With seven days of camping at Peel Forest, I shot close to 30,000 images in JPG and RAW, then began the long process of stacking and processing. I feel bad for my poor laptop and harddrive!

But the main highlight of the trip was finally meeting Paula Vigus in person. Paula is a mycophile, photographer, and online friend I’ve known for nearly six years.

She recently published her new book, A Hidden World: Discovering the Beauty of New Zealand’s Fungi.

It’s a book with spectacular images you can spend quite a bit of time admiring. In my opinion she is one of the best fungi photographers in the country and spending time with her was a real privilege. I learned a lot and came away feeling inspired to rethink how I photograph.

We met up in the morning with the goal of walking the Fern Trail, but got distracted, accidentally took the Big Tree Track instead, and ended up heading onwards (and upwards) toward Acland Falls. The foray lasted six hours, and although it was a long and steep uphill day, we found some really interesting species along the way.

My first encounter was with a Coelostomidia zealandica / great giant scale parasitized by Akanthomyces sp. I spotted it embedded in a rotten bit of wood. It looked like it crash landed there.

The second image shows the closer cone-like projections (which are covered in microscopic phialides - the spore producing cells) at the tip of the synnema (the bundle of hyphae growing out of the host).

While I was preoccupied with my morbid curiosity, Paula found the most photogenic find of the day, a Candelolepiota sp. with amber and red guttation.

I spent much of the rest of the week at the Kahikatea Walk, which sits right beside the DOC campground. To get there, I pass the sheep in the paddock, make sure to latch the gate behind me, and then head down into the white pine forest.

There’s lots of Mycena sect. Calodontes and other potentially bioluminescent species. One of the species I spotted was Armillaria novae-zelandiae, though its glow was extremely faint.

I also found a Cruentomycena viscidocruenta, the Ruby Bonnet, near the kitchen garden and photographed it at night under the cover of my awning. It was very faint, much like the last time I photographed this species, but the mycelium still gave off a visible glow.

On the Kahikatea, yellows popped up from the moss and were only there for a moment as I couldn’t find them the next day.

Many bird’s nest fungus covered branches and logs.

And the more common Scarlet Pouch Fungus (Leratiomyces erythrocephalus) tend to grow directly from rotting wood here.

Paula came back out a second time and we did a counter-clockwise loop of the Kahikatea Walk. This time we came across more scenes and species that were not especially colourful, but still had cool forms, textures, and character.

My favorite to shoot are the Resupinatus vinosolividus with anastomosing gills. The intricate patterning and the translucency make them very photogenic.

I also found Mycena mariae growing in the exact spot I found them last year. These are a kind of “bleeding Mycena” and exude a red blood-like liquid when cut. It looks like the mushroom is “bleeding,” but it’s really latex: a watery sap-like fluid stored in special cells.

Hunched over a pile of logs, I spot one of the smallest growths of the day - likely a Pruinomycena sp.

Another immature species, a young Pleuroflammula praestans that hasn’t opened up yet. These typically have serrated edge gills and flouresce a nice blue under UV light.

I say, “look at this sh*t” - what I suspect to be possum scat covered in Penicillium sp. These are really blue and powdery. The mould helps break down the poo as it has bits of partly digested plants, water, and nutrients - a type of coprophilous fungi.

Another favorite of mine are the tiny Phaeomarasmius ciliatus that I think took on a nice sheen from the rain.

Firerug Coprinellus are quite common. These group of inkcaps have a mycelial mat of red, orange that cover logs. The fruiting bodies emerge and appear brick red and fade to a more pale tan and cream color. The caps appear flocculose (covered in little pale, woolly or flaky specks).

One of the cooler scenes from the day were these two Mycena on a log and behind a bit of coniferous growth jutted out from behind with mycelium shooting out in all directions. A bit menacing and the overall scene reminded me of Frodo and Sam hiding out from the Nazgul.

A closer look revealed even smaller ones growing.

My first enounter with a slime mold, Physarum viride. I’ve only ever spotted them before in Kuala Lumpur.

And more slime molds were spotted.

As part of a larger project for a photography course I’m taking, I’m changing the way I shoot and have been focusing more on scenes and “microscapes” of forest floor organisms that also include moss, lichens, and slime molds.

For now, select images for Microscapes of New Zealand will be viewable below for paid subscribers.

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Then, by evening, the rain eased and a pinkish-purple sunset opened over one of my favourite bits of forest, and the whole place seemed to shift mood. Like the bush was calling to me. I had a strong feeling about one particular mushroom, a species I had wanted to find for well over a year.

So I headed to the Momorangi Experience Track and took the side trail that goes back deeper into the bush and follows the stream. It’s a place I keep returning to.

Almost immediately I spotted them, tucked away in the damp bush, tiny pink mushrooms growing from rotten wood.

What made the moment feel even more meaningful was the overlap with last year’s find. It was here, in almost the same spot, that I found Mycena podocarpi (another tiny maroon species with bioluminescent mycelium).

That earlier discovery pulled me even deeper into this small group of red, pink, and maroon Mycena, especially the species that sit in or around sections like Rubromarginatae and Calodontes.

I have become a little obsessed with them.

Part of that fascination goes back to my time in Kuala Lumpur, where I came across similar-looking Mycena that glowed. Ever since then, I have wanted to find and photograph New Zealand’s own tiny red species. They’re delicate and can be easily overlooked.

By my count, there are currently 2 observations of Mycena oratiensis on iNaturalist in New Zealand, with one in the North Island. And this one from the South Island, which would make it the second.

You carry a species around in your head for months or years, piecing it together from papers, records, and other people’s observations. You start to know it before you have ever seen it. Then one day it’s just there in front of you.

Just a meeting with something I had hoped to find for a very long time, in a patch of bush I love, after a storm. I think those are often the best finds.

It felt different this time. Busier. I didn’t have the park to myself like I sometimes did in winter. Instead, I made my way through traffic, keeping an eye out for pedestrians, and tried to find a place to park near the entrance. The secret’s definitely out.

The sun was intense, so I took cover along the coastal track. Every bend resurfaced old memories like little flashes of the first time I found a certain species, or a specific patch of understory that had once kept me crawling around for hours.

There are a few spots along the track where you can peek out and look over the bay. The views hit like a cool breeze.

It was low tide, and out on the exposed sand the ripples were dotted with cockles. Variable oystercatchers worked the shoreline, and weka moved with authority.

I made it to Tinline, a short loop I’d comb obsessively. This time the ground was crunch-dry, and the payoff was minimal: two big finds and not much else. A Train Wrecker (Neolentinus lepideus) protruding from a stump, and a huge pūtawa punk (Laetiporus portentosus).

Neolentinus lepideus (the “train wrecker” or scaly sawgill) is a tough, scaly-capped, white-spored gilled fungus with distinctly serrated gill edges that decomposes dead wood (especially conifer timber) and sometimes shows up on treated lumber like old railway sleepers or ties, which is where the “train wrecker” nickname comes from.

Laetiporus portentosus is known to Māori as pūtawa or pangu, while European settlers (Pākehā) called it “beech whiskers,” “beech beard,” “morepork bread,” or simply “punk,” a general term for dried Polyporus fungi used as tinder. It was so effective that it was sent with flint stones to NZ troops in both World Wars to help light cigarettes and pipes.

I reached Coquille Bay and took a break on driftwood, watching the tide roll back in. The Sphinx rock was already half swallowed with the body gone, just the head left above the water. I remembered surfcasting here, pulling in kahawai, and watching the sky set into purple-pink evenings that seem to last longer in memory.

I’d like to come back in winter. I’ve travelled and lived in a lot of places, and this stretch of coast is still one of my favourites.

It’s a species I’ve come across before in the Fiordlands and Kahurangi. The thought barely formed when I immediately spotted them: first one, then dozens scattered across the side of the track.

Cyttaria gunnii is also called the myrtle beech orange or Māori beech strawberry. I even found one with a red tip, so I can see where it’d get the latter common name.

It’s an edible ascomycete that produces soft, jelly-like spheres in colors that range close to lemon to deep amber. The species occurs across the southern temperate world: New Zealand, Tasmania, southern Victoria, and the forests of Patagonia, but each population is bound to its host.

In Aotearoa, that host is the silver beech, Nothofagus menziesii. In Australia, its counterpart lives on myrtle beech, N. cunninghamii.

The relationship between Cyttaria and Nothofagus is a Gondwanan story with every species of Cyttaria tied to a single beech lineage. These fungi can’t live anywhere else (they’re true parasites, not mutualists) and feed from living tissues that shape the trees in return.

This chonker is the most massive cluster of Cyttaria nigra galls I’ve seen before covering a silver beech next to Flora Hut in Kahurangi National Park.

You can tell where a tree’s been infected. The fungus grows within the wood and forms galls. Each season, soft fruiting bodies erupt from the gall’s surface and these globose, honeycombed spheres grow up to a couple of centimeters wide.

When fresh, they’re pale cream and smooth; as they mature, the surface splits into a pattern of tiny holes, each a spore-bearing cup.

As I collected some in my hand, when I opened to inspect, a massive cloud of white spores shot out like a smoke bomb. Each pit (locule) contains asci that forcibly launch spores into the air.

The forest around Lake Rotoiti was full of them that day (the typical season is between late October to January here). The galls bulged from branches and trunks, and the bright stromata clung in clusters.

Some had red-tipped pigments, like miniature strawberries. I’d read that this could come from environmental stress caused by sunlight, cold, or dry air changing the pigment similar to autumn leaves reddening as chlorophyll breaks down.

The more I looked, the more I saw: yellow-orange dots everywhere.

In South America, the relatives of this species are well known: Cyttaria hariotii and C. darwinii, the famous “llao llao” or “Darwin’s golfball fungus.” They’re eaten raw, turned into jams, or fermented into sweet local drinks.

In Tasmania, C. gunnii is recorded as part of First Nations bush foods. Here in New Zealand, it’s technically edible but rarely gathered. I tried a small one, more out of curiosity: mild, faintly sweet, with the texture of soft jelly.

It’s always a pleasant surprise to spot these beech oranges out on the trail. They seem to appear just when you start thinking about them. I’ll be keeping an eye out for more as the season continues, especially the red-tipped ones that look like tiny strawberries.

