Off the Beaten Path

Day 259: Before they arrived, I had warned my New Zealand guests that there wasn't a lot to do here in the Back of Beyond unless you were an avid hiker or a mountaineer. The skies have been cloudy, and they've only seen the tips of Mount Rainier's three summit peaks poking up above them. In the hopes that we might get above the clouds for a Mountain view, I decided to take them up to Paradise yesterday even though the webcams showed the area blanketed in fog. There was little chance they would actually get a view, but I thought I could offer a little excitement en route with a brief visit to a little-known area. Obviously, Rob enjoyed the diversion! In exchange, he was able to provide a trip highlight to me: he found a slime mold (it will appear in a subsequent post). We paid Kevin a visit at the office, and as predicted, Paradise was a rainy, nippy washout. With two days left before they start the trip home, there's still hope that my visitors may both see the Mountain and the night skies of the northern hemisphere. It's supposed to clear up.

Arcyria Celebrates Pride

Day 254: Deep in our Pacific Northwest forests, our sight is overwhelmed by greens and browns. Subtle colour are subsumed, lost in the confusion of verdant hues and shadows. The environment here is painted with a broad brush, one shade blending into another as it translates from the eye to the brain. Unless an object is vivid or obviously out of place, it does not register as distinct from the palette even at close range. The camera is not so easily fooled, and although while I was kneeling beside this bit of rotten wood, I would have described it as a generic "brown," the wide-open lens registered a pastel rainbow surrounding the slime mold which was the focus of my attention: Arcyria obvelata celebrating Pride Month with its own microcosmic parade.

One Log, Two Arcyria Species

Day 235: After mistakenly identifying a specimen in the field (obvious to me once I got the photo up on the screen), I decided I was going to have to put a sample under the microscope. I made a second trip up to the site to collect some of the material, and lifted a small bit of what I assumed to be older: darker, expended sporocarps presenting capillitial filaments. Using a darkfield microscope at 1000x, I was able to observe the "cogs and half-rings" typical of Arcyria denudata and thought I had it nailed. However, upon seeing my photo of the lighter coloured sporocarps, a slime mold expert asked if I had considered A. obvelata. I defended my identification by citing the visible cogs I had observed on the capillitial filaments under the 'scope. That night, I did not sleep well, plagued by a nagging feeling that maybe there had been more than one species of Arcyria on that log, and what I had thought was older by virtue of its colour might in fact not be the same as the tan specimen. The following morning, I downed a second cup of coffee and headed out the door to collect another sample. What I saw under the 'scope confirmed that the lighter of the two was indeed A. obvelata. Its capillitial threads resembled rock candy, and the spores were 1-2 microns larger than those I'd observed from the first specimen. As a botanist, I should have known better than to take a sample from one specimen and a photograph of another, even one which was in very close proximity! As I studied the sample of A. obvelata under 1000x magnification, I was delighted to find a section which hadn't shed quite all of its spores on my kitchen table. In the top right photo, the circle on the left shows spores still attached to the capillitial strands.

Vertical Vomit

Day 333: Myxomycetologists disdain the use of common names for slime molds since they are not standardized as they are for many vascular plants. If you will forgive a momentary sidebar, a similar attitude is prevalent in the field of lichenology and although I find some lichen common names to be amusing, they create confusion between eastern and western species. In the matter of slime molds, however, one has to wonder exactly who was given the privilege of assigning certain epithets. Some of us are inclined to believe that the job may have been given to the researcher's pre-pubescent son in the case of "Dog-vomit." Fuligo septica deserves better. It is a very common slime mold, particularly here in our Pacific Northwest forests, and is usually first observed as a yellowish-white or yellow mass which looks...well, if not perhaps like dog-vomit, but something pretty nasty. In point of fact, Fuligo is exercising its role in the cycle of life as a decomposer. It feeds on the bacteria present in rotting wood. "Fuligo" derives from a Latin word meaning "soot," and refers to a later stage in its development when the mass turns black. It is not toxic, although its spores can cause allergic reactions in those susceptibe to them. It can achieve impressive size, purportedly capable of covering several square yards although this specimen of "vertical vomit" is the largest I've personally observed.

