The Professor

Day 18: In junior high and high school, my classmates called me "the Professor" and as you might expect from kids who were more interested in beer and parties than in books and science, the nickname was not applied kindly. For the most part, I was oblivious to their scorn, too busy analyzing rocks or reading about space to feel left out of the social scene. My best friend indulged me, and often set herself up for the inevitable answer, "It's leaverite...leave 'er right where it is" by asking me to identify a specimen she had in hand. She also teased me about my studious ways, but even at her most snide, it was obvious that she was encouraging my interest in the world around me. It wasn't until we got into high school that she took me aside and explained gently that I was putting people off (boys, particularly). My response was what you might expect: "So?" She went on to marry an engineer, and I survived two husbands, neither of whom were more than marginally interested in scientific pursuits. Unencumbered, the Professor re-emerged to follow her passions for birds (especially corvids) and wildflowers, and if you question any of her colleagues, you'll be told that she's more than just a little cracked on the subject of lichens. Happy Hallowe'en!

Mama's Got A Brand-New Toy

Day 17 (Bonus Edition!): I've had my microscope since I was in my twenties, so it really shouldn't have come as any surprise that I couldn't get the optics clean no matter how hard I tried, so after I'd worked on it pointlessly for an hour and a half, what this year's Christmas-present-to-self should became clear. I spent the next several days comparing brands and models, studying options, coming to the realization that technology had outpaced me by several decades, and deciding that if I wanted to be serious about this, I'd better "get with the program," as they say. I started with a rough budget which, in the end, wound up being slightly more than double what I'd planned, but in addition to ordering a better grade of microscope, I also purchased a camera attachment for it.

I was more than a little nervous about installing the software; nothing ever seems to go the way it should when I mess with computers, but within ten minutes of the time the 'scope arrived, I was capturing my first images from a selection of prepared slides. The more I fiddled with the focus knobs, the more I realized just how feeble my old 'scope had been. I have much greater control, much better focus, and the optics are crystal clear (even if the prepared slides seem to have included miscellaneous grit and fuzzies). The tungsten lamp is bright (my old 'scope employed a mirror). I have yet to install the second, more powerful eyepiece! These photos were taken on 40-400x magnification. The second eyepiece boosts that to 1000x! Look out, lichens! Mama's got a brand-new toy!

Elfin Saddles

Day 17: "Elfin," I said. "Elfin, not 'elephant.'" It's amazing how many people mispronounce the common name of this family of mushrooms. Personally, I wouldn't care to sit astride one whether I was an elf or on an elephant. Think of the saddle sores!

Elfin Saddles can fruit in spring or fall, and novice mushroomers often confuse them with Morels which are exclusively a spring occurrence. Characteristically, Morels have a nicely shaped cap with regularly spaced ridges and pits. On the other hand the Helvellas look like gobs of wax, contorted and lumpy. Helvella lacunosa, so named for the lacunae (deep pits) in the stipe, is one of the more common Saddles to be found in the Pacific Northwest.

Hericium Abietis

Day 16: One of four Hericium species to occur in the continental US, Hericium abietis (Bear's-head) is the most commonly found in the Pacific Northwest. Unlike its relatives, it grows almost exclusively on conifer wood, particularly that of Douglas Fir and Western Hemlock. Unmistakable in form for anything other than a closely related species, Hericium coralloides, it is considered edible and choice (as is H. coralloides), however a rare individual (your narrator, for example) will react badly to it, experiencing a variety of gastric side-effects sufficient to put the collector off further harvesting. Besides, who would want to destroy such a beautiful specimen just for the sake of a meal?

Pilophorus Clavatus, Tapered Matchstick Lichen

Day 15: How many times have I walked around the Trail of the Shadows, my eyes sweeping the surrounding area for rare and elusive species? How many times have I gone right past this particular rock, never seeing what was waving to me from its nearly bald pate? If I had not been searching for one particular solitary mushroom, only to be distracted from my task by another lichen nearby, I would not have been bent over at the right angle to the light or in the proper position to spot these minuscule and sparsely distributed threads.

This, dear readers, is a cousin to my favourite lichen (Pilophorus acicularis). It is Pilophorus clavatus, also known as Tapered Matchstick, common nomenclature derived from the "burnt" appearance of its apothecia. The tallest of these little buggers is only about three-quarters of an inch long, and you'd have to cluster four or five of the stalks to approximate the diameter of the lead in a pencil. We're talking TINY, and of course perfectly camouflaged against the rock. Like P. acicularis, Tapered Matchstick is a "pioneer" lichen, growing only on freshly exposed, non-calcareous rock. It is much less common than P. acicularis, occurs at higher elevations, and is more tolerant of deep shade. All of the Pilophorus species are nitrogen-fixers, a biological advantage if you're going to grow on "bare" rock or in poor soil.

Once I'd got this specimen in my photographic "bag," I spent some time looking for any other Pilophorus-supporting rocks in the vicinity. Nope, no luck, but now I'm on high alert. If they're out there, I'll find them.

Cladonia Squamosa

Day 14: Walking along a short trail in Black Lake Meadows (a small wetland area south of Capitol Mall in Tumwater), I checked up short at the sight of a mound of very scaly little lichens covering a stump of unknown wood no more than a foot high or wide. My first thought was that the lichen was Cladonia bellidiflora, the most squamous of the Cladonias, but on closer observation, I saw that the apothecia were a pinkish-tan colour rather than brilliant red. That feature alone ruled out bellidiflora, so the next fifteen minutes were spent on my knees in the wet grass under light rain trying to obtain a photo from an angle which showed the full morphology of what I believed to be Cladonia squamosa, although I had reservations due to the abundant apothecia.

Updating: I've had one of those "D'uh!" moments. I should have recognized this species immediately because it's quite common in the Pacific Northwest. I'd just never seen it fruiting quite so abundantly. It is Stereocaulon paschale, "Easter Lichen." The remainder of my description has been revised to reflect the corrected identification.

For the uninitiated, "squamous" means "scaly," referring to the pale green shingles on the stalks (podetia) of this species. The apothecia are the fruiting bodies, those little knobs along the upper margins.

Fungal Fun From Flatland

Day 13: Whenever I'm in a new area or one I only frequent on occasion, I try to find time to wander along a nature trail or somewhere else I'm likely to run across strange new lichens or fungi. Today, I happened to be in the Tumwater area visiting friends, and scored big-time! Tomorrow's post will feature a new Cladonia (lichen) for my Life List; today's shows a colony of Calocera fungus fingers. Without examining the spores under a microscope, I cannot be 100% certain of the species, but my "best guess" would be Calocera cornea. This specimen was growing on a section of decaying maple. Another colony had sprouted on the cut end. Never mind the rain! It's always a good day when I find a new species, even better when I find two!