To start, could you share a little about your background: where you grew up, your travels, and what first led you toward noticing fungi in the world around you?

Absolutely! I’m Róisín and I started Mycological Memories earlier this year. It’s a project exploring the cultural, natural and mythological roles fungi play around the world, based on my research and fieldwork as I travel.

I’m from Ireland, where I spent many summers hiking and camping. I only became curious about fungi after I found my first mushroom when I was studying Biotech in University. After finishing my Masters, I wanted to work with mushrooms and found a position with a mycology focused start-up in Scotland, and later in Australia. That work taught me so much and really supported my curiosity in mycology.

This year, my partner and I decided we wanted to take some time to travel, but I didn’t want to give up my passion for mycology. I decided to research fungi in every country I visited, which grew into the idea for Mycological Memories. I had no idea how it would go, but the project has led to many incredible experiences of meeting experts, conversations with locals, foraging trips and gathering many stories through interviews and surveys.

It’s been more rewarding than I could have imagined, slow traveling through Indonesia, Thailand, Vietnam and China already. Now I can’t picture traveling in any other way!

In your post “How I Met Mushrooms…and We Fell in Love”, you describe your first encounters with fungi in a very personal way. How has that moment continued to shape your relationship with mushrooms today?

Yes, in that story I describe the moment I found a mushroom for the first time. Up until then, mushrooms were only the white buttons at the shops. I had always loved nature, but I guess I hadn’t been paying full attention. On the day I found the mushroom, it was so peculiar and unexpected. I knew so little about mushrooms then that I even thought touching one would be poisonous. It sparked my interest in mushrooms but it also made me curious, what else had I not been seeing?

After that, I continued to notice fungi more and more and each sighting brought its own set of questions; why is this one pink? Why does this have pores? Why is this growing out of a log? Each question led to another and the answers were never obvious.

Now, I’m always scanning everywhere I go for fungi, but in this practice I noticed many other changes too. My enthusiasm to find mushrooms brought me outside more - not just when the sun was shining but into cold autumn rains and down muddy trails. It forced me to slow down.

The slower you move, the more mushrooms you see, and the more everything you see. I started noticing so many insects, sprouting saplings, burls on trees and it revealed a whole new layer of reality.

It also forced me to be present and my slow mushroom walks became meditative. I happily stroll for hours, humming while looking under leaves. But also discovering fungi has led me to many connections. Walking with friends, family or strangers and looking for mushrooms is pure magic. It’s very special watching that child-like excitement reveal itself again when someone finds their first mushroom.

You’ve named your Substack Mycological Memories. What does memory (whether personal, cultural, or ecological) mean to you in the way you tell stories about fungi?

Well, up until recently I really only worked on mushrooms from a scientific perspective. Although I love the science side, I felt like there was this other unexplored aspect of fungi.

Humans have always been connected to nature. We have developed stories to make sense of the world and culture to interact with it. This intersection between human and nature is well explored with animals, trees and even mountains and rivers - and I thought even if I couldn’t feel it right now, the same connection must exist for fungi.

When I moved to Australia for work I was perplexed by the paradox of first nations people being here for >50,000 years and yet so little about Australian fungi is scientifically known. I was struck by a comment I heard, that some aboriginal groups would be upset if certain mushrooms were picked. Information like that should be part of the wider discourse in science; we should be aware of these cultural caveats and they should be considered in research.

Memory to me has a few layers. There is the first layer of personal memories, the moments that shape our experiences, good or bad. Like finding your first mushroom, or that special meal you had with foraged fungi. The second layer is a cultural memory. The imprint fungi have had in tradition, the wisdom passed down through generations, the medicinal therapies developed within families, the common names and their meaning. And the last layer is the fungi themselves. They have been on this planet much longer than we have and they have a lot to show for it!

They have conquered all continents, made relationships with countless organisms, survived extinctions and just done bizarre things like learning how to glow! I like to think I can share a bit of that memory. Together, all these layers create a collective memory of our experience with fungi.

Some of your travels have taken you into unexpected fungal landscapes, like in “Desert Highway, Dreaming of the Dead-mans foot mushroom, Pisolithus.” What did those experiences teach you about resilience and adaptation, both in fungi and perhaps in ourselves?

Well, when I moved to Australia for work - although I knew I was going for mushrooms, something in me didn’t believe it. Mushrooms grew in cold wet forests and I couldn’t picture it any differently. But I was absolutely wrong as I quickly discovered. In Australia, mushrooms were fruiting in dusty dry landscapes.

Seeing the Pisolithus fungus fruiting under this heat amazed me. Pisolithus is a great example of this ability to adapt to extreme environments. It has learned to deal with high temperatures, high UV, low pH and grows comfortably around heavy metals.

What I learned while traveling so far is that when it comes to nature, there really are no rules. I’ve thrown all my preconceived notions out the window. From seeing mushrooms growing in deserts to seeing evergreen oak trees - if there is a niche available, something is going to grab it!

You talk about encountering bioluminescent mushrooms in “The Glowing Spirit of Our Forests.” What was it like to see them in person, and how did you write about that strange experience for your readers?

When I found the ghost mushrooms, it was in daylight, so I brought some back to my house. I assumed they probably wouldn’t glow anymore once picked, but to my surprise when I shut myself into a dark cloakroom with them, they still emitted their green glow.

It really does feel like magic, seeing something like that. I tried to photograph them, but my camera was not good enough. It almost made it more special, since this green glow was only going to be visible to me in this present moment.

I imagined how mushrooms like this would have captured the imagination of anyone who saw them. It’s easy to forget that before electricity, light came only from the sun or fire. Something like a fungus producing its own green glow would just be mystical to anyone. So, I tried to picture that feeling.

Then I did some deep research. I wanted to first understand the fungus; why does it glow? Which, like many things in mycology, is understudied. Then, I wanted to understand the cultural context. Luckily, I was able to find some brilliant first hand accounts of the first colonisers to Australia finding this mushroom and the fear it induced for them and the first nationals people. I liked to imagine this mushroom was giving them a warning.

“James Drummond, however, recorded that O. nidiformis was referred to as “Chinga”, believing that the spirits of ancestors resided within the mushrooms. For this reason, they avoided camping near them at night, and looking directly at their glistening green glow.”

Finally, I added in my own observations - why do I always see Omphalotus in commercial pine forests? It seemed to me like another act of defiance, fighting against the logging industry that has removed so much of Australia’s unique old growth forests.

From there, the story reveals itself. A spooky mysterious tale. A mushroom that is both poisonous and ghostly. I like to weave in personal experiences to give it flow and let the reader connect to me too.

Your piece on the Australian giant red gum highlights the unseen fungal networks supporting those towering trees. Has learning about these hidden connections changed how you explore and experience forests?

Finding out about the underground network did not surprise me. Maybe because I had already studied ecology and microbiology; but I knew nothing works alone. The mycelial networks are incredible, but fungi are only part of the wider system.

The network only exists because of the trees that feed it, the trees only exist because of the insects that spread their seeds, the insects only exist because they can munch on the mushrooms growing from the network…and on it goes. Everything is entangled, everything is entwined.

I guess for me, it’s realising that you are part of the network, not outside of it.

We like to think we are separate from nature, but we are part of it. Travelling this year I have been able to see that more clearly, since people live so close to the land in many parts of Asia. I guess, once you realise that, walking through the forest becomes a lot more personal. You’re not just an onlooker, you are experiencing part of yourself.

When you die, you will return to the forest, to the soil and literally be fed through the mycelial network. You’re welcomed home and the cycle continues! Once you’ve established that familiarity, it is very hard not to care about your surroundings, and I’ve yet to become bored while exploring nature.

In Finding Wild Mushrooms at the Market in Khun Yuam, Northern Thailand, you capture fungi in a social, everyday setting. Do you see fungi as a bridge between the ordinary and the extraordinary?

Well, I see it in two ways. The mushrooms, how they are in nature and the way we interact with them. In Khuan Yuam for example you are surrounded by these stunning tropical forests teeming with biodiversity. But seeing how the locals have become intertwined with those forests by bringing that biodiversity into their food and customs is really interesting to me.

Maybe not a bridge between the ordinary and extraordinary, but a bridge to see the ordinary as extraordinary. The transient nature of mushrooms sets them apart from flora.

When an abundant summer plant blossoms no one really notices, but when it is that one time of year, when mushrooms fruit, everyone goes crazy. It creates an urgency, like a gold rush - to get out and pick them before they are gone!

Mushrooms are also unlike plants because they are either difficult or impossible to grow. Many of the most prized edible fungi such as chanterelles and boletes, only grow when connected to their mycorrhizal tree partner. Often these relationships need to have been established for years before a mushroom will fruit, so when they finally grow it is extraordinary!

This is just how fungi work - they are as ordinary as any other part of life; but to us, who see things more commonly from the perspective of plants, they seem really bizarre and extraordinary.

What I love about a story like Khun Yuam, is how the locals have turned something pretty ordinary, like the natural fruiting of fungi, into an extraordinary tradition and endeavor. Because of the seasonality of fungi, these people must have other jobs most of the year.

But for those few weeks in June, they are out in the forests at 4 am collecting mushrooms to sell on the side of the road. They are basically collecting free food, and turning it into money. Nothing will be more delicious than the taste of rarity and exclusivity.

A lot of your postings mix mythology, archetypes, and the spiritual meaning of mushrooms. How do you keep your interest in science and your love of myth and story in balance?

Yes, it is a constant consideration! From my experience the conversation on fungi generally falls into two categories. Either heavy scientific literature or more free-form spiritual writing. Both have their place, but I’m trying to land somewhere in the middle. Because of the extremity of both sides, mycology is often inaccessible to most people.

If you manage to learn the complex terminology, you’ll still have to deal with most literature papers being pay-walled and you probably won’t have the time to read through it all anyway. I love reading about mycology and so it is satisfying to bring that information to more people in an easier to digest format. If there is a topic that I’m exploring that is out of my depth, I often reach out directly to the authors to clarify things or learn more.

I get frustrated when I read things presented as fact that are not based on evidence. When I talk about anything scientific in my work, I ensure everything said is backed up by literature. That includes being honest when the answers are unclear. This makes it particularly challenging to talk about topics related to medicine or beauty for example, because that landscape is rife with misinformation, poorly interpreted science and sometimes just lies.

