More Fungi from Mount Macedon for Sunday Best

 

The weather has turned cold now. Joel and I have quietly traded our weekly excursions for dinners instead — less wandering, more warm plates and familiar conversations. Perhaps that is what growing older really is: not surrendering adventure, but shrinking it into smaller, gentler rituals that fit inside winter evenings.

What grates on me lately is the endless sight of mobile speed cameras hidden inside parked cars across country Victoria, while the roads themselves decay into patched scars and widening potholes. Entire stretches of country freeway feel abandoned to neglect, dangerous and crumbling year after year. There is something profoundly dispiriting about watching public money funnelled into surveillance while the very roads people depend upon are left to rot beneath their tyres. Each drive becomes a quiet reminder that priorities have drifted far from the lives they were meant to serve.

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Sigma 105mm f2.8 macro 

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Pixie Parasol in Mount Macedon for Treasure Tuesday

 

Our recent trip to Mount Macedon yielded not merely a pixie parasol, but its infant incarnation — a miniature apparition scarcely larger than a tiny bougie flame emerging from the damp decay of fallen wood. It had not yet grown into the delicate elegance the species is known for. Instead, it stood there in embryonic form, pale and impossibly small, as though the forest itself had only just whispered it into existence overnight.

Photographing it became an ordeal of patience and precision. The dead log lay low against the forest floor, forcing an awkward tripod setup among leaf litter, mud, and tangled roots. Every adjustment of focus demanded millimetres. At such magnification, even breathing felt intrusive. The pixie parasol was so minuscule that the slightest tremor turned it into a blur.

Meanwhile, a small flock of Instagram hunters had noticed our discovery and quietly trailed behind us through the woods. They hovered impatiently nearby, phones already in hand, eager for their turn before we had even finished composing the shot. One could sense their growing restlessness as they waited for us to move aside.

Yet the irony was unavoidable. What stood before us was not the sort of fungus an iPhone could casually capture. To the naked eye it was barely distinguishable from a pale fleck on rotting timber. Without macro glass, careful focus stacking, and the discipline to kneel in the mud for half an hour, the tiny parasol would simply dissolve into visual noise — another unnoticed speck in the cathedral floor of the forest.

And perhaps that was the quiet beauty of it. Some things in nature refuse immediacy. They reveal themselves only to those willing to slow down enough to truly see them.

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Sigma 105mm f2.8 Macro

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Pixie Parasol in Mount Macedon for Sunday Best

 

Each year, the pilgrimage to Mount Macedon with Joel becomes less about the destination and more about the quiet ritual of wandering together beneath the dripping forest canopy. The mountain always seems to greet us differently — sometimes with silver fog rolling between the trunks, sometimes with cold shafts of winter light filtering through the gums — yet the decaying logs scattered across the forest floor remain faithful keepers of small miracles.

This time, hidden upon a crumbling piece of dead wood, we found the pixie parasol again in its earliest and most delicate form. It had barely emerged from the softened timber, no taller than a breath, its tiny cap still pressed close to the wood as though reluctant to enter the world. There was not even the slender stalk yet, only the faint suggestion of one beginning to gather itself beneath the miniature umbrella.

Pixie parasols favour the old bones of the forest — damp, rotting branches and fallen hardwood logs slowly surrendering back into soil. They thrive where rainwater lingers and fungi quietly dismantle the fibres of dead timber into dark sponge-like decay. In these forgotten pieces of wood, softened by moss and weather, entire hidden kingdoms awaken overnight.

To kneel beside something so impossibly small with Joel, both of us searching carefully among bark, leaves, and fungus, felt strangely timeless. The mountain teaches patience that way. Its grand forests are beautiful, but often it is these minute lives, budding silently from dead wood, that remain most unforgettable.

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Sigma 105mm f2.8 Macro 

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Lake Sanitarium Macedon for Water H2O Thursday

 

A week ago, during our visit to the old Lake Sanatorium in Mount Macedon, the mountain seemed swallowed whole by fog. The air was cold and wet against the skin, carrying that earthy scent of damp bark, fallen leaves, and hidden fungi that always follows the forest after rain. Joel and I wandered quietly through the grounds, foraging for mushrooms among the moss and decaying timber, our footsteps softened by the thick carpet of pine needles beneath us.

The lake itself emerged only in fragments through the mist, as though reluctant to reveal its full shape. Built originally as part of the old tuberculosis sanatorium grounds, the small artificial lake sits tucked within towering conifers and mountain ash, its stillness lending the entire place an unsettling beauty. In fog, it becomes something almost cinematic — a scene from an old horror film where silence feels too complete and every shadow appears to be watching. The outlines of the trees dissolved into pale grey vapour, their reflections stretching across the dark water like ink bleeding into glass.

