Banking On Snow: The Snowbank Fungi of Mount Shasta.
- jaymecastro617
- May 11
- 10 min read
Updated: May 11
It was the Winter of 1990 when my family moved us to Mount Shasta from San Bernardino County. I was six years old and I recall the changes in scenery as we weaved our way up the interstate - the topography, trees that weren't palm trees, but more like massive Christmas trees. Then we hit snow, and around a certain bend of the highway the white beacon of Mount Shasta dominated the scenery. I knew there was something special about this place, and I could hardly wait to explore.
I was already labeled "weird" by my close friends even before I "got into mushrooms" so it really tipped the scales when, as a teenager, I'd prefer darting off by myself to wander randomly in search of mushrooms. Wandering isn't one of the skills you put on the resume to stand out as a prospect, but it pairs well for the myco-curious. But when it came to locating mushrooms, I still felt like I was throwing darts in the dark, so I would often resort to the well-watered lawns of churches or cemeteries, which further pinned me for a weirdo. I wandered because I didn't know where or when to look, I hadn’t developed awareness of seasons, biological indicators, tree species associations, etc. I had no foundation yet for building pattern recognition of habitats.
I wandered forward and one day I walked out of the bookstore with Mushrooms Demystified by David Arora. Somewhere around page 34 begins the section on mushroom habitats, where a detailed list of species is given under their associated habitat. Habitat categories like "disturbed ground," "burned areas," "deserts," "lawns," "dung," and the one that caught my attention - "snowbanks." In my early mushroom wandering I never thought to look around snowbanks for mushrooms. It was a fascinating thing to me. Sure, I've heard some grow from burned ground - that's what we associate with morels. And from dung - what many of us associate with the Psilocybe species - but from snow? That sounded just crazy enough for something a mushroom would do. While there are a number of species that fruit from the middle of a receding snowbank, others will fruit at the melting edge, or shortly after the snowbank has liquified into the surrounding soil. Observing snowbank mushrooms is a real treat, and often their beauty is equally matched by their oddity. Their presence is the continuation of a story that began on the slopes of Mount Shasta through the observations of a mycological pioneer. It was here that snowbank fungi were first recognized and described as a distinct ecological group of the western mountains. How can a forager or myco-enthusiast look to these species as guides to gauging the season, and finding other targeted species? let's wander into this topic and see what we can learn.
Becoming a competent forager, in part, depends on developing a sense of seasonal fungal succession, habitats, and ecological associations. Snowbank fungi are a great window to peer through. It was mycologist William Bridge Cooke who recognized and first wrote about snowbank fungi after encountering them on the slopes of Mount Shasta in the 1940's, and again in a more detailed write-up titled, Subalpine Fungi and Snowbanks. According to Cathy Cripps' article,
Snowbank Fungi Revisited, "these western fungal phenomena are primarily reported from the Rocky Mountains and Cascade Range with their distribution ranging from Southern Canada to Northern New Mexico at elevations of 1500 to 3800 meters." which is just another reason for me to use the phrase, " West is best" when it comes mushrooms. Now that we recognize the unique ecology of the snowbank fungi (AKA Niveomycota), lets dive further into some specifics.
When it comes to the "snowbankers" there are varying levels of dependence upon the snowbank association - there are obligately associated species and facultatively associated species, respectively those that strictly require the snowbanks, and those that are more flexible and able to adapt to environmental swings. Some species that fit into the former category include Clitocybe glacilalis, Mycena nivicola, Hygrophorus goetzii, and Pholita nubigena. Some Facultative species include Gyromitra montana, Caloscypha fulgens, and Guepiniopsis alpina. It's no surprise then that skimpy snowpack trends have pushed some species of the obligate group into the "Vulnerable" category of the International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN) Red List.
