A Story About Himalayan Caterpillar Fungus

Here's my story about Himalayan caterpillar fungus.

Yes, that's a thing. I had never heard about Himalayan caterpillar fungus until this afternoon. Turns out it's an interesting tale  about the global economy, global trade and climate change. I read the headline at a science news site, "Himalayan caterpillar fungus may meet its demise due to climate change." And I my immediate thought was, "that's got to be a good thing, an unexpected benefit of climate change, because Himalayan caterpillar fungus sounds like some sort of disease that could threaten an ecosystem or something."   But it's a lot more complex than that.

Apparently, due to the rapid economic growth of China, more and more Chinese people are becoming wealthy enough to afford Himalayan caterpillar fungus. Why would someone want to buy Himalayan caterpillar fungus, you ask? Apparently, it is one of the most sought after traditional medicines- it's used as a cancer treatment and for other health problems.  It has become so trendy that it's driven a caterpillar fungus boom, and in Beijing it sells for three times the price of gold.

This has in turn driven a homegrown caterpillar fungus gathering industry in the Himalayan countries, with countless people now making their living from collecting and selling caterpillar fungus. It has gotten to the point that caterpillar fungus is one of the most valuable export products of the Himalayan nation of Bhutan!

But there is a threat on the horizon: as the climate warms, caterpillar fungus is becoming more scarce, because the fungus tends to prefer areas at the edges of permafrost- which is melting and retreating up the slopes of the Himalayas, so the caterpillar fungus industry and economy is under threat from climate change. And the Bhutanese caterpillar fungus harvesters may have their livelihood threatened, and soon, just like rhino horns, the people who want it in China won't be able to get it any more.

If you happen to have some Himalayan caterpillar fungus,  probably best to not eat it or drink it as a tea, unless perhaps you get cancer. It may be the most valuable treasure you own, thanks to climate change.

And now you know the rest of the story.

This is the scientific study:
The demise of caterpillar fungus in the Himalayan region due to climate change and overharvesting

Eulogy for a giant gone too soon: In memoriam, Eldridge Moores

The news broke early this past week, and rippled through the geology world like a great seismic tremor, that Eldridge Moores had passed away tragically and unexpectedly.  Eldridge was Distinguished Professor Emeritus of Geology at UC Davis (my alma mater), long time department chair, and for many years the editor of Geology (one of the top journals in the field) and other publications of the Geological Society of America, an organization which he had served as its President.  His research as a graduate student and young scientist had cinched the final knots in the theory of plate tectonics, one of the great scientific revolutions of the past century.  He was a true Renaissance man, humanitarian, and promoter of environmental conservation as well: his advocacy clearly helped lead to the preservation of California's new Berryessa- Snow Mountain National Monument, a beautiful landscape we both loved with a passion, and a sacred place for me. 

If it hadn’t been for the mentoring I received from Dr. Moores, I would not have followed the path of my career.  In the early 1980s, I was a UC Davis undergraduate student  majoring in something else, but didn’t have the passion for it that I did for Geology: I thought I was just dabbling in geology by enrolling in a few classes for fun and to fill out my schedule.  After taking a more advanced course from Eldridge and getting a top grade, we had a serious conversation.  In those days, I was much more seriously disabled than I am now, and got around campus in a wheelchair: the thought of a “handicapped kid” going into geology back then seemed ludicrous.  But Eldridge encouraged me to pursue the subject more deeply, indicating that the geoscience world ought to look beyond my weak and crooked limbs to my mental abilities, and he’d see to it if necessary with personal recommendations.  If it weren't for those discussions we had more than 35 years ago, I'd probably be a bored and unfulfilled engineer somewhere in Silicon Valley right now.

When UC Davis later started an interdisciplinary Earth Science and Resources graduate program (something we would now know as "earth system science"), Moores encouraged me to apply, wisely musing that the emergence the concept of looking at the Earth as an interconnected system could transform the geosciences much as plate tectonics did, and pointing out that my background in other fields along with geology in this case was not wasted time but an asset.  As usual, his counsel was spot on.  Later, he became a member of my Ph.D. comprehensive examination committee in that program. Eldridge was there to consistently give me sage advice over the decades, and I looked forward to seeing him most every year at scientific meetings and exchanging occasional emails and some social media messages.

I have several particular memories of him.
One week back about 1990 it was announced that Eldridge would give the regular Geology Department Friday lunchtime seminar, but the title/topic was strangely TBA and seemed to be a tightly guarded secret. My friends and I expected him to reveal some new insight into plate tectonics. Instead, Eldridge came out with his cello- which he took everywhere, even on many geological field trips- and played a 45 minute solo recital! I'd never seen him so obviously nervous and literally sweating copiously- but never did I see him so proud at an accomplishment. 

Another Friday he announced he would bring in a friend to discuss his latest work.  It turned out to be Pulitzer Prize-winning writer John McPhee, who gave a reading from a draft version of his travels with Eldridge in what wound up being the acclaimed book "Assembling California."  I remember us being fairly tough crowd and we gave McPhee a lot of constructive criticism, which certainly made the book better.

Eldridge truly understood that the natural world had "a beauty beyond the cold logic of the laboratory."  He was not the stereotypical just-the-data nerd of a scientist, but truly appreciated the grandeur of the Earth.  He later edited a coffee-table book of dramatic photos of geological formations, titled The Art of Geology.  As the son of a landscape painter whose art first drew me to love geology in my boyhood, I was particularly touched by this common... ground with him, though I never had the chance to tell him so. An art professor friend and I have already been planning to together teach a class on this very topic next year- jointly offered between my institution's Art and Geological Sciences departments- and I'm going to dedicate it to Eldridge.

Eldridge once told me a story of when he was on a trip somewhere.  As the plane touched ground it was the roughest landing he had ever experienced; he had decided to complain to the pilot on the way out of the aircraft- until he looked out the window and saw things moving and the airport terminal physically shaking and dislodging some bits.  He had landed at the exact moment of a major earthquake!  I like to think it was the Earth itself trembling at renewed contact with a man who unlocked the secrets of its depths.  

May his memory never be forgotten.