Newsletter March 2005

Morel Mushroom Hunting Club

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"Burnsite Morels- Yukon, Northern Pickers Stories"

By: Randy Marchand

Edited By: Chris Matherly

NEEDLE ROCK

The rev of the atv's motor had my heart racing as I gave the throttle a little pull. I had just done the last check of the gear that I wanted with me and, being satisfied I signaled my friends to go. We gunned our engines and spun out of the driveway spewing gravel and dust. We headed through the back streets of Pelly Crossing towards the Pelly River and a part of town that had been off limits for the past month. Our three atv's' rambled from road to ditch, staying to the grass where possible to keep down the dust.

My two traveling companions were both young men from Pelly and had grown up in this northern Yukon First Nation Community. Pelly Crossing first appears to be a sleepy river crossing with just a few buildings including a welcome gas bar and general store. Then you notice the RCMP office and a ramshackle order of housing and a stylish Band Office. For the first few weeks in Pelly I found myself saying the place was dead, but as time went on I realized that the Band Office was the hub of the community and at times was a busy place.

I quickly realized that being third in a line of speeding atv's was not the best place to be. I found that the best thing to do was to hang back. The only problem in this was that I did not know the trail that we were on. I was afraid that if I lost sight of my friends I might make a wrong turn. I had extra fuel and water in addition to my normal survival gear that I carry with me when in the wilds of the Yukon , so I felt I could take the chance of hanging back behind the dust clouds. I found that I could hang back and follow the dust but enjoy the trip into the northern wildlands.

We shot past the last few houses and followed what appeared to be a cat trail (winter road) that followed the Pelly River northwards. The trail here was very dry and dusty along the south bank of the river so I slowed down and let my two new friends race ahead as I tried to rub the dirt and dust from my eyes. The dust hung in the air and floated outwards to blur my view and cover the vegetation close to the trail. I could tell there had been no travel down this trail for some time, because as I passed over a wet boggy low draw the only tracks were from my two companions.

I gunned my new big 350 Honda 4x4 A.T.V. through a deep wet black bog and the mud and water exploded from my path. At this point the trail had started to overgrow with willows that had grown up to about three to four feet high. There was a worn path through them about six feet wide, and in the wet places the path was deeply rutted and worn.

There was no dust in these wetter places and the trees of the forest changed from poplar to black spruce and the ground became covered with moss as the ground became wetter. As I was to later learn, these moss covered areas usually meant that there was perma frost just under the moss. This perma frost slowly melts and keeps the surrounding area wet and alive!!! (Note! This is a good place to cool off if you ever get over-heated in the hot Yukon summer sun.)

I opened my atv up and surged ahead and felt the wind rifle at my hair and clothes. I went through the gears and found the top end of this powerful atv. I really had to hold on as I bounced over and around the uneven path. Sliding around a corner I came upon my friends who were waiting for me, smiling and wiping the dust from their eyes.

We did a quick check of the machines and realized that we had already gone 12 k. It takes our full concentration to keep the atv's moving at these speeds and the distance quickly passes. We still had about 60 kilometers to go to get to our destination, and once there we had to scout an area of burnt forest that had been devastated by fire the year before. I hoped that we would find morel mushrooms, load our baskets and return later in the day.

It was now about six-thirty a.m., but I was not worried about time as at this time of the year the sun will still be in our faces' at 1:30 in the morning. It will not really get dark but rather a welcomed dusk at about 2:30am . This dusk will be when the smart mushroom pickers will be stopping to have there dinner. The cool end of the long hot days of northern summer is soaked up as you lie inert upon the ground and let your body rejuvenate. You feel your body temperature fall back to a more comfortable level.

We had stopped on a high bank of the Pelly River that would be our last view of the river. We looked north up the river on Needle Rock Canyon that is adorned with one of those freaks of nature, a needle like rock jutting from the middle of the river and pointing its finger skywards for a good 30-40 feet. It appeared that high but the bank here was a muddy steep slope that was an easy 400' down to the river. The canon with the needle rock was a good kilometer farther on. That was the closest I wanted to get to that rock after I took just one look at the steep muddy bank.

We were soon on our way again and I stayed in the rear of the convoy. This was not too bad as we made our way around the north side of Prospector mountain. The terrain was up and down with some challenging climbs. The trail was muddy and steep, but at least there was no dust! However, I did find out, if you do not desire a mud pack for your face then its best to hang back a little. Although it is fun to see the atv's in front of you work their way through some of the bogs and up some of the steep hills I suggest caution as wet brakes do not stop as fast as you may need.

