Finn Slough: what's underfoot

Finn Slough is green, green, green in the summer. Not in November; now the prevailing colours are the browns, from golden beige to deep chocolate. Except for the mosses and lichens. When the rains come, they collect all the leftover green and paint the old wood with it.


The slough cuts off a thin sliver of land, making it an island; here, half a dozen homes are snuggled into the bush. Access is across a rickety, slippery, patchwork bridge. A sign on the planking warns visitors to "beware (be aware) of uneven walking surfaces and other potential dangers." A second sign reminds bikers to get off their bikes.

Wise advice; even walking slowly and carefully, we found some parts of the pathway treacherous.

The bridge. With a gap closed by chained-on planks, maybe to let a boat through.

The old lumber has been colonised by mosses, assorted lichens, and tiny slime molds, growing deep in the cracks, working at breaking down the wood.

Rusty nails, popping up, look like growing mushrooms, Laurie says.


Lichen garden in a knothole. Cladonia and a leaf lichen.


Inch-high stalks, leaf lichen, and moss.


On a dock on the island, the mosses invade knotted ropes. Cladonia, and on the left, an strange, branched lichen.


Tiny green cups. The ones on the bridge have orange rims; these are all green.


On a rope tied around a post by the walkway, another lichen. This looks like old, decaying cottage cheese.


On the sunny side, it completely swallows the rope.

The houses, and some of the residents, next.
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