The gift of the Bear

A day in May

The other night He has come. It had been already five or six afternoons that I was there waiting, lurking under a juniper in the anonymous valley at the border of the beech forest. I was feeling the fatigue from the many hours of waiting, but I didn’t get bored. The first evening a wolf, perhaps lost in its thoughts, had passed less than ten meters from my position; I had closely followed the exciting dalliances of cuckoos, and every afternoon I had fun searching with my binoculars for deer, wild boars, hares, and foxes in the surrounding meadows. That day, cool from the downpours of the previous days, was now drawing to a close and a sunset still different from the previous ones casted spots of lights on the mountain tops in the distance. After the sun had dropped behind the line of the hills and the nightjar began to sing, I realized that even that day He would not have come, and so I disassembled the camera equipment, stalled for hours on the tripod. Too bad: I really needed Him.

So, I stood up and loaded the backpack on my shoulders, turning back only to give a last glance at the valley. And then, as tradition dictates, I have seen Him. He was moving slowly through the old junipers, with the muzzle down and the fur golden and shiny, beautiful and perfect like all the good things of this world.

With sweaty hands and drumming heart, I crouched down again, slowly unloading the backpack and trying to quickly replace the equipment with all necessary precautions to minimize noise. In twenty seconds, the camera and telephoto lens were ready and I, on tiptoe, approached Him. My legs were shaking, but He was busy sniffing among rocks and shrubs and the wind was blowing towards me. Seventy meters ... fifty ... forty ... I so wanted to spend that evening with Him.

More out of habit than actual need, I hid under a blackthorn. I then placed the tripod, framed the picture and pressed the shutter button. He heard it and stopped immediately, turning His great head toward me: I was too close. The ears pointed in my direction, the nose up to sniff the wind (I could hear the sound of it) and the two little brown eyes that seemed rather perplexed in the advancing darkness. I remained still and holding my breath, waiting for His inevitable escape; furious with myself for my unseemly hybris and impatience. But, instead of running away, He sat down, continuing to look in my direction. And, for once, in His presence I felt something that I could define like an ancient and healthy fear. I felt so small and useless, while He was so big in the viewfinder of my camera! Dark brown, almost chocolate-colored on the flanks and abdomen, with cappuccino-colored spots on the head and back, which at times tinged with cream for a twist of the twilight.

And even in that moment of magic, all I could think of was to take another, stupid picture. He turned to the side, trying in any way not to look at me. Then, I understood and so lowered my gaze and the telephoto lens to the ground. Something like a light electric wave passed between us and immediately vanished.

Soon after, He got up and started to search for food, moving slowly, but with that special way at the same time naïve and determined that distinguishes Him. I followed at a distance, sparing the camera shots not to bother Him further and also because the light was almost gone. He ignored, perhaps accepted me. And so, once again, it was just me and Him in these humble Apennines: all for me, my dear old Marsican Brown bear!

Finally I was able to live again the true Italian miracle; perhaps, one of the best things that are left in this world. Full of gratitude and respect, in my heart I felt I had to solemnly bless those sacred moments and wondered why I was not allowed to live them every day.

The Bear, probably unaware of such clumsy mysticism, slowly climbed up the slope in front of me, elegantly reversing the gigantic stones He found on his path, and, when either my eyes or my camera could no longer make out His outline, I waved Him goodbye, heading rapidly in the opposite direction. My legs were flying over the rocks, as my head was elsewhere. I still had some way to go in the dark and reach my car.

A day in June

Once again happily lost among the benevolent limestone peaks of the Apennines, I was following an ancient path that climbed among centuries-old beech trees. Out of the woods, the clearing appeared to me in all its radiant beauty, the deep-green grass was dotted here and there with huge boulders overturned, all blinding white in the summer afternoon. In some places the grass had been trampled by a large animal; the stems browsed on top. Then, a big black turd, fresh and full of vegetable fragments, has opened a world of possibilities. Once again I felt I was on His steps in His territory and I knew I was privileged. I had two more hours before sunset.

I sat between two large rocks and waited: my shape confused with the shadows, my smell hopefully brought away by the wind. Small clouds flowed fast in the sky; in the woods, a collared pigeon could not stop cooing and distracted me from my thoughts. A male roe deer, all proud in his beautiful summer coat, came timidly out to my right and now was nervously grazing not far from me.

Every now and then he suddenly raised his nose from the grass, pointing his ears to the treeline at the end of the valley, as in alarm. Hopeful, I followed with anxiety and mild adrenaline rush those sudden movements and stared at the woods along with the deer. In my heart, I was looking forward to the appearance of that unmistakable shape and the strong and healthy emotion that always accompanied it.

Waiting, thoughts, weariness, hope. Meanwhile, the light faded and a sylark was singing the end of that day, so small in the azure sky, and higher than any eagle. I was grateful that very lark had escaped the hunters last fall. It was all so beautiful, but it was late and I had to go home.

