Mushroom Meander

Did you know that mushrooms are closer to animals than plants? Fungi are everywhere, in all of the world's nooks and crannies, recycling our waste and helping to grow our food. Belle Collyer takes a walk alongside a mushroom forager in Melbourne's east.

Last weekend, I finally did something I’ve been wanting to do for years: I went on a mushroom identification walk.

“You’d have a great time,” my friend Laura said. “You get to learn so much about local mushrooms!” $90 later, I was set to attend Martin Martini’s Mushroom Meander in the Dandenong mountains with Laura in tow. 

Martin Martini is a fungi forager who regularly holds bush walks for customers, where he identifies edible and inedible mushrooms. (Photo: Belle Collyer)

The turnoff for the forest trail where the meander was taking place was along one of the older roads through the Dandenongs, which meant narrow single lanes, hairpin turns, and gigantic trees crowding in at the edges. Laura, who lives locally, sighed dreamily at each passing behemoth from the passenger seat while I concentrated on getting us there in one piece. When we arrived (a little late), we approached a circle of people clustered around a picnic table sporting a bucket, a tea towel, a small knife with a thick wooden handle and several full binders. A man I instantly recognised as Martin turned to greet us, waving us to join the circle of fellow mushroom hunters. 

Martin looks exactly how you’d imagine someone deeply interested in foraging would look: his wild grey hair is kept tamed by a colourfully patched cap that he confides with us he sometimes hides foraged mushrooms in, and his intelligent eyes shine out from behind thickly rimmed round gold glasses held firmly in place by ear hooks. The back of his sweatshirt was sporting a design for a bagel company, and his pants were patched together with more colourful darning. I liked him instantly.

He welcomed us into the circle with enthusiasm and continued with his talk, explaining his philosophy on wild mushrooms.

“There's nothing wrong with picking a mushroom in this forest… It’s good for the environment. It’s the same as picking an apple,” he said. Each mushroom has around a million spores each, Martin explained, and taking the mushroom for a little walk helps the species spread further than it would get on its own.

The lecture ranged from rare mushroom finds (Chantarelles which are one of the rarest mushrooms in Australia and he accidentally led a group in Queensland to the largest patch he’d ever seen in his career ending up with the whole group going home with bucketfuls) to Australia’s cultural fear of eating mushrooms to possible consequences of eating your wild fungi uncooked – resulting in a dramatic evening of projectile vomiting, diarrhoea, and a painful series of blows to his ego. Armed with this knowledge, we set off into the forest, keeping our eyes low to the ground. 

The first find of the day turned out to be small purple-red mushrooms right by the entrance to the trail called Lacaria laccata that Martin told us were fine cooked, and he recommended to pickle in hot brine instead. We at least made it through the gate before the next patch of mushrooms were spotted, less than a metre in, which set up a pattern of friendly competition trying to spot the next new species. None of us had long to wait as the trail was a veritable cornucopia of wild (and mostly inedible) mushrooms.

Two specimens of Lacaria. (Photo: Belle Collyer)

We’d been meandering on and off the trail for an hour and a half, bringing handfuls of random mushrooms to Martin to identify and admiring nature, when we came across a particularly good spot. I’d been lagging behind taking nice photographs of what we’d found and rounded a corner with a few others in the group to find the majority of the crowd gathered just off the trail, all peering intently at something Martin was holding out for them. In his palm were a couple of tiny caramel-coloured mushrooms, which he identified for us as hedgehog mushroom,s which turned out to be the first easily identifiable edible species we’d encountered all day. 

Hedgehog mushrooms presented to show off their undersides. (Photo: Laura Munden)

Hedgehog mushrooms (Hydnum repandum to the scientific community), as it turns out, are very, very hard to mistake for any non-edible mushroom due to their undersides, which are covered in tiny soft ‘teeth’ structures completely unlike any other mushroom. The hedgehogs we found were a very pretty caramel colour, although Martin informed us that they usually have a dark brown cap with a paler colour cracking through, hence ‘hedgehog’. Martin passed the mushrooms around for all of us to marvel at and then pointed into the calf-high grass further off the trail.

“This grass will be full of them… we’re probably standing on them right now. See if you can find some!” 

The group dispersed into the grass and behind trees, tripping over hidden logs, all intently peering at the ground. I followed, my gaze also fixed on the grass, but not expecting to find anything. 

It took me a few minutes, but I finally spotted a tiny caramel-coloured speck hiding amongst the bright apple green of the grass at my feet by the base of a giant eucalyptus tree. I admit that I had been feeling somewhat disappointed with the walk, having spotted several interesting birds but no mushrooms that hadn’t already been identified. The feeling of disappointment evaporated as I carefully pulled the grass away to reveal a tiny but perfectly formed mushroom. I plucked it very carefully, trying not to disturb the ground, and lifted it to look; it had the same telltale ‘teeth’ as the ones Martin had shown us. I’d successfully found my very first edible mushroom. 

Eventually, we were all called back onto the trail; it was the Winter Solstice, and the sun was already heading quickly for the horizon despite it barely being 3pm. The rest of the trail yielded even more interesting finds to us; one of the gigantic fallen eucalypts was sprouting white tufts of a variety of jelly-like (edible) mushrooms called Snow Fungus (Tremella fuciformis) which, while practically flavourless on its own, according to Martin is a very good carrier of other flavours especially soy sauce. 

Snow Fungus. (Photo: Belle Collyer)

We also encountered a variety of something called the Stinkhorn mushroom (Phallus impudicus), which is one of the most alien-looking things on the planet. The egg-like bases had erupted in bright orange tentacles that gave off a pungent odour that, according to Martin, served to attract insects to help spread their spores. 

Stinkhorn mushroom. (Photo: Belle Collyer)

With the light fading fast, we booked it to the end of the trail and encountered a fungal celebrity; the Turkey Tail mushroom (Trametes versicolor) was waiting for us to discover it on a waterlogged fallen tree in a pond at the bottom of the hill. It is the subject of a lot of unproven claims around cancer prevention and boosting the immune system. The mushroom itself is surprisingly velvety to the touch, and Martin demonstrated its ability to bend completely in half without snapping. 

We made it back to the trail entrance just before sunset. Laura and I had lagged behind the group due to a very slippery hill and a seriously good collection of interesting fungi to photograph, so we joined the group gathered around Martin as he made concluding remarks letting us know that we had now earned the right to email him any time requesting a mushroom identification and that he hoped to see us again. He also promised that returning amblers get a discount on future trips. One of the other group members passed us a pair of large stickers that read “A little bit of HEAVY METAL is good for the body”, and then we all dispersed into the evening like fungal spores on the wind, replete with new knowledge, new confidence in foraging, and new friends.

Martin can be found on Instagram at: bellyoftheworldmushrooms