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He points to a stocky mushroom poking out of the forest floor. Only four inches high, its bulbous cap looks almost silky, with a fawny brown colour, except near the edges where its skin splits slightly to reveal white flesh underneath. In Sweden, a right called Allemansrätten, permitting the freedom to roam, allows people to forage almost anywhere, encouraging the ancient practice to proliferate widely in modern times.

Gejke whips out his knife and cuts down his find, letting it fall into his hand. He’s holding more than $100. This is a matsutake mushroom, revered in Japan, where they are as expensive as black truffles, commanding over $1,400 per kilo.

But we aren’t in the Land of the Rising Sun. We are foraging outside the small hamlet of Norrian, in the northern reaches of Swedish Lapland, the country’s Arctic.

Gejke is also my hotelier, and owner of , which includes a glamorous bush lodge sitting on the shores of a nearby lake, as well as a floating safari camp on the water. Today’s experience is one of his many offerings for guests, which include invigorating sauna sessions, canoeing, dogsledding, ice fishing and snowmobiling.

Helping him guide today is Petri Storlöpare, who studied fungi at Umeä University, on the country’s eastern coast. He is what the Swedes call a svampkonsulent, a mushroom consultant.

Think of him as the Sherlock of shrooms. If you want to solve a mushroom mystery — where to find them or what you’ve found — he’s your man. He reckons there are a hundred edible mushrooms to be found in the surrounding parts of Swedish Lapland.

“This is peak mushroom season now,” adds Gejke. “It’s been a good year, and it might get better, but last year was exceptional. Of course, in some years, these forests can be just totally empty.”

Before adding his matsutake to his fairytale-worthy woven handbasket, Gejke cuts the mushroom from the cap through the stem, creating T-shaped halves. He turns them over in his hands, looking for damage. The interior flesh should be pure white, without any parts that are browned, spongy, or pockmarked with insect nibbling.

He nods, pleased. This one is good to eat. He has plans for it and any others we find: a rich broth, an omelet, a tartine. He’s not sure yet. With their slightly spicy flavour, featuring an undercurrent of pine, you don’t want to do anything too fussy.

Some well-known Swedish chefs do work with the prized fungi, including Niklas Ekstedt of the Michelin-starred in Stockholm, who revels in cooking with wild ingredients over a crackling hearth. But most matsutake mushrooms commercially foraged in the country end up in Japan since that’s where they command top dollar.

If we were in the matsutake business, we would be making a killing. A few minutes later, we locate a large clutch of them, and I harvest my first. I’m in awe of my $100 mushroom, twirling it in my hand like a tiny parasol.

“Did you smell it?” Gejke inquires.

I inhale deeply. The aroma is electrifying, with a cinnamon-like edge that pleasantly prickles my nose. It’s a scent so singular, I’ll never forget it.

By the end of our two-hour trek through the wilds, my hands are perfumed with matsutakes, and all our baskets are brimming. If there were a Japanese buyer on hand, we could make enough money to cover my travel from the U.S. to Sweden several times over.

I wouldn’t sell mine, though. I’m too eager to feast on our finds, a rich reward for the day’s work.

Nevin Martell travelled as a guest of Visit Sweden and Aurora Safari Camp, which did not review or approve this article.