Mushrooms That Fascinate Me
I’ll be honest, for years I never really looked at mushrooms. I didn’t take the time to notice what was growing at my feet. That all changed when we got a booking, maybe ten years ago, from a group called Northern Ireland Fungus Group.
At the time I remember thinking, is this a real group? But they arrived here at Rostrevor Holidays, and their excitement was contagious. They headed down to the Riverside Walk and came back buzzing, telling me about the different fungi they had found.
The weather had not been what most of us would call “good,” damp and rainy, and I worried they were not having much of a holiday. But they saw the world differently. To them, the rain made the fungi come alive. When they brought us baskets of treasures, it made me stop. For the first time, I really looked down and realised what had been happening all around me.
As summer fades, the brightness of flowers gives way to seed heads, and the colour shifts. But autumn is not grey, it is filled with new colour. The bright red Amanita muscaria (fly agaric), those storybook mushrooms everyone gets excited about. The fiery orange of Witch’s Butter (Tremella mesenterica) on the gorse. Nature keeps painting, just in a different palette.
I am no expert. I take photos, I use Google Lens and guide books to help identify what I have seen, and I read about them later. It is a kind of treasure hunt for me. All of this comes with a warning. Unless you are absolutely certain, do not eat any of them. There is not mush-room for error! (OK, that is the puns over, I promise!)
Fungi around Rostrevor Holidays
Fly Agaric (Amanita muscaria)
These are the show stoppers. The classic red caps with white spots look as if they have stepped straight out of a fairytale. People light up when they see them, and I do as well. They carry centuries of folklore, from shamanic rituals to perhaps even inspiring the Christmas story of Santa.
One tale that fascinates me comes from the far north. Reindeer are said to eat these mushrooms, and people once drank their milk or urine to experience the visions more safely. Some say that is where the image of flying reindeer and Santa’s red and white suit began. I will not be trying that myself, but it does make me smile to imagine reindeer foraging in the forest.
For me, the fly agaric is the sign that autumn has truly begun. I will never forget the first time I noticed one glowing at the base of a tree, like a jewel hidden in the leaves. Poisonous, yes, but also breathtakingly beautiful.
Boletes (Boletus and Leccinum species)
Boletes are big, sturdy mushrooms that often grow at the base of trees. They have thick stems and broad caps that give them a presence, as if they belong there as part of the tree itself. What fascinates me most is that they are often part of something much larger. Reading about them led me to learn about the hidden world of the mycorrhizal network. This is the underground web where fungi and trees connect, trading food and minerals. It is incredible to think that what looks like a single mushroom on the surface is really just the fruit of an entire system working quietly below our feet.
I often find birch boletes here. Even when they begin to collapse, they hold my attention. As they disintegrate, their caps can look like a strange kind of cheese, softening and melting back into the soil. They remind me that fungi do not just grow and vanish. They are constantly transforming, feeding the ground, and nourishing the trees around them.
Ink Caps (Coprinus and Coprinellus species)
Ink caps come in many forms, and each one seems to have its own character.
The shaggy ink cap (Coprinus comatus), sometimes called the Lawyer’s Wig, is perhaps the most striking. Tall and white at first, with a shaggy cap like an old-fashioned wig, it soon begins to transform. The cap edges darken, curl, and then melt away into a dripping black liquid. This process of autodigestion fascinates me, and even more so when I learned that the ink can be used for writing or drawing. My sister once gave me artwork made with ink cap ink, and it still feels like the forest left me its own signature.
Then there is the glistening ink cap (Coprinellus micaceus), which appears in clusters at the base of stumps and old wood. Their caps are sprinkled with tiny mica-like crystals that catch the light, as though they have been dusted with sugar. Seeing them sparkling on a damp day always feels like finding something decorated just for the pleasure of it.
Another one that intrigues me is sometimes called the Drinker’s Bane (Coprinopsis atramentaria). The name comes from its unusual reaction when combined with alcohol. On its own, the mushroom is edible, but eaten with alcohol it can cause very unpleasant effects. It is a strange thought that a mushroom can hold such a hidden trick inside it.
Each ink cap tells a different story, but all of them share that magical moment of change, from something solid and delicate into black ink that stains the ground. They remind me that nature is never static. It is always transforming, dissolving, and becoming something else.
