As I traversed a charred ridge north of Fairbanks, memories of last year’s Grapefruit Complex fire lingered in the ashy air. The scorched landscape marked by blackened trunks and a smoky flavor clinging to each breath set the scene for a day of mushroom foraging.
Accompanied by Justin Whittaker, the entrepreneur behind Taiga Forest Provisions, our expedition aimed at uncovering the prized morel mushrooms, a delicacy that thrives in the aftermath of wildfires.
After an hour of wandering through the wildfire scar, my keen eye finally spotted a wrinkled gray lump just as I was about to step.
“Hey, good job,” Whittaker exclaimed. “You found the first morel of the day.”
With precision, he retrieved his pocket knife, sliced off the cap, and dropped it into his bucket. Moving farther ahead, we reveled in the sight of clusters of button-sized morels sprouting from the blackened earth of a nearby meadow.
This summer, mushroom hunters across Interior Alaska, including Whittaker, have embraced a bountiful morel harvest thanks in part to the wildfires that occurred the previous year.
With additional fires burning close to Fairbanks this season, enthusiasts like Whittaker anticipate the emergence of these gourmet fungi once again in the coming year.
The allure of morels, a mushroom marked by its dark, pockmarked cap and earthy flavor, continues to captivate local residents. Due to their preference for growing in areas scorched by fire, the wildfire-prone regions of the Interior provide ideal conditions for their growth.
“They’ll fruit where it burnt down to the mineral soil,” Whittaker explained, highlighting the relationship between the fungi and the fire-impacted soil.
As we ventured deeper, Whittaker’s blue heeler mix, Trinity, surged ahead, on guard for any bears that might cross our path. This component of the hunt is crucial, as the forest is filled with hidden treasures waiting beneath layers of ash, cherished by the locals.
However, for those eager to gather a substantial morel harvest, it’s a labor-intensive process. Prices can vary widely, ranging from $5 to $80 per pound, and experienced crews often dedicate days to clear paths to promising picking spots.
“There are definitely secrets,” Whittaker said, emphasizing the need to keep winning trails under wraps to protect them from over-harvesting by others.
Notably, the burgeoning community of mushroom hunters in Fairbanks tends to be open and welcoming to newcomers.
Take Sveta and Igor Pasternak, for example; this married couple has become passionate advocates for morel mushrooms. They have created a Facebook group titled “Alaska Morels and other Mushroom Madness,” which has grown to nearly 14,000 enthusiastic members.
In the group, members share tips on mushroom identification, optimal picking locations, and methods for preservation.
The Pasternaks are also involved in educating the public about mushrooms, hosting classes and workshops at events like the upcoming Fairbanks Fungi Festival, which begins on August 22.
Their love for mushroom hunting is deeply rooted in their heritage—Igor hails from Ukraine, and Sveta is from Belarus—where foraging for fungi is a cherished pastime.
Sveta noted its prominence throughout Eastern Europe and Russia, remarking, “In Chukotka, the region right across the Bering Strait from Alaska, during mushroom season, the villages’ obsession with fungi borders on fetishism.”
While their appreciation for morels blossomed later in life, the couple initially found it difficult to understand the mushroom’s popularity upon arriving in Fairbanks during the 1990s.
Igor recalled that older Soviet cookbooks and mushroom guides ranked morels poorly, possibly due to confusion with their toxic counterparts, known as false morels.
He speculated that cultural biases may also have contributed, as morels were often viewed with greater esteem in Western European countries such as France and Italy.
“It was communism,” Igor stated. “It was not our way. It was like, all of the fat capitalists eating those mushrooms.”
As they delved into the local mushroom hunting culture, the Pasternaks discovered the depth of flavor and culinary versatility that morels offer.
“You can go savory, you can go creamy,” Sveta elaborated. “Like, whatever — cheese and sausage stuffing. I mean, just really endless possibilities. They’re so culinarily inviting and forgiving.”
However, she acknowledged a bittersweet aspect to foraging for morels, as they often thrive in areas that have been recently burned.
With wildfires impacting local communities, including the recent fires threatening neighborhoods in Fairbanks, Sveta expressed concerns about the hazards they bring.
“Very real hazards and nuisances and health concerns the fires create,” she noted, while simultaneously recognizing the rewarding relationship formed with post-burn landscapes.
Despite the challenges, she anticipates a morel windfall close to town next summer.
“It’s going to be awesome,” she said with enthusiasm.
At the end of our day amid the charred remains, Whittaker and I emerged from the woods looking as though we had come from a coal mine, yet I was content with a pocketful of morels.
Sautéed with shallots, they transformed into a delightful risotto, the subtle smokiness serving as a reminder of the wildfires.
And I can attest, the flavor was anything but scorched.
image source from：fm
