May 11th hike: science!

On this hike I decided to try a scientific experiment. I went to school once. I got a degree in biology. And even though I barely graduated in the bottom of my class at age 29, I still remember at least 60 percent of the 70 percent I hovered around while getting that degree. This was a simple experiment, a small but significant contribution to the fungal world, a world that has continued to thrill and entertain me so much these past few years. When considering this experiment It is important to note that over the past week I have found a relatively small number of morels, <20. In finding each of these morels, the average energy expenditure was exponentially greater than the number of calories obtained. This net loss of caloric intake was offset and replenished greatly by the gluttonous joy experienced through consumption. They taste so good that it actually hurts. Anyway, because I have been hiking my ass off to find such a small number of morels, and haven’t found any on the past two hikes (which leads to withdrawal and anxiety) I came up with this simple hypothesis: If I stop actively looking for the morels and simply enjoy the hike, occasionally glancing at the forest floor, I will find more morels than when I crawl, scrape, and bleed to find them.

With the hypothesis solidly in place, the stage was now set for this important act of science. The dogs and I hiked about half way up the Canfield ridge behind Hayden Lake. It was a beautiful evening hike. The twilight sun randomly slipped through the intermittent rain clouds creating dramatic shadows on the forest floor. Once we crested the first ridge I called to the dogs and we hopped off the trail and onto a rough game trail. We kept walking further up the ridge. I was in the moment, taking in the views, sniffing the spring air, watching the dogs chase and bite one another and generally enjoying being alive in Northern Idaho. It was a fine walk in the woods to be sure. Occasionally, when I noticed the conditions to be consistent with where I had found morels the week previously, I would glance at the forest floor, per my hypothesis. After about 15 minutes we began to descend down the hill, continuing to follow various game trails until finally we hit the bottom of the canyon. Being careful not to compromise the integrity of this important act of science, I maintained a rigid dedication to the hypothesis. Not once did I get on my knees and crawl through the thickets looking for mushrooms, nor did I, at any point, strain my eyes in a migraine-inducing attempt to search every square inch of earth around me. I simply walked and glanced, walked and glanced.

So, did I find any mushrooms? You bet I did, they were everywhere we hiked. And I found them without the anxiety of searching on my hands and knees, stressing over the limited success rate and seemingly nonsensical growth patterns. I found mushrooms under trees, growing under fallen logs, next the creek, peeking up across the slopes, everywhere. Did I find any morel mushrooms? Not a one.