The majority of Snowbank species are in the Ascomycota, the phylum of fungi that include the morels, elfin saddles and many of the characteristic Spring species. While morels are not, in my opinion considered true snowbank species, they can be found in areas where snow has recently melted. Becoming familiar with the snowbanker's timing and succession of species is a valuable skill for tracking other species and honing in on prime altitude for the mushrooms you are targeting. With this knowledge in hand, you can reduce your aimless wanderings, and start wandering with a purpose. But first, lets get into some more details about the cool species that you can find associating with snow on the slopes of Mount Shasta - just like Mr. Cooke did in the 1940's.
As mentioned above, the Ascomycota comprise the bulk of snowbankers, but the Basdiomycota are also well represented. The next time you are out there, see if you can recognize some of these species.
Clitocybe glacialis is one of the very first species I encounter in the Spring. it often fruits directly from the middle of the snowbank in what is known as the subnivean zone - the insulated stable air space between the soil and the snowpack. The mushroom's mycelial metabolism helps melt the nearby snow, creating a "tree well" around the fruitbody. When fresh, the caps have a fine dusting of white powder that often reveals streaks on its silvery gray cap. As it ages and dries, the cap can appear shiny. This species has a white spore deposit and can be found into the summer months at high elevations if snowpack is adequate. This obligately associated species is common in the Mount Shasta area.
The appropriately named Midnight Goblet (Donadinia nigrella) is one of my favorite species to encounter in the snowbank habitat. It is small, with cap maxing out at 3 cm across, but it packs an otherworldly aesthetic that is complemented by its dark contrast against the icy white snow, making this a great subject for photography. It is fairly common in our area, and I have seen it well into summer at high elevations.
The Snowbank Waxy Cap (Hygrophorus goetzei) belongs in the genus of Waxy Caps which are referred to as such due to the waxy nature of their gills. It takes a bit of repetition to become familiar with this trait, but after some practice in the field, you'll be able to confidently identify a species as belonging to the genus. H. goetzei is easy to recognize by its beautiful pink tone and wide-spaced, waxy gills. In addition to being obligately associated with snowbanks, it is also associated with Mountain Hemlock (Tsuga mertensiana) which is only found in our subalpine zone, making its distribution even more restricted. You can observe this species popping up through the "tree wells" they create, at the very edges of snow, or shortly after the snow has melted and where Mountain Hemlock is present.
You can chase this species up to high elevation conifers into the Summer where it can be found in decent quantities, particularly under firs such as white fir and Red fir in our area. It also fruits in the Fall, but in my experience it is much less common than the Spring flush. This is Another Hygrophorus (AKA waxycap), so make sure you rub the gills with your finger to detect the waxy quality. Other identifying features are white gills, often running down the stipe (decurrent), growth with firs, and its snowbank association. This species is considered a good edible but always be sure of your identification!
And . . . another Hygrophorus. By now I don't need to mention the waxy gills, you've got it, and you're well on your way to becoming familiar with this fascinating genus. This species lived up to its name in Shasta this season as things fruited earlier than usual, and these were already out in considerable abundance by March, whereas I typically do not see them until April. in our region, fruiting of this species is initiated in that subnivean zone we talked about earlier, fitting the criteria for an obligate associated species, while in other regions it can be found without the strict ties to melting snow. interestingly, according to the University of Oklahoma, all snowbank species of Hygrophorus are endemic to North America except for H. marzuolus which also occurs in Europe in the Spring, but not necessarily with snowbanks. If you shine a UV light on the gills of this species, they will fluoresce an electric blue.
This funky Pholiota of the snowbanks combines visual AND olfactory oddities. Its common names "Wintergreen Pholiota" and "Bubblegum fungus" refer to the namesake odor that one may detect (depending on your sniffer). The cross-section shown above reveals gills that seem undeveloped or contorted. This feature places them in the oddball grouping of what are called secotioid fungi, where the cap never fully opens, leaving the spore-bearing tissue unexposed. It is thought this adaptation is indicative of the species evolving a subterranean lifestyle to better protect against dry climates. This species grows on rotting wood of conifers, particularly fir and pines in our area, near melting or recently melted snow. It is an obligately associated species and is considered vulnerable on the IUCN Red List.
