Original subtitles

WHISPERS IN THE WOODS

The world in the wild

is an invisible world

but it leaves tracks.

Animals rarely come out.

It's very fleeting when you see wild species.

You wait a long time, hoping and hoping.

One day, you spot one for a few moments.

You think you're dreaming. You don't believe it.

Like a mirage.

What's your best memory?

My best memory?

Difficult. There are so many.

- Lots and lots of memories. - Only one.

- You have to pick one. - One single memory?

One single memory that's fantastic

is the first time I saw a capercaillie.

It was in the late sixties.

Going through a forest, with over two meters of snow.

To me, it felt like a cathedral,

with tall trunks, tall conifers.

There was ice and snow everywhere.

It was foggy.

Like a curtain.

Suddenly, there was a gust of wind.

The curtain opened but not for long.

And there…

When the fog came back, I said to myself,

"You dreamed it."

That image has never left me.

The image of a ghost, you know.

The ghost bird.

That sight was so fascinating for me…

it became an obsession.

Since I saw it as a ghost bird,

I said to myself,

"Perhaps I need to be more ghostly than it

"and make myself invisible."

In late winter,

it has a secret date

in the heart of the forest

for the mating dance.

It sings at night.

It starts singing around 2-3 in the morning.

Its song is very weak, you see.

It makes sounds and stops, makes sounds and stops, and so on,

until the break of day.

A Russian poet once said of the bird…

"It's the spirit of the night calling the day."

Nice, right?

I soon realized that I had to arrive a day earlier,

well before the bird, so I didn't disturb it.

And spend the night in the blind under my conifer.

And perhaps…

perhaps

be lucky enough to hear it and even see it.

The forest seems asleep…

but little hearts are beating.

All you little owls here,

wakey-wakey.

Hi there, beautiful.

The woodcock again.

Look, it's clearing down there.

The trees emerging from the mist.

There's a sense of a resurrection.

Conifers, beeches,

maples, rowans…

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.

They've plunged their roots

in their ancestor.

A skeleton giving new life.

Death as renewal.

It's crazy.

I plunge my fingers in the wood.

In the lignin.

Your fingers practically become roots.

Our origins are here.

Here, you have the whole story.

The whole story of life on earth.

Thousands of years of living beings,

plants and animals,

there in the ground.

Seeing that ground brings to mind recent ancestors.

Stay here

Keep quiet.

Listen.

And see perhaps.

It sings. It really is a forest that sings.

There are so many old trees.

So many cavities,

so much peeling bark.

It's a hospitable forest.

If the dead trees are removed,

these species disappear.

A clue to the invisible.

The wind's shifting. That's not good.

It smelled us.

Holy…

What about you, dad? When was your first night camping out?

- Alone? - Yeah, alone.

My first nights, I guess they were for the capercaillie.

At 12-13 maybe. Your age exactly.

Dad was several hundred meters away

under another conifer, and he left me there.

You didn't stay? You went back home?

No, I went 200-300 meters higher up, under another conifer, in another blind.

He wanted to try it out.

I didn't force him.

I didn't tie him to a tree trunk.

He was thrilled.

And that night, snowstorm.

I was 300 meters higher up.

I was pretty…

Pretty worried.

I wondered how he'd react.

When I got to the blind and called his name,

he couldn't hear me for all the snow.

I'm calling out, "Vincent, Vincent…"

No, you're doing the whistle.

And that's when I did the whistle

because we had a whistled signal.

You know which bird we did?

I bet you do.

I'm not sure which bird but it was…

That's it.

- A bit like an oriole. - And the response was…

Exactly. And so…

Suddenly, I see a branch move, snow fall…

He was grinning from ear to ear

because a capercaillie was perched on a conifer.

- Yes, it was a real thrill. - A real thrill.

It was so powerful it changed my life.

I became a moon watcher, as they say.

After that, I was always out with Granddad.

A life in the blind.

And all my great encounters with animals.

It's quiet.

See anything?

No.

Nothing.

I'm hearing geese.

Ducks too.

