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18–20 Sept 2026
Interest in Lion’s mane has never been greater. Farmers, foragers, wellness brands and gourmet chefs have all embraced its cascading white spines and the apparent crab-like texture, exchanging anecdotes of its regenerative cognitive properties. Across the UK, small growers are increasingly looking beyond imported spawn and asking a well-intentioned question: shouldn’t we be growing native strains instead?
On the surface, it sounds like the responsible choice. After all, we’ve learnt, sometimes painfully, what happens when we introduce species without thinking through the irreversible consequences. Japanese knotweed, grey squirrels: all examples of ecological hindsight. So naturally, many growers now want to work with local genetics, hoping to reduce risk and reconnect cultivation with place. But with Lion’s mane, things are not that simple. The fungus in question, Hericium erinaceus, isn’t just another woodland mushroom. In the UK, it’s rare enough and wild-harvesting is such a significant threat for it to be legally protected. It appears only sporadically, mostly in old deciduous woodland, fruiting from veteran hardwood trees. Many fungi enthusiasts can go years without seeing a single specimen in the wild. Its scarcity has led conservationists to treat it as something fragile rather than abundant, a species that needs safeguarding, not harvesting. Because of this, wild Lion’s mane is protected under Schedule 8 of the Wildlife and Countryside Act. In practical terms, that means you cannot intentionally pick, remove, or disturb it in the wild. Not to eat. Not to propagate. Not even with the best intentions. The protection exists precisely because small pressures like foraging, collecting and habitat disturbance can compound quickly when populations are already thin, limiting the potential for spore dispersal, which means the native strains may disappear altogether.
Organisations such as Natural England, Plant Life and researchers at Royal Botanic Gardens, Kew support this approach: conservation first, curiosity second. The aim is simple. To let the remaining populations persist and reproduce without interference.And this is where the current wave of “native cultures” becomes complicated.
The problem with “native”: In theory, cultivating verified UK genotypes indoors could reduce reliance on imported strains and even support conservation work. In practice, there’s a major obstacle: we often don’t actually know what is native at the genetic level.Lion’s mane occurs across Europe, Asia and North America. Morphologically, they look identical. Without proper sequencing, a culture labelled “UK native” might simply be a Hybridisation or North American commercial strain with a good story attached. Proving the case requires rigorous sampling, reference collections, and a full genomic study, all of which costs a lot of money and takes a considerable amount of time.
What’s more, there does appear to have been an increase in sightings of lion's mane, which appears to coincide with increased cultivation. Yes, this is anecdotal, but the risk of cultivated strains hybridising or displacing genuinely native genotypes is so high that Natural England has identified understanding this issue as a key recovery action for the species.
So most claims of “native” are, at best, educated guesses if they’ve been collected without a license from the wild in the UK. But that uncertainty matters. Because the label “native” can create a false sense of safety. If a grower believes their strain is local, they may feel more comfortable composting spent substrate outdoors, dumping blocks on the woodpile, or even plugging trees to “reintroduce” it. Actions that feel harmless, even helpful, might actually introduce non-local genetics into fragile habitats with potentially serious consequences. Ironically, a strain marketed as 'native' could pose the same ecological risk as any imported one.
Good intentions, unintended consequences. None of this is driven by bad actors. Quite the opposite.Most growers we speak to genuinely care. They want shorter supply chains, less import dependency, closer relationships with their landscapes. The move toward “local” fungi mirrors the wider local-food and regenerative-agriculture movements. It comes from a good place. But ecology has a habit of humbling good intentions. The danger isn’t that people want to do the right thing. It’s that we might be acting faster than the science. There’s also a practical consequence: every new, unverified “native” strain adds more complexity. Researchers already planning to distribute genuine wild genetics may now have to untangle escaped cultivars from natural populations. Instead of reducing red tape, we risk creating more work, and more cost, for the very people trying to protect the species.
So what should we do? Right now, the safest assumption is simple: treat all cultivated Lion’s mane the same, whether it’s marketed as native or not. That means: Grow indoors or in contained environments. Dispose of spent substrate responsibly rather than in woodland. Do not go “plugging” trees or releasing cultures outside controlled settings. Be cautious of marketing claims that can’t be backed by genetic evidence. And most importantly, learn the law: wild specimens are not there to be collected. At the same time, there’s huge value in collaboration. Growers, mycologists, conservationists and researchers all want healthy fungal ecosystems. Working together, sharing data, supporting proper sequencing work, building verified culture libraries is far more productive than operating in parallel. Ultimately, this isn’t a fight between growers and conservationists. It’s a shared responsibility. We all love these organisms. We all want to see them thrive. But when a species is rare enough to be legally protected, caution has to come first. Until we can confidently prove what’s truly native, the most responsible approach is humility: assume we don’t know, minimise risk, and avoid actions that could have unintended ecological consequences. Because the last thing any of us wants is for a fungus we admire and are trying to celebrate to be harmed by our enthusiasm.
We’re all on the same side here. Team fungi.
Perhaps the most important thing we can do is keep asking the right questions. In a space that is evolving as quickly as fungi is in the UK, open, informed discussion is essential. The All Things Fungi Festival exists as a place where experts and the wider community come together to share knowledge, challenge assumptions, and explore emerging issues. Last year, the festival took the proactive step of banning yellow oyster mushrooms on site, raising concerns about their ecological implications before the issue gained wider attention. More recently, the RHS has followed with similar caution, reinforcing the importance of early discussion in this space. The aim is not to dictate outcomes, but to create space for the conversations that shape them.