The Smoke that Thunders

Sunday morning, chucking it down, squelching in the mud to dig potatoes for roasting. Definitely not a day for tops of mountains, so off we went, water-proofed through the still forest to the gorge at Coed Cymerau.

Carrying cotton bags in case of edible fungi and as per norm, we found lots of tasteless and poisonous ones. But there, in the middle of the dark path, with a flared trunk, seemingly growing out of stone, was a big penny bun. The fungi book said that in terms of taste, this was second only to the truffle. As I write this I’m 30 minutes into a small slice and still alive, so it looks like a gourmet starter to our Sunday roast.

A bit further along were chanterelles, with their forked gills and apricot scent, nudging through the moss, so easy to miss or trample. Next were the hedgehog mushrooms, with unmistakeable undersides, resembling a close cropped, albino hedgehog. And then an enormous cauliflower fungus, enough to feed a family. Bags weighed down, this has to be our most fruitful fungi walk.

Food apart our spirits were raised with the sparkly, shiny greens of mosses, ferns and lichens as we dropped down into the humid gorge. The roar of the water, crashing through the rocks, sending spray high into the canopy. The footbridge over the Goedol, like a mini crossing between Zambia and Zimbabwe, but without the crocodiles below.  Wet Sundays in gorges are great.

See 'the smoke that thunders'.

Huw (with photo by Haydn)

19^th September, 2010