Actually, I was just kidding... I don't know shit about Gymnopilus spectabilis, but you believed me at first, right?

perhaps you should experiment in growing them if you are interested.. I would liken them in nature to grow much like lentinulus edodes (shitake) but I truly dont know what environment it likes. Find one in the wild, and take it's substrate home, study it and replicaate it, and transplant some of the colonized substrate into the simulated one...

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And here is a quotation from someone who tried it :"
12:32 PM. - While walking in the woods looking for Grifola frondosa, I come across a curious orange
mushroom growing from the base of a fallen tree. This particular specimen is a cespitose cluster of light
orange mushrooms. There are about seven or eight mushrooms in the cluster, with caps varying from an inch
to five inches in diameter. As I kneel to sever the stalks from their base, my faithful mastiff Cato slobbers
impatiently. At first blush the fungi appear to be either Jack-o-Lanterns or Honey mushrooms. I nevertheless
throw them into my collection sack for further examination.

2:05 PM - Back in my laboratory, I examine the orange mushrooms more closely. The cap is narrowly gilled
and the attached gills extend partly down the stipe. There are evanescent rings, and the stipes are shallowly
striate and thick. I take a spore print to determine whether they are indeed a somewhat dwarfish version of
Omphalotus illudens. To my surprise, the spore print comes out rusty orange. I can therefore immediately
eliminate both Armillaria mellea and Omphalotus illudens as potential candidates since they both have white
spore prints. Reference to my Audubon Society field guide leads me unerringly to the "Big Laughing Gym",
Gymnopilus spectabilis. All other potential candidates have been eliminated from consideration.

3:32 PM - I call for a spot of tea and stoke my trusty Meerschaum.

I determine to consult the various authorities on the edibility vel non of my little find. Most commentators
characterize this mushroom ominously as "toxic" or "poisonous". Somewhat more lightheartedly, Aurora
relates the apocryphal tale of the elderly woman who accidentally consumed G. spectabilis. She laughed
and cried uncontrollably. When the authorities came to carry her away to the hospital, she remarked, "If this is
the way you die from mushroom poisoning, I'm all for it!" I chuckle and puff on my pipe thoughtfully. Friends
have occasionally intimated that I am singularly lacking in humor.

5:30 PM - The sun has already set. On an ordinary Saturday night, I would put on a stack of Haydn LPs, pour
myself a sherry and tackle a particularly challenging chess problem. Tonight, though, I find myself looking
over at the G. spectabilis with an intense curiosity. Prudence indeed would dictate that I should shun a
fungus so little understood, but I find myself thinking that research on this mushroom clearly needs to be
done. Science must be served. If the mushroom be toxic, who better to suffer the ghastly effects than a
confirmed old bachelor like myself? No one would miss me, I muse, without bitterness. I give Cato an
affectionate stroke behind the ears. "Except you, old boy. Except you." Cato bites me.

6:10 PM - I am resolved. I will do this thing! Gymnopilus is known to be very bitter. I slice four carefully
measured ounces of the specimens into a sauce pan and add garlic and olive oil. I begin to saut? over a low
heat. "Low heat", I faithfully record in my notebook. This is, after all, science. After saut?ing for a few minutes,
I gingerly take a bite of one of the caps. Still bitter. I add a splash of Madeira to the pan. I do not record the
Madeira in my notebook. "Hardly seems pertinent to the experiment," I comment to Cato, who seems to
slobber in agreement.

6:25 PM - I spoon the substance onto a plate, place my napkin on my lap, and purse my lips. I hesitate for a
moment, then cut the largest mushroom into bite-size pieces. I remind myself that I am doing this for science,
take a quick bite, chew once and then swallow without tasting. I once made the mistake of going to a sushi
bar, and this same technique served me well. In a few minutes I am done. I pat my mouth with my napkin,
pour myself a claret, and retire to the study.

6:45 PM - Nothing out of the ordinary has occurred.

6:50 PM - Still nothing. Could I have misidentified the species?

7:03 PM - I am beginning to feel quite peculiar. My mind seems to have become unshackled. A pleasant - or
is it unpleasant? -sensation seems to be traveling up and down my spine. There is a sense of inebriation, yet
I have only had one glass of claret. I feel as though I am floating. I record my sensations in my notebook and
notice that my penmanship has deteriorated markedly since my last entry.

