Essay by Monika Griesenbeck
Mushrooms – August 2004 – Colorado Central Magazine
THIS FOURTH OF JULY, while most normal people were enjoying barbecues with family and friends, I went to check one of my favorite mushroom patches, which is above 10,000 feet on a certain mountain. The mushroom I like to hunt is the King Bolete (Boletus edulis) and here in the Colorado Rockies it grows in the high pine forests from late July through September.
Although I knew it was too early for anything to be happening, I just wanted to check conditions — the moisture and warmth. And with this mushroom, you never know, I might get lucky. As the mushroom book says, “it is unpredictable in its appearance.” Even though the weather was cool and windy, there on a sunny slope near a pine tree, the round brown cap and thick white stalk of a Bolete might have pushed through. Such a find would set an unofficial record among Bolete hunters in Salida because the earliest date for finding a Bolete so far has been July 6th.
If I had gotten lucky that day I would have immediately called some fellow Bolete enthusiasts with the news. And the first question they would ask is, “Where?” To answer that question takes a skillful mix of lies and truth. You want to tell enough truth to be believed and keep your friendship, but not enough to reveal your dearest, most closely held secret: the location of your favorite Bolete patch.
To quote from The Mushroom Hunter’s Field Guide about Boletus edulis: “Collectors are not prone to give away information as to localities where this species can be found.” That is a severe understatement. This telling of half-truths, or half-lies, sent some of my dear friends on a 200-mile wild goose mushroom chase a few years ago. I really hated doing it, but when it comes to “those special places,” you just don’t tell the whole truth.
You especially don’t tell if your Italian friends have honored you by sharing their choice Bolete locations with you. My friend KD is a case in point. He hangs out with certain Italian families. I envy him because he is included to partake of all the wonderful foods and home-made wine and of course, the exquisite King Bolete. You don’t often see Italian members of our community eating in local restaurants because they have the best food right at home.
[Mushroom cartoon by Monika Griesenbeck]
Anyway, when KD brags to me about how he went Bolete hunting with Mario and how they brought home bags and bags of these choice mushrooms, I try to find where they went, knowing I will get a mix of truth and lies. But I’ve learned that acting on these partial truths gets me nowhere. I have also learned the rule of etiquette among mushroom hunters: Ask me no questions, and I will tell you no lies.
BUT LAST SUMMER I had the good fortune and great honor to be invited on a Bolete hunt by some Italian friends of my own. We left Salida at 6 a.m. and were on the trail by 7 a.m.. After hiking several miles of switchbacks in the cold, I had serious doubts about finding any Boletes. On the top of the ridge, the ground was hard and dry and the pine trees scraggly. It looked like the most un-mushroom spot you could find. The three of us spread out to the tree line of the forest.
In mid-sentence of grumbling — I am not making this up — the first sun rays hit the little pine trees, and there sheltered beneath the lowest branches, bathed in the golden light, were the most beautiful Boletes I ever saw. I think I heard angels singing at that moment. After that we were finding mushrooms, under nearly every other tree and sometimes in patches in the open fields within the forest.
As we made our way down through the forest with our sacks full, we heard voices coming up from below. “It’s that Mario and KD,” one of my friends hissed. “Don’t let them see you.” When we got back to our cars we started laughing. “Mario won’t find nothing up there because we got there first.”
Last winter I opened one of many jars of dried King Boletes just to inhale the aroma (a handful tossed into your favorite pasta sauce is fantastic) and recalled the vision of the dawn’s early light on those Boletes. And remembered another mushroomer’s rule: If you can’t lie, get there first.
Monika Griesenbeck lives in Salida and prefers drawing and painting to writing, but will drop everything for mushrooms.
