Meetings with remarkable mushrooms Forays with fungi across hemispheres

An ecologist and nature photographer, Pouliot has travelled the globe in search of fungi and mycological experts and enthusiasts. Framed as a travelogue, with visits around her native Australia, as well as Washington State, New Zealand, Iceland, Switzerland, and the United Kingdom, this book recounts her experiences and what fungi are (a kingdom of life unto themselves), as well as their life cycles, role in ecosystems, and increasing popularity. As Pouliot wryly describes her companions and their forays into forests, the fungi that inhabit them emerge as her protagonists. She explains how they look, feel, smell, and even glow, and highlights their roles in decomposition, sustaining tree root systems, and recovering disturbed or destroyed ecosystems. Certain species come to the fore because of their visual exuberance, edibility or lethality to humans (especially to the indigenous of Australia), or cultural relevance. Attending also to the prominent women (including Beatrix Potter) who helped found mycology as a science and fungi's place in habitat conservation, Pouliot delivers a charming, informative presentation of a world beneath our feet.

In this captivating study, ecologist Pouliot (Wild Mushrooming) expounds on mushrooms she's encountered during her fieldwork. She recounts happening upon ghost fungus, which glows in the dark, near Rossiter Bay, Australia; finding lobster mushrooms, the name for host mushrooms engulfed in the tissue of the parasitic fungus Hypomyces lactifluorum, in Oregon; and observing a puffball mushroom that played host to slugs and flies near the Doubs river in Switzerland. Historical background fascinates, as when Pouliot explains that ergot, which can grow on grains and causes spasms and hallucinations if consumed, may have been responsible for the symptoms of alleged witchcraft victims during Europe's witch-hunting craze between 1580 and 1630. Pouliot calls for conservationists to do more to protect fungi, noting that controlled burns intended to prevent wildfires by destroying "combustible organic matter" prioritize the survival of large trees while eliminating smaller plants that provide "essential food and habitat" to mushrooms. Pouliot's tales from the field highlight the surprising abilities of fungi (Hypomyces lactifluorum takes over the reproductive anatomy of its hosts "to manufacture its own spores"), and her insights into how aesthetics intersect with conservation efforts stimulate, as when she notes that the fly agaric's reputation as the "pretty red fairy mushroom" has made it popular in New Zealand, despite it being an invasive pest threatening the survival of indigenous species. The result is an enjoyable tour of the fungal kingdom. (Sept.)

It was raining in Whitby. That was hardly unusual, and I should have been pleased. Everyone knows rain brings mushrooms. Westerly winds swept over the North York Moors, delivering showers in squalls and spurts along England's Yorkshire coast. I was there for an international congress on fungal conservation and the dampness boded well for fruitful field trips. But I was trying to hitch a ride to the congress dinner and was already late, and the rain ran cold down the back of my neck.  A vehicle appeared, slowed almost to a standstill then sped off, spraying me with water. The road returned to darkness. Gulls mewed in the distance as another vehicle approached, blinding me with its headlights, but it slowed and stopped. I ran toward it. It was only when the tailgate flipped down and the back window flipped up that I saw it was a hearse.  "Well get in then!" barked a voice in a North Yorkshire accent. I probably should have hesitated, but I didn't. I leapt in and cracked my knee on something hard. It was a coffin. A coffin in a hearse shouldn't seem odd. But the three goths sitting bolt upright inside it drinking champagne did. They eyed me suspiciously as one passed me a glass. He filled it to the brim and champagne overflowed down my sleeve. "So where'd you be goin' this fine evenin'?" he asked. My knee throbbed and I could feel my hair stuck to the sides of my face as I shook out my sleeve. "To a congress dinner on the quay," I replied, then added, "a congress on fungi!" He squinted and pursed his blackened lips. No one spoke. The windscreen wipers flapped louder.  You'd have thought that with our common interest in the subterrain, I'd landed with kin, but the other two goths glanced sideways, and one raised an eyebrow. It seemed the fungus congress and the Whitby Goth Weekend had been programmed simultaneously and we each thought the other the more strange. But after a prolonged silence, the questions about fungi came thick and fast until the driver cranked up the stereo and The Sisters of Mercy saved me from further interrogation.  As we turned onto the quay, I caught sight of the ruined Whitby Abbey perched high on the headland overlooking the North Sea. Pedestrians dashed across the wet road. "Here! Stop here, please!" I yelled to the driver and he pulled into the curb. I handed back my glass and wished the goths well. They nodded in unison as I climbed out of the hearse. Back in the rain, I paused for a moment to gather myself, then headed toward the lights of the restaurant, certain that my foray into fungal realms would be every bit as thrilling as the ride.  The International Society for Fungal Conservation Congress drew a motley band of conservationists, fungus enthusiasts, and mycologists--scientists who study fungi-- from the forest and the laboratory to David Minter's hometown of Whitby. David is a mycologist and the mastermind of the society. A natural-born showman, he's good at holding court, convincing anyone who might not yet be convinced that fungi should be at the heart of biodiversity conservation, not the periphery.  David has been fighting for fungi and their recognition for a long time. Fungi seldom feature in conservation because they seldom feature in our ideas about what that thing out the window--nature, biodiversity, the environment, whatever you want to call it--actually is. But by only considering above- ground ecologies of plants and animals, what if we were failing to protect the diversity of fungi below ground? What if this oversight meant a slow, unseen unraveling of the very foundation that enables all aboveground life to flourish? Even the scientists who study organisms other than fungi and the conservationists who rally for them are usually largely unaware of the need to conserve fungi. However, given most of those organisms are intertwined with fungi in some way, including fungi in conservation makes good sense.  Excerpted from Meetings with Remarkable Mushrooms: Forays with Fungi Across Hemispheres by Alison Pouliot All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.