Autumn in the Hudson Valley: Part 1 (Mushrooms)

The fall scenery in New England with its vividly potent foliage that admired attached to some of its more famous colonial and revolutionary landmarks, or perhaps peppered across the mountains and hills that bring to mind ideas of country-living and the remembrances of hazy legends and superstitions that abound here, denote this segment of America as the capital of the autumnal season. While its bright tints are unquestionably some of the best in the country—New York, more specifically the Hudson Valley, has scenes which rival those of its eastern neighbor if you can just put the bustling City to the south out of mind. Its best advertisements are in the woods, on the trees and carpeting the ground.

Fall begins early in New York, even before the first leaves begin to blush. In mid-August the mushrooms make an appearance. After a thorough soaking from perhaps one of the numerous thunderstorms that always seem to arise at the end of a humid afternoon during this tumultuous period, they emerge overnight from the leaf-littered soil and decaying stumps of the region’s Oak-Hickory forests, nearly full grown in a matter of hours. Peak abundance and diversity occurs at the very start of October, just as the temperatures begin the long plummet downward.

While most are only acquainted with a handful of monotonous white and gray species that utilize our yards for habitat, these organisms do come in as many shapes and colors as the autumn leaves, and actually may surpass the foliage, as they can be found in all hues of the rainbow. Additionally, witnessing them being born and later thriving in their colorful regalia, makes the fungi somewhat more unique than their plant cousins, who only gain their ruddiness as they senesce, wither, die.

Some of the best spots to view these colorful fungi are within the bounds of Bear Mountain and Harriman State parks in the rugged Hudson Highlands. The lack of human disturbance to the land has protected the biodiversity of all types of creatures, lending a shielding hand to ensure the rarer mushrooms continue to have the proper setting for their picky growth patterns. We usually don’t view fungi as being fussy as to where they set up shop, but many actually only grow under the right set of environmental conditions and some will only sprout on certain forms of decaying matter, such as a particular tree genus or species.

My experience with discovering unusual specimens is to take the more remote trails in the wilder sections of parkland. In areas where it looks like no human being has ever viewed, more or less set foot upon the craggy and boulder-strewn hollows that comprise some of the lower lying locales between the mountains, this is where the strikingly beautiful mushrooms reside, popping up among the moss and blueberry bushes that tightly hug the ground as if the gauze to some wound of the earth.

However, if time is short, an easily accessible trail that still affords excellent quantities of fungi is the blue-blazed Doodletown Brook Trail that is situated along Route 9W between the Bear Mountain Inn and the entrance to Iona Island. Here, on the terraces above the brook and overlooking the Hudson and tidal marshes of Iona Island lies forest with a relatively open understory that contains an extremely rich array of decaying plant matter. Visiting immediately after a wet spell one is sure to pass by multiple species that are easily viewed from the trail itself, with little to no bushwhacking required.

On this trail the mushrooms from the genus Russula reign. While these fungi are widespread and quite common, their extremely bright colors make them the gems of the mycological world in the northeast. The most exquisite specimens are a deep purple, resembling a chunk of royal amethyst; but they also can be found in scarlet, a canary yellow, and a few other spectacular hues. Often they are witnessed just beginning to peak their caps above the mossy beds that lend some contrast to their vividness. The trail that leads to North Point, a prominence just south of Storm King Mountain also has excellent specimens of this genus. They are not easily forgotten.

 

 

 

On the sunny slopes of Dunderberg Mountain, so named by the Dutch for its tendency to greatly amplify and echo the thunder emanating from the powerful storms that frequently pass through the Highlands, can be found the incredibly fragile pinwheel mushrooms. This species is supported by wiry stalks, so thin they resemble a single strand of hair. While lacking any significant color, this fungus more than makes up for it with its elegant and art-like form, a prime piece of sculpture work by Nature herself.

                            

Pinwheel mushrooms can be found growing on many forms of decomposing woody matter, but especially favor beech trees. This fungus is water dependent for spore release, unlike many other mushrooms which release based off a circadian rhythm cycle. In dry conditions they desiccate and shrivel up until sufficient moisture returns and resurrects them, where they can then continue to release spores for several more weeks. An enzyme recently isolated from this species is being researched for use as a biosensor for certain compounds and may be utilized for drug monitoring in the future.

A curious looking species, the yellow club mushroom, grows along trails near the scenic Seven Lakes Drive that bisects Harriman State Park. I’ve also seen them sprouting from the leaf litter in the nearby Schunnemunk State Park.

The yellow clubs greatly stand out in the understory, even at the beginning or conclusion of the day when there is little light available. Even a minor glimpse of one will catch your attention and direct your full gaze at it. Its intensity, which is on par with a tiny, atmospheric sun, makes everything else around look dull and mundane, no matter the lushness of the surrounding vegetation. The “clubs” which are colored in a highlighter yellow appear like sunbeams radiating from the cold cosmos. Some also might fancy them akin to fingers of some creature trying to free itself from the bowls of the earth, based off the odd contortions many are imbued with. The unusual nature of this species makes the imagination frenzied and each who views it will come up with something different, similarly to a rorschach test.

One fungus which is sure to impress is the aptly named Jack O’ Lantern mushroom (Omphalotus illudens). Apart from this large mushroom, which grows in extensive clusters, being a bright orange, reminiscent of its namesake, it also holds the rare distinction of being bioluminescent, or more simply put: it glows in the dark! If you happen to wander across a cluster at night you may eerily see a faint greenish glow hovering above the ground, coming from the gills. This phenomenon that also has garnered the elfin name of “foxfire” has undoubtedly given way to superstitions of the past, where it was perhaps believed this mysterious forest light emanated from a wandering will-o’-the-wisp or by another feared ghostly being. Modern science has shown that this bioluminescence derives from waste metabolites of the mycelium or “roots” of the fungus, and are sequestered in the above ground fruiting body.

I’ve personally seen numerous specimens growing in the woods of the Hudson Highlands State Park, near the old Bear Mountain Bridge Tollhouse. While this species sometimes closely resembles the tasty chanterelle mushrooms, it’s quite toxic, leading to severe gastrointestinal problems if ingested. This species, like most wild mushrooms, is best observed or photographed only.

The above mentioned fungi are only a miniscule selection of the myriads that can be found throughout the Hudson Valley. The total number of species that grow here amount in the hundreds, although many are nearly identical and even professional mycologists have difficulty telling them apart. It’s a field much tougher to master than botany, but once you become proficient in identifying a few basic varieties, it does become addicting.