By Catherine Watson
THE hipsters are back. They appear in early winter, like migratory birds from north of the Yarra. Too well dressed to be ours. They try to park out of sight, halfway down a back lane near the reserve, but you notice them at once because no one local parks there. That’s the second clue.
Then there’s the way they move through the bush, not scanning the tree tops for rufous whistlers but looking at their feet. I found one on his hands and knees way off the track. I asked him if he'd lost something.
“No,” he said, leaping to his feet.
“What are you looking for?” I asked.
“Mushrooms.”
“Tell me what they look like and I’ll tell you if I’ve seen any.”
THE hipsters are back. They appear in early winter, like migratory birds from north of the Yarra. Too well dressed to be ours. They try to park out of sight, halfway down a back lane near the reserve, but you notice them at once because no one local parks there. That’s the second clue.
Then there’s the way they move through the bush, not scanning the tree tops for rufous whistlers but looking at their feet. I found one on his hands and knees way off the track. I asked him if he'd lost something.
“No,” he said, leaping to his feet.
“What are you looking for?” I asked.
“Mushrooms.”
“Tell me what they look like and I’ll tell you if I’ve seen any.”
“They’re sort of … blue.”
Later, a friend set me straight. Magic mushrooms. Of course! The little brown fungi that pop up everywhere in autumn didn’t match my Google search but recently I saw a different mushroom. It was brown too, golden actually, but when I picked it the stem turned a bruised blue. My neighbour confirmed it: a psilocybin mushroom.
I offered it to him, but he laughed and said his magic mushroom days were over. These days he’d rather have a whisky.
In Wonthaggi in the 1970s and `80s, magic mushrooms were a rite of passage, a brief seasonal rebellion before you settled down, or maybe just until you were old enough to get into a pub. I consulted John, a local, who remembers that mushroom wave vividly. His first trip? Age 15.
“We’d heard there were magic mushrooms growing in South Dudley,” he recalls. “Me and a mate were sharing a paper round. After school we ate three or four each, not knowing what to expect. We picked up our papers, did the round, and met up at the end. "Wow, this is a bit different!”
Back then, there was no talk of therapeutic doses or clinical settings. It was reckless and raw – but often joyful. John and his mates didn’t know about Castaneda or shamanic traditions. The appeal was simpler: altered perceptions, the joy of being outside, the bonds of shared experience.
“It was very social,” John says. “Endless laughter. Your stomach would ache from laughing so much. One time, a dozen of us hitchhiked to Inverloch tripping. We walked through the footy ground and we all saw the field waving like the sea, and the players were tilting with the waves.”
Later, a friend set me straight. Magic mushrooms. Of course! The little brown fungi that pop up everywhere in autumn didn’t match my Google search but recently I saw a different mushroom. It was brown too, golden actually, but when I picked it the stem turned a bruised blue. My neighbour confirmed it: a psilocybin mushroom.
I offered it to him, but he laughed and said his magic mushroom days were over. These days he’d rather have a whisky.
In Wonthaggi in the 1970s and `80s, magic mushrooms were a rite of passage, a brief seasonal rebellion before you settled down, or maybe just until you were old enough to get into a pub. I consulted John, a local, who remembers that mushroom wave vividly. His first trip? Age 15.
“We’d heard there were magic mushrooms growing in South Dudley,” he recalls. “Me and a mate were sharing a paper round. After school we ate three or four each, not knowing what to expect. We picked up our papers, did the round, and met up at the end. "Wow, this is a bit different!”
Back then, there was no talk of therapeutic doses or clinical settings. It was reckless and raw – but often joyful. John and his mates didn’t know about Castaneda or shamanic traditions. The appeal was simpler: altered perceptions, the joy of being outside, the bonds of shared experience.
“It was very social,” John says. “Endless laughter. Your stomach would ache from laughing so much. One time, a dozen of us hitchhiked to Inverloch tripping. We walked through the footy ground and we all saw the field waving like the sea, and the players were tilting with the waves.”
Along with the laughter was the music. The Moody Blues in particular provide the perfect soundtrack for an afternoon trip.
There were, of course, dangers. No one understood dosage. The mushrooms tasted foul, often triggering nausea.
“It was a testimony to our persistence because your body is rightly rejecting them. You would be retching as you ate them. So you either put them in a cup of tea or you put them in a sandwich or you just persevered, keeping it minimal and just trying to get them down."
“I only did it three or four times a year because after that you would feel your kidneys starting to tell you that they were accumulating a bit too much poison.“
Some kids overdid it. “I knew one guy who was out there every day. He didn’t make it to 30,” John says. “But he had a lot of issues. It wasn’t just the mushrooms.”
