Finding Bioluminescent Mycena lividorubra at Momorangi Bay
Glow in the dark mycelium in rotten wood found in the top of the south island of New Zealand
I’d been bracing for heavy rain and wind here at the top of the South Island as Cyclone Vaianu made its way down from the north. The day brought heavy rain and gusts, and the kind of weather that makes the bush feel off limits.
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: Mycena lividorubra.
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.
It is a small but striking mushroom with dark-edged gills and a subtle sheen. The species was first described in 1991 and is regarded as a New Zealand endemic. Its name, lividorubra, refers to that “livid” sheen caused by the dark fibrils over the red cap.
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 25 observations of Mycena lividorubra on iNaturalist in New Zealand, with most of them coming from the North Island. Only two other observations appear to be from the South Island, which would make this one the third.
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.