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Not sure what kind of call it was...
Aug. 19th, 2010 06:56 pmAfter sending off a fair chunk of work this morning, I gathered my mushrooming things and Shiloh and I went for a drive.
Nothing was happening at Site Lima, although there was an unusually large number of cars in the parking lot that's a few hundred yards short of the Forest Service campground.
I then decided to go look for boletes. The weather seemed ideal (it was drizzling) and I was halfway there (more or less) already.
Shiloh was a good companion and seemed to really enjoy herself, and I had collected a few pounds of mushrooms - boletes - so I was a pretty happy camper on the way back to the car.
There were quite a number of other mushrooms in evidence, but they were all of the gilled variety, and I don't really know much about them, except in the case of the very easy-to-identify Fly Agaric (Amanita muscaria), with its characteristic spotted red cap. You do not want to eat this mushroom, because it is well and truly poisonous (although the Siberian version of this fungus is a favorite of reindeer - and tribal shamans - who apparently experience hallucinations after eating it). Indeed, the reason for the "Fly" part of its common name stems from the mushroom's use in killing house flies. 'nuf said.
When Shiloh and I emerged from the woods, I was a little surprised to see a pickup truck parked a few feet in front of my Ford, but figured it must belong to other 'shroomers. As I got closer though, I could see there were passengers in the truck. They seemed in no hurry to get out.
Minding my own business, I opened the Ford and told Shiloh to get in and sit down, which she did admirably, on the passenger's seat. I took my seat and, after a few moments making the usual adjustments, I turned the key and... nothing. No growling, no clicking. Nothing.
I was pretty surprised by this and the malfunction, combined with the surprise of having a truck with at least three people in it parked about ten yards in front of me on an isolated mountain road sort of put me on high alert. I opened my door, commanded Shiloh to "Stay!" (which she did), and then cautiously approached the truck to see if the vehicle could give me a jump. One of the three fellows in the truck got out to give me a hand, which helped calm my heart rate. I figured if they meant any harm, things would've gotten a lot more overt by now.
"Obedient dog," said the fellow who got out.
"Yup," I said. "He looks friendly enough, but it's the training, y'know?" I cannot imagine what possessed me to say that, but I did.
The fellow grunted and we settled down to the business of connecting my jumper cable.
In the end, the Ford didn't start. Not even a click from under the hood. The fellow and his friends in the truck sort of grinned at me as I disconnected the cable and threw it in the back of the Ford. I grinned back, stepped to my door, and gave the Ford a push, then jumped in, slamming the door behind me. Being high on a hill does have its advantages, and I rolled back almost to civilization.
I passed back that way again later, after getting the Ford started, and left a note under the truck's windshield apologizing for not having thanked them for helping me try to start my car. As far as I can tell, they were mushroom hunters too, and were just waiting for me to leave the area so as not to risk having me follow them as they visited their special "spots."
We 'shroomers are a secretive bunch, y'know?
Cheers...
UPDATE: At the ham breakfast on Friday morning, the suggestion was made - and generally supported - that the individuals in the truck were, perhaps, more interested in making sure I was not poaching some plant "crop" in which they might have a recreational - or more likely financial - interest, than in hunting for mushrooms. Hmmm.
Nothing was happening at Site Lima, although there was an unusually large number of cars in the parking lot that's a few hundred yards short of the Forest Service campground.
I then decided to go look for boletes. The weather seemed ideal (it was drizzling) and I was halfway there (more or less) already.
Shiloh was a good companion and seemed to really enjoy herself, and I had collected a few pounds of mushrooms - boletes - so I was a pretty happy camper on the way back to the car.
There were quite a number of other mushrooms in evidence, but they were all of the gilled variety, and I don't really know much about them, except in the case of the very easy-to-identify Fly Agaric (Amanita muscaria), with its characteristic spotted red cap. You do not want to eat this mushroom, because it is well and truly poisonous (although the Siberian version of this fungus is a favorite of reindeer - and tribal shamans - who apparently experience hallucinations after eating it). Indeed, the reason for the "Fly" part of its common name stems from the mushroom's use in killing house flies. 'nuf said.
When Shiloh and I emerged from the woods, I was a little surprised to see a pickup truck parked a few feet in front of my Ford, but figured it must belong to other 'shroomers. As I got closer though, I could see there were passengers in the truck. They seemed in no hurry to get out.
Minding my own business, I opened the Ford and told Shiloh to get in and sit down, which she did admirably, on the passenger's seat. I took my seat and, after a few moments making the usual adjustments, I turned the key and... nothing. No growling, no clicking. Nothing.
I was pretty surprised by this and the malfunction, combined with the surprise of having a truck with at least three people in it parked about ten yards in front of me on an isolated mountain road sort of put me on high alert. I opened my door, commanded Shiloh to "Stay!" (which she did), and then cautiously approached the truck to see if the vehicle could give me a jump. One of the three fellows in the truck got out to give me a hand, which helped calm my heart rate. I figured if they meant any harm, things would've gotten a lot more overt by now.
"Obedient dog," said the fellow who got out.
"Yup," I said. "He looks friendly enough, but it's the training, y'know?" I cannot imagine what possessed me to say that, but I did.
The fellow grunted and we settled down to the business of connecting my jumper cable.
In the end, the Ford didn't start. Not even a click from under the hood. The fellow and his friends in the truck sort of grinned at me as I disconnected the cable and threw it in the back of the Ford. I grinned back, stepped to my door, and gave the Ford a push, then jumped in, slamming the door behind me. Being high on a hill does have its advantages, and I rolled back almost to civilization.
I passed back that way again later, after getting the Ford started, and left a note under the truck's windshield apologizing for not having thanked them for helping me try to start my car. As far as I can tell, they were mushroom hunters too, and were just waiting for me to leave the area so as not to risk having me follow them as they visited their special "spots."
We 'shroomers are a secretive bunch, y'know?
Cheers...
UPDATE: At the ham breakfast on Friday morning, the suggestion was made - and generally supported - that the individuals in the truck were, perhaps, more interested in making sure I was not poaching some plant "crop" in which they might have a recreational - or more likely financial - interest, than in hunting for mushrooms. Hmmm.
