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A WALK IN THE WOODS

This morning, a brief break in the rain allows me to take a walk in the forest above my home. I need it. I feel a tension building inside me, and the only way to release it is to step outside. I shoulder my backpack. Inside: a snack, water, and a DSLR camera with a telephoto lens already mounted, ready to use. As I step out the door, the sun kisses my face. Finally. Lately, I had started to think that the Dolomite village where I chose to live had become the southernmost region of Norway, given how much rain had been falling. The trail climbs steeply, leaving behind the small group of houses in Valt. Soon, I step off the path, moving off-trail—but following other kinds of tracks. The forest is like a book, telling stories to those who know how to read it: colors, sounds, and scents woven into a delicate and wonderful narrative, even in its harshest forms. In spring, all of this bursts into life under the rain that falls from the mountains. The first flowers pierce through the la...
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For Tom

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The black grouse lek is convenient, just a ten-minute walk from where I parked the car. It is the middle of the night, it is snowing, and there is fog. I hoist my backpack onto my shoulders, sling the hide over one shoulder, and carry the chair in one hand. I walk in snowshoes, following a track barely visible beneath the wet, heavy snow that is falling. The beam of my headlamp creates a strange effect—streaks of light and smoke against a white background. I look around. I am alone this morning, and that is a blessing, even if there is always the fear that some careless person might arrive at first light, right in the middle of the lek. That would cause chaos: the grouse would flee, and some of the hens would probably not be mated, jeopardizing the nesting season. Wildlife photography is serious business, solitary work where you never quite know whom to trust. Jealousy runs high, and envy even higher. Is it really impossible to enjoy another photographer’s success? After all, we all s...
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Sunrise

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The alarm goes off, but I’m already awake. I turn it off quickly—I don’t want to disturb Isabel and Milo, sleeping peacefully beside me. I, on the other hand, have slept restlessly. The kind of sleep that comes before important sunrises. I leave the room, measuring every step. Clothes and gear are ready on the couch from the night before. I get dressed in silence, eyelids heavy with a sleep that doesn’t want to leave. A quick coffee—and I’m outside, in a quiet, cool May night. I drive through the darkness until I reach the start of the trail. This lek is convenient—just a ten-minute walk. I know another one, much less accessible, but it’s the one that made me fall in love with photographing this species. The most adventurous, the most magical. I could tell so many stories about photographing black grouse. The first time in a lek, under a sky full of stars that made me feel small—and more than a little afraid. Or the time I came home empty-handed because mouflons had scared the ...
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BEARDED VULTURE

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There are photographs that are born long before they are taken. Images that are desired for years, until luck and timing finally align—like the focus ring of an old rangefinder camera. Then there are photographs that are born in childhood and remain there, waiting. Waiting to be taken once we grow up—when, for a moment, we become children again, curious about every detail of the world around us. The image on the cover of this podcast was born inside me about thirty years ago, during a car journey from the province of Belluno to Canton Ticino. We were traveling in two Fiat Uno cars. One with Ticino plates, the other from Belluno. My grandfather was driving one, my father the other. The route did not follow the usual path across the Po Valley, but instead cut through the mountains—first the Dolomites, then the sharp peaks of the Grisons in Switzerland. It was a long journey, but one that avoided the post-industrial melancholy of the Lombard plain. From the car window, the dominant ...
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Experience

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Sometimes I’ve worked from fixed hides. Hours spent inside a wooden structure, waiting for the right moment to take a photograph. I’ve never really liked that kind of situation—I’m someone who needs open space. I’ve always used those hours inside the hide to study a species. But the photos that came out of it never satisfied me. In fact, I can say that easy photos don’t feel like mine. I don’t keep them in the archive of things I truly value. I’ve always wanted to go through effort to achieve something. That’s how I was raised. The years spent riding countless kilometers on a bike to reach a good physical condition have turned into worn-out mountain boots, walking up and down the mountains. Photographing in the mountains is not easy. The dark side of wildlife photography—something few people talk about—is made of empty days and things that don’t work. Especially if you choose to do it honestly. This past summer I went through a deep crisis. So much so that I wanted to quit. Sell...
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