A problem for mycology also is that so much is understudied. The more questions you ask, the more you realise how little is actually known. Sometimes that can be unsatisfying but you just have to stay true to the science. The beauty of science is that the facts actually show you how remarkable and magical our world actually is - no need to make things up because it already is incredible all by itself.

So that’s the science and research; but there is also the story aspect! A major part of this project is covering real life stories and voices of people connected to fungi. I gather this information by meeting wonderful people in person or through my online survey.

The parts of my work coming from these interactions are not based on scientific evidence, but based on my honest lived experience. If a local man tells me a story that doesn’t check out scientifically, but has been part of his lived experience; then that is absolutely true for him.

The way I approach writing these first hand experiences is fundamentally different to how I write the scientific factual side. For example, in Thailand I talked to a man who told me “All small white mushrooms are edible”. I know that this is not true, especially the world over - but practically and from his lived experience, it was valid. He was mainly referring to Termitomyces microcarpus, a small white edible mushroom.

Just because it’s not academically researched doesn’t mean it’s not important or interesting. It’s just important to distinguish between the two.

Weaving all of this together in prose makes it easier to understand to a wider audience and more enjoyable to read. I hope that when people read my posts, they will learn something new about mycology and be inspired by the story to look at their environment differently.

Your writing has a beautiful and thoughtful tone. Do you have a specific way of writing or a ritual that helps you get across what you call the “spirit” of mushrooms?

Thank you so much! With the pieces I write for Substack and for my book, I try to focus everything around a story. Before I go to a new location, I do online research about the fungi in the region. I also try to reach out to people who might be interested in meeting and discussing their work or their passions.

At that stage, I don’t know what I will write about until I find it through field work and online research. If I’m meeting someone for example, I prepare some questions that I want to explore with them.

Writing is a skill I am new to, so I’m going through a lot of trial and error. I bring my field notes, research and ideas together using the Notion software. For my book this really helps me join the dots on different themes and topics as I explore.

When I start to write a story, I drag and drop all the relevant information into a separate page and begin to write! I find relevant papers covering mycology, ecology, ethnomycology, folklore and culture and then look for secondary sources like blogs. I keep a master bibliography to track all my citations across my work. Then, I see where I can tie in any personal experiences with that topic.

Once I have the structure of the story together, I like to see if I can find a unique theme or angle to make the story more interesting to read. For example, when researching for my recent post on Termitomyces mushrooms I loved how the termites themselves farmed the mushrooms. I decided to write from the perspective of the termite, showcasing their active relationship with the mushrooms.

I like to add in emotions and descriptions to bring the story to life and make it a narrative literary piece instead of just non-fiction. What I aiming for at the end is a dynamic overview of whatever fungi or topic I am exploring. That is the spirit of the mushroom, not one dimensional, but multifaceted in so many ways.

You called Substack “a soft landing” when you initially joined. What has been the most surprising thing about getting people to read about fungi and memory with you?

The first surprising thing has been that people are interested. The idea for this project came from my own desire to read more about fungi from different perspectives. I thought, if that information isn’t already out there, then maybe people don’t want to hear it! But I’ve been pleasantly surprised to see that there is some interest there.

Secondly, I have been blown away by the kind and welcoming nature of the people I have met along the way so far. When I reached out to people at the beginning explaining my project and asking if they would like to chat or meet, I just assumed I would never receive a reply. But, the opposite often happened. Although fungi is a niche topic, those already involved in it are always very passionate and willing to share.

What topics, fungus, or sceneries are you most looking forward to writing about in your next essays? And how do you think your writing will change as your readers become more interested?

I’m lucky to have come across so many interesting topics over the months, so I have slowly been researching and writing those. In particular, I am really interested to share my experiences in Yunnan, China. I have also met and interviewed some really interesting people so I’m looking forward to weaving their stories into upcoming work! Soon I will travel to China, Korea and Japan where I’m sure to find some more mushrooms to explore.

In the long term, I’m excited to see how this project grows with Substack and how it will influence my writing. I am not an expert writer by any means, so I am looking forward to honing the craft of writing as I go.

Ultimately, my main focus is on writing my book which I will continue to research in the field and online until probably mid next year. My travels next year plan to take me to South Asia in places such as India, Sri Lanka, Nepal and Pakistan. There is a strong culture of ethnomycology in these places that I’m keen to explore.

Using Substack allows me to stress test some of my ideas and stories and guides me through feedback into what resonates and what doesn’t. It makes this book project feel more like a living breathing project even when it is still in the research phase! In the future, I do have an aspiration to work on a project focusing on Ireland and our relationship to fungi. But that will come once I am settled back at home.

If Róisín’s stories have sparked your curiosity about the hidden world of fungi, you can follow her ongoing journey on Mycological Memories on Substack.

She’s also gathering stories, traditions, and encounters with mushrooms from around the world, you can share your own by filling out her short survey here.

And if you happen to cross paths on her travels, she’d love to meet fellow fungi enthusiasts in the field.

But I didn’t want to create just another field guide that’s something overly scientific or packed with Latin names and dry descriptions. I wanted to make something that felt alive: a visual experience that highlights the mushrooms themselves and also the intricate microtextures and strange morphologies that make them so unique.

The idea began with an image that’s been in my mind - a large eye peering through a hole, gazing at something tiny in the foreground. Then I thought: what if I reversed that perspective? What if the gaze came not from a human observer, but from the unseen textures and morphologies of the fungi themselves, as if nature were looking back?

That became the concept for Fungal Architects: Macro Mushroom Photography of Malaysia’s Rainforests. The series explores the often-overlooked world of fungi through macro photography, focusing on rare species from Malaysia’s rainforests.

Each image pairs the morphology of a single species with an expanded, close-up texture of itself to create a dialogue between the minute and the monumental.

Technically, each composition is a blend of at least two of my own photographs. The base layer grounds the image spatially, while additional layers that are focus-stacked enhance depth and texture. The result is a kind of visual amplification.

What I hope Fungal Architects does is bridge science and art by turning natural observation into visual storytelling. Instead of treating fungi as clinical specimens, I wanted to reveal them as the incredible architects of form and texture that they are.

The “mycography” space often leans toward a predictable aesthetic - single mushrooms in shallow depth of field, or macro shots that, despite technical polish, can feel a bit flat. I wanted to push beyond that.

I’d like to develop a style that brings together scientific curiosity and artistic interpretation - something that showcases the strangeness, beauty, and intelligence of the fungal world.

My hope is to expand this concept into a full book - one that invites readers to look closer and see how the forest builds itself. If interested, I’d love for you to reach out so I can add you to a shortlist for early updates once the book is complete. And if you know others who might be into this kind of stuff, feel free to share this post or the Myconeer Substack with them.

I pitched my tent and headed into the bush that rises behind the campground. My expectations were low given that mushroom season is tapering off, but the real purpose of my trip was to capture bioluminescent glow worms along the track for a photography assignment.

To my surprise, I still found cherry-red Hygrocybe mushrooms growing in the same spot where I had found them earlier in the year.

Further in, I searched places where I’d seen interesting species, like at the base of ponga trees, but came up empty.

Then, a cluster of delicate, yellow powdery slime molds growing on a rotting log (Oligonema verrucosum). I usually psych myself out and pass them up due to them being temperamental and requiring a lot of patience, but these seemed worth the effort.

As I took photos I could see on my camera screen, in real time, the capillitium with spores attached emerging from the sporatheca, the wind blowing the fine hairs into blurred motion. Holding my breath, I tried with younger specimens, and after a lot of trial and error, captured some decent ones.

Here’s a noisy 5+ minute video I took sped up to show the growth:

Later that night, I returned to the track where the glow worms were. They appeared like a sparkling constellation scattered across the side of the trail. Though I’d shot them before, this time I worked with a low ISO. Even so, their luminosity was strong enough that exposures stretched only thirty seconds to a minute.

Below if a short video of a glow worm moving.

I must have spent over an hour crouched in the dark with the glow worms before finally returning to camp and calling it a night. The night didn’t stay quiet for long and gusts of wind tested my tent, followed by raindrops that began as a gentle patter and soon grew louder and louder on the fly. I slept in fragments that were broken by uneasy dreams of the rain fly tearing loose and water rushing in.

By dawn, the rain showed no sign of letting up, so I broke camp quickly and made my escape before things got worse. The rain brought back memories of a trip months earlier, when my wife and I had been forced to flee our flooding campsite. Despite the rough night, the trip was still worth it.

Spring has arrived and that means the end of the peak mushroom season. There aren't many mushrooms out right now, and many mycophiles feel a little down when the large flushes disappear. I view it as a sign that I should slow down and pay more attention. There are still treasures to find in the forest, even when it appears barren.

One of those treasures was the endangered tea-tree fingers I spotted for the first time last month. They’re still holding on, which is a good sign that the season always leaves something behind.

I also found a very interesting crust fungus called Byssomerulius psittacinus. This corticioid species doesn't look like a typical mushroom. Instead, it spreads across dead beech wood (Nothofagus) in a thin scarlet/purple layer, almost like someone painted it.

I thought I found a huge carrot while walking the Peninsula Track (talk about a true carrot-and-stick situation), it turned out to be Australovuilleminia coccinea.

This species is very interesting because it is the only one of its kind (the only species in the genus), was described in 2010, and is only found in New Zealand. It grows as a thin orange crust that covers the inside of a branch.

Lastly, I found a lone Auriscalpium umbella that seemed a little rough around the edges. This tooth fungus, which is also known to be called the ear-pick fungus, isn't common for me to find here. I've seen it more often in South Korea, especially on Jeju Island, where it grows off pine cones. It felt like a modest gift at the end of the season.

These observations remind me that fungi aren't just about how many there are; they're also about how long they last, how surprising they are, and how important it is to pay attention to the little things.

I first came across Mycena chlorophos behind a computer screen while writing a piece for The Mushroom Magazine titled A Luminous Pursuit. At the time, I was looking for glowing mushroom photos to accompany the story and stumbled on a remarkable image by Michelle Honey, taken in Australia. That photo stayed with me.

Years later, after more than a few misidentifications involving white Mycena look-alikes, I found myself at Sungai Congkak with friends.

