Tarzetta Cupularis' Return

Day 253: Some of my readers may recall that last year around this time, I found an odd little cup fungus which, with the help of experts, I finally identified as Tarzetta cupularis (Elf Goblet or Grey Goblet). It is rare in Washington and perhaps elsewhere, and in fact is only known from three locations in the state, two of which are in Pierce County: this site where it was found by me in 2020, and Pack Forest where it was found in 1987. The species is rather small, as you can see by comparing it to the fir needles in the photo, and even though I had marked its spot with my GPS, I knew I'd have my work cut out for me trying to find it again this year. I've had my eye on the site for a month now, making passes through as I search for slime molds. Until yesterday, I had had no luck. It's possible I overlooked these two specimens earlier because they were roughly 15 feet from my previous find. That discovery suggests that the mycorrhiza extends at least that far, but a further hands-and-knees search of a 20'-diameter circle failed to yield up any others. Tarzetta cupularis is not known for growing in large clusters, but rather as individuals or low-number groupings. Two is cause for celebration!

Stemonitopsis Typhina

Day 274: When I sent Arnie the photos and told him I'd found another new species of slime mold on Park property, he replied, "Little popsicles!" That was the second natural-history belly laugh I've had this week, the earlier one being when an acknowledged authority in the field (a professional and lettered man) commented on someone else's image of a developing slime mold, "Who's a hungry little plasmodium, then?" I've long been a believer that the world needs more silly; it is encouraging to see it coming from the otherwise staid academic community.

So...to the "little popsicles." This is the same slime I photographed a week or so ago, a second and more abundant "fruiting." Better images made identification possible, and I have put a footnote on my earlier post stating that it is in fact Stemonitopsis typhina. Like lichens, slime-mold common names are not standardized and really shouldn't be used, but this one also goes by "Shiny Thimble." Indeed, some of the brown sporocarps were quite glossy, having not yet entered into the phase when they release their spores.

As a sidebar, there are three pocket-ecologies on this piece of property which now have my full attention. One is a stump which has hosted three different slime molds this spring, a very humid site; one is where Scutellinia scutellata grows in abundance alongside several slimes and Ramaria fungi, also a moist site; one where Stemonitopsis and Tarzetta cupularis (a rare fungus) live within a few feet of each other, a substantially drier micro-climate which nevertheless contains a lot of decaying forest detritus, albeit of a different sort (conifer vs. deciduous). With no fancy laboratory equipment at my disposal, I am attempting to analyze by observation, hoping to get some clue as to what is unique about these three areas that they support types of life not seen in other parts of the same forest. As new developments arise at these sites over the summer, I may find even more peculiarities. For me, this is what being a naturalist is about: observation, making connections, finding associations. It's much more rewarding than popping a tissue sample under the microscope.

Tarz In The Jungle

Day 264: Perhaps this isn't the most artful set of photos I've ever posted. It's not meant to be. It's meant to demonstrate what it takes to find the rare and unusual, and to show what it means to be an observer. You've probably already noticed the red circle in the lower photo. I'm going to ask you to ignore it for a second and attempt to look at the upper photo with an objective eye. Even knowing where the red circle lies, can you spot the tiny cup fungus in the upper photo? Be honest. That's Tarzetta cupularis, in situ, a single specimen, the only specimen I found in roughly ten acres. The story doesn't end there, by any means. I did not have my GPS with me on the first trip, nor did I realize that Tarz was anything special. Once I learned that it has only been reported from one other location in western Washington, I knew I had my work cut out for me. I had to re-find it.

Having a reasonably eidetic memory for landscape features has served me well over the years. It's why I don't get lost. Even when I try to take a different returning route, I invariably drift back onto my original line, guided by some unconscious memory of sticks, rocks, patches of moss, slope of the land or other features which have registered in the depths of my brain. That said, when I found myself standing again at the location where I was sure I had seen Tarz, it took me several minutes to find it. Why? Because I was pointedly looking FOR a small creamy cup fungus instead of allowing it to suggest itself to me as something out of the ordinary. You've experienced this phenomenon on a larger scale when you've mislaid your car keys. You've eye-scoured the counter where you normally leave them, and they're not there. They're just NOT THERE! Ten minutes later, you walk back into the room and they're laying on the counter in plain sight. Once I stopped looking for my solitary Tarz (I was distracted by a different fungus), it caught my attention almost immediately: a 10 mm spot of a different shade of cream than that of the wood, dry grass, bird's-nest fungi, leaves and other cream-coloured forest debris. Nevertheless, I took a GPS reading and made note of several macroscopic indicators so that I could find it more easily. Although I've made several return trips, no others have erupted.

Another Weird One For Crow - Tarzetta Cupularis

Day 249: The people who want me to file a "flight plan" just don't understand that I go where the woods sends me, not necessarily following an established trail or an animal track, but rather where some instinct directs. I cannot define the parameters for selecting a route; no occurrence of a specific moss, no slope of the land, no play or light and shadow compels me to go this way instead of that. Yet when I listen to the speech of the forest, it invariably guides me to something worth observation. Attempts to force the process result in pointless meandering, pleasurable in its own way, but more often than not, lacking the thrill of discovery which I so crave. Having already found specimens of one unusual fungus (tomorrow's feature), I was on my knees photographing some Nidula buttons, not yet open to reveal the "eggs" (peridioles) inside the cups which supply their common name of "Bird's-nest fungi" when a tiny spot of creamy white caught the tail of my eye. "Who's that weird little guy?" I said, words my botany partners recognize as a flag being run up the pole. I took several photos before remembering I'd put my measurin' stick in my bag (a good thing to have when botanizing), but further searching left me with only the one example. Elated, I hurried home to hit the field guides, certain that I would fail to find it in their pages which, naturally, proved to be the case. In the end, I called in expert help to get as far as Tarzetta ("Tazetta" in some references), and then narrowed it down by morphologic features to T. cupularis (Elf Cup or Grey Goblet), and a new species for the Park. Update: identification confirmed by a second, regionally knowledgeable mycologist. This photo is the first image of the species to be added to the Burke Herbarium's gallery. The only specimen of the species in the Burke collection was taken from Pack Forest.