Bracket Fungi
Bracket fungi grow like shelves on the sides of trees and old wood. Some are huge and heavy, others are delicate and patterned, but all of them look sculptural, as if the forest has been carving its own artwork.
In the depths of winter I have sometimes caught the scent of vanilla drifting through the trees, and by following it I have found a bracket fungus releasing that fragrance. It feels extraordinary to find a perfume out in the cold air when everything else seems still.
The turkey tail (Trametes versicolor) is one of the most beautiful of the group. It fans out in layers of colour, each ring slightly different, so that it looks painted. Many people prize it as a health supplement, but I love it simply for its patterns. The birch bracket (Fomitopsis betulina) carries a story from deep history. A five thousand year old body known as Ötzi the Iceman was found in the Dolomites carrying pieces of it, perhaps for medicine or for fire starting. When I see one clinging to a dead birch, I think about that link with people from so long ago.
For me, bracket fungi are reminders that the forest never stops working. Even on the oldest trees or fallen branches, they are breaking down what is past and turning it into something that feeds new life.
Jelly Fungi
Jelly fungi are some of the strangest things to come across on a walk. They do not look much like the mushrooms people expect, with stalks and caps. Instead they are soft, wobbly, and often translucent, clinging to branches or dead wood.
The one that always catches my eye is Witch’s Butter (Tremella mesenterica). It grows on gorse and other shrubs in bright orange yellow blobs that look as if sunlight has been splashed onto the branches. In the middle of winter, when the landscape can feel muted, its colour is almost shocking. It makes me stop every time I see it.
Another that I love is the Wood Ear (Auricularia auricula-judae), also known as Jelly Ear. These fungi are shaped uncannily like little ears pressed against the bark of trees. They are usually brown, sometimes almost translucent, and they change with the weather. In dry spells they shrivel and harden, but after rain they swell again, returning to their soft, rubbery form. It feels as though they are listening to the forest itself.
What fascinates me about the jelly fungi is their resilience. They can dry out completely and then revive after rain, coming back to life as if nothing had happened. They remind me that even the strangest and quietest things in the forest have their own rhythm and persistence.
Elfin Saddles (Helvella species)
Elfin saddles are part of a curious group of fungi called the ascomycetes, which also includes morels, truffles, and even the so-called false truffles that grow underground. Unlike the hidden ones, elfin saddles stand above the soil, black and wrinkled, with folds that make them look like tiny seats waiting for a woodland sprite.
The one I see most often here is the black elfin saddle (Helvella lacunosa). From a distance they may not look like much, but when you kneel down and really see their twisted caps and hollow stems, they become extraordinary. Whoever first named them must have shared the same imagination I do, because you can picture elves perched on them, ready to ride away into another world.
There is something playful about spotting them. They remind me that the forest is full of shapes and stories, if only we slow down and look.
Puffballs
Some fungi feel playful, and puffballs are the perfect example. They are small, round, and unassuming until they ripen. Then, with the gentlest tap, they release a smoky cloud of spores into the air. I can never resist giving them a squeeze. It feels like setting off a tiny firework made of earth and breath. Children especially love them, but even as an adult I find them irresistible. It is as if the forest has given us permission to play.
Closely related are the earth stars, which I often come across in December. They are extraordinary. At first they look like little brown balls, blending into the leaves. Then the outer skin splits open, peeling back into pointed arms that lift the inner spore case from the soil. The whole thing unfolds into the shape of a star. The first time I saw one I thought it must have been a toy or an ornament dropped by a guest, because it looked too perfect to be natural.
There is something otherworldly about them. They look like they have fallen from the sky and landed gently on the forest floor, waiting to be discovered. Some species can even open and close depending on the weather, like a star breathing with the rain.
Both puffballs and earth stars remind me that fungi are full of surprises. They do not just grow and vanish. They change, they open, they release, and they transform. They are nature’s quiet fireworks and fallen stars, scattered at our feet.
Walking Meditation
These fungi have turned autumn and winter into something alive and exciting for me. What once felt like the quiet season now feels full of hidden activity. A simple walk in the rain with my welly boots has become its own kind of meditation. I slow down, I notice, and I let the ground show me what is quietly appearing as the flowers fade. Nature is a gallery if we only take the time to step inside. Each mushroom is like an exhibit, sometimes delicate, sometimes strange, sometimes dazzling. And the more I look, the more I realise that the landscape has been creating this display all along I just needed to learn how to see it.
