Since Taylor and I were both feeling the itch for an outdoor excursion, we decided to take a short backpacking trip along the Lost Coast. For those that aren't familiar, the Lost Coast is a huge portion of undeveloped coastline along Northern Mendocino county and Southern Humbolt county. There are over 20 miles of trail to explore, but tackling the whole thing is a bit more endeavor than we had time for. So, we decided on a short over-nighter through some of the tougher parts. The difficulty came from several ascents and descents crossing gulches that carve the steep coastal cliffs. As is usually the case, the views were worth the climb.
The hike reminded me that only a year ago I had the luxury of doing this for a living and with that thought came a pang of sadness that lasted not more than a microsecond as I took in the fresh air and sights. Anyone who has gone on a hike with me, especially after I've suffered the suffocating lack of significant outdoor exposure, can tell you my change in mood is drastically noticeable. My mother can even see it in pictures. These places, these things I do, the creatures I encounter fill me up until I feel like I might burst. See, this is me right before I exploded with joy:
We camped at Anderson gulch, watched the sun set behind the cliffs and sink below the Pacific. And whaddya know, a spotted owl announced the arrival of nightfall with a few calls and crow barks. After packing up the following morning, I decided to examine the stream before we began our strenuous hike back. Lo and behold, there is the animal I've been hoping to see ever since I first moved to Mendocino county in 2007: a Pacific giant salamander. It was still a larva, having yet to reach its impressive, near foot-long adult form, but I still found it thrilling.
On our way out, we were sure to revisit the mushroom patch we discovered on the way in. And this was no mere mushroom patch, let me tell you, this was the motherload...the jackpot of all chanterelle patches. If we had been so inclined, we could have hauled three-four bags full of the biggest yellow chanterelles I've ever seen. But seeing as neither Taylor nor myself were feeling particularly greedy, we selected enough to fill a bag and left the rest to nature. Maybe a passing bear will make a hefty meal out of what we left behind. After a discovery like this, we caught the mushroom hunting bug and have since been scouring the forest surrounding our home. The past couple weeks we have been eating like kings: dishes you would pay $15, $20, even $30 for in some stuffy, upscale restaurant. Sauteed chicken and chanterelles in a white wine tarragon sauce, fresh crab (caught that day by Andy) and pasta with chanterelles in a cream sauce, pig's ear mushroom burgers, cream of chanterelle soup...I don't think I will ever eat this good again in my life. But aside from the edible varieties, our "backyard" holds a multitude of strangely-shaped, brightly colored, unusually textured mushrooms. One of my favorites is what's called an earthstar. This other-worldly looking thing picture here. If you touch it in anyway, it shoots out a whispy puff of spores from the small opening on top its bulbous center.
So this is fall in Mendocino, actually winter is pretty much the same except wetter. I'm excited to be spending the holidays here again, but after December, you better believe I'm looking to split. We'll see how my interview goes. Here's hoping I'll be Georgia-bound come 2010.