There's movement.

Yes, crossing.

Followed by her fawn.

- Heading back to the woods. - Yeah.

Hear that crack?

Listen.

Hold still, hold still.

There!

The stag.

Coming closer.

Another one.

I can hardly breathe.

Try to get that thrush.

Hear it?

No.

It's not switched on then.

- Hear that? - Yes.

You should hear it now.

Song thrush.

I'm picking it up great now.

It repeats 3-4 times the same sound.

But each stanza is different.

That's when you realize just how many planes there are.

Constantly flying over.

That's the third in ten minutes.

Every few moments. I can remember when…

you didn't hear planes at night.

Trees listen to the birds' songs too, you see.

Really?

An owl?

Yes, an owlet.

The smallest of our owls.

Stop.

Record now.

Point it that way there.

Try that way.

Like that?

Yes, there!

An eagle owl.

They really are nocturnal.

Come on, let's leave him the night.

You want to explain what goes on in nature.

When humans explain what goes on in nature,

you have to be careful.

It's not about mathematics.

Not about calculus.

It's wild.

There, listen.

No?

- I heard a kind of breath. - Tawny owl?

I heard something.

- Didn't you? - Hold on…

Tawny owl or Tengmalm's owl, one or the other.

There it is.

Yeah.

It's magical.

Wake you up tonight to hear the owls?

No, I want to sleep.

What about tomorrow? Early start?

I want more stories.

Another story.

All right, the one where I introduced

another ghost to Grandpa.

Our panther of the forest.

He comes this way?

- Always through here. - Really?

Let's get set up.

Down there.

I'll get out my binoculars.

Yesterday, he killed a young chamois

and came to eat half of it.

- You think he'll come back? - Fingers crossed.

The prey's over there?

To the right of the stump, behind the spruce and fir tree.

You can see its ear.

We'll set up over there.

It'd be cool if it stopped raining.

Hold still.

- See him? - No.

You can't see him?

Behind the rock?

To the right.

Yes, got him.

He's coming back.

It's amazing.

My first lynx.

He's still there, most likely.

We stay put.

That's him.

Yeah.

Yowling.

When was your last capercaillie?

My last capercaillie? Not long ago.

Not long ago. Maybe two years ago now.

It was near here.

We thought there were none left,

never saw any sign of them.

And then…

I spent a few nights here to listen to the owls.

And suddenly, I heard a noise

and I saw a silhouette on a tree in the distance.

I thought I was dreaming.

It stayed put a while…

Night fell, I couldn't see a thing, and that really was my last time.

He didn't even sing.

Just think…

The bird had lived in the Vosges since the last ice age,

over 10,000 years ago.

And here I am,

in 50 years,

watching it die out.

For me, it's…

It's heartrending.

Especially when you're invested in saving the forest.

But we're left powerless

to counter disruption by human activities, and above all…

climate upheaval.

For sure, Simon,

it's a huge disappointment.

And I wonder, why is it…

that it's now? Why did it happen to me?

Alas…

my last sighting of that bird was really…

It was very hard.

I'm telling you now, the tears flowed.

There's no denying that…

it was very hard to bear.

For sure.

Thanks.

When a species goes, it makes you think…

what should we do so this doesn't continue?

So no more species disappear?

It doesn't…

It doesn't make everyone think.

Some people couldn't care less.

Sure, but we can't let that stop us…

from continuing to show the beauty.

What he just said is so important.

For me, the saddest thing is not the bird dying out.

It's precisely that human mindset.

Not caring.

You must keep being awed.

As long as the sun rises,

as long as a bird sings, as long as a flower blooms…

we keep going.

You never saw a capercaillie.

No, I've never seen one.

It'd be cool to try to see one, all three of us.

We have to go to the Far North.

It's a cold-weather bird. Up there, it has all it needs.

Welcome to Norway, Simon.

Goodness, it's beautiful.

Magnificent.

Go see the lake?

Sure. We'll just check under the pine for droppings.

I'm stuck.

We'll go up that way.

Come on.

