I’m trying something new: a short-form twist on my soundwalk formula, folding in my photography. So here is a pilot episode of sorts. I hope you enjoy this little string of impressions in sound and vision.
Go on and hit that play button above. Let’s see what we can see, and hear what we can hear.
It’s a densely overcast morning. As soon as I hit the trail, I’m checking out a Townsend’s Chipmunk. It’s smaller than my hand, munching on a seed, I think. Do you hear the click-click-click-click? That’s my camera. That’s the sound it makes when I want to take pictures in low light without a tripod. It takes multiple shots and stitches them together. The chipmunk is still, and then poof it’s gone.
It rained all night long. The trees are saturated and dripping.
Little streams and rivulets course down the upper reaches of Balch Creek Canyon. I love listing to their ephemeral burble. Across the canyon, the tops of Douglas-fir emerge from the mist. The hillside is breathing.
I’ve been on a mushroom kick, so I’m scanning the stumps and nurse logs on the side of the trail. I see a slug munching on fungi. A petit dejeuner.
I hear Golden-crowned kinglets up in the canopy, and a Pacific Wren chipping over the rise.
I’ve come back down to the Wildwood Trail. It’s an easy stroll here as it rounds the contour of the Tualatin mountains above the upper reaches of these NW Portland neighborhoods built out in the early 1900s. The din of highway 30 and the NW industrial park washes up these slopes. The train whistles are ghostly, bouncing off the fir colonnades. Look, rays of sunlight are breaking through.
On one of these firs I spy Fairy Parachutes (Marasmiellus candidus) nestled in the saturated moss. I can’t think of a more perfect, evocative name for these. The circumference of these are less than that of a dime. These are the only ones I find today.
On a nearby stump I see a similarly very delicate duo. Like so many, I can’t identify it. Do you know?
Around the corner I spy a coral fungus (Clavulina coralloides). It’s about two inches tall. Not big. I set my camera down in the duff to capture this angle, and it appears bigger. Click-click-click-click.
I’ve been hearing Red-breasted Nuthatches up high in the canopy. Their calls sounds like little clown shoes on parade to me. Honk honk honk. The only bird that I attempt to photograph, other than some Dark-eyed Juncos is this Brown Creeper.
Brown Creepers always climb up tree trunks, and they are very on task, so you’ll often get good looks at them in the forest. What does it have in its beak?
Brown Creepers have one of the sweetest songs. Trees, trees, beautiful trees they sing in a pitch so high that many a septuagenarian (age 70+) can no longer hear them. With that in mind, I try to savor their singing when it’s quiet.
On the north side of the rise, I now see the firs and ferns backlit by the rays of sun breaking through. They glisten with a million raindrops clinging to them, like so many berries.
This purple capped mushroom on the side of the trail is coated with bits of soil from the barrage of the morning rain. It stretches out above the fir cones like a battle-worn survivor.
Nearby I find this scene and try to puzzle out a scenario from the forensic evidence. I don’t get far, but the words “string cheese incident" pop into my head, and I visualize a squirrel.
One thing that quickly becomes clear about fungi photography is the extent to which it’s difficult to communicate scale. These are miniscule, testing the limits of my camera.
I identify them as belonging to the large Mycena genus, commonly known as bonnets. Wikipedia says:
Mycenas are hard to identify to species and some are distinguishable only by microscopic features such as the shape of the cystidia. Some species are edible, while others contain toxins, but the edibility of most is not known, as they are likely too small to be useful in cooking.
and..
Over 58 species are known to be bioluminescent, creating a glow known as foxfire.
I wonder if these guys glow?
As I work my way back, I’m struck by how everything looks a little different with the sun being a few degrees higher on the horizon. Late-morning light. Time to head home.
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