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Craze for 'magic' caterpillar fungus damages land
By Zhou Yan and Wu Guangyu |
September 16, 2011, Friday
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A yellowish caterpillar fungus is about two inches long and weighs less than 1 gram, but a tiny stalk sells for about as much as half a gram of gold, even in the nearest town from the Qinghai-Tibet Plateau where it grows.
The worm grass, known in China as "winter-worm summer-grass," is not really a plant. It forms when a parasitic fungus hijacks and then feeds off the bodies of ghost moth larvae that have burrowed into the alpine soil 3,000 to 5,000 meters above sea level. It then pushes the remains of their bodies to the surface so the fungus can spread its spores.
The mummified moths are a traditional Tibetan cure-all that is believed to help fight cancer and the aging process and boost the immune system. As Tibetan medical ingredients are coveted in China and abroad, worm grass has become a lucrative commodity.
Zadoi County, seated at an average altitude of 4,300 meters in Yushu Prefecture of Qinghai Province, is known for its quality caterpillar fungus, nurtured by the ample sunshine and mild climate at the source of China's three major rivers.
Last year, Yushu's caterpillar fungi output totaled 18 tons, more than half of which was harvested in Zadoi. The county with 50,000 people has a per capita income of 4,000 yuan (US$616), at least twice the average income gained from farming and herding.
Until the 1980s, the fungus sold for about 20 yuan per kilogram, said Changsur, a village official in Zadoi. "In the 1990s, however, the prices soared to 6,000 yuan per kilo." The locals thought it was a joke until fungus dealers flooded into every obscure plateau village offering "sky-high prices," said Changsur.
Today, the fungus sells for 60,000 to 230,000 yuan per kilogram. Driven by the high profits, all residents in Zadoi, including children and elderly, join the rush for worm grass every year. Even schools are closed from May 20 to June 30, so that students and teachers can join in the harvesting.
Not so long ago outsiders were allowed to harvest Zadoi's fungus, said county official Tsetopgye. "From 10,000 to 20,000 outsiders poured in every year trying to get a share of the lucrative business. Many of them did not shovel the loose earth back in place after harvesting, badly damaging the vegetation."
Clashes sometimes erupted between locals and outsiders over the limited fungus resources, said Tsetopgye. In the worst clash, which happened in 2005, deaths and injuries were reported, he said.
Today, Zadoi's fungus is off-limits to non-locals. Within the county, villagers have to pay 300 to 600 yuan per person to get approval from the government for harvesting fungus beyond their own village.
"Last year, we made more than 20,000 yuan in 40 days," said Sichung, a Tibetan housewife in her newly built house in the heart of Zadoi. "That's enough to support our whole family of eight." Despite the fungus fortune, local officials are concerned about the future. "What if we run out of the fungus some day? What if the fungus is not popular anymore and its price slumps?" said Dawa Tsering, an official in Namse Village.
A researcher with Qinghai Academy of Social Sciences also blames fungus harvesters for ecological degradation that could one day lead to the Yellow River, China's second longest waterway, running dry dry at its source.
"Traditionally, we Tibetans never took excessively from nature. But due to the booming economy, some of us are blindly seeking profits," said Dawa Tsering.
The authors are Xinhua writers.
The worm grass, known in China as "winter-worm summer-grass," is not really a plant. It forms when a parasitic fungus hijacks and then feeds off the bodies of ghost moth larvae that have burrowed into the alpine soil 3,000 to 5,000 meters above sea level. It then pushes the remains of their bodies to the surface so the fungus can spread its spores.
The mummified moths are a traditional Tibetan cure-all that is believed to help fight cancer and the aging process and boost the immune system. As Tibetan medical ingredients are coveted in China and abroad, worm grass has become a lucrative commodity.
Zadoi County, seated at an average altitude of 4,300 meters in Yushu Prefecture of Qinghai Province, is known for its quality caterpillar fungus, nurtured by the ample sunshine and mild climate at the source of China's three major rivers.
Last year, Yushu's caterpillar fungi output totaled 18 tons, more than half of which was harvested in Zadoi. The county with 50,000 people has a per capita income of 4,000 yuan (US$616), at least twice the average income gained from farming and herding.
Until the 1980s, the fungus sold for about 20 yuan per kilogram, said Changsur, a village official in Zadoi. "In the 1990s, however, the prices soared to 6,000 yuan per kilo." The locals thought it was a joke until fungus dealers flooded into every obscure plateau village offering "sky-high prices," said Changsur.
Today, the fungus sells for 60,000 to 230,000 yuan per kilogram. Driven by the high profits, all residents in Zadoi, including children and elderly, join the rush for worm grass every year. Even schools are closed from May 20 to June 30, so that students and teachers can join in the harvesting.
Not so long ago outsiders were allowed to harvest Zadoi's fungus, said county official Tsetopgye. "From 10,000 to 20,000 outsiders poured in every year trying to get a share of the lucrative business. Many of them did not shovel the loose earth back in place after harvesting, badly damaging the vegetation."
Clashes sometimes erupted between locals and outsiders over the limited fungus resources, said Tsetopgye. In the worst clash, which happened in 2005, deaths and injuries were reported, he said.
Today, Zadoi's fungus is off-limits to non-locals. Within the county, villagers have to pay 300 to 600 yuan per person to get approval from the government for harvesting fungus beyond their own village.
"Last year, we made more than 20,000 yuan in 40 days," said Sichung, a Tibetan housewife in her newly built house in the heart of Zadoi. "That's enough to support our whole family of eight." Despite the fungus fortune, local officials are concerned about the future. "What if we run out of the fungus some day? What if the fungus is not popular anymore and its price slumps?" said Dawa Tsering, an official in Namse Village.
A researcher with Qinghai Academy of Social Sciences also blames fungus harvesters for ecological degradation that could one day lead to the Yellow River, China's second longest waterway, running dry dry at its source.
"Traditionally, we Tibetans never took excessively from nature. But due to the booming economy, some of us are blindly seeking profits," said Dawa Tsering.
The authors are Xinhua writers.
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