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.

The moon, the mountains and I. 24 hours alone

"We live as we dream: alone..." Joseph Conrad

August is holiday time for many. The usually quiet mountain village where I live gets crowded. Woods and meadows serve as dining rooms for hundreds of people (and the garbage left behind often echoes their lively voices for a long time...) Even the highest mountain peaks become a common destination for the adventurous citizens on vacation. But this doesn't necessarily mean that I dislike this month or its crowds. It can be fun, just that it spoils a bit the holiness of many places I love and makes really hard to find that special intimacy with nature I am so often looking for.

"If the sun lights up people holidays", I thought, "then the moon can show me the way through the wilderness!" I had luck: the turbulent summer weather gave me a lucky break in correspondence of the last full moon. So, once again, heavy backpack on my shoulders, I was hitting the slope leading to the top of Majella massif with the plan of exploring its vast altitude plateau at night. Alone.

I started at 12AM and met the last people at 5PM: then the mountain was all for me. I walked on and on. Explored ridges and crossed saddles. Looked down to the deepest valleys and up to the fast-moving clouds.

At sunset, I had the purest and simplest light. When night came, I was tired but exhilarated, so I kept on. I dropped my backpack in a little cave and took only a bunch of nuts, my camera and tripod with me. Wind came in full force and didn't leave until the morning. At 11PM I was still shooting the landscape, holding fast my camera to not let the wind toss it to the ground. The moonlight gave the round, barren mountains a touch of indefiniteness. Dark shadows and silvery colors. Deep contrasts and vague horizons.

It was midnight when I went back to the cave, crawled into my sleeping bag and dropped dead. At sunrise, I enjoyed the most perfect stillness. The moon, still high, was now competing with the first sunrays. All around me just blocks of blue, pink and gold.

At 6.47AM, I spotted the first two hikers and then I realized how much exhausted, dehydrated and hungry I was...

Pit stop with black grouses. Or, "how to detect a vanishing species".

"We stand now where two roads diverge. (...) The road we have long been traveling is deceptively easy, a smooth superhighway on which we progress with great speed, but at its end lies disaster. The other fork of the road -- the one less traveled by -- offers our last, our only chance to reach a destination that assures the preservation of the earth." Rachel Carson

Black grouses have been one of my photographic nemesis during the whole time I was working in Slovakia. They are not particularly difficult (once one knows a good spot and obey the rules of the game - set up your hide at night, get there when still dark, etc.), but bad luck always played a role on all the attempts I made in Tichà and so I never got a single, decent picture...

Therefore, while I was planning a trip to the Bavarian forest in Germany on mid-May, invited by the National Park to photograph the Park's wildest corners (and not the animal enclosures...), I decided to try my luck with this species one more time and stop somewhere in the Alps for just one morning attempt. My friends and great nature photographers Luciano Gaudenzio (www.naturalight.it) and Gabriele Bano kindly invited me to a grouse lek (area where the males display) in Friuli, the region where they live and work. The area sounded very promising, with stories of more than 40 (!) displaying males back in the 80's. This, and maybe all the kilometres driven the day before, made difficult to catching some sleep in the already short night. We would get up at 2.45 AM and walk to the hide in the darkness. A thin layer of fresh snow on the barren ground, stars in the sky: the best premises. Already before sunrise the first male came in front of the hide. After this one, other four reached the lek. Only the calls, a loud "chooissshhhh" and the repeated, fluid "rooo...proooo", revealed their presence in the fading darkness. Once outlined their figures, I tried some pictures with crazy shutter speeds of 2-3 seconds, just to see what they would look like. The sun came out, or, better, the day came out, as a sudden layer of clouds had obscured the clear sky. The resulting hours were nice, but the light was dim and quite boring for any good picture. Nevertheless, I won my nemesis and got some pictures of a black grouse! At 7Am the birds left and for me was time to pack all my stuff and quickly make my way to Germany. It had been a nice "pit stop", especially by enjoying the great company of Luciano and Gabriele Bano, the breathtaking mountain landscape and the colors of this unique bird: I was happy.