I could not resist stopping for a photograph. Ironically, I had only the macro lens mounted at the time, hardly the ideal choice for landscapes, yet perhaps it suited the mood better than anything else could have. The narrow field of view compressed the scene into layers of ghostly trunks and mirrored reflections, drawing attention to the delicate textures of mist upon water rather than the lake itself. Through the lens, the reflections appeared almost painterly — skeletal trees suspended upside down in a silver void, broken only by the faintest ripple across the surface.

For a moment the entire mountain felt suspended outside time: no wind, no birdsong, only fog drifting slowly between the trees while the lake held their reflections in perfect silence.

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Sigma 105mm f2.8 Macro

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Fungus in Mount Macedon for Sunday Best

 

Another weekend has been marred by inclement weather. Joel and I sought our customary refuge at the Japanese bar, where the comfort of warm sake provided some consolation. Indeed, I intend to replenish my supply of sake regardless.

What follows is one from my collection of macro studies of fungi, taken upon the slopes of Mount Macedon. The mountain, with its cool and shaded gullies, provides an ideal environment for such delicate growths, whose minute forms reveal unexpected intricacies when examined closely.

For those who journey from the eastern fringes of Melbourne, the approach to Mount Macedon is a gentle transition from suburban streets into pastoral scenery. One may take the Eastern Freeway, continuing westward until it joins the CityLink or Tullamarine Freeway. From there, the Calder Freeway leads north-west through undulating countryside, with fields and woodlands unfolding in succession. After approximately an hour’s drive, the great massif of Mount Macedon rises ahead, its slopes cloaked in towering eucalypts and, in the cooler months, veiled in mist. The road winds upwards from Macedon township, affording ever-widening views of the surrounding plains until one arrives at the forested heights where nature’s more secret marvels—such as the fungi I photographed—lie hidden beneath the canopy.

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Sigma 105mm f2.8 Macro

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Fungus wonder in Lake Sanitarium for Sunday Best

 

After a fortnight of steady work free from on-call duties, I find that my sleep pattern is at last restored. I have also resumed the habit of reading the news and attending to various hobbies. Advancing age has made me realise that I can no longer endure the unrelenting burden of round-the-clock shifts.

This particular mushroom is frequently found at Lake Sanitarium, Mount Macedon. The gentle rear green bokeh it affords is a quality I hold in highest esteem—though, amusingly, it is the very aspect that Joel most dislikes.

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Sigma 105mm f2.8 Macro

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Mycena species found in Lake Sanitarium for Treasure Tuesday

 

A dense cluster of small, conical mushrooms was observed growing from moss-covered, decaying wood at Lake Sanitarium, Mount Macedon, Victoria, in a shaded, damp montane forest. The caps measured approximately 5–20 mm across, deep wine-brown in colour, finely striate, and hygrophanous. Stipes were slender, fibrous, and darker toward the base. The species is likely a wood-inhabiting Mycena, though precise identification would require spore print analysis and microscopic examination. It is saprotrophic and plays a role in wood decomposition. Consumption is not recommended.

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Sigma 105mm f2.8 macro

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Ink Caps at Mount Macedon for Sunday Best

 

This photograph was taken during one of my regular excursions to Mount Macedon, a place I frequent for contemplative walks through its verdant woodlands. These foraging wanderings are a source of quiet delight, offering both the invigorating freshness of the forest air and the opportunity to encounter nature’s hidden curiosities—among them, the delicate and often overlooked ink cap mushrooms.

The specimens depicted appear to belong to the Coprinopsis or Coprinellus genus, commonly known as ink caps. These fungi are distinguished by their slender stems and conical to bell-shaped caps, often bearing a dusky sheen when moist. They thrive on decaying wood and forest detritus, emerging in clusters after rain or during periods of high humidity. One of their most striking characteristics is their tendency to deliquesce: as the mushroom matures, the cap begins to liquefy, transforming into a dark, inky fluid—hence their common name.

Among the various species, Coprinopsis atramentaria, also known as the Common Ink Cap or Tippler’s Bane, is notable for its chemical interaction with alcohol; when consumed in conjunction with alcohol, it can cause adverse reactions due to the presence of coprine. Others, such as Coprinellus disseminatus, form large, fairy-tale-like colonies across mossy logs and stumps, yet do not deliquesce.

Though some ink caps are considered edible when young and properly identified, their ephemeral nature and potential for toxicity demand caution. For the mindful forager, however, they remain a fascinating subject of study—ephemeral, mysterious, and exquisitely transient.

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Sigma 105mm f2.8 Macro

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Mushroom at Lake Sanitarium in Mount Macedon for Sunday Best

 

Returning to the same spot each year yields the familiar sight of mushrooms—unchanged in form, yet ever transformed by the shifting light and atmosphere. It is a quiet pleasure to observe and capture their delicate textures through the lens of a macro camera, where each detail is magnified and newly appreciated. At Mount Macedon, where the air is almost perpetually damp and the mists linger among the trees, the forest floor remains a fertile haven for fungi. The endemic weather—cool, wet, and cloaked in a veil of fog—imbues the landscape with a subdued beauty, making each photographic outing a contemplative and rewarding pursuit.