At the very end of our foray, just before giving up, I took one last look at a pile of wood near the riverbank. There it was, growing from a shard of bamboo. We’d found the real thing.

Later that night, even before turning the lights off, I noticed the mushrooms glowing clearly inside their container. Without a doubt, they were the brightest mushrooms I’d ever seen.

Other species I’ve photographed often require minutes of long exposure to catch their faint glow. But M. chlorophos is different.

Some photographers report using surprisingly low ISOs and short shutter speeds (~20 to 30 seconds) to capture its luminescence. The intensity caught me off guard.

Its glow comes from a luciferin–luciferase reaction, producing green light at roughly 520–530 nm.

The cap of Mycena chlorophos is small and bell-shaped, typically measuring no more than 2 cm in diameter, and is pale gray-brown when moist, fading to a whitish color as it dries.

Its gills are adnate to slightly decurrent, and the slender, hollow stipe glows along with the cap. Spores are white, smooth, and ellipsoid; when fresh, the entire mushroom often feels sticky to the touch.

Breaking Down the Name

The genus name Mycena comes from the Greek mykēs, meaning “fungus” or “mushroom.” The species name, chlorophos, combines chloros (χλωρός), meaning “green,” with phos (φῶς), meaning “light.”

Put together, the name translates quite literally to “green light.”

Names, Myths, and Regional Sightings

In the Pacific Islands, Mycena chlorophos is sometimes called Green Pepe—a name believed to come from Melanesian dialects, where pepe refers to small mushrooms or, in some folklore, to ghost lights or forest spirits.

In certain traditions, glowing fungi are tied to omens, sacred places, or forest guardians.

In Japan, it’s called ヤコウタケ (Yakō-také), the “night-light mushroom,” while in Taiwan it’s known as 夜光菇, literally meaning “glow-in-the-dark mushroom.”

You’ll find Mycena chlorophos across tropical and subtropical forests from Malaysia and Indonesia to Japan, Taiwan, Sri Lanka, Brazil, and parts of Australia. It prefers the damp decay of fallen logs, palm trunks, or bamboo, typically emerging after a good rain.

This is the third time I’ve revisited the Kerr Bay campground, each time getting a bit chillier. I walk the same trails: Honeydew, Lakehead, and the Peninsula to see what new growth I can find.

One of the best (so far) is the toothy Hydnum mcnabbianum.

I had initially thought they were Hydnellum, and specific to the Nelson Lakes region. I am used to seeing this species display a more brick-red/ochre cap from the Fiordlands.

Just past the mini-waterfall and bridge along the side of the track, I see rows of teeth. Stalactites suspended underneath fleshy caps that appeared dark brown, almost a gray-blue.

Later, I’d walk to the opposite side of Lake Rotoiti to meander along the Peninsular Track. I stopped by my old log, which still has the rare Cheimonophyllum roseum.

I spot the unmistakable Mauve Splitting Waxcap - Porpolomopsis lewelliniae. An older, more mature one, and a young one just starting to emerge.

I’ve also spotted this species before in Stewart Island, as well as at the base of Mount Kinabalu, in Sabah, Borneo.

A few days later, I revisited the spot to show my friend Kim, a fellow mycophile who came all the way down from Motueka. This time, the smaller Mauve Splitting Waxcap had been covered in a mycoparasite (unsure if Spinellus sp.). This made me wonder if my touching of the cap before had anything to do with it.

I’ve become pickier with what I photograph. The smaller, the better.

I have seen these Calyptella sp. before growing on moss at Mt. Creighton, so I decided to pull out the ol’ Raynox to try shooting a close-up of these tiny white cups.

Coming down from the Gibb’s Track that connects to the Honeydew, I meet a couple with their small children. I get to chatting and describing some of the mushrooms I’ve spotted over the week, claiming how the pickings are slim compared to last month.

Just as I mention this, I spot a couple of Amanita sp. Excited, I let them know these are the find of the day. I reckon I would’ve easily missed these as they were hidden at the base of a beech tree, so thanks to them for making me pause and spot these!

Menacing-looking, serrated gill edges of some Lentinellus sp. that remind me of steak knives.

Mauve coral fungi grow from the side of the track. Something about St. Arnaud and the abundance of purple species.

I’d run into an older couple, and they mentioned to me that they knew me as the “moa poop man,” given that the month before, I’d met their mutual friends who told them about me and my mushroom hunting and explanation of mimicry in nature and how Gallacea scleroderma were once believed to be the extinct moa’s food.

While poking around the Honeydew with Kim, we came upon a branch covered in Panellus stipticus. I was excited to find these, given their common name is “Luminescent Panellus” and in N. America, they are known to glow in the dark.

Unfortunately, these did not glow, and I don’t think they glow in this region as they’ve lost their bioluminescent gene.

Kim spotted a lone Jelly Baby, and I was excited to see these again. The last time I’d laid eyes on this species was at Ulu Bendul and Sungai Tua in Malaysia.

Keeping with the jelly theme, plenty of dark purple/maroon Ascocoryne sp. were found growing from rotting logs.

Many Psathyrella echinata of all growth stages were spotted, with the younger ones still having a spiky appearance on the cap that would smooth out and darken with age.

Saving the best for last. I took one last look around the Loop Track and noticed an oddly familiar sight. A strange growth on a tea tree branch that reminded me of NPR’s article featuring Taylor Lockwood’s rare discovery of Hypocreopsis rhododendri.

Red empty battery warning flashing on my camera’s LED screen (so irresponsible of me), I was able to get a shot of an extremely rare IUCN Red List critically endangered Hypocreopsis amplectens, also known as “Tea-tree Fingers.”

The species is estimated to exist at no more than seven total sites worldwide (fewer than ~44 mature individuals have been documented globally), despite very high survey effort, with little success in finding new locations.

It is only the third known observation in New Zealand and marks a new site in the country.

Lately, I’ve been using Adobe Camera Raw (ACR), Photoshop’s go-to RAW editor. Shooting RAW takes more disk space than my usual large super-fine JPEGs, but ACR gives you total control over tone, color, and detail without ever touching your pixels.

For my latest assignment, “A Day in the Life of…”, I picked a white basket fungus and built a six-shot story in black and white (something new to me and a bit of a challenge).

Along the way, I rediscovered that narrative framing matters just as much as macro detail.

Context sets the stage, process drives the plot, and discovery delivers the payoff.

Here’s what I did, how I did it, and how you can try for yourself.

Tip: Use a Radial Filter over your figure and boost Clarity there - you’ll subtly guide the eye without overdoing the forest floor.

Tip: After pulling back Whites and Highlights, switch on the Luminance Range Mask. Drag its sliders until the adjustment only hits the bright fungus, not the dark leaves around it.

Tip: Right-click the Curves layer and choose “Create Clipping Mask” so you only affect the areas you paint with your mask brush.

I’m hoping to gain inspiration from adopting a more photojournalistic approach, rather than remaining myopic and stuck at the plateau of simply focusing on stacking and producing macro shots, and instead become more narrative-driven.

The journey to discovery is just as exciting as finding a unique species.

Your Turn:

1. Shoot in RAW – even if it means bigger files, you’ll have way more editing freedom later.

2. Map your zones first – get your bright and dark areas roughly where you want them in the Basic panel before you dive into colors or curves.

3. Paint in your edits – use local tools (like the adjustment brush or the circular filter) to apply changes exactly where you need them.

4. Tell your story in order – start wide, move into the action, then finish with the details that matter most.

Give it a go and share the results (if you want). I’d love to see how you bring your own zone of creativity to life.

Also, as this is my first attempt, and I’m still learning, any critical feedback is much appreciated.

He digs into where names like chanterelle come from and what they reveal. He’s helped chefs, restoration ecologists, and labs apply fungal science.

In his “Names of Mushrooms” series, he breaks down the history and culture behind each name. Learn how he picks the next mushroom to feature. Discover the technical challenge, like mastering focus stacking, that shaped his photography and the image he’s proudest of.

See how he balances writing, consulting, and macro photography. Read about a field encounter that shifted his perspective on fungi. Uncover the ecosystem roles most people overlook. And finally, get his top tips for starting in mycology.

You're from Mexico, led a mycology club in California, and hunted mushrooms across North America and Europe. How has that shaped your work?

I left Mexico for the United States when I was 4 and always maintained a strong tie to the country and culture. My father is from the northern Mexican state of Sinaloa, and my mother is from France, meaning I grew up in a very multicultural environment.

This said, after living most of my life in the United States, including my most formative years, I am no doubt culturally very American despite not having residency or papers in the country.

Regarding my experience in mycology, well, that all started while studying at Humboldt State University in northern California. Within the first couple of weeks, I attended a mycology club meeting and was hooked.

I was already into botany and had done a peek into the world of mushrooms, but only superficially. The mycology club, comprising eccentric and knowledgeable personalities, became the hub of my social community during my studies there, until I eventually became president of the club. We did routine walks and trips to the nearby mountains looking for all sorts of mushrooms. We also did a bit of cultivation workshops.

This part of the world is really a mecca for mushrooms, as it has a mushroom season 365 days a year if you know what you’re doing. Temperatures rarely fall below zero, there’s moisture year-round, and there’s a diversity of habitats and altitudes at an arm’s reach.

After graduating, I genuinely tried to stay in the country and sought potential work opportunities. This proved somewhat challenging in the environmental field (the focus of my studies), given my visa status.

Most of my peers secured jobs working in government agencies or non-profits, both of which typically only hire non-citizens in exceptional cases, and not usually for entry-level positions.

After several interviews in the private sector, I realized it would be significantly challenging to secure a work visa. Despite these potential employers wanting to hire me, the challenges of the immigration system made it difficult, especially since they were looking to fill these positions as soon as possible.

Dispirited by the job search, I decided to return to Mexico and see what life I could make for myself there. I went back to Mexico and eventually traveled through Central America, and eventually found myself working at an Environmental Education center located in Costa Rica.

There, I helped in many areas, including teaching courses related to mushrooms and permaculture. For several years, I went between there and Mexico, always looking for mushrooms along the way. I regularly visited Mexico during the summer mushroom season to attend mushroom festivals and travel around the country looking for mushrooms.

