Original subtitles

Yeah.

S

The wild world. It’s an invisible world, but one that leaves traces.

Animals—you rarely see them. And when you do,

it’s very fleeting. You wait a long time, you hope and hope. One day you see it,

just for a few moments. And you think you must have dreamed it.

Like a mirage. What’s your best memory? My best memory…

It’s hard—there are so many. So many memories. Just one.

You have to pick just one memory. One single memory.

A fantastic one. It was when I saw a capercaillie for the first time.

It was at the end of the 1960s.

We were going down into a forest…

There was snow everywhere…

More than two meters of snow. It became like a cathedral to me,

with huge fir trees, ice and snow all around.

There was mist, like a curtain.

And suddenly a small gust of wind—

the curtain opened, but only briefly. And then…

Yeah.

The sound came back, and I realized what had happened.

That image never left me.

Like a ghost… a ghost bird.

That vision fascinated me so much, it became an obsession.

Since it was a ghost bird to me,

I told myself I had to become even more ghost-like than it—become invisible.

Every late winter, it has a secret meeting deep in the forest.

For its display. It sings at night, from two or three in the morning.

And it’s a very faint song.

It makes a few sounds, then stops.

Again and again, until dawn.

A Russian poet says it is the spirit of the night calling the day.

Beautiful.

I quickly understood I had to arrive well before it,

so as not to disturb it. Spending the night hidden in my tree.

And maybe—just maybe—have the chance to hear it, even see it.

The forest seems hushed.

Little hearts are beating.

Now the little owls—you’re going to wake up.

Yeah.

Yeah.

Yeah.

Mm-hmm.

I'm

going to go.

Oh

Mm.

Ah, look—it's breaking apart.

People emerging from the mist—it feels like a resurrection.

A rebirth.

And it could be

deer.

It’s beautiful, so beautiful.

They’ve driven their roots

into their ancestors.

A skeleton that gives life again. Death is a passage.

It’s incredible… I even push my fingers into the wood.

Into the grain… into the lines.

Your fingers almost become roots.

This is where we come from.

The whole history of life on Earth is here—thousands of years

of living beings, plants, animals, all in this soil.

When I see this ground, I feel close to it.

Listen.

Yeah.

It’s singing—this forest is truly singing.

With so many old trees, decaying wood—

A welcoming forest.

If these dark trees disappear, these species vanish with them.

Signs of the invisible.

The little wind hasn’t…

Oh.

Oh

Ha ha ha

And you, Dad—when did you spend your first night outside? Alone?

Yes, alone. My first nights were probably with the capercaillie.

At 12 or 13. Your age. Exactly.

Dad was a few hundred meters away, you see, in that tree,

and he left me there. You didn’t go back home? No,

I went a couple hundred meters higher, under another tree…

At the same time, he wanted to test me. I didn’t force him,

I didn’t tie him to a tree. He was happy.

And during the night—a snowstorm.

I was about 300 meters above him.

I was still worried… wondering how he’d handle it.

When I reached the hide and started calling him—

he couldn’t hear me because of all the snow.

I called, “Vincent! Vincent!”

No—actually you used the whistle.

We had a signal whistle.

I didn’t really know which bird it was like…

Yes—that’s it. A bit like an oriole.

And when you heard it, you answered.

Yes. Exactly.

And suddenly, I saw a branch move, snow falling—

and he had this huge grin,

because a capercaillie had perched behind him.

It was an incredible moment. A truly incredible moment.

It was so powerful

that it changed my life too. I became a night watcher, as they say.

After that, I always followed Grandpa—

After that, I stayed with Grandpa all the time.

Wow.

Yeah.

Yeah.

She’s being followed by her herd.

Um

Yeah.

Yeah.

Mm

Yeah.

Fine.

Okay.

Yeah.

Mmm.

Okay.

Shot.

Mm-hmm.

Yeah.

Mm.

So there it is, perfectly clear.

For you, it’s gold.

I don't know. Yeah.

A musician.

I can hear it really clearly.

It repeats the same sound four times, and each phrase is different.

The number of repetitions is a good indicator.

Series.

Three minutes.

I’ve experienced moments without planes.

No aircraft.

Even trees listen to the birds’ songs, you see.

An owl? Yes, I hear it. It’s the smallest of our owls.

Happy.

Mm.

The big one.

Mm.

Come on, let’s go—it’s tonight.

Mm.

Ooh.

Yeah.

Trying to explain what happens in nature.

When humans explain nature, we have to be careful.

Because it’s not something mathematical, not something calculated.

It’s the wild. Ah—listen.

No… I heard something… some kind of…

No, not you.

Is that the Ural owl or Tengmalm’s owl? I don’t know.

It’s magical. Do you want to stay up at night to listen to owls? No,

I want to sleep here. Okay.

And tomorrow, what do you want to do?

More stories. Another story.

Uh…

So, once, I was the one who showed

Grandpa another “ghost.”

The forest’s panther.

Uh

Claro.

You see, yesterday she killed a chamois. And… she already came back to eat

half of it. Do you think she’ll return?

The prey is over there, to the right of the stump. There’s a spruce in front.

You might be able to see it. We’ll have to listen.

We’ll settle over there. Hopefully she’ll stop for a moment.

Are we saying?

It’s still there.

Whoa!

Yeah.

Mm.

When was the last time you saw your capercaillie? Not long ago.

Well… two years ago now. Right near here.

We thought there weren’t any left. We weren’t finding any signs anymore.

And then—

I had still come to spend a few nights listening to the small owls.

And suddenly I heard a noise. I saw a silhouette on a tree, quite far away.

I thought I was dreaming.

