Photographing the hidden world of slime mould

The forest floor, often overlooked in its quiet decay, holds secrets. For many, it’s a tapestry of fallen leaves, moss, and the gnarled roots of ancient trees. But for a select few, armed with specialized lenses and an almost monastic patience, it transforms into an alien landscape teeming with life barely visible to the naked eye. Imagine kneeling in the damp earth, the scent of petrichor heavy in the air, your gaze fixed not on the grand canopy above, but on a sliver of decaying wood, perhaps no bigger than your thumbnail. Here, if you look closely enough, you might find a pulsating jewel, a blob of living matter that defies easy categorization, yet sculpts itself into forms of breathtaking, almost architectural, beauty. This is the realm of the slime mould, and it is a world that macro photographer Barry Webb has spent years meticulously bringing into the light.

These remarkable organisms, scientifically known as myxomycetes, occupy a fascinating, often misunderstood, corner of the biological kingdom. They are not fungi, despite often being mistaken for them, nor are they plants or animals. Instead, they belong to the protists, a diverse group of eukaryotic microorganisms. Their life cycle is a marvel of transformation: beginning as microscopic, single-celled amoebae, they can aggregate into a larger, multi-nucleated mass called a plasmodium. This plasmodium, a vibrant, often sprawling network, navigates its environment, consuming bacteria and other microorganisms. When conditions become challenging, or when reproduction is triggered, this seemingly simple blob undergoes a spectacular metamorphosis, forming intricate, often brightly colored fruiting bodies. These structures, sometimes no larger than a pinhead, are what Webb so painstakingly captures, revealing their astonishing complexity and delicate artistry.

Webb’s dedication goes beyond mere documentation; it’s an act of revealing. His photographs are more than just pretty pictures; they are scientific windows into a micro-cosmos that typically remains unseen. To achieve such clarity and depth of field on subjects so tiny, often just a few millimeters tall, requires advanced techniques like focus stacking. This involves taking dozens, sometimes hundreds, of individual photographs at different focal points and then merging them digitally to create a single image where every minute detail, from the iridescent spores to the textured stalks, is razor-sharp. It’s a painstaking process, often taking hours for a single shot, but the results are nothing short of revelatory. Each image tells a story of adaptation, survival, and an unexpected aesthetic elegance within the often-overlooked world of decomposition.

The scientific community increasingly recognizes the value of such detailed photographic work. While taxonomists and mycologists have long studied myxomycetes under microscopes, Webb’s macro photography provides a unique perspective, capturing the organisms in their natural habitat with a fidelity that bridges the gap between laboratory specimen and living entity. His images aid in identification, highlight morphological variations, and perhaps most importantly, ignite curiosity. They illustrate the incredible diversity of form these organisms can take: from the spherical, pearl-like heads of Trichia decipiens, to the antler-like structures of Stemonitis fusca, or the vibrant, almost alien clusters of Comatricha nigra. Each species presents its own unique challenge and reward for the photographer, demanding an understanding not just of light and composition, but also of the life cycles and preferred habitats of these elusive subjects.

Slime moulds, despite their unassuming appearance, play a crucial role in forest ecosystems. As detritivores, they contribute significantly to the decomposition of organic matter, recycling nutrients back into the soil. Their consumption of bacteria helps regulate microbial populations, making them quiet, yet essential, engineers of the forest floor. Beyond their ecological function, their behavior has captivated researchers in fields as diverse as computer science and robotics. The plasmodium of species like Physarum polycephalum, for instance, has demonstrated an astonishing ability to find the shortest path through a maze, optimize network designs, and even exhibit a form of spatial memory. These “intelligent” behaviors, performed by an organism lacking a central nervous system, challenge our traditional definitions of cognition and offer insights into decentralized problem-solving.

Barry Webb’s journey into this hidden world began, as many such passions do, with a simple fascination. What started as an interest in fungi gradually narrowed to the even smaller, more ephemeral wonders of the slime moulds. His work has not only garnered prestigious awards, like those from the Wildlife Photographer of the Year competition, but has also inspired a new generation of citizen scientists and nature enthusiasts to look closer. He demonstrates that profound beauty and scientific marvel aren’t always found in grand landscapes or charismatic megafauna, but often exist right beneath our feet, waiting for a patient eye and a keen lens.

For the aspiring wanderer, the non-scientist eager to glimpse this miniature universe, the good news is that slime moulds are remarkably widespread. You don’t need to venture to remote wildernesses; they can be found in local parks, gardens, and woodlands almost anywhere in the world, provided there’s suitable habitat. The key is to seek out damp, shaded areas where organic matter is decomposing. Look on dead logs, fallen branches, leaf litter, and even decaying bark on living trees. After a period of rain, when moisture levels are high, is often the best time to spot their fruiting bodies. They can appear overnight and vanish just as quickly, so regular observation of a promising patch is often more fruitful than a single, exhaustive search.

While Barry Webb employs highly specialized equipment, an entry-level macro lens for a DSLR or mirrorless camera can begin to reveal their intricate forms. Even a simple magnifying glass or a clip-on macro lens for a smartphone can offer a first glimpse into this tiny world, transforming a mundane piece of wood into a landscape of alien architecture. Patience is paramount, as is a willingness to get down on your hands and knees, to truly immerse yourself in the micro-environment. Learning to identify the different species can add another layer of enjoyment, turning a simple walk into a treasure hunt for biological wonders. Resources like online forums, field guides, and even social media groups dedicated to myxomycetes can connect you with a community of enthusiasts and experts.

Ultimately, the work of photographers like Barry Webb serves as a powerful reminder that the natural world is infinitely richer and more complex than what meets the casual eye. It encourages us to slow down, to observe with greater intention, and to appreciate the intricate processes that underpin life on Earth. The hidden world of slime moulds, brought into sharp focus by the artistry of macro photography, stands as a vibrant example of the endless wonders awaiting discovery, even in the most unassuming corners of our planet. It reminds us that exploration isn’t always about venturing to distant lands, but sometimes, simply about looking a little closer, right where we are.