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Sigma 105mm f2.8 Macro

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Of late, I have been viewing the series Naked and Afraid: Last One Standing, which piqued my curiosity regarding the distinction between the nyala and the impala, both of which are frequently mentioned or encountered in such wilderness settings. Compelled by this interest, I sought further understanding through study and inquiry.

The impala is a slender, graceful antelope renowned for its agility and speed, commonly found across the savannas and light woodlands of eastern and southern Africa. It bears a reddish-brown coat, with males distinguished by their lyre-shaped, ridged horns. Social in nature, impalas are often seen in large herds and rely on their swiftness to evade predators.

In contrast, the nyala is a more reclusive and strikingly patterned antelope, typically inhabiting dense bushlands and thickets, particularly in southern Africa. Males are darker in colour—deep brown to slate grey—with prominent vertical white stripes, spiral horns, and a shaggy appearance marked by a mane and white facial markings. Females and juveniles, by contrast, are lighter in hue and more modestly adorned.

Thus, while both species are antelopes of the African wild, they differ notably in habitat, temperament, and physical characteristics—the impala embodying fleet elegance in open terrain, and the nyala exuding quiet dignity in the shelter of the bush.

Mushroom in Lake Sanitarium Lake Mount Macedon for Sunday Best

 

A rather common species of woodland mushroom thrives amidst the shaded undergrowth of Lake Sanitarium, a locale long favoured by naturalists and artists alike. This secluded lake, steeped in quiet history, once served as a convalescent retreat in the early 20th century, earning its evocative name from the health-seekers who once found solace in its restorative air and waters. Today, it plays host to an altogether different form of contemplation: an annual photographic expedition undertaken by Joel and myself, dedicated to the fine art of macro imagery.

Armed with the Sony A7R V and the Sigma 105mm f/2.8 macro lens, we seek out the minute marvels of the forest floor—fungi, insects, textures—all rendered with a distinct tonal quality that has long distinguished the Sigma from its rivals. Although Sony is poised to release a new G Master macro lens, whose technical excellence is already anticipated by the photographic community, we are inclined to retain the Sigma. Its singular character in colour rendition—so vivid, yet subtle—offers a palette that cannot be so easily replicated, a lens not merely of function but of personality.

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Crepidotus, Panellus and Mycena epipterygia for Sunday Best

 

During a recent exploration, Joel and I encountered several intriguing fungi, which we subsequently identified with the aid of an AI tool. Among them were species from the genera Crepidotus, Panellus, and Mycena, specifically the elegant Mycena epipterygia. We were both deeply captivated by their delicate forms and the quiet grace with which they adorned their natural woodland habitat.

The genus Crepidotus is known for its fan-shaped fruiting bodies that typically grow on decaying wood. These saprophytic fungi contribute to the vital process of decomposition in forest ecosystems, breaking down organic matter and returning nutrients to the soil. Their name, derived from the Greek krepis (sandal), refers to their characteristic shape.

Panellus, another genus observed, shares similar ecological roles. Often growing in overlapping clusters on wood, some species of Panellus display bioluminescence, a phenomenon that has long fascinated naturalists. These fungi, too, are saprotrophs, and their presence signals a healthy, functioning forest floor.

Finally, Mycena epipterygia, commonly known as the yellowleg bonnet, is a small but exquisite mushroom, notable for its translucent cap and slender, often yellowish stem. Belonging to a large genus renowned for its fragile beauty, Mycena species frequently inhabit mossy logs and damp leaf litter. Some possess faint luminescence, and many have played roles in studies of fungal chemistry and symbiosis.

Each of these fungi, though modest in size, stands as a testament to nature’s quiet complexity. Their ephemeral presence in the forest reminds us of the intricate interdependence that sustains woodland life and the elegance that resides in even the humblest forms.

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Sigma 105mm f2.8

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I had been away for but a week, visiting Sydney. Upon my return, Joel insisted we stop for a drink at a Japanese bar in Richmond. He met me at the airport, evidently eager to unburden himself of the unpleasant affairs at his workplace. Though I scarcely caught the full tenor of his complaints, I found contentment in a bowl of piquant tofu soup and a glass of chilled namasake

More from Lake Sanitarium Mount Macedon for Sunday Best

 

That is another charming pixie parasol from the verdant forests of Mount Macedon, Victoria, near the historic Lake Sanatorium. The image was produced through focus stacking, combining fifty exposures to achieve remarkable clarity and depth. I previously attempted to stack one hundred exposures; however, the resulting image was of inferior quality compared to that obtained with fifty shots.

