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...

Wild, wild Bayerischer Wald!

On a special assignment of the Bayerischer Wald National Park administration, me and other eight nature photographers had four days to roam and take pictures in the wildest corners of the National Park (far away from the "Tier Freigelände"...), to celebrate its 40th birthday. On the last morning there I was blessed with this encounter: a fabulous female Ural Owl bringing food to the chicks. The Bayerischer Wald NP (together with the neighbouring Sumava NP) is much more than just its animal enclosures: it is wilderness coming back into the center of Europe! Happy birthday BW!

OF WOLVES AND MEN – AND PHOTOGRAPHY

"One does not need to see a wolf to benefit from its presence" A. Murie

Recently there has been a lot of talk about wolves and photography. Who did not follow the events connected to the winning image at the Veolia Wildlife Photographer of the Year Competition 2009 (a spectacular shot of an Iberian wolf jumping over a fence)?  I was very (and positively) impressed by the great interest the public opinion paid to the inquiry of the judges of the competition to verify whether the overall winner picture was depicting a wild wolf or just a captive one, as reported by some Spanish photographers. Everybody knows now the verdict. The photographer has been disqualified and his title withdrawn: the subject, a wolf named Ossian, lives in an enclosure in a wildlife center near Madrid and had probably been trained to jump in such “unwolfish” way. The photographer had declared that his secret was to have lured a wild wolf to go to a certain spot by means of repetitive baiting. Apparently, the fact that the circumstances in which the picture was taken had already been so severely manipulated was not of pivotal importance for the Competition board as the real nature of the subject.

Months ago, groundbreaking pictures of "wild" European wolves (i.e. close-ups of pups at a den site and a stunning shot of a pack hunting a wild boar) appeared also on the blog of the project “Wild Wonders of Europe” (WWE). The images, taken by the Russian photographer Sergey Gorshkov after fourteen months of work in the field, then have been also published in a large portfolio on the pages of the prestigious British magazine BBC Wildlife. It seemed… The bar of wolf photography was set inexorably higher. This, at least, until the comment of a Russian reader of the WWE’s blog raised the question that also those wolves could be the same living in a local rehabilitation center, where herself had previously taken surprisingly similar shots. As this fired a lively discussion, the project’s organizers committed themselves to verify the circumstances behind those pictures. In reply to it, the photographer told about the many hours he spent in the hide, how he tried to make two wolves packs accustomed to people (“as in Finland”) and how he did rely on hunters’ help to locate a den with pups, whereas the animals were “cunning and cautious” and constantly changed den site.

I will skip for now discussing further such practices of habituation and stalking, which I personally find ethically unacceptable and seriously dangerous for this species, especially in a country like Russia, where it is far from being protected. A first official response came from the organizers: they declared that some of the wolves in the pictures had been released from a rehabilitation center, so de facto “wild”, even though still accustomed to people. For all the other images, they guaranteed the photographer’s good faith. Nevertheless, this didn’t satisfy some keen readers, who confronted the single pictures with what had been declared by the photographer and found some inconsistency both on technical and ethological level. The debate kept on and was eventually solved few days ago with the official exclusion of the photographer and his images from the project. 

I also have a photography-related wolf story. Like many people, I also nurture a deep passion for this species and for everything it represents. Despite living in a wolf-rich country, the Abruzzi region in Italy, I must treasure the rare occasions, when I could observe or photograph this animal in its habitat. Recently I was assigned by a magazine to work on a story centered on the ongoing conflict between men and wolves in Abruzzi and the ways for a possible coexistence. For the article to be complete, I needed a nice picture of a wolf in the typically barren Apennine landscape. I knew it would have been difficult, but I had some sort of plan and enough time. Since I do this job mostly because I like to spend time in nature and observe wildlife, I would have kept myself off from captive animals or controlled situations. It took me almost four months of research, phone calls, walks and hours of wait to obtain some satisfying pictures. On a nice November day, I stumbled upon a solitary wolf male feeding on a horse carcass. Barely hidden by a small bush and a veil of fog, I took dozens of pictures of the feeding animal, even when some cows passed next to him. Unbelievable. 

At a certain point, for some divinity’s benevolence, the wolf left the carcass and trotted straight into my direction. Then, perhaps aware of my presence, he stopped some 50 meters from where I was sitting and, more curious than scared, gave me a brief glance. I will never forget the moment his eyes met mine. Eventually, as true ghosts do, he disappeared into the thickening fog and the magic was complete. The thrill of such a perfect wilderness moment vanished a bit after showing my pictures to the disappointed editors. My idea of a wolf clearly didn’t match theirs. They didn’t look into the wolf’s eyes, but rightly lingered on the dull colors of the pictures, the dry grass in the background, the pixel noise of the digital files. The late American wildlife biologist Adolph Murie wrote: "One does not need to see a wolf to benefit from its presence", but, in the age of animals which jump and kill their prey right in front of the photographers, is the hazelnut-colored look of a wild wolf still enough to persuade an audience?

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.

November - Can't see the forest for the trees

“Always watch where you are going. Otherwise, you may step on a piece of the Forest that was left out by mistake.” (Winnie the Pooh)



I have always found forests to be one of the most challenging subject for landscape photography. The more old, complex and beautiful the forest, the more the effort in framing a clean composition in the prevailing chaos and thus obtain effective images. This, together with the fact that I am 99% an open land type –a mountain, steppe, desert lover, doesn’t easily drag me into the woods with my camera. Still, it seems that this year fortunes of life are forcing me more and more to photograph under the tree canopy...