In my footsteps.

No, you'll…

Step in my footsteps.

That's interesting.

Look at it.

Look, the pine cone scales have been…

raised to take the tiny little seeds.

Those are clues to a bird we can't see.

You know it's here when you see that.

Interesting.

That's from the hen. You see?

All right, it looks a lot like…

It's from the hen.

It's not completely fresh.

Otherwise, the fragrance is incredible.

You eat it?

No, I put it in a saucer under the radiator.

It smells of pine resin.

We perfumed the house…

in the fall and spring with capercaillie droppings.

It's true!

No, I believe you.

It makes me so happy to see.

Sure.

Just think…

We hide out in the trees for a whole night…

Perhaps…

perhaps…

we might have a bird.

Grandpa!

Gosh!

Know what that is?

It's a tail feather.

When they do the mating dance.

The capercaillies.

That's a rare find.

Keep hold of it, it's a treasure.

Look at that, forests as far as the eye can see.

It's capercaillie paradise here.

The smoke there, that's the fox making soup,

as they say back home.

It's one heck of a way of life.

It's not really that hot yet.

Here…

Choose your skewer, we have two.

You cook it a long time?

No, just in and out.

When it starts to caramelize.

It's super sweet, watch out.

Yummy, right?

Yeah.

Not a fan?

Put more on to make it bigger.

One by one's enough for me.

You think we'll see capercaillies?

Chances are, we'll hear them.

Probably. Seeing them, not so sure.

Up and at 'em, Simon.

Cranes arriving from the south.

Check out the light!

There we are.

Sure, for Grandpa, the capercaillie's his totem bird,

but for me it has to be the crane.

That's the bird…

Another one arriving.

The bird that invited me on its journey.

And to explore the Far North.

We get in our sleeping bags, and stay put.

There!

- Hear it? - Yup.

Hey, Simon!

Wake up, it's here.

Simon, get up.

Come and look. Come on.

Look!

There!

A bit more to your right.

Yes, I see it!

I was thinking about Simon.

How come?

You know, back in the snow…

Yesterday, I told him…

"Step in my footsteps."

At the next snow drift, he took the lead and said,

"Grandpa,

"I'll go first. Step in my footsteps."

I really liked that.

I mean, it's great.

I never heard that before.

There are both species.

Black-throated and red-throated.

Sends shivers down my spine.

They are sounds that fit.

It's the wild, you know.

Yeah, everything that escapes us.

It must've felt weird, our mountains with no capercaillies.

Yes, it was terrifying.

It wasn't a personal failure but it felt like a failure

for our society, you see?

Because there was no reaction.

I was sad and, actually,

the wonderful thing is that, at one point, in front of me,

there was the smallest bird,

the wren, which is the total opposite.

A wren weighs as much as a walnut,

9 grams.

Can you imagine?

It was there, saying,

"Are you mad?

"You're bothered about that bird, and I'm here singing.

"I exist too."

That wren cheered me up and made me realize

that something insignificant, messages that are timid and discreet

are often the ones you should heed,

because they carry hope.

See the hole at the back?

- Don't see it. - Between the two trunks.

- Show me with your finger. - See the young one?

Got it.

Yeah, awesome.

There are two of them!

Ready to take flight.

The faces on them!

You can hear the mother.

First flight!

Excellent!

How clumsy he is!

Adorable, with that little head.

A real punk. You, when you wake up, Simon.

There's always sunshine above the clouds

But if I were a bird, I'd dance in the storm

I'd cut through clouds like a beam of light

I'd listen to the symphony of lightning in the rain

We are in what passes…

You know…

Here, everything's an eternal cycle.

Those young conifers that plunge their roots in their ancestors…

Even when it's dead, a tree keeps giving life.

We are born, we live, we die.

To participate in the overall movement.

Our origins are there, in the humus.

Even the capercaillie that's disappeared from our mountains…

For me, it's there.

I feel its presence all over these forests.

All those vibrations resonate discreetly within us.

And inspire us.

Like a breath.

We are in what passes.

for Annie