Wednesday 1 February 2012

Three Colours of Rot

Black Bulgar, Bulgaria inquinans, growing on a fallen Oak branch.  West Wickham Common, 7 January 2012.
Black Bulgar, Bulgaria inquinans, growing on a fallen Oak branch.  West Wickham Common, 7 January 2012.
Here are three more fungi. That's what is growing in the woods in this season, so that's what I come back home with photos of.

This first one, the Black Bulgar, was all over a fallen Oak branch, each growth being only 5 or 6 centimetres across. It looks black in the shady woods, but the bright flash shows that it is really a rich dark brown, a textured outside surface surrounding a shiny, and much darker, central fruiting surface.

Yellow Brain, Tremella mesenterica.  High Elms Country Park, 12 January 2012.
Yellow Brain, Tremella mesenterica.  High Elms Country Park, 12 January 2012.
This brightly coloured specimen has a pleasantly macabre common name. It has a soft, jelly-like texture; finding this out means you do have to poke them, however unappealing the prospect might appear. At least if you know it's a fungus and not, perhaps, some weird animal deposit, it's not that unpleasant a prospect. I mention this as I have recently read about a mysterious jelly-like substance that a few people found in the countryside, which was determined to be stag sperm (and not, as some had suggested, something that had fallen from a meteor). That's something I would be more reluctant to prod with a finger.

Purple Jellydisc, Ascocoryne sarcoides.  Keston Common, 24 December 2011.
Purple Jellydisc, Ascocoryne sarcoides.  Keston Common, 24 December 2011.
The last one for today looks to me just like raw bacon.  (The yellow fungi around it are Hairy Curtain Crust.)  All three of these specimens are small, hard to notice unless you are particularly watching out for anything interesting. The last two are about 5 cm across, though they can grow bigger.

All of these, like many fungi, are saprophytes, growing on dead branches or stumps and helping to return them to the soil.

1 comment:

  1. Visually luscious, naturally necessary, what's not to love, except that most of us have never seen any ourselves.

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