Alas that I have no gardening gloves. Even using a scoopy device to remove the mass from the gutter, at least some part of it is bound to come into contact with my skin. Although it might be possible to treat it like dog poop and pick it up with a plastic bag turned inside out, then pull the bag over it for discarding. I'll still have to feel the texture of it, of course, and I can't put a plastic bag over my nose to block the smell of half-rotted tree spooge, so I should probably be prepared to gag now and then.
Still it must be done. There could be another rainstorm early next week, and the barely-recovered sourgrass will again be in danger of being crushed by a mini-Niagara. I must deal with vegetation I dislike to protect vegetation I enjoy. Who knew gardening could be so fertile a source of irony?