Wind carved tunnel through soft sandstone.

We spent yesterday morning wambling our way through the brush, up a shady wet canyon and back down the canyon, up an adjacent exposed sunny ridge over and down again the same canyon. Over to the next canyon, the sight of which, dry, narrow, tight and clogged with brush, quickly withered our enthusiasm. So we called it quits by half-day and headed back out not without a few scratches and a bit of frustration.

Tiny oyster mushrooms waiting for rain that won’t come in time.

I did manage to spot a few still fresh oyster mushrooms, which during this spectacularly dry winter, in the midst of an increasingly severe drought, might be unexpected. I saw a number of tiny oysters that had sprouted after the last rain only to be thwarted and turned woody, their growth cycle stopped dead, by no subsequent rain showers. These fresh ones below had sprouted from the underside of a log about a foot above the trickling creek and so managed to suck up enough moisture to grow to decent size.

Wild oyster mushrooms are a tasty treat when lightly battered and fried in butter and olive oil or a bit of bacon grease.

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