The many rewards of picking berries—especially ‘tundra blues’

I picked my first ripened berry of the season on July 10th, a strawberry from my girlfriend Jan’s patch. Then, less than a week later, I did my first serious “wild berry” picking of the summer. The yield was a quart’s worth of red currants found in Anchorage woodlands. The currants were big and juicy, with just the right amount of tartness, and abundant enough that I filled my yogurt container in only 15 or 20 minutes.

By month’s end, I also grazed on raspberries while walking through Kincaid Park with a friend, William, a seasonal ritual we share. I nibbled salmonberries and watermelon berries on a hike up Falls Creek valley with Jan and our dogs. And on one late July outing, I collected enough early-season blueberries to just about fill another yogurt container with the tiny, purplish-blue fruits.

Jan was skeptical that I’d find a patch of sufficiently ripened blueberries before the start of August to bring home a quart of them, but after putting some in her mouth, she agreed they were pretty darn good.

To be honest, I’d been on a scouting mission that day and didn’t expect to do any gathering. As expected, I did find some promising spots. But the dark blue fruits they held were mixed with others still hard and green; it was clear those patches needed more time.

Then I happened upon a patch of tiny blues that had ripened early on a hillside baked by the sun. The great majority were blue and moist, though a few had begun to “wrinkle,” evidence that some in the patch were already beginning to dry out. So I retrieved a container buried deep inside my pack and picked a bunch — muche earlier than expected.

It wasn’t easy picking because the berries were so small and clung to little branches that hugged the ground. But yes, it was worth it, and as Jan would agree, those tiny blues are mighty tasty!

And so I got an early jump on the blueberry-picking season. Though I enjoy other wild berries, and what I call the “feral” strawberries from Jan’s patch, “tundra blues” are my favorite, the ones I savor most. By season’s end, I might pick two or three quarts of red currants, raspberries, and strawberries, but I’ll pick gallons of wild blues.

Some blueberries I’ll eat fresh; others will be packaged and put into the freezer, later to be made into pies or eaten in pancakes or with yogurt, the latter a year-round breakfast treat. (I’ll note here that I’ve discovered blueberries and red currants to be a perfect complement to each other in both texture and taste when eaten with yogurt, but my harvest of currants is usually more opportunistic than planned, and I collect far fewer of them.)

I suppose you could say my hunt for wild blues began in June with scouting trips into the mountains to check on the tiny, pinkish, bell-shaped flowers that blossom on blueberry plants. I recognize that flowers do not always yield berries, but they are often a good indicator of the fruiting to come. I then follow their progress as they transition to hard green fruit and eventually to juicy and scrumptious purplish-blue berries.

From August through September and, weather permitting, into October, I’ll regularly go into the Chugach Front Range to seek out patches rich in tundra blues.

Like any dedicated wild blueberry picker, over the years, I’ve found some reliable “secret” spots (a few of them also secret to others, I’ve learned), in various sorts of terrain.

Among the things I’ve noticed in the quarter century (or more) that I’ve been a dedicated berry-picker, is that depending on the weather and other variables, the production of any single patch may vary considerably from year to year. That’s one reason I have several places where I gather blues. It’s also why I‘m always alert for new “hot spots” on my ventures into the hills.

Though not as obsessed, Jan will join me on several Chugach picking excursions, which usually means a hike of considerable length and, in some cases, a hill climb of a thousand feet or more.

Unlike most berry pickers, I prefer to combine my blueberry gathering with a substantial hike. Not only does this put me beyond the reach of most other pickers — I prefer to get the blues in solitude — it also makes my berry picking part of a larger experience.

Another difference with many berry pickers: Jan and I are hand pickers. I’ve never used a comb or rake. I think that’s partly because it allows a more direct connection with the fruits, and the plants.

When I’m more mindful, handpicking can become something of a meditation. Perhaps that’s possible with a tool as well, but for me, the touch is important. It helps to slow me down — though yes, sometimes I hurry to fill that last container). And as Jan has observed, I tend to “pick clean,” with minimal debris, while combing or raking also collects leaves and twigs and other stuff.

On most outings, I tend to gather enough blueberries to fill two or three quart containers, so I rarely pick for more than an hour or two. However, I might spend several hours in the mountains. This is a good reason to have “secret” spots—or at least places that are unlikely to draw crowds of pickers. I can take what I want and leave plenty of berries in place for future picking, knowing there’s a good chance the patch won’t be emptied of blues when I return.

That’s an important consideration because my preferred patches tend to be small and would be easily depleted if several people — or even one hard-core, gather-till-they’re-gone picker — were to find them.

I’ve hinted at this above, but it’s worth repeating and expanding upon here. A big part of what I’ve come to love about picking tundra blueberries is the entirety of the experience: discovering rich patches, sometimes in places I never would have imagined them to be, a part of getting to know the local landscape; doing the early season scouting; following the transition from flower to hard, green fruit, to ripened berry; the picking itself, sometimes in solitude, sometimes shared; the good company of my patient and stoic dog, Denali, who graciously curls up nearby, no matter how benign or harsh the weather; the hike to and from the patch, which often presents opportunities for other adventures; the sharing of the fruits of my labor (though I can hardly call it work); the quiet time spent back home, often with joyful music playing in the background, while I transfer the berries from container to freezer storage bag (being sure to keep some blues fresh in the refrigerator); and the eating of the berries, both in the wilds and later at home, usually in yogurt but also pancakes and pies, this eating another form of sharing with Jan; and the sense of blessing that all of this evokes, the enrichment of both body and spirit.

Anchorage nature writer Bill Sherwonit is a widely published essayist and the author of more than a dozen books, including “Living with Wildness: An Alaskan Odyssey” and “Animal Stories: Encounters with Alaska’s Wildlife.” Readers wishing to send comments or questions directly to Bill may do so at akgriz@hotmail.com.