As soon as we had past Prospector Mountain there was a small river to our right flowing in the same general direction that we had to go. This river was as was the Pelly , eroded into the landscape leaving steep muddy banks. We soon came to a spot where the river crossed our path so a bridge of sorts had been made of trees, logs, planks plywood, etc. It was criss- crossing the river, with rather sharp corners and narrow track. The deck of the bridge was haphazard at best, but this was the only way to cross as the water was dark, cold and deep. My two companions were already across and were watching me with big smiles as I came roaring up to the bridge with a doubtful look on my face. Seeing that my friends had made it, I thought, so could I. Gearing down to a stop I put the atv into low range. Giving the throttle a squeeze I gunned the atv so that it jumped up onto the slippery logs that started my way across the river. I knew that I just had to have a steady hand on the fuel and a closer hand on the brakes. The water was dark and running swiftly under the decking occasionally splashing up onto the deck. I tried not to concentrate on the water but rather what I had to do next. I made it to the first sharp corner, Here I lifted up on the handle bars and bounce the front end over and gave the throttle a light squeeze just the right amount of gas, suddenly the front end was heading in the correct direction. I soon made it across without mishap but my heart was beating quickly.

We shut the atvs off to have a lunch as we now had access to running water. After repeated rinsing it seemed like I would never get all the grit and dust out of my eyes. I saw that I would soon have much more dust to tend with as a long dry flat land and pine tree forest lay before us. The road was sandy and we would be able to get top speed from our machines on the next part of our journey. We took our time over lunch as we new the temperature would soon begin to get hot as the sun was climbing overhead. We all went over our atv's before we left the river to tackle the pine flats. We topped up the fuel and check to make sure our luggage was strapped on tight, as we each had personal gear of, five 5kl. mushroom baskets with lids, extra fuel, water and food, plastic tarps, jacket and rain coat, and a small chain saw with its own fuel. All this was mostly up front, but I bungied the clothes and tarps down behind me on the racks.

My friends had already started but I waited for the dust to settle down a bit before I started my mad dash through the flats. I raced up through the gears and was soon maxed out and wishing for a 440, my hair was flying straight out behind me like Guy Laflure on a break away, I felt like a strange cross between the man from Snowy River , and Easy Rider. Time and kilometers quickly past by. This enchanted forest had this strange power to make any that past within its realm to travel as fast as they can, madly with reckless abandon through to its border. It was a forest of only pine trees that were naturally spaced, with little to no undergrowth, only reindeer moss and Labrador tea. I thought to myself this could be a possible site for chanterelle or pine mushrooms in the fall as the pines trees were very mature. There must have been a fire here about one to two hundred years before, by the look of the forest.

My friends and I played cat and mouse for the next 20 kilometers and soon hit the first evidence of the fire. Partially burned ground ran up to the right side of the road and there were morel mushrooms clearly visible, and already growing!!! The sound of our A.T.V.'S engines had barely ceased and the sound of quiet surrounded us, but we hardly noticed as we were already busy filling up our first basket of morels. My friends were very excited and were into their first morel mushroom pick and had the fever ...Bad!!

Soon we were ready to start on our way home with our mushrooms safely bunji corded onto the A.T.V. (Note!! It is very important to put some moss, ferns, or clothes in each basket to tightly pack the mushrooms in. This will to stop them from bouncing around. If you do not do this you will have mushroom crumbs when you get back!!)

I was determined to be first to leave on the return trip so with much gusto I sped off, with a quick look back to make sure my friends where attempting to follow me. They where trying to hurry-up and leave, but were a few minutes behind me. Without looking back anymore, I kept my machine full out through the pine flats. It was nice to be out in front and not chewing dust. I stopped at the river and bridge to wait for my friends. After about fifteen minutes they did had not arrived so I decided to be off again so to insure that I would still be out in front. This part of the trip is slower going but I was pushing a little too fast when I didn't make it into the mud trail through the willows. Much to my surprise I found that the willow tree shrubs did not bend all the way down if I kept the throttle at full power. I was "flying high".

I beat my friends back to Pelly by over one hour. They couldn't figure how I beat them so by so much and were after me to explain. At first I told them that they would figure it out when they had a little more experience under there belts. I let the wonder for a few days but finally told them

I had only about 45lbs. of premium blonde fire morels. We could of stayed and picked more but we where just scouting out the fire. We never did return even though there were lots of morels there. We were just too busy.

Once back at Minto I found pickers lined up at the buying station demanding to sell there wares. I started right in and worked for the next 27 hours, before I dropped I was up for 49 hours. I got about 3 and a half hours sleep before being woken up for more mushroom madness. I did get to have a nightmare about the killer mushrooms and giant A.T.V.'s...........