There was also an unspoken code: the three golden rules of hallucinogens — right time, right place, right people. “You had to be with people you were comfortable with, and not in a setting that you felt threatened. Preferably in daylight, somewhere off the beaten track like Cutlers Beach or Kilcunda. You didn’t want to be disturbed for six or seven hours.
“What was crucial was that we all knew by 6pm we had to be home at the dinner table looking semi-human. So that kept you grounded. You always had in the back of your mind that this is not reality and it's something to ride through and we had to revert to another mode and turn up at the family table.“
By the time he reached his 20s, the need had faded. “I’d done that,” he says. “There was no burning need to do it again.”
Looking back, he’s grateful. “I never had a bad trip, so I speak with fondness. But I wouldn’t say to anyone, ‘Go and try it.’ You just don’t know — it affects everyone differently.”
In recent years, it’s a city crowd bringing back the magic mushroom culture — albeit with a very different outlook.
There were, of course, dangers. No one understood dosage. The mushrooms tasted foul, often triggering nausea.
“It was a testimony to our persistence because your body is rightly rejecting them. You would be retching as you ate them. So you either put them in a cup of tea or you put them in a sandwich or you just persevered, keeping it minimal and just trying to get them down."
“I only did it three or four times a year because after that you would feel your kidneys starting to tell you that they were accumulating a bit too much poison.“
Some kids overdid it. “I knew one guy who was out there every day. He didn’t make it to 30,” John says. “But he had a lot of issues. It wasn’t just the mushrooms.”
There was also an unspoken code: the three golden rules of hallucinogens — right time, right place, right people. “You had to be with people you were comfortable with, and not in a setting that you felt threatened. Preferably in daylight, somewhere off the beaten track like Cutlers Beach or Kilcunda. You didn’t want to be disturbed for six or seven hours.
“What was crucial was that we all knew by 6pm we had to be home at the dinner table looking semi-human. So that kept you grounded. You always had in the back of your mind that this is not reality and it's something to ride through and we had to revert to another mode and turn up at the family table.“
By the time he reached his 20s, the need had faded. “I’d done that,” he says. “There was no burning need to do it again.”
Looking back, he’s grateful. “I never had a bad trip, so I speak with fondness. But I wouldn’t say to anyone, ‘Go and try it.’ You just don’t know — it affects everyone differently.”
In recent years, it’s a city crowd bringing back the magic mushroom culture — albeit with a very different outlook.
Microdosing - consuming a dose too small to cause a hallucination but enough to take the edge off anxiety - is an everyday habit for a growing number of the middle class and middle aged.
Wild fungi have had a bad rap recently but there’s something very interesting about these particular mushrooms. Psilocybin, the active ingredient, has been used for centuries in South American cultures for healing and spiritual insight. And now science is catching up. In clinical trials, psilocybin is showing remarkable promise for treating depression, PTSD, and anxiety, particularly in patients who haven’t responded to conventional therapy.
In 2023, Australia became the first country in the world to allow authorised psychiatrists to prescribe psilocybin for treatment-resistant depression. But outside of that tightly controlled medical setting, possession remains illegal and penalties steep, up to two years imprisonment or a $5500 fine for a minor quantity and up to 25 years for possessing larger quantities deemed trafficable.
That hasn’t stopped the black market from thriving. Today, psilocybin mushrooms sit at a strange crossroads — sacred medicine, scientific breakthrough, modern day Valium, potential money maker and criminal offence.
It's not surprising that country bush reserves like ours draw a new generation of seekers, armed with apps and Google images, who scramble through the bracken in search of transcendence, therapy or maybe just a good laugh.
Wild fungi have had a bad rap recently but there’s something very interesting about these particular mushrooms. Psilocybin, the active ingredient, has been used for centuries in South American cultures for healing and spiritual insight. And now science is catching up. In clinical trials, psilocybin is showing remarkable promise for treating depression, PTSD, and anxiety, particularly in patients who haven’t responded to conventional therapy.
In 2023, Australia became the first country in the world to allow authorised psychiatrists to prescribe psilocybin for treatment-resistant depression. But outside of that tightly controlled medical setting, possession remains illegal and penalties steep, up to two years imprisonment or a $5500 fine for a minor quantity and up to 25 years for possessing larger quantities deemed trafficable.
That hasn’t stopped the black market from thriving. Today, psilocybin mushrooms sit at a strange crossroads — sacred medicine, scientific breakthrough, modern day Valium, potential money maker and criminal offence.
It's not surprising that country bush reserves like ours draw a new generation of seekers, armed with apps and Google images, who scramble through the bracken in search of transcendence, therapy or maybe just a good laugh.