Mushroom season in Mexico (about June-September) is fantastic for many reasons, but one of which is that the country is incredibly diverse.

Mexico has the highest biodiversity of Oak and Pines, two plant genera recognized for their ability to form ectomycorrhizal relationships with fungi. You get an exciting mix of tropical and temperate species in the country, many times in the same environments, meaning you get an incredible plethora of plant and mushroom species.

You also have some of the most mycophilic cultures on the planet, who have ancestral traditions of gathering and cooking many wild mushrooms, making mycology an exciting cultural and gastronomic experience.

For example, the Tlahuica-Pjiekakjoo communities in central Mexico recognize and consume nearly 200 mushroom species. Many communities host mushroom festivals during the rainy season, which are exciting places to learn and meet locals and very talented amateur and professional mycologists.

When the pandemic began, I was in Costa Rica working at the environmental education center I mentioned earlier. With the inability to receive guests, the place had to close down, and I decided to look for work online as a freelance writer.

I had always enjoyed writing and decided to sign up for various freelancing platforms and apply for gigs. With no portfolio or experience, I managed to secure some tedious and low-paying jobs writing about numerous environmental topics. Slowly but surely, I started raising my rates and finding more serious clients looking for quality work.

The pandemic was actually kind of a boom time for this, as many people had extra time on their hands and needed writers for their “pandemic projects.” Throughout the years, I’ve written a significant amount of content for blogs, websites, magazines, and internal documents for private companies and non-profit organizations. Since 2020, freelance writing has been my primary source of income and has given me the flexibility to travel and work from anywhere.

In 2022, I went with my ex-partner to Europe, where I spent over a year traveling while continuing my freelance writing gig. We did a bike tour of over 2,500 km traveling through Germany, Poland, the Czech Republic, Austria, Slovenia, Italy, and France.

In Germany, I got to try the Pheasants Back Polypore, in Poland, I tasted Macrolepiotas for the first time, in the Czech Republic, I had extensive conversations with the mycophiles of the region, and in Italy and France, I routinely saw the presence of wild mushrooms in the cuisine.

In France, I also attended various mycology-related events, including a 4-day mushroom festival in Normandy. It was the 60th anniversary of this event, and it was truly incredible to be part of such a well-developed and organized gathering, full of mycophiles with niche traditional and scientific knowledge.

I was impressed to learn that many of the mycologists in France were doctors or medical professionals, due to a legacy of mushroom identification being taught in their studies.

Historically, people could take mushrooms to pharmacies in France to verify the edibility of their harvests, meaning mushroom ID courses were required for pharmacists.

Outside of the mushroom season, I volunteered in numerous dairies in Spain and France, where I worked with animals and made cheese. I’ve learned a lot about the fungal microbiome of cheese as well. My ex-partner is an expert cheese maker.

Your “Names of Mushrooms” series goes into each name’s history and culture. What made you start exploring fungal etymology? How do you choose which mushroom to feature next?

Indeed, in my blog, you can find various texts in the “Names of Mushrooms” series. Some of these are admittedly prematurely published as they require a bit (quite a bit in some cases) of polishing.

These are texts that I have written when I’ve had gaps between work and something I do for my own pleasure. Eventually, I would like to publish these in a book. I’m working on this slowly, but it can be hard to find the time when I have paid writing gigs pending.

Considering I already spend enough time behind the computer, I usually like to spend any time outside of my projects walking through the woods or working in my garden. I’ve been told I should try and find a publishing company and make a contract to write the book, but it’s not something I’ve looked into seriously. If anyone has experience with this and likes the work, please feel free to reach out!

You upgraded your gear for focus stacking early on. How has that changed your style, which technical hurdle taught you the most, and which shot are you most proud of?

For a long time, I primarily used my phone for photography. I actually got a lot of great shots with a simple smartphone, and this got me started in my photography journey.

I had a DSLR, which was gifted to me, but without a macro lens, you can only get so far photographing fungi. Eventually, I got a macro lens and a tripod for my Nikon D3200 and managed to take slightly more “professional” shots.

I spent about a season and a half with this equipment, utilizing a small aperture and long exposures to get a nice depth of field with the shots. I initially used a focus rail for stacking, but soon realized the benefits of a camera that can do focus bracketing internally, and saved up for this.

This is a brilliant shot I got simply by utilizing my cell phone. I placed a black piece of cloth in the background for contrast and utilized a foil reflector to illuminate the gills. It came out fantastic.

About two springs ago, I went to the United States to go mushroom hunting and decided to upgrade my gear. After landing in San Francisco, the first thing I did was go meet two individuals from the Facebook marketplace to purchase a used Olympus OM-D E-M5 Mark II and an Olympus M Zuiko 60mm macro lens.

I was very fortunate to get a good deal on these since the sellers were motivated by my work. It honestly took a while to get the hang of focus stacking, but I eventually figured it out. It’s a bit tedious due to the quantity of post-processing needed, but it’s well worth the results.

I’m still learning A LOT about the art, especially extra details in the post-processing that I’m not entirely fluent in.

How do you balance art and scientific accuracy in each image?

I don’t really. Many of my favorite shots are simply artistic, trying to find the best angle and lighting for the most impressive and stunning image. In these shots, I’m not necessarily trying to get every detail or diagnostic identification feature.

I always attempt to take the shots in the most natural and intact environmental conditions, although in some cases I may move things around or place a mossy log in the background.

If I need some shots to identify the specimens, I’ll take some quick shots to review them later. Now, when I know I’m dealing with a unique species, that is rare or undescribed, I’ll take more taxonomy-oriented photos.

This usually involves finding multiple prime specimens so that I can display the morphological diversity expressed by a single species.

Afterwards, I lay them out in a way that all the unique features of the mushroom can be displayed appropriately.

Fieldwork can catch even seasoned mycologists off guard. What encounter in the wild shifted how you think about mushrooms?

One of the wildest mushrooms I had the chance to photograph, I didn’t find myself. I wasn’t even there when it was discovered.

I was working one sunny January afternoon when I got a call from a close friend of mine, Robert Kelly, who is a specialist on Cordyceps mushrooms.

For those who don’t know, Cordyceps are the so-called “zombie mushrooms” that parasitize a wide diversity of insect species.

These are more accurately known as entomopathogenic fungi, as they encompass a diverse lineage of fungal species. I’ve had a lot of fun photographing Cordyceps, and finding them is a whole thrill of its own!

Anyhow, when I answered the phone, Robert was intoxicated with excitement and overflowing with joy. I could barely understand him under the veil of his exhilarated delirium. This isn’t unusual for Rob, who has an eccentric personality, but this time I could tell he was REALLY excited.

He continued to explain that his friends saw something incredible in the depths of a cave, not too far from where we live. They claimed to have found a tarantula infected by cordyceps!

Not only is this an ominous place to find such a haunting duo, but it’s an extremely rare sighting. Cordyceps that infect tarantulas are mainly known from the Amazon Rainforest and other lowland tropical ecosystems.

They had never been documented from this high-altitude region of central Mexico, where we live, and where Robert has been documenting Cordyceps for over half a decade.

Several hours later, Robert and I made our way to the entrance of the cave near an old abandoned railroad line. Our canine companion, Suauripa, dared not enter the dark abyss and awaited outside like a noble bodyguard.

Feet first, we entered a hole just big enough to fit, and crouched down to make our way through the volcanic tunnel formed by the ancient flow of lava. With flashlights in hand, we made our way through passageways and rooms carved of sharp volcanic rock.

It’s difficult to calculate the distance, as we walked slowly and carefully, but about two hundred or so meters into the cave, in complete darkness, we found a fiery orange tarantula sitting on a rock ledge as though it had been placed there by the cordy-god herself.

To my surprise, the Tarantula's color had been completely transformed. Instead of its typical brown-earth tone, it looked like it had been refashioned by the costume designer of the original Oompa Loompas.

While orange is a standard color for many Cordyceps fruiting bodies, I’d never seen them transform the color of their host. Cordyceps militaris, a cultivated and medicinal species, exhibits bright orange coloration. Its mycelium also turns orange when exposed to light.

In the case of the Tarantula, it still impresses me that even the fine hairs on the specimen looked like they had been bathed in turmeric.

The Tarantula also had small orange fruiting bodies that grew from its abdomen, thorax, and legs. These fruiting bodies were perfectly ripe and were actually discharging microscopic spores that we could see glimmering in our lights as we did the photoshoot.

Like most ascomycota, Cordyceps eject their spores with significant force. I have a different video of this from a Cordyceps I found in Portugal.

Photographing it was a bit challenging. To begin, I had to utilize artificial lighting, which requires proper care to avoid an excessively synthetic look and sharp contrasts.

The sharp, rocky texture and irregular surfaces of the cave also made positioning my tripod difficult. Had I been more prepared or had more experience, I probably could have done this fungus more justice. Even still, I got some pretty good shots. We determined this was likely in the Cordyceps nidus complex.

Fungi do more than taste good or look cool. Which ecosystem or industry role do you wish more people understood?

I think people should appreciate fungi just for existing and being part of the amazing biodiversity we find on our planet.

All living things today represent the growing tips in the tree of life – the most recently evolved organisms of vast lineages that have survived countless extinction events.

That alone is amazing and of immense value.

Also, every fungus plays a unique role in ecosystems. Some help cycle nutrients from dead organic materials, while others form obligate relationships with plants. Most plant species, for example, depend on mycorrhizal fungi, and in some circumstances, even allocate close to half of the carbon they produce from photosynthesis to them.

Many fungi also provide unique food sources to niche insects and animals. In some cases, this can be quite significant, such as the western Flying Squirrels from the Pacific Northwest, which eat up to 20 different species of truffles that can compose 80% of their diet during certain times of the year.

I think when it comes to food, the “functional” aspect of mushrooms is something that’s not widely understood.

Essentially, eating mushrooms is REALLY good for you. Edible mushrooms produce many secondary metabolites that improve immune health, cognitive function, and overall well-being. For example, many mushrooms have ergothioneine, an amino acid that acts as a very potent antioxidant.

In a couple of clinical trials, it has been shown to improve cognitive function and potentially even help prevent cognitive decline in elderly individuals. Ergothioneine is unique because our cells have unique uptake mechanisms specifically designed for it.