I got up and, not without regret, I did flee the roe deer, which already was barking away. While loading the backpack, I followed with the gaze how the trail entered the woods, dark as the mouth of a large animal. A slight shiver went along my back. It was certainly not the first time I went through the beech woods alone at night!

I left the clearing and entered the trees. As these thickened, my eyes could barely make out the outlines and the shadows seemed more a projection of my mind than real things. I was forced to keep my eyes fixed on the stones of the path, still visible, but I was reluctant to turn on the flashlight, indulging in that black and white world, devoid of any references.

Steps, rustling, the wind in the leaves and the squeak of dormice: the beech forest came alive. At every noise my heart was sinking; every curve of the path was a barrier to overcome. The air was fresh and, above my head, the black shapes of twisted beech trees were silhouetted against the first stars of the night. Rehearsing next to an old tree stump, which I had seen on the way up and that a bear in search of insects had completely destroyed with its paws, I thought back to the overturned stones in the clearing and I felt the power of that presence and, again, that electric wave. It was not fear, but a very strong and primitive feeling, which perhaps I could describe as a mix of sharp attention, increased sensorial capacity, intense communication with the environment and a profound sense of humility.

I felt so small and the world around me didn’t see anymore so obvious. It was strange, but I liked it. Step by step, it was clear to me thar it was something important, rare and which came from afar. And so I indulged in it: it was the gift of the Bear. 

It was its mere presence, in fact, to establish the limits of those places: vast and timeless as the story they were telling. I wondered what would happen to the beech forest, to those mountains, if there would have been no longer bears. Who else would have allowed us, people of the third millennium, to experience those emotions like Pleistocene hunters? What else could have re-established the link between us and the wilderness?

One hundred, fifty, or just one, it does not matter: if there is still the Bear.

It would be nice, I said to myself, to share those feelings with others, even with those hungry "developers" of these mountains, or with whom can make major decisions but does not. It would be nice, yes, but I fear few would understand, because I know that the gift of the Bear is sadly outdated.

An hour and a half later I finally got to my car, woods and wilderness locked out of the vehicle. Later, in my bed, I thought back of the Bear. Maybe He was out that night, roaming under the stars as He always did, I thought, and so I slept peacefully, knowing that it was not a dream.

Text and pictures© Bruno D’Amicis – www.brunodamicis.com. All rights reserved worldwide.

Light in the darkness

"...I will call that "something" that happened ten years ago the "disappearance of fireflies"..." Pier Paolo Pasolini



More than 30 years ago, the Italian poet (and prophet) Pier Paolo Pasolini wrote about the disappearance of fireflies as a famous metaphor of the profound and rapid change underwent by Italy in its economic and social structure. This quick change from a peasant land into an industrial nation happened in the '50s and '60s and was called Italian economic miracle. The reality is that this phaenomenon involved mass exoduses of peasants from Southern Italy toward the industrial centres of the north, class differentiation, chaotic urbanization, air and water pollution and, above all, a sort of cultural genocide, which changed the face of this land and its people for ever.
Now, almost 50 years later, I feel as if we are facing a new "disappearance of fireflies" in this country, and, perhaps, in many others, as well. The same old threats maybe just with a new look. Everyday, as a photographer working on the territory, it hurts to witness among most of people a widespread illegality mixed with an absolute lack of interest toward environmental issues. This absence of any sort of "healthy" relationship between Us and Nature makes easier for speculators and exploiters to encroach up the last patches of wild land. The so called "clean" windfarms of today are like the chemical factories of yesterday. The golf courses, the sky grounds of the past.
Windfarms are, in fact, growing everywhere in the highlands of Italy, and especially on the precious ridges of the Apennines. The golf courses subsititute mountain meadows and old fields. Dump sites and quarries pollute the water and the soil for a long time. Behind their appearance of necessary development and quick economic reward, these are just new ways to sell out the land and destroy what most important has been left to Us: the chance to still live and enjoy the world of our past as our ancentors did.
I still want to drink water from a stream, walk on a mountain ridge with an eagle soaring above me, ride my bike across blooming fields, sit down and look at the fireflies sparkling as darkness comes. These are things I enjoyed since my childhood and cannot see disappear without doing anything. Each of Us must have a place of his own, his "homeland", and to protect it, I guess it is important to live it as much we can; get to know it; understand it and learn to love it. Come on, it's still summer outside!

No peace for Italian wildlife

"Fox in the snow, where do you go
To find something you can eat?
Cause the word out on the street is you are starving
Dont let yourself grow hungry now
Dont let yourself grow cold..."
(Belle & Sebastian)



The past weeks have seen me often out in the cold, well before dawn, to work on a few remarkable photographic opportunities. I wanted to write about eagles, vultures, rock partridges, foxes and all the nice animals that somehow shared their life with me. But there is a more urgent and unpleasant matter to report. A few days ago, an Italian senator, Mr. Franco Orsi belonging to the governing party PdL, came out with an ominous law proposal which plans to completely change the hunting rules and therefore affect the destiny of the wildlife in Italy.