Summer Icicles - Ceratiomyxa

Day 270: As a lichenologist, I spend a lot of time looking at rotten stumps, broken branches and unattractive rock outcrops. I find it amazing that slime molds escaped my notice until a few years ago when I stumbled across my first specimens of Lycogala epidendrum. Its pink bubble-gum mounds were the gateway to yet another rabbit hole begging me to enter and, like Alice, I tumbled into a bizarre world populated with some of the oddest creatures I had ever seen. During voluntary isolation, I have been exploring the woods near my home in minuscule detail in the hopes of discovering vascular plants or lichens not previously recorded in the area. Not many botanists get an opportunity for intense field study such as this, to be able to spend as much time as possible in a relatively small geographic area. While exploring one particular section of no more than 1500' sq. ft., I have found four slime mold species and a handful of relatively uncommon fungi which do not seem to appear anywhere else except in that particular microecology. Among them is Ceratiomyxa fruticulosa, a slime mold one might easily mistake for a fungus on first glance. What is it about this location? Is it that there is more moisture here, or that certain plant species are present? Is it because when fire swept the area it burned more or less intensely at this small spot? Was the detritus of the old forest more rich in hemlock or cedar, perhaps providing a unique chemistry which draws the slime molds to it? Why are they here? What do they want? I will probably never have answers, but as the questions arise, they feed and nourish my curiosity. One must have questions, else why bother getting out of bed?

Stemonitopsis typhina

Day 268: Update: I now have a positive ID of Stemonitopsis typhina, still a new species for me! So...please make mental corrections as you read the following post.

*****

Since discovering the fascinating realm of slime molds several years ago, one genus has been on my Bucket List: Stemonitis. The distinguishing feature of these elegant slimes is the long, slender sporangia which develop at the end of thread-like stalks. The sporangia group together in clusters, a characteristic which has given rise to one common name of "tree hair," although that name can also be applied to certain lichens and mosses.

I've been hunting Stemonitis for some time, not knowing what type of habitat it preferred other than rotting wood. There's plenty of rotting wood in our Pacific Northwest forests, but apparently it has to reach a certain state of decay before Stemonitis deems it worth consuming, and each species within the genus has specific preferences for type of wood. With no more clues than that, I set out to investigate rotten wood until I either found a Stemonitis or ran out of forest. I was almost back to the point where a private property line compels me to return to pavement when I decided to take a small and very brushy detour. I was about ready to abandon my jungle-commando search when something pinkish caught my eye from about twenty feet away. It could have been any number of common things: a fungus, a bit of blush-tint wood, a trick of the light, but I couldn't leave without checking. Lo and behold, when I reached it and bent over..."Stemonitis!" You could have heard my whoop in Tacoma. That said, without examination of its micoscopic features, it is impossible to tell whether this is S. fusca (which I suspect), S. axifera or S. splendens. All three are macroscopically similar and are known from this area.

I don't need furs or diamonds. I don't need a hot car or a European vacation. Just give me a new slime mold or a plant I've never seen before, and I'm happy as Larry. Simple pleasures for a simple mind.

New Kids In Town

Day 263: I'm always happy when I find something I haven't seen before, and of course since I'm new to the world of slime molds, the gateway to fresh discoveries is wide open. I do not profess to any skill at identifying any but the most common of them; my modus operandi is to get the best photo possible and refer it out to a group of slime mold experts from around the world. By doing so, I am learning the identification points for genera and species. These tiny creatures turned out to be a Cribraria of some sort, impossible to sort out any further without a microscope. My lesson for the day was to look for the fine net-like structure which contains the spores. Now it must be said that hunting slime molds can be a risky business. While I was photographing these little critters which, I hasten to add, measured something under 1 mm in height (much smaller than pinheads), I perched on their log, cushioned by a thick layer of moss thinking nothing of what might be living within its green micro-jungle. Suffice to say that I now know what the bite of a nymphal earwig looks like, and that the swelling/itching responds well to repeated applications of Benadryl cream.

