For the past four years, between the months of December and March, Seth Angerer has walked through his family's orchard in Geyserville, Calif., hoping for a miracle. With his dogs Leo and Vito in tow, he walks the 8 acres, slowly making his way up and down the rows of hazelnut trees. It can take up to three hours to cover the entire farm.
With their tight curly coats and button noses, Leo and Vito look like big stuffed animals. But they're lagotto romagnolos, the only dogs bred specifically to do one thing: Hunt for truffles.
While Angerer walks, the dogs sniff the ground. Sometimes they pull him toward a fence where cats congregate, or toward a rabbit or some stray foliage. Many times the dogs paw the ground as though they've discovered the holy grail, only to have it turn out to be a gopher hole or something equally inconsequential. But on the Monday after Thanksgiving, about an hour before sunset, Leo caught the scent of something in the wind — and it wasn't a gopher.
The dog tugged Angerer about 100 feet, past seven rows of trees. He stopped and eagerly sniffed a patch of dirt surrounded by dried fallen leaves and brush at the base of one of the trees. Instead of aggressively digging into the ground, Leo pawed at the damp soil, a sign he'd found something promising. Angerer pulled Leo away and then knelt down to smell the dirt. He carefully dug his fingers into the ground and found the treasure he had been dreaming about for more than a decade.
Angerer, 38, had unearthed a black truffle (the Tuber melanosporum variety, also known as the Périgord truffle, named after a region in France where they grow), and he believes it's the first of its kind to be found in the small Sonoma County town of Geyserville. Weighing 5.2 ounces, the jet-black, misshapen blob, etched with intricate grooves, looked otherworldly. But the Périgord truffle is very much of this Earth, one of the most prized varieties that frequently sells at prices that range from $800 to more than $1,000 a pound.
"I didn't know who to call first," Angerer said. "I still had the dog in my hands and I was shaking and trying to dial with my dirty fingers."
Angerer decided to call his brother Nathan Angerer, 42, who was elsewhere on the property.
"The adrenaline was just … ," Nathan said. It had been more than a week since the discovery and the excitement in his voice was still palpable. "We've been waiting for such a long time."