It stayed there for a while. Night fell. I couldn’t see anything anymore.

And that was truly the last time.

It didn’t even sing.

Yeah.

Can you imagine? This bird had lived in our mountains since the last Ice Age—

for more than 10,000 years. And in just 50 years,

I’ve seen it disappear.

For me, it’s upsetting—especially when you’ve worked to protect its forest.

But we remained powerless in the face of human disturbance

and, above all, climate change.

Of course, Simon, it’s a huge disappointment.

And I keep asking myself—why at that moment?

Why did it happen to me then? That final sighting of the bird

was really…

very heavy. I can tell you, there were tears.

There’s no hiding it—it was difficult to carry.

That’s for sure.

That's it.

The disappearance of a species makes you reflect:

what should we do so it doesn’t keep happening,

so others don’t vanish?

Not everyone reflects on that.

Some people just don’t care, that’s true—

but that shouldn’t stop us from showing this beauty.

What he said matters to me. The saddest thing

isn’t the disappearance of the bird—it’s the mindset of people who don’t care.

We have to stay amazed—always.

As long as the sun rises, as long as a bird sings,

as long as a flower blooms—then we keep going.

I’ve never seen capercaillies again.

It would be great if the three of us could try to see one.

We’d have to go to the far north. It’s a cold-climate bird,

and up there it has everything it needs.

Mm.

Yeah

Welcome to Norway, Simon.

Let’s still check around, see if we can spot any cranes.

We’ll head back up this way.

Come on,

don’t step in my footprints.

Now this is interesting.

Look at that—see how all the scales have been lifted to get to the tiny seeds?

These are signs of a bird you never actually see.

But you know it’s there.

That’s what makes it interesting.

That’s grouse droppings, you see?

They look quite similar, though. But yes, that’s definitely it.

They’re not very fresh. Otherwise the smell would be incredible.

I used to bring some home on a saucer and put it under the radiator—

it smelled like bread and resin.

We’d fill the house with that scent… in autumn and spring,

with capercaillie droppings.

That’s true, right?

It makes it feel alive, seeing this.

Imagine… we complain sometimes, but we’re so lucky.

Maybe… maybe we’ll get to see a bird.

Oh.

Wow.

Do you know what that is? That’s a display dropping.

You know, when it performs its courtship display. That’s rare to find.

You can keep that—it’s precious.

Just look at this—forest as far as the eye can see.

This is paradise for capercaillie here.

That glow over there—that’s the fox making its “soup,” as we say.

It’s quite nice living like this.

It’s not even that cold.

Pick your stick—there are two.

No, don’t leave it—put it in and take it out

once it caramelizes a bit.

It’s very sweet.

I can make several if you want.

Do you think we’ll see any capercaillie? We might hear them,

probably—but seeing them is less certain.

Come on, Simon—wake up.

Cranes are arriving from the south.

Look at that light.

For Grandpa, the capercaillie is his totem bird.

But for me, it’s the crane—it’s the one that

made me want to travel… Oh, another one arriving!

She’s really the one who made me want to travel—and discover the far north.

Let’s get into the hides—don’t move.

It’s okay. Call it—it’s there. It’s okay.

Go ahead, call it. Come on.

It’s easier that way.

Yeah.

Yeah

Mm.

Yeah.

I was thinking about Simon… Yesterday in the snow,

I told him:

“Don’t step in my footprints.” Then, a little later,

he walked ahead and said, “Grandpa, I’ll go first—don’t step in mine.”

I really loved that. It was wonderful.

I’ve never heard that before.

There are two species—the Arctic loon and the black-throated diver.

It gives me chills. Those calls are so pure—that’s the wild.

It must have felt strange to know there were no more capercaillies in the mountains.

Yes, it was terrifying.

It wasn’t a personal failure, but I felt it was a failure of our society,

because there was no reaction. It was sad.

But what’s beautiful is that at one moment,

a tiny bird appeared in front of me—the wren.

It weighs no more than a walnut—nine grams.

It was as if it were telling me,

“What are you doing? You’re focusing on that bird,

while I’m right here in front of you, singing.”

“I exist.”

It lifted my spirits and made me understand

that the smallest, quietest signals,

the most discreet ones, are often the ones we need to listen to,

because they carry hope.

Do you see that little hole back there? I don’t.

Show me with your finger… There—yes! I see it. Amazing.

They’re ready to fly. Wow, they’re tiny.

Excellent.

So tiny…

Pink, just like you.

Yeah.

It must be incredible to fly above the clouds.

If I were a bird, I’d go into the storm, cross the clouds,

and listen to the symphony of lightning in the rain.

Mm.

Here, everything is constantly beginning again.

You see these young fir trees rooting themselves in what came before them.

Even in death, a being continues to give life.

We live, we die, to take part in this great movement.

Our origins are here, in the humus.

Even the capercaillie that has disappeared from our mountains—

for me, it’s still here.

I feel its presence everywhere in these forests.

Like a breath.

In what is fading away.

Mm.

Mm.

Cross evening sky

All the birds are leaving

How can they know

it is time for them

to go?

Before the winter fire

I was still be dreaming. I have no thought of time.

I have no thought of time.

Or who knows where the time goes? Who knows where the time

goes

Sad deserted sure

You'll fake a friend

Uh

It's time for them

to go.

But I will still be here.

Oh

I do not count the time. I do not count the time.

Or who knows

where the time goes

Who knows

where the time

And I am not alone.

I know it won't be so

Until it's time to go.

The storms of winter

It's in spring again. I have no fear of time.

No fear time.

Who knows

I know

who knows

for a who knows

where

know

I have no fear of time. I have no fear of time.

No fear of time.