Among the many wicked points of this law are the opening of hunting in the national parks and nature preserves and that of the hunting of "pests" such as wolves, bears, swans and many other rare and protected species. For more information (only in Italian, unfortunately), you can visit this webpage and sign the petition here. If you would like to get more information in English, please feel free to write me as I would be eager to spread the word about this horror.

Unfortunately this is not an isolated case. This is just one of the many horrible things I see happening everyday here in Italy (or elsewhere) against nature and against people. One of the many attempts to limit our freedom and the one of whom cannot speak. Today, I can still retreat in my hermitage of mountains and old beech forests, smelling the silence of the snow and waiting for a fox to appear in the morning. But for how long?

Photo of the month - January

"...a rimirar tra le rossastre nubi stormi d'uccelli neri, com'esuli pensieri, nel vespero migrar." (Giosuè Carducci)



As far as I can remember, I've always spent the winter holidays in my hometown Rome. Beside the warmth of my beloved family and friends, the great food and the often beautiful weather, there's also something else making the city very special in the cold season. Every evening, in fact, hundreds of thousands of starlings fly into the city from its sourroundings, to gather in some particular spots they use as common nocturnal roosts. The dynamic of flight and the behaviour of each single bird, multiplied by thousands time as they cluster into huge swarms, create a marvellous array of incredible patterns and abstract shapes in the sky. As masterly depicted by Manuel Presti in his famous pictures, the flocking behaviour of these birds shows all its evolutive efficacy as defensive measure against the attacks of the Peregrine falcon, common presence at the evening gatherings.
Well protected against the droppings "bombing" from the sky, once again I couldn't miss this annual spectacle with my camera. And, of all the images recently taken at the site, I've chosen this particular one, where the last sunrays are being reflected by the wings of some birds in the swarm. And, as soon as those moved away from the light, other birds were reached by it, therefore creating a beautiful impression of golden waves crossing the flock. What a special moment for me to begin a new year of nature and photography!

If you want to discover the most secret corners of Rome and enjoy the spectacular behaviour of the flocks of starlings, get in touch with the Author or stay tuned on this website: we are organizing a dedicated workshop for winter 2008 -a unique opportunity to explore this city and its wonders with your camera. More informations coming soon!

Of bears and men

"All good things are wild and free." (Henry David Thoreau)



This is my first post and I would have liked to begin my own blog adventure writing of something nice about me and my photography. I had in mind a report from the last September, which I've entirely spent in the beautiful mountains of northern Slovakia, photographing wild Brown bears in their habitat. An intense experience of wilderness and freedom, in a large territory where these animals can still roam undisturbed. Nevertheless I feel the urge to write about something I thought could not happen anymore; something, which I, as nature enthusiast, find at the same time unbelievable and terribly shocking.

On the 2nd of October and in the following days, three Marsican brown bears, a male and two females, and two wolves have been found dead in an area of the Abruzzo National Park, Central Italy. The animals have clearly been killed by a poisoned bait (a dead goat) strategically placed in the forest. This is just the last in a long series of episodes of its kind in the history of the relationship between Man and Bear in this sector of Italy. The history of an ancient and unique coexistence in a rough and beautiful region, where a small population of bears (possibly an endemic subspecies) lived for millennia in the close proximity of humans and their agro-pastoral activities. A cultural "coevolution" of these two species, severely compromised in the last century, wich makes this area of lymestone peaks and vast beech forests worth of an exceptional conservation effort. The loss of three individuals for a population of just 30-50 animals of this endangered subspecies represents a true ecological disaster.
Moreover, this episode touches and affects very deeply all the people, who like me, come from this region of Italy and had the extraordinary privilege of observing these rare bears, free in the beautiful and fragile Apennines landscape. A sense of deep sadness and schoking confusion pervades me as if I had lost a very close friend.
One of the three killed bears, a large male named "Bernardo" (on the left in the above image, which shows it together with a female, May 2003), was a quite famous animal living in the western part of the protected area, showing a distinct synanthropy in its feeding behaviour with a taste for chickens and other livestock in the villages. Despite the problems due to the attacks to domestic animals, its fame came from its visibility in spring, which allowed many enthusiasts to observe its movements in the lushing green meadows on the look for a mate and, then, glimpse even the most intimate moments of a bear life. That is something many people of all ages and different countries had the chance of witness and won't forget. The public opinion, once in a while, is one and angry. The Italian section of the Worldwide Fund for Nature called for a 10,000-euro bounty to be put on the heads of the perpetrators. There's also a petition to ask for a reinforcement of the regulations concerning handling and purchase of poisonous and dangerous substances: you can sign online here.

May this be the very last episode of its kind!
May the culprits truly pay for what they've done and live forever with a sense of guilt!
May these bears have finally the freedom, the tranquillity and the protection they deserve!

For more information, read here.

The one below is an image from my last trip to Slovakia and shows a large female with one of her three cub feeding on blueberries just above the treeline. The autumnal colors and a stormy afternoon light gave to this rare scene an almost painterly look. I dedicate this picture to the memory of Bernardo and all the other bears killed by the ignorance of Man.