Wild mushrooms reveal hideaways

LAST year, when I wrote that wild mushrooms in my part of Ireland seemed to be as rare as hen’s teeth, a German gentleman (and he turned out to be, indeed, a gentleman) wrote to tell me this was not the case at all. At least not in Kerry, and he could show me various wild fungi growing in profusion — but, on second thoughts, he wouldn’t.

He sent me pictures of himself and his partner surrounded by baskets of mushrooms, a cornucopia of fungi of every most delicious kind. And he relented on his decision not to show me some growing in situ. If I cared to drive to Kerry he would take me to a few selected spots, and we might like to come to his partner’s house afterwards for dinner before heading home.

We duly drove over the magnificent scenery of the Healy Pass, entirely obscured by the June monsoons, and met Horst and Rose at the other side. We proceeded to woods a few miles away where he led us to a patch of mossy ground under pines and rhododendron which was carpeted in chantrelles, their egg-yolk yellow colour vivid against the cushions of deep green.