We can actually store Ergothioneine and utilize it in times of high oxidative stress. This is unlike any other antioxidant. Ergothioneine is almost exclusively found in fungi, and it’s only found in plants due to their associations with mycorrhizal or endophytic fungi!

I’ve studied the health benefits of mushrooms quite a lot. I have a website called mushroomclinicaltrials.com, which is a compendium of the clinical research that has been conducted on functional mushrooms.

I believe there's a lot of misleading hype surrounding mushroom supplements, but I also recognize their potential health benefits and therapeutic applications. They will rarely cure anything on their own, but they can be part of a healthy lifestyle or holistic treatment.

I personally have experienced positive benefits from Reishi and Cordyceps mushrooms. For transparency, I do promote certain vetted, high-quality, and reputable products on my page and do receive a commission.

How do you stay on top of so many topics? Which resources or habits keep you learning?

The internet is a fantastic tool, but it’s so full of junk content. It can be difficult for anyone to navigate the vast amount of low-quality and false information that exists here. This is particularly evident now with the advent of artificial intelligence, but honestly, there was a lot of slop already before this. This is why finding credible resources is so important.

For identification, I often utilize David Arora's "Mushrooms Demystified" or Michael Kuo's website, mushroomexpert.com, as an entry point.

These are AMAZING resources, although they have their limitations, especially considering the evolving world of mushroom taxonomy. Since there are few comprehensive guidebooks in Mexico, and none for my specific region, these are often a good start.

The United States, Europe, and Asia have TONS of excellent guidebooks, something you shouldn’t take for granted if you live in these areas!

If I need a further opinion, I might refer to Index Fungorum, which is the very best place to find updated information about the most recent taxonomic changes. It can also be really useful because many species on there have links to the original descriptions. These are the descriptions that have the ultimate authority about whether the species name is accurate or not. It’s incredibly common that species names are misapplied.

Obviously, inaturalist.org is also extremely useful, but users should also be aware of its limitations and errors. This is especially true for rare or unique species. I know for sure there are a handful of taxa on there whose “profile” has been built around erroneous identifications that do not align with original descriptions set out by the authors. This isn’t a harsh criticism towards the platform, as I think it’s fantastic, but users should understand that it’s a sort of “work in progress,” especially as fungal taxonomy gets sorted out.

Lastly, I’ll search the scientific literature a lot using Google Scholar. Here you can get access to thousands of peer-reviewed research papers on almost any subject you want. Some of these can be highly technical, but if you look carefully, you can often find some more approachable texts about general topics.

I also really enjoy reading old mushroom books (I saw tons of these in Europe), or I utilize a digital database like archive.org, where you can find many digitized books.

Old texts like this can be really interesting to gain unique insight not found on the rest of the internet. The way I see it, a considerable portion of the internet is like an unregulated game of telephone. Information simply gets regurgitated over and over again from one blog to another, and eventually to social media and beyond. In contrast, books can contain novel information that either hasn’t entered the “autophagic” metabolism of the internet.

Additionally, I’ve subscribed to nearly every mycological society's YouTube channel I could find. This provides me with a decent feed of lectures and talks that I can tune into when I want to learn something new. I also really enjoy The Mushroom Hour Podcast, which has some brilliant interviews.

If someone is just starting out with mycology or mushroom photography, what practical tips would you give on identification, field technique, or making connections?

The best way to learn something is to find people who are already doing it.

Hopefully, they are nice and you can befriend them. Look for a local mycological society, go to a mushroom festival, or simply convince anyone you meet who knows more about mushrooms/photography than you to let you tag along. Having a good teacher, in person, is the fastest way to learn any skill.

For photography, practice makes perfect.

I’m still learning a lot every time I go to the field. When you're first getting started, it can really help to stage some shots in your home, especially if you're unfamiliar with and utilizing a DSLR camera.

It’s well worth it to familiarize yourself with your gear in the comfort of your own home, instead of troubleshooting out in the field when there are mosquitoes, rain, and ominous thunder that’s creeping up on you.

Where will you take Encountering Fungi next? What new series, consulting projects, or collaborations are on your roadmap? How can people connect with you?

Encountering Fungi is a bit of my personal website, but also a portfolio for my freelance writing gig in the mushroom niche. While I’ve been pretty fortunate to have consistent freelance work, I have noticed a significant decline in demand. This started at the end of the pandemic and then more so after the release of AI chatbots.

While the general decline in writing gigs has been a bit worrying, I honestly see it as an opportunity. A lot of the work that AI is replacing is the low-tier, low-paying gigs. This is generic writing work that people don’t really want to pay much money for, to begin with. I admit, I’ve done a lot of this work. I offer relatively affordable rates, and my writing isn’t necessarily published in prestigious magazines, newspapers, or journals.

This said, I’m motivated to expand my writing into new frontiers. This could mean trying to get a book contract or simply pitching to more respected publications. I’ve had a tiny bit of luck pitching articles, and while I rarely get responses, that’s just the nature of the game, from what I understand.

I really like the idea of moving more towards a journalistic writing style and writing about topics that sincerely interest me, like fungal ecology and conservation. Since these gigs tend to be a bit better as well, it gives me the liberty to really focus and invest in creating a written piece of art. At the very least, the clients I am able to maintain are genuinely interest in having high-quality and human-written content.

If anyone wants to contact me, they can do so via email at timendez@gmail.com. You can also view more of my photos on Instagram at @organicultura or on my website, encounteringfungi.com.

The best find? My wife spotted it at the base of a fern tree. I’d been searching for hours, and then she casually sent me a photo while I was back at camp: “Look what I found.” Of course, it was Gliophorus viridis.

Green waxcaps are rare to me, or well-camouflaged. I spent time shooting them, noticing how they stand out or blend in depending on the light and angle. The trail felt like walking through a forest of traffic lights: red, yellow, green. Waxcaps were everywhere.

Most of my time was spent inspecting ponga (tree ferns), kānuka on the lower slopes, and mānuka on the upper slopes. The understory was starting to show early broadleaf species, including five-finger, māhoe, kāmahi, kōhūhū, and rangiora. I also found small patches of hard beech and signs of kahikatea, pukatea, and tawa.

Off the main track, across a stream, I hopped on stones and boulders and found the most texture and color. Bright pink-purple Clavulinopsis stood out on the embankment. I’d seen smaller ones growing solo, but this cluster was the best.

I climbed up the embankment to a smaller side trail, passing a few traps and pipes. On a mound of black fern fronds, I spotted one of my favorites: Tympanella galanthina.

This species is monotypic, the only one in its genus. The name likely comes from its resemblance to a snowdrop (Galanthus). "Galan" means milk, and "anthos" means flower.

To me, I call them Q-Tips as they look like cotton buds, and it happens to be commonly called the cottonbud pouch (a secotioid fungus). I found every stage, from small, tight, pouch-like caps to mature fruiting bodies with exposed rusty-cinnamon gills.

Within the same family (Bolbitiaceae) as T. galanthina, nearby, I also found Bolbitius muscicola, characterized by its sticky, reflective cap.

Then I spotted what I thought was another T. galanthina, but it had spiny, light-colored fibrils. It turned out to be Psathyrella echinata.

The rain started pushing through the canopy. I used my diffuser as an umbrella for my camera. Soaked, but by this point, not really caring about the elements. I feel like sometimes, while mushroom hunting, I leave my body behind. And as my friend had told me before, a little rain doesn’t hurt; we’re not made of sugar!

I kept walking and came across a mint-condition Cortinarius rotundisporus, the Elegant Blue Webcap. Out of all the webcaps, this one is among my favorites. Its cap features an egg-yolk center, shades of light to deep blue, and pink gills underneath. When the veil breaks, a rusty ring often forms around the stem from the spore deposit.

I stayed focused on the fern trees. On one, I found lemon-lime mushrooms with yellow-edged gills.

Underneath, a white mycelial mat was dotted with red and amber droplets. The fruiting body was Mycena mamaku, which grows only on the black tree fern (Cyathea medullaris), New Zealand’s tallest fern (which can reach up to 20 meters). Another look-alike, which I hope to find again, is Mycena sp. ‘Erua’, which my friend Liu Yang discovered to be bioluminescent.

Looking closer, I noticed moss around a fern base with tiny white dots. These small Physalacriaceae lacked gills and were smooth underneath. Their spores appeared crystalline under the lens. Photographing them took more time, patience, and gear, but I figured it was worth it (although being hunched over, I really need to work on my posture!).

Near the part of the trail where glow worms hang, I once found glowing Mycena podocarpi mycelium. This time, I came across young Armillaria novae-zelandiae, also known as Austral Honey Mushrooms. At night, I took a long exposure and caught the glowing veil.

Other notable species included: Phaeoclavulina sp., Hydnangium kanuka., Hygrophorus involutus, members of Tribe Humidicuteae, and a fungal parasite, Neobarya agaricicola.

In this interview, you’ll hear how she tracked giant otters in Peru, woke up to a carpet of Termitomyces mushrooms in Zambia, and balances science with a poet’s wonder.

Jess grew up in Colombia, Burkina Faso, and the Netherlands and now shares a 17th-century farmhouse south of London with three generations of her family.

You’ll learn what drives her curiosity and why she invites you to protect our planet in her newsletters Beastie and The Nature of Things.

Early Inspirations

You’ve lived in places such as Colombia, Burkina Faso, and Tanzania. How did all that moving around spark your love of the outdoors?

I’m incredibly fortunate that my parents have always been intrepid and enterprising. Having two small kids never hindered them in any way. My father’s work for international development organisations took them to Bogota, Colombia, where I was born, and later to Burkina Faso and Tanzania.

I loved nothing more than going on long road trips, especially to the wildlife-rich National Parks. In between, my father fulfilled a lifelong dream by building a ferro-cement boat and setting sail with the family for two years. My brother and I spent most of our waking hours swimming, snorkelling, and beach combing.

I’m sure these places and associated travel had a lasting impact on me.

I read in an article somewhere that children who experience Nature before the age of 11 are more likely to grow up caring about wildlife and natural surroundings. Even if they don’t remember, kids subconsciously absorb and retain impressions of their environment like sponges. They become imprinted.

I also grew up without a TV or any other screen. So, Nature was the source of all fun and adventure, and discovery for me. That kind of unfettered childhood can’t fail to engender a close bond with the natural world, and I will always be grateful to my parents for the gift.

