Preface #

Such indeed is the economy of nature that secret relations and astonishing concordances exist throughout the whole vast weft of things. There are no loose ends; everything is consequent and ordered. Hidden harmonies meet and mingle.

G. V. Legros in Fabre, Poet of Science

I remember it being a rather nasty day weather-wise. An early spring afternoon in Anchorage, windy and with a light rain “coming in sideways”. In retrospect, I cannot recall what compelled me to go for a walk on such a day, but it was probably something less than commendable, probably needing a drag of smoke. I didn’t know it at the time, but it would be a day that would change my life.

Kincaid Park is a popular recreation spot for many in Anchorage. Filled with birch and spruce forest and well-maintained trails; its popularity is well-earned. That day I made the goal to observe the population of Western Tiger Beetles which reside at the anthropogenic dune which has developed from the dirt bike and 4x4 activity. With my nose down to the sand searching for burrows, I tried to shuffle inconspicuously to my feet when I saw a figure approaching from across the dune. I was a bit embarrassed, thinking I had been caught staring at the sand and muttering excitedly to myself, betraying my attempt to conceal these strange endeavors from the eyes of more…normal people?

It was soon clear, however, that there was to be no concealing of my entomological querying. As the figure across the dune came better into view, I saw a man shouldering a bicycle, his chain had come loose and jostled with the same jovial energy that propelled his own steps down the sandy slope. His face, clearer now after closing the distance in the rain and wind, revealed the kind, smiling face of a man who introduced himself as Dennis. Dennis explained some about his career as a botanist and as an educator in Alaska and how he made Alaska his home despite there having been no original plans to do so, a story which seems more familiar as the years of my own residence in Alaska continue to tick by. Dennis, being a botanist, had recognized even in the crummy weather that I was stooping down to inspect something. I explained to him that beetles were the objects of my affection (or affliction?), at least that day. It seems he thought I may have been inspecting plants, having assumed the same awkward positioning one might find themselves when botanizing.

Luck would have it, Dennis informed me, that a few weeks later a hike with the Alaska Native Plant Society was taking place and that all manner of nature-loving people were invited to join. Fast-forward to my first hike with the society and I am greeted again by my new friend Dennis among others. The group is sizeable; I am excited to see such a gathering. Some people with Sibley and Audubon guides tucked underarm while binoculars scan the hillsides of our slice of the Chugach Mountains for birds. Others join me in marveling at the insects and spiders. As the group slowly and loosely meandered together across the landscape Dennis walks over to me as I inspect a small moth in the heaths. He points at a leafy-greenish thing. It looks leaf-like but intuitively I know it isn’t a plant. He points to another, a completely different form, branching intricately and beautifully. He points to yet another, and another again, each with their own form, drastically diverging from the example just before. It is in this moment that from the recesses of my memory I recall a word that I wasn’t sure I had ever used since learning it, Lichen.

As if to blow the cobwebs off the word itself with the same breath as it slipped in recollection off the tip of my tongue…’lichen’…’yea lichens’…’what are those things again?’ In a moment it was as though I had learned to see the entire world differently. Suddenly I realized these lichens were everywhere, ubiquitous. The overlooked shadows, cracks, crannies, crags, and outcrops. The spaces between herbs, the spaces between spaces. The trees. Not just the trees, their bark, their branches and twigs, logs, all adorned in lichens. It was an indescribably profound feeling, as if one had never known the sight of a tree until somebody had taken the time to point one out. I was hooked! I was converted in an instant to these lichens, and I would be unable to ever forget them again.

As any dutiful convert of any faith or following, I must try to garner more of the same. This guide is the culmination of three years of work to assemble a field guide which can effectively help those in Alaska to identify macrolichens, the larger more conspicuous growth forms, of this vast and varied plane of paradise known as Alaska. Many great works on lichens have been published which include Alaskan material. This companion is an attempt to bring together several of these important works into a form that would not be cumbersome if taken to observe lichens in lichen country.

Preston C. Villumsen, May 2025