Lycogala Growing, Going, Gone

Day 253: Lycogala epidendrum (commonly known as "Wolf's-milk") was the first slime mold ever to be described botanically, and I say "botanically" with some reservation. Linnaeus could be excused for thinking it was a fungus; indeed, he initially called it "Lycoperdon" to include it with puffballs, but modern science is equipped with better tools. We now understand that slime molds are a very different breed of cat from any other form of life, although like all fertile living things, they reproduce, or at least are capable of reproduction. They begin their lives as single cells, able to move about in an amoeba-like fashion. At this stage, they can reproduce by means of cell division, asexually, but when they encounter a cell of the proper mating type, they may fuse and reproduce via nuclear division (as opposed to cell division). Given ideal conditions, they will then form fruiting bodies like these. A fresh Lycogala is pinkish-orange. As the fruiting body matures, it darkens and dries out (middle photo), then ruptures, releasing thousands of unicellular spores to start the process over again (lower photo).

In a well-publicized quote from slime mold expert John Tyler Bonner, he explains the unusual nature of Myxomycetes: (they are) "no more than a bag of amoebae encased in a thin slime sheath, yet they manage to have various behaviours that are equal to those of animals who possess muscles and nerves with ganglia - that is, simple brains." They're out there. They're breeding. Are you really sure you want to go for a walk in the woods today?

Ceratiomyxa After The Rain

Day 232: A rather dramatic electrical storm and hard rains kept me from checking up on the Ceratiomyxa until a full day had elapsed. As I had expected, the colony had begun to deteriorate, and even the associated Lycogala was merely a shadow of its former self. The slime mold had had its day. Its population had come together to feed and breed, and its constructs...the pillars and towers which were its signature structure had fairly shone in the peak of its glory. Perhaps it was already beginning to collapse at its core when I first observed it; in any event, it did not weather the storm well, and its protist civilization collapsed, leaving behind an amorphous mass of confused and decaying cells. Those which have survived and the offspring of those which bred successfully must now retreat into the protection of their deteriorated stump, there to try to recover until they can rebuild.

Hang on a minute...did you just see a metaphor run through here?

Ceratiomyxa Fruticulosa Var. Poroides

Day 230: Yesterday was a pretty exciting day. Not only did I find two nice colonies of the common slime mold Lycogala epidendrum (tomorrow's post), but I found one totally unfamiliar to me: Ceratiomyxa fruticulosa var. poroides. I have a slime mold expert to thank for the identification, a bit to my embarrassment because when I posted an earlier photo to a slime-mold identification group and identified it as Lycogala, I was referring to the single orange blob in a sea of white, dismissing the second larger organism as a phase of Lycogala. He "corrected" me, later admitting that he hadn't even noticed the orange blob. In any event, we got it sorted out and I am happy to present Ceratiomyxa fruticulosa var. poroides in all its beautiful glory. Had I not been prowling in a trailless section of forest at this specific point in time, i.e., had I come a day earlier or later, I could not have witnesses this plasmodial phase which lasts roughly 24 hours.

Trichia Decipiens

Day 358: In the last week, I have found three species of slime mold, a bit of a surprise given cooler, wetter weather. Slime molds are more commonly out and about when conditions are dry and warm. That said, this one (Trichia decipiens) was a new one for me. As you can tell from the wood grain, they're tiny little buggers, but I'd tuned my eye for red/orange, having been out on a hunt for Ramaria araiospora and as a sidebar, a potential chanterelle dinner. I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw them, giving vent to the phrase which will go down in history as my contribution to science: "What the hell is that?" In the next heartbeat, I said, "Ooooooh, new slime mold!" Seriously, I'd be the easiest person to find if I ever got lost in the forest. Searchers could locate me by ear if they listened for my running natural-history soliloquy. Trichia decipiens has a fondness for decaying conifer wood, thus the Pacific Northwest makes an ideal home for the species. Slime molds being what they are, I can't help but wonder if their plans for world domination are being coordinated from Mount Rainier National Park.

Networking

Day 275: Unfortunately, I can't give a positive ID on this slime mold, but I believe it to be Leocarpus fragilis in the early stages of its feeding cycle. I base that supposition on two factors: colour, and having observed Leocarpus in the same general area previously; not very scientific, I know, but the best I can do on short notice. At the point when this photo was taken, the plasmodium was in migration toward the food source present on the branch running diagonally across the right side of the image. Recognizing the activity (if not the species), I was more than a little apprehensive about kneeling down on the forest floor beside it. If some fine morning, I get up to find my kitchen engulfed in orange slime mold, I won't question where it came from.

