In Băilesti – first incursion
Entering the woods. With caution. There’s silence in the forest. Only the wind and our steps make it sound, vaguely giving the idea of space. Under the beech trees our presence is noisy, the carpet of leaves creaks. I try to find a way to move silently, mut my attempts are laughable. Every move produces a sound. Each body has its own sound. From the kind of sound you can guess the size and kind of the moving being.
Walking in a wood is a horizonless experience. The sight is on the ground.
It allows me to see what, if you happen to walk on, can be more dangerous than a bear: a beautiful earthen wasp nest, made of finely crafted clay, built in a hollow among the roots of a fir tree. The roots of such trees often create holes where many animals can find shelter.
Losing the sense of time and space. The forest passes through us moving shadows and uncertainties. Coming out where we entered.
D.D.L.: As we pause in the depths of the forest, quiet yearnings arise, apparently in contradiction with the anti-bear rituals we have been exploring. I linger, feeling what being in the forest awakens inside me.
They recommend making noise in the forest, to be heard by the bears that live here. But in me, the desire to remain silent emerges intensely, strongly. To stay silent, motionless, listening to every creak, to every breath.
A desire awakens, one that draws me down toward the earth itself. Squatting, lying on the carpet of leaves, lying on the ground. On all fours, as best as I can transform my arms and legs into limbs, when the slope of the land meets me and I meet it, feral.
—-
Around Urlătoară – second incursion
The area surrounding the Urlătoară waterfall is densely inhabited by bears, but also frequented by a lot of tourists who love camping and having barbecues on Summer weekends.
We dip our feet in 4° water, walk on the soft grass trimmed by cows accompanied by the hypnotic sound of the water flowing in the brook. We find some cosy space under the fir trees, where steps are quiet, muffled by the softness of the needles which pile up on the ground like a soft acoustic carpet among the roots. We read the chapter about bears from the book “On the Animal trail” by B. Morizot.
Every year I push my exploration of this area a little bit further, going up the creek through trails that get lost in the forest, where it is uncertain whether you are on a path or on an animal trail. The water mutters, jumping over the rocks of its narrow bed. It sometimes sounds loke screaming (Urlătoară = screaming waterfall). The feeling is that of entering an ever less human place, of being intruders in someone else’s home. You need to be careful, without dwelling casually. I play the flute from time to time.
We get to a spot where space widens and a beech tree leans towards the water creates a kind of a doorway, where I pause listening. What I surprisingly hear is the intense beat of my heart. Without any explanation, having effortlessly and peacefully walked a totally flat trail. My body reacts and starts signalling. I listen. I realize my body has felt something without my conscious sense noticing it. A scent, perhaps. This is the right spot to stop and go back.
Diana notices some dark droppings full of seeds and huge footprints on the ground. I go back a little looking for more and hear, not very clearly, a sound that instantly brings back the feeling I’ve had just once, back in 2018, when I heard the bear’s voice. My blood freezes, and I lucidly lengthen my stride so that we can leave the place as calmly and quickly as possible. Only once close to the car, I tell Diana.
It’s been the meeting with something I keep not seeing.
The beauty of you encountering the Bear’s footprint, and I his voice.
—–
Near Cabana Piruşca – third incursion
The path starts where the stream slows down creating a moist area with logs and soft musk comfortable to sit on. We’ve already found the place to be. Getting accustomed to the location starting from an easy spot that brings pleasure and the will to spend time there.
After an hour the will of moving emerges. This time, the posture is that of an animal that wanders the undergrowth, like a fox or a marten, exploring clearings and roots, with the moisture of the eaves on its belly. Indeed, I slip: passing through here is not human. It isn’t the typical hike on a mountain trail, but another kind of walking. Dwelling while looking for the right spot to set foot on, whether it will hold, where our body can fit, which movement will not get us stuck. I let the light that pass through the leaves lead me to a clearing among the horsetail (I discover) and big leaves of lady’s mantle sprinkled with dew: it hasn’t been raining for days here. Damp, freshly green, lonely. An island of light among the shadows, where stopping, refocusing in order to dive back in. I venture among the branches, and I find myself walking on a water path. Exploring an untamed world. Decentralising, resizing myself. Experiencing being unsuitable, having a body that does not fit the forest. There are no footsteps to follow here, one slips, struggles to find stand, clings. Where the grass is high, animal trails are easy to spot, but we do not have hooves.
Travelling among worlds, with no destination, to experience the elsewhere, realm of other lives.
In the woods our animal part echoes.
Absorbing the forest. Changing our posture.
Camouflaging. Diving in the forest to emerge as a new being, socially and politically.
After this experience, we follow the path for half an hour, then we come back. It is the way to Mount Ciucaş, starting precisely where we are now. While descending, I find the recently severed tail of a sheep.
D.D.L.: I could meet the bear in my dream
sew a vest for protection.
Enter the forest naked,
Without any protection.
On mid-summer night, animals speak with human voices,
And if one listens, they can learn all the secrets of the world.
In the dream, the bear will tell me all the secrets of the world,
I cannot sew them all onto one shirt.
I placed my desires, my aspirations, and my well-being in that sewing
That connects us to our ancestors.
—-
In Băilesti – last incursion
D.D.L.: Before my trip to meet her, Emanuela and I talked on the phone about the inhabitants of the Transylvanian forests. Among them, bears are present in such numbers that the chances of encountering one are significantly increased. It’s a presence that cannot be ignored if one decides to venture onto wild trails. I feel the need to equip myself with a practical-ritual protection before entering the woods.
This year, Diana and I have created, some practical-ritual garments to be used in the case of an encounter. Some poncho-like pieces of clothing that, by opening our arms, make us look bigger to the eyes of a casual bear who sees us from afar. The garments are equipped with pockets and hooks to store tools, a recording device, a flute, and goggles in order to look like some big animal. Becoming something else, camouflaging, tricking the bear. We are wearing them to test them.
We are approaching the forest for the last time.
I need to dive in, but thoughts from the last day keep me distant, we advance. Our steps will guide us. While crossing a moat, I slip and end up with my feet inside the mud below the leaves that get to my ankles. Coming out of it, I realize it is impossible for me to walk uphill in my slushy sandals: I take them off and my feet find relief in a musk clearing nearby. The accident turns out to be a blessing: it silences any desire, any project, and I listen to the moment. