Distinctly Montana Magazine

D I S T I N C T L Y M O N T A N A M A G A Z I N E • S P R I N G 2 0 2 1 80 HUNTING FOR MUSHROOMS "T HE WAY I SEE IT, THE MOTHER LODE IS RIGHT HERE." I pointed at the map, and looked up at a raging confluence of rivers. The spot on the map where my finger rested corresponded to a patch of burned forest on the wrong side of two rivers in full spring flood. "In the summer you can wade across that creek, in some places," Egan offered. "Not planning to wait that long, myself." I replied. But it is obvious why that stretch of prime habitat remains untouched. It is three miles up the creek to the first possible crossing, where a fallen tree spans the churning water, and then three miles back down to this spot. There are plenty of morels closer to the trailhead than that. And the wall of water surging between us and the opposite bank really is a problem. We had just spent the weekend picking this burn, prob- ing the blackened canyons and crawling over a tumble of downed timber like ants on a pile of toasted toothpicks. We did fine, but you can't go pick those mushrooms again, so we were looking for the next major spot. Access was the issue, and all this water was the reason. Morel mushrooms have a world-wide reputation among chefs and foodies that spans cultures and goes back centuries. They are hunted on every continent save Antarcti- ca and have names and aliases without end in every form of human speech. I have personally hunted morels widely in North and South Amer- ica and Asia and have spent the last 30 morel seasons camped in a burn zone somewhere. I suppose you could call me obsessed, but that makes it sound like a problem. The problem is that morel season only lasts a few weeks every year. That's the problem. A lot of people see it my way. Enough to support a world- wide market in morels that moves millions of dollars of this exquisite delicacy from forest to fork, from Phillipsburg article and photos by LARRY EVANS After the BURN

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