Another cap and gill mushoom that requires snowmelt is Mycena nivicola, a beautiful representative of Mount Shasta's Niveomycota. This is another one of those photogenic species, especially when fresh. It is recognized by its gorgeous contrast of colors - the olive-brown cap, white gills, and stipe that is yellow at the top and reddish at the bottom. like all Mycenas, this mushroom will produce a white spore deposit. It is not known to be edible but is better viewed than chewed (something Arora might say). This is one of the more common snowbank species I encounter in the area. I can find no information about conservation status.
Another snowbank Mycena that would be nondescript in the absence of its distinctly fuzzy stipe base is Mycena overholtsii. It is more often found in clusters, but this specimen had an entire snowbank all to itself. This species has an affinity for old growth forests and is saprobic on decaying conifer wood (often buried). It is said to be common and stable, though I do not encounter if frequently in the Mount Shasta area.
The Snowmelt Sawgill is distinct in a few ways that make it easy to identify. Its fan-shaped fruitbody grows on decaying conifer wood along the edges of melting snow at high altitudes. its gills are widely spaced and saw-like - a common feature of the genus; its stipe is diminished or lacking, and there are conspicuous, fuzzy rhizomorphs at its point of attachment. This is another species that is better viewed than chewed since it has an unpleasant spicy taste.
The Spring Orange Peel Fungus is a dazzling ascomycete that you can encounter with conifers soon after the snow has melted. Its genus name, "Caloscypha" means "beautiful cup" and is parasitic on conifer seeds. When they are stained out and dusted with pollen, they appear to hold green galaxies within them. There is a similar species also called "orange peel" that occurs more often in the Fall, but can flush in Spring as well - that one is Alueria aurantia - it is thinner-fleshed and lacks the green staining of this Caloscypha. Both of the "orange peel" mushrooms are edible and can add color to your dish, but they lack in any sort of flavor.
The Snowbank False Morel is a chunky statured Ascomycete that can be found snuggled up to snowbanks or soon after they have melted. It has a distinctly wrinkled cap - not pitted / honey-combed like the true morels - and a white chambered stipe that fuses with the cap margin. A cross-section will reaveal chambered insides of this species as opposed to the hollow interior of the true morels. Members of the toxic Gyromitra esculenta / splendida group are less chunky, have reddish brown, convoluted caps, and lightly vinaceous colored stipes. The Snowbank False Morel typically fruits about a week ahead of the true morels, so this is a great species to know if morels are your target.
Tricholoma vernaticum can seem like an indistinct white mushroom at first glance, and even with my many years of collecting it, I occasionaly fail to recognize it right away. Some key features are its fruiting soon after the snow has receded, its whitish to gray colors, notched gills, slight ring on the stipe that soon dissapears, and most notably its odor which I detect as "raw potatoes" while others detect as "cucumber". This species typically precedes morel, but you can often find them at the same time as the season progresses.
These are just a few of the many snowbank species out there, but I have covered some of my very favorite. Reflecting on how I got here, I realize I never really stopped wandering - I just got better at seeing.
What once felt like blind-folded darts has turned into something intentional. The answers were always there, and they are still there for those who choose to listen with patience and discarded desire for instant gratification - and with a bit of practice, the patterns will surely reveal themselves to you.
Snowbank fungi are part of a pattern, a rhythm that depends on significant snowpack and slow melting. To an observant forager, they offer up clues of where you are in the season, and what might be coming next.
The takeaway isn't just go out there, find a snowbank and hope to find something cool - though I hope you do. It's to slow down, to pay attention and observe what appears in the window of time. Because that is where the shift happens - from wandering aimlessly to wandering with purpose.
Comments