But, hey, wait a minute. Five males? Where were all the grouses gone? As said, people once witnessed dozens of birds here, so what was going on? We asked some locals that morning and figured out that the previous hunting season surely took a large toll on this population. Could that be the cause of such a rapid decline? Even in other European countries, where I had the chance to observe this species, people spoke of sudden decreases in numbers. In Tichà, for example, nowadays only few single males come to the alpine meadows in May. What is going on? Is overhunting the one to blame? Could it be that this once-common mountain bird is suffering from a vast, unknown menace? Climate change?? Will the Black grouse be a next vanishing species? What can be done to save it?

Way too often I am experiencing or hearing stories similar to this also about other species. It is a weird time to be a wildlife photographer and a though one to be a conservationist. There are few answers for many questions. But one thing is for sure, we cannot take the diversity of Nature for granted anymore. It is time to do something and act firmly, before spring would become silent even in the most remote corners of Europe!

Majella: light on the mountain

“The idea of wilderness needs no defense, it only needs defenders.” Edward Abbey







Today I live and work 3/4 of my time in Abruzzo, and in my life I have spent countless days among these mountains. Still, my vast knowledge of this region and its nature always suffered from a large blank spot. I never ventured deep into the wildest and most mystical mountain range of all, the Majella massif – the “Mother” mountain for the locals. (The second peak of the Apennines; valleys even 20Km long with no human living in them; the largest wolf population in Abruzzo!) So, when the environmental organization PAN Parks*, which in Italy has given its prestigious certificate only to the Majella National Park, contacted me last September to purchase some images from the area, I was a bit ashamed to say that I didn't have any good picture of it, but I would have been eager to be assigned to cover some spots for them. Excited as seldom before, I began my first explorations in this unknown wilderness (this is indeed Majella: a pure wilderness in the middle of Italy) with several maps in my backpack (there are 4-5 different versions of Majella’s paths network!) and two months in front of me to accomplish the work. I will skip mentioning all the problems I experienced with the weather (this year we had snow already in October), or with the very long distances and demanding, steep slopes, carrying a heavy backpack on some trails that vanished into nothing. But I will say something of the wilderness.
Majella gave me the healthy shock of encountering a wolf 50m from me on a mountain path one morning and the thrill of having two golden eagles soaring above my head another day. I flushed partridges, crossed streams, found primitive handicrafts, spotted chamois on inaccessible cliffs, walked on tundra-like plateaus, heard the call of the wallcreeper – many times, camped at 2790m asl with -10°C, touched two walls of a canyon by stretching my arms, saw the milky way cross the whole sky and had the incredible luxury of getting lost – three times!

I don’t know many other places here in Italy where all these things can still be found and experienced at such level. I commend the National Park for the groundbreaking commitment in preserving and rewilding these mountains, against all the odds and the public opinion. Come to visit Majella to see this with your own eyes, and give me a call, I would be happy to show you around.


*PAN Parks is a cool organization, working hard to find a way both to protect Europe's wilderness and help the local communities to develop a sustainable economy. I am really glad to have contributed a bit to their mission with my work.
Click on the bear to visit the PAN Parks website.

Echoes of autumn

"He not only lives in the wild, wild woods and moors - he grows out of them, as the oak grows from the ground. The noble stag in his pride of antler is lord and monarch of all the creatures left to us..." (Richard Jefferies)



As the light of summer gives way to the clouds of autumn, in the mountains is the time of the Red deer.
The alpine prairies of the Apennine, golden of sunburned grass, host the traditional arenas of the deer rut.
Dozens of large stags confront themselves, then, all day long for the supremacy of the female herds.
And, while battles are rare, the wild sound of the males bellowing echoes continuosly at dusk along
mountain ridges and valleys.

Portrait of a myth...

“He who would learn to fly one day must first learn to stand and walk and run and climb and dance; one cannot fly into flying.” (Friedrich Nietzsche)



One never knows when dreams can become true...
Just this morning I had my first photographic opportunity with a true myth of the mountains, here in Abruzzo as elsewhere in Europe, the wallcreeper. I ran after this acrobatic and restless flyer for half hour. Up and down on a very steep slope, partially covered by snow and ice, holding the breath to not shake the handheld camera, I obtained a couple of nice images of this rare and elusive creature - a little milestone in my commitment to document the wildlife of the Apennines! Then, suddenly as it had appeared, the bird flew away, straight into the blue mountain sky.


ARTICLE IN NATURFOTO 03.2009
My images from Morocco are featured in a 12 pages article in the German magazine Naturfoto.