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Story # 2:

The end of the Road

By Randy Marchand

I was awakened by the rising sun and tried to stretch. I could not stretch because of scattered gear and other sleeping bodies, also a jolt of pain from my overtaxed muscles hit me like a brick. Reaching out into the cold air to grab my clothes I grasped a cold, sticky substance and realized it was peanut butter.

"Tim!" I yelled.

Tom was awakened by my yell and moaned, "Tim left yesterday." Angrily I search for the paper towels, which I found were also covered with peanut butter.

It was a cold morning and the windows and ceiling of the van were covered with condensation from our breathing. It had of course, been raining on us and our gear. The smell of the van was overpowering, with dirty socks being the main culprit. All of this made for a very unpleasant situation. Sitting there feeling cold, miserable, and a little disgusted, I thought of the day ahead. "Up and at'em!"  I yelled.

A couple of hours later we had safely parked and had prepared to do a quick scouting excursion to look for pine mushrooms (Matsutake). The price of the number one grade had been slowly dropping but had stabilized at eighteen to twenty dollars a pound. the other grades were low, but it was early in the season and most of the mushrooms to be found would be number ones. We decided to have a quick look and if we found any mushrooms we would return to the van for our survival gear, and larger pack-sacks to carry mushrooms. We each had a gym bag to carry mushrooms, and a compass. We set our compass straight in 90 degrees off the road.

We scrambled down a steep bank littered with logs and debris that the bulldozers had left when making the road. As we entered the bush, the transformation was spectacular. It was a breathtaking scene that will be locked in my memory forever. It was a forest unlike any I had ever seen before. A thick green, wall-to-wall carpet of moss covered everything on the ground. The grey trunks of the trees standing like soldiers, naturally spaced, faded off into the distance. The whole scene was accentuated by beams of sunlight streaming down through the tree tops, high-lighting the colours.

Suddenly I noticed white in the moss close-by---mushrooms, everywhere! The rush was on! We endeavored to fill our bags, and then return to the van. Soon the downhill slope turned into an uphill slope. Up and down we went through an area of moss covered ridges. Our bags were about half full when we came to a small, shallow lake. Tom said to Chris and me, "We'd better return to the van for our gear and packs". We agreed because we needed the larger packs to carry more mushrooms, so we started back.

Four hours later, we realized we were lost. We sat on a cliff edge looking down at an unfamiliar forest and mountains while trying to control the feeling of panic that was surfacing. After a long break we continued on our compass bearing. We had been climbing very steep terrain for about an hour and we could still not find the road. We had also been finding mushrooms continually, and our bags were full and heavy. Together with the steep terrain, the heavy bags were taking their toll on our endurance.

When we next stopped to rest, we realized it would soon be dark. In preparing to spend the night in the bush with no gear, a calm overcame us. We found a bowl-like depression between two fallen trees. Then we gathered rolls of moss for blankets. My partners wanted to light a fire, but after a heated argument they submitted to my will. The bush was bone dry and had we lit a fire it would have undoubtedly become a forest fire, and then we wouldn't have known which way to run. The night was cold, very cold, and we should have collected much more moss, but the morning dawned clear and we started on our way early.

We knew that we had climbed up much more than we had gone down the previous day so we back-tracked on our compass for two hours. Then we did the unforgivable and started to wander this way and that on the verge of panic. Fortunately we came to a rocky creek, and drank deeply from the warm, slow running water that we knew was quite possibly infected with Giardiasis, more commonly known as beaver fever. The need for water outweighed our concern of the waters purity.

Following the creek upstream with the intention of finding the lake we had seen the previous day, we soon came to a timber cruiser's ribbon line that was on our original compass bearing. We followed the ribbon line and an hour later we were standing on the road. When we got back to the van, we realized what we had done. Having parked near the end of the road, we missed it on yesterday's uphill climb. While climbing down in the morning we missed it again. Returning to the mushroom buying station, we were disheartened to learn the price had dropped to twelve dollars a pound. However, we made three hundred and fifty dollars each, and had found a new mushrooming area that would produce thousands of pounds of pine mushrooms in the future. That night we slept warm and contented in our intimately crowded, smelly van.

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If you would like to join us for some far north adventures, register to come to the Burnsite Morel Foray held in Dawson, Yukon this June. We will have three days of hunting Morels, and unlimited lifetime experiences. -Chris Matherly

(Not too late to register, but you must act now! ) 

(Limited to the first 10 that register, hurry!)