Should I Be Nervous?

Day 252: You're going to have to work really hard to convince me that Fuligo septica didn't follow me home from work on my boots. For several years now, I've been watching it come and go to the base of a tree outside Tobin Resource Center, taking pictures of it when it was in its reproductive stage as it is here, walking through its line of travel. When I threw back my curtains this morning and looked out across the yard, the first words I spoke on seeing a yellow patch covering the decaying stump of the Whatzit Tree were, "Is that a slime mold?" It was not there yesterday. Slime molds, as my regular readers should know by now, are neither plant nor animal but exhibit characteristics of both. They are capable of locomotion, communication and cooperation, living most of their lives as single, disparate organisms but coming together when a food source is located, there to reproduce. Size-wise, this is an impressive specimen. Now I'm wondering: should I be nervous?

Lycogala Epidendrum

Day 237: While exploring a forgotten but close-by corner of the forest last year, I stumbled across something which looked for all the world like a quart or two of well-chewed pink bubblegum wads massed on a decaying log. I had never seen anything like it, so I documented it with photos from various angles and referred them out to one of Washington's pre-eminent botanists. Although he was unwilling to commit to anything further, he identified the substance as a slime mold and provided me with the email address of an expert in the field. It wasn't long before I had a reply and a name for my treasure: Lycogala epidendrum.

Lycogala epidendrum is one of the most recognizable of slime mold species, but it is not always pink. The fruiting bodies (aethelia) may range in colour from pale yellow to almost black at maturity, and indeed that was what Team Biota discovered when we visited the site recently. When opened, these aethelia appear to be filled with uniformly mushy goo, but under the microscope, this material is shown to contain thousands of spores and chain-like threads of sterile tissue (pseudocapillitia) which divide the chamber into irregular and often imperfect compartments. The term "fruiting bodies" is misleading. Unlike the apothecia of lichens, these structures do not develop like a bud on a rose or a pear on a pear-tree. Rather, they are a gathering-together of individual cells in response to a chemical signal, cells which otherwise would be living independently in the substrate. The chemical signal acts as their clarion call, communicating the message that it is time to reproduce. They become visible to our eyes only when they have formed the cooperating communities shown in this photo.

I suppose none of my friends will be surprised by this, but I couldn't resist the opportunity to do an experiment. In a corner of my living room, I have set up a pair of "moist chambers" (lidded Petri dishes) where I can monitor the growth of two samples. If I should disappear under mysterious circumstances, Lycogala should be considered the primary "substance of interest."

Super-Cool Slime Mold

Day 222: Today, botanists and others honour the birthday of Carl Linnaeus, father of our current system of binomial nomenclature, so although I praise him today, I'll be back to damning him and the breed he spawned the very next time I discover that some plant/lichen/fungus I've found has been renamed since whatever field guide I have open was written. Taxonomy! I love it because it classifies things and makes sense of them. I curse it because it's a fluid science, and what we thought we knew yesterday may prove to be wrong tomorrow, necessitating reclassification and an update to the nomenclature.

Linnaeus' original system consisted of three kingdoms: animals, plants and minerals. Anything non-living fell into the latter category. We have since refined his "Systema Naturae" and today use six kingdoms (five if you're European) to incorporate all living things: Animalia, Plantae, Fungi, Protista, Archaea and Bacteria. Slime molds were originally classified under Fungi, but when it became apparent that they were capable of locomotion, communication and cooperation, scientists kinda had to take a step back to ask themselves a burning question: "Just exactly what the hell is this thing, anyway?" Fungi don't go hunting for food. These guys do, gathering together to move in response to a chemical signal as a mass, albeit slowly, to a new location. Originally, it was believed that portions of the organism were dying off and being replaced by new growth, but by using time-lapse microphotography, true motion of individual cellular entities was observed. This behaviour seemed more suited to the category of "animal" than to "fungus" or "plant," and thus a new kingdom was designated to include them and similar oddities: the protists.

