Impressed Once More by Otari-Wiltons Bush
Driving up and around the winding roads of the Otari region, I can only see slips after slips since Hemi has pointed them out from the car window. The reason is simple and isn’t new: the high erosion is due to the combination of shallow greywacke, steep slopes and moderate rainfall. From my days of tree work, I recall cleaning fallen trees and shrubs very vividly from those hills, regardless of the weather.
Wilton Road following from Karori Road is notorious for slips of all kinds, often dislodging, sometimes decent size rocks and wet, almost soaked, light brown mud that can take anything down with it. Gravity is also one of the issues, yet unavoidable from any human solution capacity. Should I expect if native grasses, shrubs and trees were better preserved on the slopes, perhaps slips could’ve been eluded? Well, something to grasp deeply.
The native bush near this area still amazes the nostalgic me who one day was there, working and appreciating, that luckily never took for granted. A place where you rarely could find so many natives compared to the rest of the country where deforestation wrecked a large portion of the natural forest after the Treaty of Waitangi was signed in 1840, initiating a rapid expansion.
In that spot, Otari-Wilton’s Bush, I won my first prize as the New Young Arborist of the Year. Rewarding? Absolutely. Memorable? Indeed, especially in the presence of friends.
In 1999, Otari — Wilton’s Bush had about 80 hectares of mature and regenerating forest, with about 10 kilometres of tracks and two hectares of gardens. It has its microclimate, tending to be cooler and damper than Wellington. I often wonder how Ngati Tama and Te Ati Awa iwi collected and gathered their food.
Thanks to the Kaiwharawhara stream, the area was well-valued by these tribes in pre-European times, where forest tracks were linked to coastal areas, allowing them to gather forest plants seasonally and cultivate crops, such as kumara on north-facing slopes.
Walking towards the sizeable ancient Miro tree (Prumnopitys ferruginea), we can observe the forest below, looking from aloft on the high walking platform. Before tracking down the hill, a couple of kererus sat still in a kōwhai tree while a tūī sang gorgeously in the background, letting us spot a kākā sipping on rewarewa flowers a few metres away. Tūī is my favourite bird, capable of producing more than 50 sounds in a single tone. They were also eaten by local tribes, including other animals like kiwi and weka.
Part of this land was sold to settlers in 1840 when they first arrived. The region was part of a 500-acre block set aside for Māori in 1847 called Otari Native Reserve. Local Māori leased some of this block to settlers for farming; later on, it was included in the protected forests of Otari.
Looking from above, I can only see different tones of green that only nature is capable of crafting. The native New Zealand subtropical rainforest isn’t like any other: a mix of ferns, vines, trees and shrubs, showing its forest layers very clearly by the interested eye. Forest like this only proves how survival is a tool that living organisms have built to progress as species. And plants know very well how to do it. As we walk through the middle of a lively green tunnel, vines and plants of different shapes demonstrate visually and strategically how they survived over millions of years.
Their morphology signifies how they position their flowers, leaves and limbs to guarantee survival through propagation, sometimes with the help of winds and other animals. Places like this forest is a learning hub, and humans can only be part of it if silence keeps their mouth shut, letting ears and eyes lead the way.
And that was what we did. Scoping for signs of ground activity, I followed Hemi and Fabi through a dense cluster of kawakawa (Piper excelsum), clinging rātā (Metrosideros perforata), rangiora (Brachyglottis repanda) and small ferns, shuffling leaf litter and carefully looking for popping heads. Those popping heads were signs of fungi. The one that interests us the most is the endemic weraroa (Psilocybe weraroa), often found solitary to crowded on decaying wood buried in forest leaf litter.
It has also been found on the rotting branches of māhoe (Melicytus ramiflorus), rotted cabbage trees and associated with decaying tree-fern fronds. I wonder why Hemi knew where to find those amongst these species with refined precision. As a bluing member of the Psilocybe, it contains the psychoactive compounds psilocin and psilocybin, considered a special magic toadstool.
Due to its humidity and low temperatures, New Zealand accommodates a large variety of fungi. Even though the season for some species has ended, some fruiting bodies still want to spread their spores.
It didn’t take long to find one of the oddest: a snow fungus (Tremella fuciformis). Its jelly form and soft to the touch, it is often found on hardwood logs after heavy rains. By its graceful gelatinous lobes, it is nearly transparent and relatively large, bringing attention to mycologists about its intertwined life cycle with another fungus, most possibly an Ascomycete in the genus Hypoxylon.
Researchers still find it unclear whether snow fungus parasitises Hypoxylon or if there is a complex symbiosis. Its characteristic is more linked to parasitic on the mycelium of Hypoxylon archeri and closely related or potentially saprobic on the deadwood of hardwoods. That’s why we found it there, glued to this piece of wood chucked in the forest.
However, the most gratifying finding, which is information extracted from the herb museum in California, is that this fungus has medicinal properties. According to molecular studies, it contains compounds that stimulate the immune system to fight infections, demonstrating anti-tumour activity and lowering levels of low-density lipoprotein. It also seems to protect the liver and fight inflammation. What else do we need from the forest? Probably a handful of those jelly-healing buddies and some weraroa to keep chilled, I presume.
Not far away from them, I scoped for more and found this polypore, like animal ears sticking out of the wood. Initially, I thought they were True Turkey Tail (Trametes versicolor), a common species worldwide. But closed by, I realised it was the false one. The false is just the name, but Stereum ostrea mimics the authentic version. It has a colourful, somewhat fuzzy cap that displays zones of brown, red, orange, buff, and green colours (here are the green tones again).
Often known as saprobic on the dead wood of hardwoods, it grows densely gregariously, without fusing, in bark gaps, causing white rot in the heartwood (removal of lignin, leaving a soft white consistency to the wood). It also serves as a host to algae, sometimes parasitised by jelly fungi, and some often say associates with Phlebia incarnata.
Much more could have been explored during this 2-hour walk, but the time was running out. The weather couldn’t be any better for a few steps full of mud and a bit of inclined walk with the company of long-time friends. I wish time could stop, even though I did my best to enjoy that moment. I am sure many more walks like this will come, and I guarantee the landscape won’t be the same, and I mean in a good way.
Thank you for reading!
