in for a closer look, I discovered that they weren't closely attached to the substrate as I had initially thought. Each little disk was supported on a stalk (stipe). The largest cap was no more than 3 mm and a smaller branch to the side was freckled with even more in the 1 mm range. "Cute!" says I, thinking that they probably wouldn't be listed in any of my mushroom/fungus field guides, but they were: Bisporella citrina, commonly called "Yellow Discos." Discos? I thought it was a misprint, the "o" having slipped in with a fumble of fingers. I checked. No, it really is Discos. Alternately, they're called Yellow Fairy Cups. They can be found growing on decaying hardwood which has lost its bark.

Cladonia Fimbriata

Day 12: The Cladonias are particularly difficult to differentiate, to the extent that experts will often disagree even as they're standing over the results of chemical testing and microscopic analysis. That said, I hope my readers will understand when I say that I am going out on a very long and wobbly limb to identify these specimens as Cladonia fimbriata based solely on their morphological features. Specifically, I refer to the powdery surface, limited number of squamules and shape/height. Had they been fruiting, I might have had another clue. Since the tests for lichen substances in Cladonia are not something I can do at home, I did not take a sample. While the term "Pixie Cups" is generally accepted as the common name of C. pyxidata, the generic uncapitalized form "pixie cups" can be used to refer to any golf-tee shaped Cladonia.

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.