How fast can slime mold move? If you were to set your cell-phone camera down beside a colony and record it for a period of 24 hours, you might see them advance or retreat several inches, "creepy" in the literal sense of the word. You might see them send out "fingers," scouting parties looking for a new food source. Or, as my botany partner Joe discovered when he went back to try to find them again 24 hours after this photo was taken, they may have done an Elvis and left the building entirely. And you thought "Little Shop of Horrors" was funny!

5/27/18 - My identification of Leocarpus fragilis has been confirmed by Angela Mele, slime-mold expert and artist.

Fuligo Septica, Scrambled-Egg Slime Mold

Day 283: Fuligo septica has an alternate and more widely used common name, but thank you all the same, I prefer "Scrambled-egg" to "Dog-vomit." The latter seems too harsh for one of the most unusual life-forms on the planet. Once lumped with fungi in the botanical hierarchy, the behaviour and life cycle of this organism justified creating a new Kingdom in which to contain it: the Protists. Individual amoeba-like cells have a life independent of others, moving about until they encounter a partner cell with which to fuse and breed. This motion can actually be observed in the space of a minute or two in some slime molds such as Fuligo septica. Slime molds may also respond to stimuli such as a change in light or proximity to a food source. That thought should make you watch where you step in the forest!

Freaky Fungus - Lycogala Epidendrum

Day 204: There are some truly strange things out there in the woods, and if I hadn't gone exploring on my lunch break today despite the rain, I might never have found this ephemeral jewel. I'm not going out very far on the limb when it comes to making an identification because I'm clearly out of my depth. That said, I will make an informed guess (operative word being "guess") in defining this particular specimen as a species of Trichia, a Slime Mold, and possibly Trichia botrytis, or Orange Drops. Whatever it is, it looked for all the world to me like someone had stuck wads of orange-pink bubblegum all over a mossy, rotting log, colonies of the fungus occurring every few inches over an area approximately 1' x 3'. Needless to say, I called our Plant Ecologist out of his office to have a look, and the two of us poked and prodded it sufficiently to learn that it was very soft and gelatinous, and the interior was filled with a watery goo of the same colour. Arnie admitted he had no idea what it was beyond a slime mold. I will be attempting to find someone who can confirm or reject my tentative identification.

Footnote: My thanks go out to Angela Mele for identifying this as Lycogala epidendrum. She adds that it was "the first species of slime mold ever put into print, in the mid 1500's in a German herbarium."

Point, Laugh

Day 121: Here's a little Crow humour to start your morning off right...another one of those "things found in unattended cameras" from last week. Yesterday's contribution was a profile of George Washington at Mount Rushmore as viewed on a computer screen.

Earlier in the day, Kevin had suggested to me that we might stop by Kautz Creek for a short hike in pursuit of a specific lichen where Red Alder is abundant. I had declined, saying, "You'd be bored to tears with me stopping every five feet to spend ten minutes looking at tree bark," but the crestfallen look on his face haunted me for the remainder of the day. As we were preparing to leave the office, I reopened the proposal and he quickly agreed, saying that we should at least check the trees closest to the boardwalk. The end result was a 45-minute exploration of approximately half an acre of new-growth alder interspersed heavily with Doug fir. We did not find Graphis scripta, although we discovered several other species of interest.

At one point in our adventure, I had gone to examine a long-dead standing trunk some 15' in height and about 5" in diameter. As I rested the camera against the tree to photograph a developing slime mold, it snapped off eight inches from ground level and went crashing down. Behind a stump and therefore unable to see me, Kevin called out, "Are you all right? What happened?" I paused for effect, and replied, "Termites?" Indeed, the base of the tree was riddled with holes in the core. With the trunk on the ground, the slime mold was much easier to photograph, Kevin holding his cell phone to light it while I took the picture (bottom left).

Having a field day (literally) with a like-minded friend is not something I do often, and sometimes I forget how enjoyable it can be. Two sets of eyes are always better than one when searching for the unusual or rare, and the delight in discovery is exhilarating regardless of who makes the find. Perhaps there is no Graphis scripta in the Kautz Creek drainage. We won't know until we've surveyed every tree. We're weird and we know it, out there with our magnifiers studying bark with infinite curiosity, but at least we're in good company.