Can you recall a moment in your childhood or early career when you realized you wanted to work in or write about nature?

I was about 12 years old when I decided I wanted to be a wildlife vet when I grew up. I loved to read, and it was the books by Gerald Durrell and James Herriot that did it for me. Those same books, along with many others, usually featuring animal protagonists, also sparked a passion for the English language.

I published my first poem, about our cat, in my school’s literary magazine around that time. Seeing my work and name in print was thrilling. I recall winning an award for English shortly after and needed no more encouragement: I’ve been writing on and off ever since.

However, rather than becoming a vet, I eventually embarked on a career in wildlife conservation, focusing on understanding and protecting wild Nature, as well as managing human activities in natural environments.

Storytelling and Photography

After years in the field as a biologist, what drew you into storytelling and photography?

I am drawn to creativity. Sadly, I can’t sing, play an instrument, or paint to save my life. But the numerous books I read as a child and the camera I received as a birthday gift when I was about 14 opened up the possibility of expressing myself through writing and photography.

And because I have always been able to lose myself in a good book or a stunning photo, I also understood how powerful both can be in generating emotion and empathy in others, in opening eyes and hearts to new worlds. Especially when combined.

Moreover, when you have once-in-a-lifetime experiences in the field, you want first to record them for yourself and then to share them. Both are ways of re-living them, which is wonderful. However, by sharing them, I also hope to bring others pleasure and to inspire a sense of curiosity, awe, and love for Nature.

When you’re out with your camera, how do you recognize the shot or story you really want to capture?

I’m very much an amateur, but I think the best stories and most compelling photos emerge from full engagement in the experience, an understanding of the subject, and diligent practice.

Over time, you begin to develop an instinct for what works. And when you spend days or weeks observing a landscape or animal, you learn how to show it to advantage.

By way of example, I recently saw a trio of photos of a river scene shared by J. Paul Moore on Substack.

The first was taken on a sunny day, which produced deep shadows and harsh contrasts. The second was shot under an overcast sky, but the river surface in the foreground was too busy. The final picture was taken on a still morning with soft light.

That photographer recognised what he wanted from the start, but it took three attempts to achieve the dreamy composition he had envisioned. The last shot speaks volumes.

As with photography, where composition, light, and exposure make the image, writing, too, requires that essential components align. When they do, you’ll know you have a good story.

Fungal Discoveries

Your poem about waking up to Termitomyces mushrooms in Zambia was excellent. What details from that night stand out most in your memory?

Thank you for the kind compliment! I rarely write poems, and suffer from impostor syndrome when I do. If the poem is any good, it’s only because I was inspired by what I witnessed.

My husband and I were staying at a tourist lodge in Kasanka National Park, and I recall walking from our rondavel along a dirt path to the dining area for meals, and vaguely noticing a termite mound under a shrub each time I passed by.

One night, it rained steadily for hours, but the sky was clearing by the time I headed to the lodge for breakfast. To my utter astonishment, the innocuous termite mound had erupted overnight into a mushroom city.

It seemed inconceivable that mushrooms could grow so fast and in such profusion.

And each was a bright, pure white. Nature had never seemed so exuberant, so alive, and yet so fragile all at once. The sight filled me with joy and hope.

Beyond Termitomyces, have any other surprising fungal finds caught your eye recently?

Fungi are endlessly varied and fascinating. The mushrooms I just described, even in their abundant perfection, would have paled into insignificance beside the largest Termitomyces specimen I’m ever likely to see.

My husband purchased it from two small boys on the road in rural Zambia for the going rate of 5000 Kwacha, or about USD 1.60 (at the time).

The photo shows just how large it was. Enough to feed a camp of twenty people, as I described in my post here on Substack.

And then there was the time I came across a cluster of tiny red mushrooms on a damp rainforest trail at the Manu Wildlife Centre in the Peruvian Amazon. They glowed like drops of fresh blood. A friend thought they might be Vermilion waxcaps (Hygrocybe miniata), but I would love your readers to confirm that for me.

Writing Balance

In your Beastie and Nature of Things newsletters, you balance wonder and concern. What keeps that balance for you when you write?

The future of my children, who are now young adults on the cusp of independence, is always uppermost in my mind.

Between 1970 and 2020, the average size of vertebrate wildlife populations worldwide fell by a catastrophic 73%.

When I first read this statistic, I felt like I’d been punched. All the more so because this decline happened within my lifetime (I was born in 1972). Which means that I’m partly responsible. And we’re talking about the world’s most charismatic species here, the tigers and dolphins and frogs of this world.

If we can’t protect the cuddly or dramatic ones, what hope is there for more obscure and less loved species?

And what do the next 50 years hold in store for us? What kind of planet are we leaving our children and grandchildren? For their sakes and for future generations of all life forms, it is imperative that we restore and safeguard the integrity of the natural world.

To achieve this, we must understand, deep in our bones, that Nature’s fate is ours, because we are inseparable from Nature. It’s become a cliché, but I can’t say it more plainly: we are Nature and Nature is us.

Storytelling, whether through words, images, or other means, can and should evoke a strong sense of responsibility and urgency, as well as compassion and intimate connection.

This is why, through my writing and photography, I strive to share both the joy and beauty of Nature, and of lives filled with Nature, as well as our fear, regret, guilt, rage, despair, and grief (so many emotions!) at what we have inflicted on the natural world. I believe and hope this tension between reverence and profound concern is what motivates each of us to act in the myriad ways that are possible and necessary.

Family and Home

Living with three generations under one roof must be lively. Does that family dynamic influence how you experience or photograph nature?

Most of us are passionate about Nature and spend a lot of time outdoors. My parents have had a huge influence in that regard. Before I moved to the UK from Peru in 2021, I didn’t realise a gardener was lurking inside me.

Fast forward four years, and like my mother, I can’t relax now on the terrace without weeding around the base of my chair. But I’ve been so busy discovering the delights of creating and growing a garden, I haven’t yet had the opportunity to photograph it.

It was my father who encouraged my brother and me to take up photography. He’s a keen and very good photographer himself, especially of people and landscapes. He’s 82 now, but still regularly goes for photography walks and hasn’t lost his eye for composition, light, and story. He often reports interesting Nature finds, like these cup-shaped fungi.

My brother and husband are rewilders. Together, we have planted several hundred trees, created a wildlife pond, and installed nest boxes for owls and other birds.

The main problem I have is that there is so much to do and so many things I want to explore that I don’t set aside enough time to quietly immerse myself in Nature. I hope that my old passions of writing and photography will help to remedy this.

Looking Ahead and Advice

What projects, travels, or new naturalist skills are you most excited to explore next?

I recently joined Substack and rekindled my writing after a five-year hiatus. I can’t believe it took me so long to discover this place! I’ve already subscribed to over 150 publications. So much of the writing here is lyrical, authentic, courageous, and intriguing, or all the above. It’s a revelation, and, frankly, a bit overwhelming.

Though I know I’ve found my calling –writing for Nature– I feel like I haven’t quite identified my niche or how best to go about it. That’s what I’m most excited about right now: exploring, through Substack, how I can inspire a will to protect and regenerate our true home in new audiences.

If someone is just discovering mushrooms or wildlife photography, what one tip would you share?

I’ve been photographing wildlife and landscapes, on and off, since I received my first SLR camera at the age of 14. Best birthday present ever. However, I was simultaneously too impatient to start photographing and too lazy to learn how to use it properly. I didn’t think there could be much to it. So, for the longest time, I just snapped photos, and if they were good, it was mostly because I’d been lucky.

One morning, after spending hours on a lake taking what I imagined would be breathtaking images of giant otters and herons, I was dismayed to find only mediocre shots of blurry and poorly exposed animals. I was so frustrated with myself. I also couldn’t figure out what had gone wrong.

That was the push I needed to finally do my research and begin experimenting with depth of field, shutter speeds, and exposure, adjusting the settings, and recording and comparing the results.

All this is a roundabout way of advising a beginner to do the obvious: take the trouble to really get to know your camera (each has its foibles) and understand how its functions interact with one another.

Once you’ve got a proper grasp of the basics, your photography will improve significantly because you’ll know how to extract the best out of an opportunity. And just because mushrooms are generally small, that does not mean they are easier to photograph. Photographing small is a whole art in itself, one I’m only just beginning to master.

Many thanks to Jess Groenendijk for sharing her incredible stories, insights, and deep reverence for the natural world. To keep following her adventures and reflections, be sure to subscribe to her Substack: Nature’s Blue Hour

Still, the trip was a good way to kick off the start of the fungi season. And I didn’t have to wander far to find things worth photographing, often just a few steps from the tent. It’s a luxury to find mushrooms that close to camp, I can save my back and sit in a chair with warm coffee in reach.

Two of the more common finds were Austroboletus novae-zelandiae and A. niveus. The first reminds me of crème brûlée, the second like a white marshmallow. Both have those distinctive reticulated stipes that make the genus stand out.

I took a few walks along the Tawa Trail, heading past the unpowered sites. Ran into a few hikers and photographers. One woman and I ended up chatting about Entolomas and how unique they are here. She mentioned she’d never seen the blue one from the fifty-dollar banknote. We said our goodbyes, and not five minutes later I spotted a cluster of Entoloma hochstetteri at the base of a fern. Light blue against the green moss.

Later, I found more of them near camp. One growing right beside an A. niveus was a highlight.

Dark velvety purple Cortinarius and viscid light purples like Cortinarius taylorianus.

Lying across a stream, bright yellow-stemmed Mycena subviscosa (an endemic bonnet) covered the log. Some confuse them with M. epipterygia, which can glow faintly in the mycelium under the right conditions. These didn’t.

For bioluminescence, you'd want Mycena roseoflava, but no luck. Maybe it was just too cold.

On my final walk, I followed the trail toward the waterfalls and saw something unusual growing on stick. For a second, I thought I was looking at Trichaleurina javanica, the so-called Elephant’s Foot from Malaysia. But it turned out to be Sarcosoma orientale, a rare find with only about 16 sightings on iNaturalist so far.

Some other notable finds were blue Cortinarius with what looked like an egg-yolk on the apex of the cap.