KAFFA, the birthplace of Coffee

"Coffee is the best thing to douse the sunrise with." (Drew Sirtors)

To see the slideshow in full-size, please click HERE or, if you want to see all the images at a glance, please click HERE

Kaffa, the birthplace of Coffee. Yes, the world-famous, delicious, black drink really comes from this mountainous region in the Southwest of Ethiopia. Protected by very steep slopes, wide chocolate-coloured rivers and fabulous rainforests, the Wild Coffee plants thrived here for centuries, providing the precious beans -possibly the best in the world- to the people living in the area. A thick array of hundreds of moss-covered trunks, silvery-green leaves and bright red beans, the coffee forest is truly a unique place to be in. Unfortunately, current population growth compounded by increasing poverty levels has led to rapid deforestation. People living in these areas are forced by their economic situation to convert the rainforests to farmland and/or sell them to foreign investors. With a loss of 15-20% each year, the rainforest, which previously covered more than 30% of Ethiopia, now only stands at three. To save this land and the people, NABU, GTZ, "GEO-Schützt den Regenwald" and several other partners are running a PPP (Public-Private Partnership) conservation and development project in the Kaffa Province, contributing to improving the livelihoods of coffee producers and to developing sustainable coffee production and marketing to international quality standards. The living conditions of the coffee farmers are being improved through higher income and flanking social measures. Moreover, there is the plan to establish the first ever "UNESCO Man & Biosphere Reserve" here in Ethiopia , always with the goal to involve people in the management and protection of their land.

At the beginning of December, the German environmental organization NABU assigned me to travel to the Kaffa province and photograph as much as possible of the land and of the incredible biodiversity featuring these endangered forests. Once arrived in Bonga town, with less than 10 days to work there, I had the privilege to roam freely among the last afromontane rainforests of Ethiopia, but also had to face the frightful, impossible task of giving justice to this incredible place with my humble work. Blown away by the abundance of wildlife and the beauty of the different landscapes, I worked very hard, bringing home a little less than 4000 digital images.
Speeding across the dusty roads and sweating on the steep slopes of this region, with the valuable help of my friend and guide Yahiya Adem, I portrayed curious Guereza monkeys, angry Hippopotamus, mystical Bamboo forests and elusive Turacos. I have stepped across a Leopard trail and got painfully bitten by huge leaf-cutter ants. I admired dozens of bird species and met some of the most pleasant people ever. And, on my very last afternoon in Addis Abeba, I even had the chance to advocate for the establishment of the UNESCO Man & Biosphere Reserve in Kaffa! In a borrowed white shirt and grey jacket, I spoke and showed some quickly prepared pictures during a workshop day attended even by the President of Ethiopia and the Minister of Science and Technology!

(photo © S. Bender)

June/July - Cooling off

"...I have never questioned the route this journey took: it seems a single trip, the sole option, driven by that same potency that drew me into grizzly country in the beginning." (Doug Peacock)





Weeks have gone fast by since my last post on this blog. I have driven really many kilometers during this time, with my sixth trip to Tichà and a quite big event in my life: after four years in Berlin, I've moved back to Italy -Abruzzo, in the shadow of my beloved mountains. Coming straight from Central Europe and the high peaks of the Tatras to the sunburned center of Italy, can't deny now a certain need for cooling off and spending some time indoor to sort out books from the boxes and images from my hard drive...

I've spent three full weeks in the wilderness of Tichà this time. Long days of June, with their scary (and almost daily) thunder storms which give a beautiful light to the mountains, and really many wildlife sightings. My main target were bears, of course, with yearling cubs, red deers in the alpine meadows and landscapes. Despite big efforts and several bear observations (up to ten animals per day), we had only one cub from this year and mostly families we already knew from 2007. We watched several times cubs playing in the snow and we even had a very interesting 2 years-old cub still nursed by its mother. All this, though, only for a few days, before the rising temperatures, the long photoperiod and the unrelenting flies forced the animals back into the darkness of the forest. Moreover (and despite my 960mm-equivalent lens and very careful stalking) the distances with the animals were always a bit too far for any close-up shot. I must say it is very frustrating to film bears side-to-side with my friends and their HDV camcorder and 2800mm-equivalent lens...You take the environmental shot and cheer, then give a look to their video in the small display and see a super sharp, full-frame bear cub looking straight into your eyes...Mmm, don't know how I will afford it, but now I definitely feel the urge to buy a 500mm...Has anyone there maybe one for me? ;-)