Marsupial Mushrooms, a Sandwich and a Preview

Evolutionary biologists are stoned, I mean stunned

So yeah, I’ve started a new hiking guide. Pretty sure this one’s the last of the series. Ninety percent odds, anyway. The gripping trilogy of current titles—Hiking Whatcom, Hiking Snohomish, and this past spring, Hiking Island County—has left me staring at a rather conspicuous, albeit imperfect, sandwich that has no innards. A slice above (Whatcom), a slice below (Snohomish), some relish on the side (Island), but no tomato, no onions, no fish. No Skagit. I’ve decided it’s time to rectify that and let the wonders of Skagit County fill the leavened void for a more complete and delectable fish sandwich.

For those who might live and hike elsewhere, these counties contain the fabulous hiking grounds from north of Seattle to the Canadian border, and from the Salish Sea to the crest of the Cascade Range. To be sure, Skagit is no less appetizing than the others. Some years ago I started a guide to its tasty innards, but then set it aside for so long that the work became too stale to ingest. It had to be composted.

So I thought to myself, somebody should do something. And myself looked back at me and said, “Hey, who you lookin’ at?”

Thus I’ve begun anew and hope to have the work completed in time for trudging up mountains next summer. Then, once having completed my sandwich, readers can chew on it freely, or just let it lie on the shelf, as orphaned and alone as a dangling modifier.

This comprehensive county-by-county approach, if you’re curious, kinda happened organically. It was way back when the first Whatcom book emerged in the late 1980s after an obviously unhinged coworker had said, “Hey, you know all the trails around here, you should write a book,” and blah, blah, blah, here we are. I’m still amazed that scrappy little thing has stuck around this long, with a few upgrades, of course.

And of course, not all counties in the world are so fortuitously blessed with the amazing geography that lures us Northwesterners to get our butts outside on a regular basis. Except when it’s cold and rainy and we are duty-bound to stay indoors and watch sports or play with our phones. By “indoors,” we mean the local brewpub. Duh.

Tending three guides to my immediate neighborhood has kept me plenty busy over the years with updates and all. Adding a fourth means more “fieldwork,” but we’ll just have to make the sacrifice. I’ve pasted one of the shorter hikes below, and will post more in the coming months. In the meantime, you can always find the others online (this is a plug) at TiredDogsPress.com.

As with the other books, I’m always excited to find new stuff, new trails, new vistas, new whatzes-around-the-next-bend, and new encounters with wild things, especially those lacking nasty claws and pointy maxillary canines. I’ve learned that it also pays to check out the small stuff that’s right there staring at you from the bend you are currently rounding.

Like the maple tree on Whidbey Island that seemed to have sprouted from two stumps. Huh? Erratic boulders the size of cars and houses randomly deposited by glaciers thousands of years ago. The wide eyes of a silent owl staring at your sandwich. When I’m not looking, who knows how many mountain lions have watched me skitter by obliviously?

While out hiking on Mount Erie with Kris recently and conducting said fieldwork for the new book, we paused for a moment noticing a couple of mushrooms stuck to a tree. Aw, isn’t that cute! Somebody tucked them in a dead tree behind some flaking bark. When I moved in closer for a photo, it was clear these guys were actually living there, like kangaroo babies, or more correctly “joeys,” in their cuddly little pouch. Had we discovered the first marsupial subspecies of the red alder tree? It appeared so. The evolutionary sequence is sure to baffle joey biologists everywhere.

The encounter reminded me of a bad joke I made up several years ago that I was sure would go viral:

A couple of fungi walk into a bar. And then walk out. Why? Because there wasn’t mush-room.

Ha-ha. Please laugh, thank you.

As for the preview, Kris and I were in Skagit today checking out a fun little trail two miles southeast of downtown Mount Vernon. Called the Maddox Creek Trail, it has it all, including big views, pretty forest, stairs and open-water wetlands. Several short loops total 1.5 miles if you do all the connectors like we did. A great leg-stretcher when you just want to burn an hour or so.

To find the trailhead from I-5 at Kincaid St, head up the hill on Broad St, turn right on 16th St, then left on Section St. In just under a mile, turn right on Maddox Creek Rd. The trail is just ahead. Park on the street and either head up the paved path on the left or the gravel path to the right, which is the easy way to the wetlands.

For the longer clockwise loop, hike the paved stretch above the street. It becomes quite steep for 100 yards before reaching a couple of benches with big views. Notice the spur on the right. Take that to another street, jog left then right to continue on the paved path. This leads to a cul-de-sac, more path and steps leading down into a forested ravine (photo below) and eventually to the wetlands. A couple of gravel paths will take you back up an easy hill to the start.