March 7, 2021 There it is!

Parrot Waxcap (Gliophorus psittacinus)

With what may be the last rain for the winter, I thought I wouldn’t be able to find the parrot waxcap this season. When I first started taking photos of mushrooms this year, I was immediately jealous of this shot by WildMacro. He mentioned it took 3 years to find it. It’s elusive nature definitely did not get my hopes up of finding it especially for an amateur like me. Despite persistent searching up and down the coast the past two months, I didn’t find it, until today. 

Like I tell myself every weekend, I had a choice, stay comfortably at home, or go somewhere. Again, the uncertainty was killing me. Were there going to be mushrooms 24 hours after a decent rain? Did it rain enough? Oh great, a frost advisory. That’s not good. How far should I drive? Being an optimizer, I always have a hard time committing to a location; the paradox of choice. I narrowed my choices down to two, shut down the computer and used my intuition. 

The ground was definitely wet with damp moss redwood duff. It felt very “mushroomy”, just like how a beach would feel “fishy”. I found a few wax caps early on, one had almost a greenish cap. Could this be a parrot? How am I supposed to find a green mushroom in a forest of green? It was a needle in a haystack, only the needle is the same color as the hay. The others around were more yellow and brown, keep looking. A feeling of excitement came to me as that was the closest I’ve been to finding the mushroom. Two hours in, I didn’t find much other than some nice golden waxcaps and purple Mycena that was past its prime. As I approached a bridge to the waterfall connector trail, I spotted in the corner of my eye, a round, slimy, green colored mushroom. There it is! With mushrooms, you find one and suddenly you discover a whole cluster. I lost track of time as I spent the next hour cleaning and photographing the parrots, at times I simply just stared at it. It was really that green, nothing like I’ve seen before. 

With fishing, you never know if one more cast will be the one. With mushrooming, you never know if 10 more steps will uncover something. That’s what keeps me excited, the unknown, the suspense, the chance you may discover something totally unexpectedly. 

Lilac Bonnet (Mycena pura)

Alpine Jelly Cone (Guepiniopsis alpina)

Boulder Fall. March 2021

February 10, 2021 Extremes

Aquarium. February 2021

One month ago, a massive swell delivered 40-foot-plus waves and the world’s best big wave surfers congregated to get rides of the decade. Most of my photographer friends wait patiently for the biggest swell of the year to shoot Mavericks. On the other hand, I wait patiently all year for the lowest swell which tends to happen around mid February to mid March. I was a bit spoiled from last year; Hawaii-like water at Ocean Beach with clarity I’ve never before seen. There wasn’t much hope this year, as XL swell after XL swell slammed the coast almost all winter, which was great for surf but not great for clarity. The swell finally dropped to 2-3 feet this week, but intermittent rainstorms made it difficult to pick the right day to dive. To have everything line up: the swell, the wind, the sun, and the tide, is a rarity around here. But it does happen, maybe once a year, or once every couple years, and today was one of those days. Three foot swell, a -1.0 ft low tide, and the marine layer burning off by the lunch hour, I dropped everything and returned to one of my favorite spots in all of California. 

Red and Yellows. February 2021

I spent several months reflecting on my photos from last year, figuring out which camera settings is ideal and what I could have improved on. As I jumped into the cold, clear, water, I was surrounded by vibrant marine life, sea stars of all colors, anemones, urchins, coral, even a nudibranch and camouflaged sculpins. It’s just crazy to see the amount of life per square foot here. It’s almost a contradiction, the more tumultuous the waves are, the more life exists. The walls along the underwater trench were alive and colorful. I was surprised to see the giant red and purple urchins in the same exact crevices as last year. Upon further research, red sea urchins can live up to 200 years old! It will be hard to harvest them for the dinner table knowing this fact, as they will provide decades of photographic joy if left alone. I’m not sure if I feel right chowing down my subjects especially in an area as teeming with life as this. I think the best way to enjoy the tide pools is to just be a spectator and an admirer. 

Coralline Sunset. February 2021

The more I return to the same spot over and over, the more I learn what factors would compromise its ideal conditions. The more time I spend exploring the coastline, the more I am asserted that the best things in life are free. I would go as far to say I don’t own any of my photos, nature created the scene after all. Nature is the real artist.