
I am in a forest 35 kilometres west of London, meeting someone who is trying to make young trees old. “Old trees form hugely important habitats,” says , a mycologist at Cardiff University, UK. “But in Europe in general, including in Britain, we don’t have all that many now.” She is one of a handful of scientists around the world trying to do something about it.
Boddy takes me over to look at a gnarly oak, which is roughly 300 years old. “You can see all these lower branches here that are starting to decay and rot,” she says. “That’s a sign that it is a veteran.”
If we could look inside the trunk, she says, we would see massive amounts of decay from fungi gradually eating the tree from within. This is called , and it is a perfectly natural process that happens to all trees in the end. It has only been studied in earnest for about a decade and its importance to forest ecosystems turns out to be immense.
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“The centre of the tree is no longer functional to the tree,” Boddy explains. “The outside-ish regions of the trunk conduct water from the roots up to the leaves. That’s the sapwood. But in the inner regions, the heartwood, there are no longer any living cells. Water is not conducted there. So fungi can start to develop in those central regions because the wood starts to dry out.”
“The fungi are just feeding on dead stuff, so it’s wrong to call them parasites,” says Boddy.
Indeed, the rotting core of a tree is immensely valuable as a habitat, not just for the fungi themselves – many of which are heart rot specialists – but also for myriad other species. In the UK, around 1800 invertebrate species depend on rotten wood, says Boddy. Across the world, heart rot supports immense numbers of species, including about 1000 birds and hundreds of other vertebrates, such as bats. The fungi are also important contributors to the recycling of nutrients upon which all ecosystems depend.
The problem is that the veterans are dying out and there aren’t enough middle-aged trees to replace them. Forestry practices over the past few centuries have taken out trees long before they reach the heart rot stage – which is around 300 years old for an oak and 120 for a beech – so there is a huge gap between the ancients and the next generation. Heart rot fungi and the species that depend on them are in danger.
For now, the UK is well-endowed with old trees due to royal hunting forests, such as the New Forest.
“I think we’ve probably got as many veteran trees in Britain as in the whole of the rest of Europe put together,” says Boddy. But they won’t last forever. “Eventually, they will just die of old age, and in lots of places humans are thinking ‘these are inconvenient, we want to build here – chop them down!’,” she says.
Boddy takes me to see an ancient oak on its last legs. The heart is visible through an immense hollow and has entirely rotted away. The tree is basically a cylinder of narrow sapwood full of dark brown, nutrient-dense mulch. When the tree eventually dies, the fungi will need to find a new home, of which there are too few.
The answer, possibly, is to “veteranise” young trees. “We try and make young trees older before their time,” says Boddy. Elsewhere in Europe, veteranisation usually means tearing off branches to let the fungi in, setting fire to the base of the trunk or damaging the bark with sledgehammers. “There is evidence that habitat is being created, but of course we don’t know whether it really mimics the heart rot habitat,” says Boddy.

So, here in the UK and also in North America, she and others have taken a more targeted approach, deliberately infecting young trees with heart rot fungi. This is done by chainsawing four cuts in an oblong shape near the base of the trunk, then pushing the saw in sideways to pop out a block of wood about the size of a brick.
The block is replaced with a similar-sized block that has been dried out and exposed to heart rot fungi in the lab. Once these have been established in the wood, the block can be put into the tree and tamped in with fungus-rich sawdust, inoculating its heartwood. The hope is that the fungi will then start the rotting process much earlier than would have occurred naturally.
Boddy takes me to a section of the forest where her experiment is ongoing. The landowner has designated it a perpetual forest, meaning it will never be felled. The beeches here are about 60 years old, far too young to have heart rot. But Boddy wants to be a rotter to them.
A few years ago, she and her team chose 60 beech trees and cut blocks out of them. They left some with a hole, while others had the wood block replaced untouched, and the rest were inoculated with one of four heart rot fungi. Uncut trees serve as controls. You can see the blocks inside the inoculated trees, though many are now being encroached by new bark growing around the scar.
There is some evidence that it is working. A technique called sonic tomography, which transmits sound waves through the trunk to map its density in three dimensions, can peer inside a tree without damaging it. Rotten heartwood is less dense than sapwood, so the heart rot regions show up on the tomograph. Boddy and her colleagues also take drill cores and DNA sequence them to discover which fungi are present. Both techniques have revealed some success.
But there is undisputable evidence that inoculation works. We head over to a tree that lost a huge branch in a storm this time last year. The falling bough hit a neighbouring beech and felled it. As luck would have it, the toppled tree had been inoculated with a heart rot fungus about four years previously. “Because it had come down, we were allowed to saw it up,” says Boddy.
The tree was probed with sound waves after it fell and showed hints of heart rot close to the inoculation site. But the chopped-up trunk told a different story: the heart rot had spread several metres up the trunk. “Certainly, the tree was changing,” says Boddy.
That bodes well for the future of heart rot fungi and the valuable habitats they create, but we won’t know for decades whether it really works.
“We’ll have to leave this for 20 or 30 years and find out what happens,” says Boddy. At that point, some of the really ancient trees will have died. We can only hope that, by then, there will also be a new generation of veteranised trees ready to fill their venerable roots.