I am not normally a talkative man, but I find myself wanting to work the muscles of my lips and tongue. I call
my brother, whom I have not spoken to in years, and engage him in a long and cordial chat. He is wary at
first, but seems to respond to my uncharacteristic warmth. I bid him adieu and find myself inviting him and his
wife, whom I despise, to visit. The phone rings. It is a gentleman seeking donations for my alma mater. We
come to an immediate rapport based on the fact that he apparently once lived in the dormitory next to my old
dormitory. I realize that it has been some years since I have properly recognized that fine institution. I agree
to donate a thousand dollars to the scholarship fund. The gentleman rings off quickly before we have
exhausted the subject of old Bentley Hall. I find myself casting about for other people to call.

8:00 PM - I decide to experiment with television viewing. Tingling slightly, I turn on a rerun of the Dick van
Dyke Show. I had always enjoyed the program in my youth, but never before had I appreciated the sheer
genius of its comic enterprise. I find each gag side-splittingly funny; I am literally gasping for air and crying at
the virtuoso wit. Morey Amsterdam! How had I missed his perfect gift for timing? Mary Tyler Moore? A pure
artist! Thankfully, the show ends before my gut ruptures.

I begin to think of a joke I once heard George Gobel tell. A clerk is asking him how he spells his name. "Is
that Gobel with a "G"?" "That's right," says Gobel, "we used to spell it with an "F", but people kept calling us
Fobel."

For some reason I cannot get this old joke out of my head, and so hilarious does it seem every time I tell it to
myself that I cannot control the tears of laughter pouring down my cheeks. Cato is looking at me as though I
am quite mad.

10:15 PM - I take Cato out for a walk. It feels good to breathe the cool air and look at the moon. I have an
interesting insight into a relationship that I once had. I see clearly now that my old flame was intimidated by
my superior intelligence. That had caused her to dump me. At the time, it had appeared to be her secret
infatuation with the man who is now her husband. I decide to write a letter to her explaining exactly what
went wrong with our relationship. I feel certain that once the reality is pointed out to her, she will come
running back.

12:00 midnight - I have no appetite whatsoever. The mushroom seems to have removed any desire for food
or, for that matter, any other sensual pleasures. There have been no "psychedelic" symptoms. No colors
pulsating, no shapes changing, nothing like that. The effect is entirely cerebral. It might have been nice to do
this with another member of the mycological association, I think, since there is so much to think and talk
about. I find the roster of MAW phone numbers and begin calling people; most of them seem strangely
groggy, irritated, and uninterested in chatting. Could there be a bug going around?

3:00 AM - I cannot sleep. My mind is still racing madly. I believe I conceived of the basis for a new religion a
few minutes ago, but now I seem to have forgotten it.

4:00 AM - Sleep at last.

10:00 AM - I awake refreshed. I know what I must do. I must develop a decent recipe for Gymnopilus
spectabilis. "

I never tried to grow it myself but as I understood its rather easy.

trade_omlet

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scrambled? OMLET?

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Here is a foto of G. purpuratus

In the early 1980s, pig manure from Argentina mixed with wood chips were shipped to East Germany where it was used as mulch in gardens and the shrooms came with it.

I will post some cultivation pictures because my friend Jochen Gartz has successfully grown them both in vitro and out doors.

Here is one foto. This shroom does not grow in the USA. There are 14 species of Gymnopilus with psilocin and/or psilocybine in them.

Gymnopilus spctabilis also contains yangonin and noryangonine, to compounds common in Kava (Piper methysticum and related species).

There is no yangonine in ibogaine. the chemical you are refering to is Voacangine (See Ott, J. Pharmacotheon page 454)

mjshroomer

[This message has been edited by mjshroomer (edited June 19, 2000).]

mjshroomer

If they do not turn blue, wouldn't this be a good candidate for indoor growers, since they aren't readily identifiable (by laymen anyways) as entheogens?

Are they hard to grow?
What are the yields like?
What are the growing parameters?

Sorry, I had to clear up a few ambiguities.

[This message has been edited by Sclorch (edited June 19, 2000).]