The panorama displayed here depicts Joel and myself engaged in foraging amidst the dense and ancient woodlands of Mount Macedon. These forests, renowned for their towering mountain ash and cool temperate flora, surround the serene Lake Sanatorium—a place rich in both natural beauty and historical significance.

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Sigma 105mm f2.8 Macro

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Pixie Parasol in Lake Sanitarium Mount Macedon for Treasure Tuesday

 

Around this season each year, we venture into the woodlands of Mount Macedon, near Lake Sanitarium, in pursuit of the delicate and elusive wild mushrooms that flourish briefly in the damp and shaded understory. This annual tradition of mushroom hunting is both a ritual and a delight, a quiet communion with the rhythms of the forest. Yet, this year, our efforts have thus far borne no fruit. Twice we have searched the familiar grounds, only to find the earth ungenerous. The unseasonably warm weather has likely discouraged the fungi from their usual emergence, for they thrive best in cooler, moisture-laden air.

Nevertheless, in the spirit of perseverance and appreciation for nature’s finer details, Joel and I turned our attention to the craft of focus stacking—an intricate photographic technique suited for capturing these minute woodland organisms in their full dimensional glory. Each specimen demands patience and precision: we take between twenty and fifty images of a single frame, adjusting focus ever so slightly with each exposure. These are captured wide open, at the lens’s brightest aperture, allowing for maximum light and subtle depth. The process, though meticulous, borders on artistry. Thankfully, modern tools like Adobe Photoshop now make the post-processing more accessible, layering these images into a singular, sharply focused result.

I am truly enamored with the outcome. The images reveal the mushrooms as they are—young, tender sprouts, barely rising from the mossy floor. Their forms are delicate, almost otherworldly in their fragility.

Joel, ever the skilled forager, has an uncanny ability to find the pixie parasol—Mycena interrupta—a rare and enchanting species distinguished by its luminous blue hue and ephemeral presence. His knowledge borders on the encyclopedic, and he often jests, with an arched brow and a knowing smile, “What would you do without me?” Indeed, his companionship and expertise are as indispensable as the forest itself in our shared pursuit of these botanical treasures.

In these quiet moments beneath the towering eucalyptus and mountain ash, surrounded by the ancient breath of the earth, one is reminded that even in scarcity, the forest offers gifts to those who look closely.

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Sigma 105mm f2.8 Macro

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Some more Forest Mushrooms for Treasure Tuesday

 

Right thigh is feeling much better. I think it is muscle tear healing up. Now contemplating on swimming instead. Less toll on muscular injury. 

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Sigma 105mm f2.8 Macro

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Sheep in Qing Jing Farm Taiwan for Saturday Critter

 

They were spotted along the mountain trail I took a hike in the last trip. Quite relaxing to see them in the barren hills

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Sigma 105mm f2.8 Macro

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I found an old photo of Joel when we got together in university time

Mushroom in Mount Macedon for Treasure Tuesday

 

Most common ordinary fungi in woods

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Sigma 105mm f2.8 Macro

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Fungus Mount Macedon for Treasure Tuesday

 

This was taken at the beginning of the month which was rather late for mushroom hunting. 

Overnight was zero-degree celcius. No fun. The lack of sunlight and the cold feeling in isolation does make me a little melancholic. 

On YouTube, I saw this phenomenon called "Blue Dot Effect" published in psychiatric journal, which was rather interesting. Basically, we all choose to have our own problems when there is nothing really major. Food for thought. 

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Sigma 105mm f2.8 Macro

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White Whiskered Laughingthrush in Taiwan for Saturday Critter

 

I only learnt the name of this bird until a former mate in Perth Australia told me about it.

Extraordinarily plumaged songbird with white facial markings that lend it an almost comical whiskered appearance. Brown overall, with accents of yellow, buff, purple, plum, blue, and orange throughout the plumage. Inhabits montane forest edge with dense shrubbery or grassy cover, but often emerges out onto roadsides and paths to forage, often crossing the road close to vehicles. Moves in noisy flocks or in pairs, giving soft contact calls and harsh rattling and whistling calls when alarmed. Song, a melodic tinkling, is simple but pleasant.

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Sigma 105mm macro 

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Mount Macedon Fungi for Treasure Tuesday

 

A bit late to the mushroom hunt with Joel this year. Though we did not find parasol, these brown ones will do.

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Sigma 105mm f2.8 Macro

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Mungo National Park Desert for Treasure Tuesday

 

This area is now protected that no one is allowed to visit unless a permission is sought from the elder. of course, it means monetary tribute of some sort.

Mungo National Park is a protected national park that is located in south-western New South Wales, in eastern Australia. The 110,967-hectare national park is situated approximately 875 kilometres west of Sydney in the Balranald Shire.

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