A fuzzy, wrinkly Lycoperdon sp.

Something in Clavulinaceae that looked like someone’s chewed-up gum.

Blackening waxcaps.

And toxic Galerina patagonica.

But the thrill of uncovering mushrooms makes it all worth it. Something about spotting those bursts of color in the forest gives me a second wind, and a bit of adrenaline keeps me going.

When the sun’s out, it’s manageable. But daylight hours are short, and the sun usually dips around 5 pm, so timing matters. I spent the past week based at Kerr Bay in St. Arnaud, just beside Lake Rotoiti. It’s an ideal winter spot for mushroom hunters.

If you’re looking for purple mushrooms like Cortinarius sp. (Purple Pouch Fungus) or Gallacea scleroderma (Velvet Potato Fungus), this is where you want to be. Both are striking and were the most prolific during the trip.

Over the week, I must have found more than a hundred.

But the real standout was Gallacea scleroderma, a truffle-like fungus that grows underground in partnership with native beech trees (Nothofagus). This one has some deep history behind it.

Its spores have been found in fossilised moa droppings, revealing that these giant, now-extinct birds once feasted on the colorful fungi and helped spread their spores across the forest floor, likely mistaking them for berries. Kind of like how cassowaries in Australia are drawn to purple berries.

The Velvet Potatoes were impossible to miss. I stumbled on a whole hillside dotted with them, more than I could fit into a single shot.

Inside each one is the gleba, a spore-bearing mass where insects crawl in to lay their eggs. As the larvae hatch and feed, they help distribute the spores. Not quite the moa, but a decent effort on nature’s part.

Most of my finds were along the Honeydew Track, a short loop walk by the Kerr Bay campsite. It was full of life. But one day I crossed to the far side of the lake, past the jetty where eels hang out, and black swans, ducks, and pied cormorants rest on the rocky shore.

I followed the Peninsula Track and lucked out with a rare bright pink, fan-shaped fungus. At first it looked like a Crepidotus, but turned out to be Cheimonophyllum roseum.

It’s only been recorded on iNaturalist four times, two of which were by my friends in Malaysia. Funny how small the world feels when you're out here looking at mushrooms.

Other truffle-like fungi that popped up were the white-to-blue turning Rossbeevera pachydermis. I photographed about another 16 species, ranging from the size of a pinhead to trees covered in native oyster mushrooms, to other brightly colored species.

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I’ve photographed glowworms before, but this time I wanted to try getting some close-up videos instead.

These aren’t actually worms, but the larval stage of a fungus gnat (Arachnocampa luminosa), which is more closely related to flies. They spend most of their ~9-month larval life glowing (adults don’t glow at all).

Unlike most bioluminescent organisms, which glow yellow-green, these ones emit a bright blue light (likely evolved to lure prey in pitch-black conditions). They hang sticky silk “fishing lines” to trap insects attracted by their glow, and the more hungry they are, the brighter they shine!

It’s quite a sight to witness the entire side of the track dotted with blue glowing stars!

Earlier that day, I came across tiny maroon mushrooms (Mycena podocarpi).

The red marginated gills and stipe texture reminded me of similar glowing mushrooms I’d find in Malaysia. So, based on this hunch, I experimented with long-exposure photography.

Excited to find the hunch was confirmed, I captured the green-glowing mycelium on a piece of wood that had broken off from the main log.

Fungi glow green (~520nm wavelength), the result of their own distinct chemical reactions. So basically, nature’s subtle color-coding: blue for worms, green for fungi.

I got an idea then to shoot the two together.

While the rotten log only had a couple of small spots that displayed the green glow, I felt the softness of the outside, likely porous from tunnels made by bark beetles.

I took my pocketknife and whittled off the side, hoping to expose more of the mycelium to atmospheric oxygen and moisture so that the mycelium and bioluminescence could spread over the next day or two.

The cut wood glowed brightly green, revealing more hidden threads of mycelium.

Setting the log up against the side of the trail, I caught the blue glow worms and the green fungus in the same shot. Mission accomplished.

Since I get a lot of questions about how I photograph these, what camera or gear I use, I figured I’d take some time to walk through my process. This post is part behind-the-scenes and part gear breakdown, mainly so I can point people here the next time someone asks. Hopefully it’s useful.

Gear I Use

I shoot with an Olympus E-M5 Mark III and an M.Zuiko 60mm f/2.8 macro lens. I’ve had the camera for about three years now, the lens for almost five (it’s as good as gold!).

Occasionally, I’ll use a Raynox DCR-250 for added magnification, though that’s mostly reserved for slime molds.

I don’t have the budget to upgrade right now (though if I did, I’d probably go for the OM-1 and 90mm macro lens). But honestly, I’ve learned that getting the most out of what you already have matters more.

One piece of advice that stuck with me early on was: learn your camera. Sounds obvious, but letting those three words sink in really changed how I approached photography. That learning comes through trial, error, and a lot of bad shots that don’t make it to Instagram (or here).

Why This Camera Works for Me

The main reason I use this setup is the focus bracketing feature. It’s different from in-camera focus stacking.

The camera takes a series of shots at different focus points, and I stack them later using software. I used Helicon Focus for a while, then switched to Zerene (which I prefer).

Focus bracketing on OM System cameras lets you control the "differential"—basically, the distance between each focal slice. For tiny subjects, I usually set this to 1 (the narrowest).

Light Setup

I used to be a purist - only natural light, no flash, no extras, just what came through the canopy that day. But I’ve changed my approach. These days, I use a Godox TT520 II flash, a small LED cube (to fill in shadows), and a custom diffuser. Everything runs through CWB (custom white balance) set to 4800K, which pairs well with my specific diffuser.

Light takes some adjusting. I usually shoot test images and check the screen to see how the shadows and colors are coming through. If one side looks too dark, I’ll move the LED cube nearby and set it to 2–10% brightness depending on ambient light.

Because the flash needs time to recharge between shots, I set the bracketing interval to 2 seconds. Any faster, and I start getting dark frames when the flash misfires.

I also set the ISO to 200 or Low to reduce noise.

The Process

Most stacks consist of 25–75+ shots. When things go smoothly, the whole setup (from discovery to final image) takes about 5–10 minutes.

When I include my finger or a coin for scale, I usually shoot a single frame at a higher f-stop (f/7–f/9) with at least 1/20 sec shutter speed. For coins, I use whatever’s local, which has become a habit and I think a nice touch!

To reduce light halos or background clutter, I use a piece of black velvet or just put my backpack behind the subject.

And lastly, one bit of gear I can’t live without now: a macro clamp with a heavy magnetic base and two metal bendable arms. It holds twigs or leaves at the right angle so I’m not hunched over or trying to balance gear in weird positions.

That’s pretty much it. I'm always refining this process, and I don’t think it’s perfect (but it works for me). If you’ve got any more tips, I’m all ears! Feel free to share in the comments.

And if this helped or you want to support what I’m doing, consider becoming a paid subscriber. You’ll get a limited-edition mushroom print delivered to your inbox each month, access to interesting foray recaps, and help me slowly save toward that camera upgrade too ;)

And before I forget, if you’d like more photography tips, check out Macro Magic: Insider Tips for Subscribers.

In te reo Māori, kahikatea names Dacrycarpus dacrydioides, a tall conifer once common in Aotearoa’s swampy lowlands.

Swampy would be the common theme over the week. Heavy rain rendered half of the DOC campground a mushy bed of soaked grass and muddy tire tracks from campers maneuvering their vehicles.

I headed to the forest to see what new growth had emerged.

Exploring the Kahikatea Walk, I didn’t go but 200 meters, too distracted by what I was finding.

One of the most photogenic finds of the foray happened by accident. A teepee of branches was covered in various species, from minuscule Phaeomarasmius ciliatus to Crepidotus parietalis and Resupinatus vinosolividus.

But further into the bush, I’d find a branch completely covered in orange fans.

Anthracophyllum archeri are typically found in tropical regions, and the last (and only other time) I came across them was at Ba Ho outside Nha Trang in Vietnam. One person on IG commented that the second photo gives serious Birth of Venus vibes.

The Honey Mushrooms (A. novae-zelandiae) were out in full force, yet their bioluminescence was very faint in the veil. I suspect the cold temperatures affected their luminosity.

Small red coralloid mushrooms also made an appearance, like small flames lighting up the forest floor.

Finding many Bird’s Nest Fungi at different stages of growth gave me the opportunity to use my new Swiss Army Knife, and as I’ve seen done before, I sliced a young one in half, exposing the peridioles.

Tiny Gloiocephela sp. growing on leaves.

Immediately recognizing the distinct spotted cap of a species I’ve seen a few years back, Hohenbuehelia sp. ‘Ahurriri’ is commonly found growing here.

This stem-growing Hohenbuehelia is rare—only a few species in the genus have stems. It branches off early in the group’s family tree.

It lacks the thick-walled cystidia some relatives have, but it still has the genus’s trademark sticky cells (gloeosphex cystidia) that snare tiny worms (nematodes).

Young puffballs grow at the base of a rotting tree trunk.

Another interesting find were tiny caramel-colored, fava bean-like bulbous growths from the soil along the track.

The shape of the cap reminded me of other secotioid species where the gills are just starting to emerge. When bisected, I noticed the gills were pink, and the stipe was a dark blue to purple color with tiny hairs (caulocystidia).

Bruised Mycena mariae darkened red, and when cut they oozed blood, a common trait with Bleeding Mycenas.

These tiny Phaeomarasmius ciliatus were a rare find. On iNaturalist, this species had only been observed 10 other times in the country.

The morphology of Resupinatus vinosolividus made me pause and spend quite a bit of time photographing their intricate gill patterns. Upon closer inspection, I noticed small white insect larvae taking residence.

Many different-sized fruit bodies covered branches, and the smaller ones appeared more floccose and covered in white powdery hairs. For scale, I took a photo with New Zealand’s 20c coin featuring a Māori carving of Pūkaki.

And on a final note, the mycological word of the day: “anastomosing” gills - where the gills are not simply parallel lines but instead branch, fork, and connect to one another, forming a complex network. I found this Tetrapygros sp. that reminded me of a pruney finger.

While I spent the majority of the time at the Kahikatea Walk, I managed to take one last trip up to Acland Falls…

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