In 2006, the BBC’s Earth series, narrated by David Attenborough, made history by revealing how a parasitic fungus invades an animal’s body. The now-famous clip of a disoriented ant taken over by Ophiocordyceps sinensis (formerly Cordyceps sinensis) later inspired The Last of Us video game and TV series. In reality, this fungus is dangerous in other ways.
A fungus shrouded in myth. According to Bloomberg, people living in the extreme heights of the Himalayas have used Ophiocordyceps sinensis in traditional medicine for centuries. In Tibet, it’s known as yartsa gunbu, meaning “summer grass, winter worm,” or more simply, “caterpillar fungus.”
Its peculiar origin—a parasite growing inside ghost moth larvae—and its reputation as a potent aphrodisiac have made it one of the world’s most sought-after natural products. Prices can reach up to $136,000 per pound in Chinese markets.
Nicknamed “Himalayan Viagra,” the mushroom has fueled a multi-million dollar industry, with growing demand in China, South Korea, and Japan, where it symbolizes status and prestige.
A booming market full of fakes. In the West, cheap supplements marketed as Ophiocordyceps are widely available on sites like Amazon. However, most contain synthetic versions or similar species without the desired effects.
A Stanford University study estimates the global Ophiocordyceps sinensis industry at $11 billion annually, though much of it is based on imitations. German mycologist Daniel Winkler, who has studied the fungus in Tibet for two decades, says authentic products are rare and almost exclusively sold in Asia at high prices.
Nepal: a mushroom economy. In Kathmandu’s markets, nearly every shop sells the prized mushroom. Traders like K.C. Bastola offer different quality levels, with prices ranging from $10 per piece to $4,000 per pound—still far below the final price after passing through intermediaries.
Chinese buyers dominate the business. Easily identifiable by their luxury clothing, they purchase large quantities of caterpillar fungus to resell in China, where strict government regulations control its harvest and trade.
The fungus boom has brought economic prosperity to rural communities in Nepal and Tibet. According to Bloomberg, collectors like Tek Bahadur Budha can earn up to $15,000 a year—enough to support their families and send their children to school in the capital.
More fatal than climbing everest. Harvesting Ophiocordyceps sinensis is perilous. The search takes place on treacherous terrain at over 14,700 feet, where pickers spend days scouring the ground for tiny mushrooms, often on their knees in subzero temperatures.
Each spring, entire villages migrate to the mountains, even closing schools so children and teens can join the harvest. To put it in perspective, in recent years, more people have died gathering yartsa than climbing Mount Everest. Fatalities result from extreme cold, avalanches, flash floods, and violent clashes between collectors.
A deadly industry. The Dalai Lama has called the Ophiocordyceps sinensis trade a crisis for Buddhist culture. Its high value has led to violence, exploitation, and corruption in the region. Criminal gangs have murdered collectors and seized harvesting areas. Child labor is widespread, with minors foraging under extreme conditions.
The lack of regulation allows intermediaries to buy the fungus at rock-bottom prices, leaving collectors at a disadvantage in a market controlled by major traders.
Does it really work as an aphrodisiac? Despite its reputation, scientific studies offer little conclusive evidence that this mushroom directly enhances libido. An eight-week study found users felt more energetic but experienced no significant boost in sexual desire.
The placebo effect and cultural beliefs appear to play a major role in its consumption. According to anthropologist Tawni Tidwell, while the mushroom doesn’t affect her own libido, many men report stronger and longer-lasting erections, and women claim increased sensitivity.
Tibetan doctor Tashi Tsering, an Ophiocordyceps sinensis advocate, argues that its benefits stem from balancing the five cosmic elements—earth, fire, water, air, and space—rather than any direct biochemical reaction. However, its consumption carries risks. A Bloomberg journalist who drank yartsa tea reported severe gastrointestinal distress.
Ecological devastation. The caterpillar fungus market is also driving an environmental crisis. The International Union for Conservation of Nature has classified it as vulnerable to extinction. Overharvesting has exceeded the ecosystem’s natural regenerative capacity.
Each year, more than 130 tons of Ophiocordyceps sinensis are collected, leading to soil erosion, disrupted snow cycles, and ecological imbalances. Experts warn that wild populations could vanish within decades if current trends continue.
Regulation and illegal trade. Unlike Nepal, which has a relatively open harvest model, China tightly controls the collection and sales of this mushroom. As a result, many Chinese traders cross into Nepal illegally, purchasing large quantities and smuggling them home in suitcases or vehicles.
Rajendra Bajgain, a Nepalese parliament member, says the situation is out of control. Foreign buyers drive a black market rife with corruption and violence, while Nepal’s government fails to enforce effective regulations.
From medicine to luxury symbol. The Ophiocordyceps sinensis has transitioned from a traditional remedy to a high-status luxury item in China, South Korea, and Japan. It is a prized gift at prestigious events, with meticulously packaged versions marketed as “genuine Himalayan gold.”
Biodiversity specialist Yi Shaoliang says this fever is fueled more by cultural value than medical efficacy, likening the fungus to a form of modern witchcraft—where belief in its power sustains its demand.
While scientists continue studying its effects, Oxford University biotechnologists and pharmaceutical company NuCana Plc are investigating its potential in treating cancer and cardiovascular diseases. However, its future remains uncertain.
Unregulated harvesting threatens both the fragile Himalayan ecosystem and the social stability of the communities that rely on it. The key question: Will the Ophiocordyceps sinensis endure as a revolutionary medicine, or will it, like so many other coveted natural products, collapse under the weight of its own success?
Image | ICIMOD Kathmandu
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