Earlier this year I was roaming free in the Tatra mountains of Slovakia for the multimedia conservation project „Tichà“ and I was first introduced to the most pristine forest in the area. An incredible anarchy of gigantic Arolla pines, Spruce and Rowan trees growing, dying and rotting in a perennial cycle. Bear tracks through the mosses covering all the forest floor. No sound nor sign of human activities. Not a single clan patch where to move freely nor an easy pattern to compose a picture. A moving wilderness dream and a true nightmare for a photographer. (A new gallery of my latest images from Slovakia has been recently uploaded on the project website: www.tichawilderness.com

Another forest, another country. The last weeks saw me now living and working full time in my new/old house in Abruzzo, mountainous region in Central Italy, dealing with renovation works while trying to catch up with old friends and the beloved wild places of my childhood. Doing research and scouting areas for new images, I was very excited to find out that some 50 km from my place, in almost unknown valley of a nearby National Park, scientists recently found what turned out to be the oldest beech forest of Europe. Protected by the surrounding mountains and the steep nature of the place, and due to a particular microclimate, some trees managed to grow here for more than 500 years! Besides the the wild and obvious appeal of the place, with trees literally covered by lichens and mosses and the feeling of being in a sacred place, I still have to get an image which could reflect the mood and essence of it. The picture(s) I have chosen for this month POTM represent two humble attempts to portray this incredible forest. More to come.

Another forest, another country, another continent. By the end of the month I will be „on assignment“ (first time!) in SW Ethiopia to photograph an highly endangered mountain rainforest ecosystem, where still grow wild specimens of Coffee, thrive monkeys and hunt leopards. I will be back home before Christmas and hopefully with many new images and stories to post.

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? ;-)

POTM May - Rites of spring

"...animals are always the observed. The fact that they can observe us has lost all significance. They are the objects of our ever-extending knowledge. What we know about them is an index of our power, and thus an index of what separates us from them. The more we know, the further away they are." (John Berger)


PIGMY OWL ON DEAD SPRUCE. Slovakia, 2008.

As wildlife photographers we often live of dreams and projects. We try to know as much as we can about the animals and their habits. We want to predict their movements and plan ahead our encounters with them. We strive to surprise them in the field, possibly in good light and get close without scaring them away. We think we can actually have full control of the situation, but in reality we don't know anything of what is going to happen...

In my recent trip to Slovakia, I had the plan to photograph two species I considered absolutely necessary to have in my next book on the valley of Tichà. Two quite elusive birds, these, which beat the time for spring to take place over winter in the mountain ecosystems. The first, the capercaillie, plays its rytmical courtship song in the deep of the pristine forest during the dusky hours at the end of the night. The second, the black grouse, being a loud and social performer in the leks on meadows -still covered by snow, of the mountain slopes and summits. Having been for a long time object of an heavy and continuous hunting pressure and showing a large decrease in their numbers due to habitat loss, these two subjects require some remarkable effort to be approached and even more if to be photographed. Therefore, I thought three full weeks of work in the field after months of research, planning and preparation would have been enough to get some decent shots of these shy creatures. Well, I couldn't be more far from reality.

Despite countinuous rises in the middle of the night, walks on frozen snow under the moonlight, countless hours of still waiting in the darkness, these animals eluded me and my camera in every possible way. I've actually witnessed their displays every morning and observed them in many different situations, but Luck was looking always on the other side that time. Once it was the light, once it was the timing, once the position of the animal, once its behaviour, once some external factors...
So, after twenty days spent in the mountains, I still don't have any good image of these species and will probably have to go back there next year.

But why am I writing about this? Because in these three weeks I've learned one of the hardest lessons in my life as a nature photographer. It is incredibly difficult and frustrating to accept a complete defeat when we think our work is flawless. It takes our attention away from all the beautiful things which are still around us. It spoils the experience itself of being out in the wild, which is still the most important thing. It took me a lot of effort to take over those bad feelings and still enjoy what I was doing. It has been difficult. But it seems I've finally managed to do it, looking beyond the apparent lack of success and being eventually rewarded by great emotions and sights - above all, a very pleasant encounter with a relaxed and obliging pigmy owl.

Now, what I can advice to all my photographer friends is to never let unfortunate circumstances bring us down too much when we are pursuing wild things. Planning and experience play surely an important role in being successful, especially if blessed by an hint of luck...But failure can just be round the corner, together with a truly bitter professional frustration. Only by keeping our eyes (and heart) well open, then, we will still be able to see the beauty always around us. And isn't this the ultimate meaning of nature photography, after all? Doesn't it lie in its complete unpredictability, which sometimes can still reward us with unexpected generosity? So, never look too long down if things don't go as you've expected, there may always be a little fellow observing you from the top of a nearby tree!

**********

Some months ago, the friend and great photographer Sven Zacek from Estonia kindly asked me to publish a small portfolio of my images on the nature photography magazine LOFO. As I put for the first time my hands on some copies of it, I have been blown away by the great quality of the magazine -great photography shown with a very nice layout on beautiful matt paper, and delighted to see all my images published as huge double-spreads. I can only recommend you to get one or more copies of it! If you want to know more about it or purchase LOFO, click here.

April - Morocco!

"Distance and space are functions of speed and time." (Edward Abbey)







How is it possible to squeeze six weeks of wilderness, adventure, awe, beauty and freedom into the tight space of a blog column?

Still having to re-adapt myself to the weather, the atmosphere and, above all, the sky of Berlin, I try to recollect the memories from my recent trip to Morocco and get through all the several hundreds of images stored on my hard drive...Here a first, small selection of them: as always, what I've managed to photograph represents just a tiny fraction of what my eyes did see in reality.

For information on image purchase as fine-art print or for editorial use, please feel free to contact me!