One of my earliest memories in the woods is of hunting mushrooms as a kid with my Dad on the Deer Farm outside Hayward, Wisconsin. The memories are good ones. I have no idea why the interest in mushrooms didn’t stick with me like my interest in the hunting and fishing did, but I can honestly say that it has experienced a resurgence, and oddly enough, due to the exact same mushroom we hunted so many years ago in the North woods, the Morel. Morchella intermedia Boudier to be exact. These tasty mushrooms apparently pop up everywhere around here this time of year, and if you can train your eyes to see them as you walk along you can collect quite a few. I am not too good at it yet, but I am hoping to get better before the season ends. It is hard to divide my focus between the ground ahead of me, the birds above me, and the water beyond the foreground, and the trout it hides, which incessantly pull at my eyes. In fact they pulled so hard today while I was out mushroom hunting that I was forced to unsheathe the rod from my pack and go looking for them, this nice brown coming to hand against the wind in the middle of the afternoon.