Most people wouldn’t even notice the marker on the side of the trail, but I know what it means. I placed it there. It’s important. 

It’s chaga—a dark, crusty fungus that grows mostly on birch trees in the northern Michigan woods. It looks like a bulbous burnt spot hanging off of the trunk. It’s hard, with the consistency of wood, but with a deep burnt orange color under the surface. 

Whenever I head out to my cache, I quickly glance around to make sure nobody else is close by. It’s kind of silly, I know, but out here you have to guard your finds carefully. If my patches of morels, chicken of the woods, or chaga were found, they would be cleaned out immediately and probably take forever to replenish. 

People tend to be greedy and harvest the entire hunk of molten-looking fungus, which would prevent it from reproducing in that spot in the future. Last year, I made the long hike out to my favorite chaga cache, only to discover it’d been found by another forager. I’d been carefully chipping off little chunks for myself over the years, allowing it to come back. When I arrived, however, I only found a hole in the side of the tree where the entire chaga chunk had been removed. You really hate to see it. 

It won’t happen in this spot, though. I’m keeping this one close to the vest.

I stumbled upon it three years ago, while I was hiking around public land in search of deer antlers. As usually happens, I got distracted and wandered down a game trail. I ambled along and spotted the small copse of mature birch trees off in a gully. Jackpot. A third of the trees had chaga on them. It was beautiful. I’ve been coming here for years now, tending the crop and harvesting for a constant stream of the ever-coveted chaga tea. 

Approaching the first tree in this secret little goldmine, I dig into my pack, looking for my handsaw. It’s just a medium-sized one for around the house and in the woods, but it unlocks the ambrosia of the gods. 

I cut off a chunk about the size of two of my palms, leaving a majority of the fantastical fungi on the tree. I carefully saw off chunk after chunk like a surgeon. I brush the sawdust off my hands and arms and look at my collection. Seven good hand-size chunks. I dust them off and turn them over in my hands, inspecting them for contaminants and bugs. They look perfect, as always. I smile as I think about the rich, warm, earthy tea I’ll be brewing with these over the next year. I place all the chunks into my pack next to my saw and head back to the trail. 

When I get home, I get to work immediately. Drinking chaga tea isn’t that unusual among the foraging crowd, but my preparation is unique. Those who buy chaga powder off the internet, and spout nonsense about how it cures every disease known to man, should keep to themselves. I’m sure it’s good for you, but I’m focused on simply enjoying a delicious resource available right here in the Mitten State. 

I start by reinspecting my pieces and then laying them out on the workbench. With a hammer and large chisel, I split off a 3-inch chunk. The perfect size. I repeat the process with all the chaga. Then on to the oven. 

I set it at 100 degrees and scatter the pieces over a drying tray. Just enough heat to dry it out, but not enough to cook it. If my math is correct, this haul should last me two years. I want to give the copse more time to regenerate. After all, I won’t be turning this into powder like you see online. Powder is such a waste. It’s too fine and makes for gritty tea. 

A chunk of chaga creates a deep, beautiful, and complex amber tea. I’ll use the same chunk for multiple batches of tea, stretching the lifespan of my foraging finds. In 24 hours, I’ll have several jars of wonderfully bone-dry chaga waiting in my pantry. 

I keep my brewing method pretty simple: toss a chaga chunk into a pot with water and start brewing. I don’t buy all the claims that this stuff cures cancer and all other ailments under the sun. Sure, it can have a ton of antioxidants, but only if you get it from mature birch trees. They don’t tell you that when you order online.

I’ve given chaga chunks to plenty of my friends. They always say that mine tastes so much better than the stuff from Amazon. They ask where I get it, and hint that the health benefits of mine must be so much better…

Wouldn’t they like to know. 

Tim Dawson is an experienced outdoorsman with a passion for the Mitten State. Follow him on X @TheFairChase1.