I wrote this modest piece for my local magazine, but thought I’d post it here for a bit of fun…

“The lions aren’t a problem for us,” a wise San bushman elder told my tracking mentor Jon Young. “The lions aren’t a problem because we know everything about them.” Our indigenous ancestors would teach their children all about the local hazards as soon as they were old enough, and then they were safe to run free.

Whereas many of us in the UK were told as children: “Don’t touch that fungus, it’s probably poisonous!” and we became fearful of these fascinating beings, wary of nature.

So it was truly heartening to see some excited little ones among the 40-odd villagers who turned up for the village Fungus Foray on a mild, sunny Saturday morning in late October, armed with baskets and ready to reconnect with our foraging past. Who cares about soggy feet when you have your special sparkly boots on and you’re on a treasure hunt? Maybe you’ll even spot a fairy or two! Though in truth it was a day when adults could be childlike too, our innate curiosity and wonder activated, with light-footed, animated Tim leading us through field and wood — a natural Willy Wonka.

Barely autumn at all except for the damp underfoot. There was a scattering of wren and robin song at Honey Bottom, where we started our foraging. In the field by the wood, the long grass was still heavy with dew. “Got one!” called one person, holding up an orange mushroom. “A deadly webcap — Cortinarius rubellus, Latin for reddish curtain,” said Tim, pointing with his penknife to the weblike gills underneath that look like a net curtain, as we crowded round.

“What about this one?” asked another. “A false chanterelle — don’t confuse it with a real chanterelle! It has folds instead of gills.” The Welsh long-horned sheep looked on in surprise at all these humans rootling around in their grass.

I pointed out a pretty brown mushroom. “Insignificant little one,” Tim said dismissively as he strode on towards the wood. I felt it wilt.

Under the trees, earthy smells drifted up from rotting fallen branches. The hunt intensified here; there was a competitive edge. There are 15,000 types of wild fungi in the UK, around 100 of which are considered edible (not everyone would agree) and about 10 of which are deadly poisonous, Tim told us.

This didn’t put off little Ocean, charging through some nettles to pluck another specimen that turned out to be deeply indigestible. “Don’t lick your fingers!” warned his grandmother.

In fact, many villagers excelled at spotting and picking mildly poisonous or downright deadly mushrooms, including sulphur tufts, with their olive-coloured sheen underneath; earthballs — pale on the outside, dark and earthy inside, which cause a lot of poisonings in the UK because they’re mistaken for truffles or common puffballs; and a hoof fungus (hard as a horse’s hoof; why would you even try it?).

Edible ones were harder to come by. Some curious little purple ones, amethyst deceivers, seemed to be the only mushrooms Tim gave a clear thumbs-up to (though beware their potentially deadly lookalikes, lilac fibrecaps). A couple of villagers were determined to cook them. “I’m not joining you for supper,” said one disloyal friend.

We learnt about King Alfred’s cakes, burnt black rounds on tree trunks that make excellent firelighters or hand warmers; found honey fungus clumps; birch polypores, one of which he deftly cut off a birch tree, bonnet fungi (favourite home of fairies with their pointed caps), and funnel caps.

Some of us just about kept pace with Tim the bloodhound. Until he’d disappear off the path into the undergrowth, emerging with another impressive specimen. An uncanny instinct. “This is where we lost everyone last time…” he commented, as if surprised.

In a clearing in the woods, a solitary dock leaf was finally found to ease Ocean’s nettle rash, not that he seemed bothered: he was on the scent too. “At least you don’t have poison ivy here,” remarked one woman from California.

Tim dived off into the trees again and came back brandishing a satisfyingly dramatic big red fungus with white spots: a fly agaric (Amanita muscaria), so named because it used to be mashed into milk to attract and stupefy flies. Some deer are also partial to its hallucinogenic properties, he informed us (it’s toxic to humans).

I was rather taken by the saffron milkcap (Lactarius deliciosus), which exudes an orange milk when its gills are scored. Or was it a false saffron milkcap? And there was a pretty coral fungus in the beech woods.

From fear to fascination

Many villagers had fallen by the wayside by now. For those of us still in the running, Tim held up a large white deathcap, the most poisonous mushroom in the UK along with the destroying angel, identifiable by its bulbous base, or volva. “This could kill half a dozen villagers,” he said cheerfully. “If you even nibbled it, you might be sick for a few days then get better and think you’re fine, then a week later your organs begin to shut down and you die.”

Another red one, found on the way back to Honey Bottom, was Russula emetica — the sickener, which seemed friendly in comparison. It was added to the pretty array in the baskets. (All would be released back into the wild to spore later.)

Fear had turned to fascination in just two hours, which highlighted the simple truth that the more we learn, the more we strengthen our ropes of connection to nature; and the more connected we feel, the more we care for our countryside, our environment and our planet.

Time to head back to the village hall for a lunch of… hotdogs. Not a mushroom in sight.

Saffron

Ps I recommend the excellent mushroom guide at wildfooduk.com

31st October 2023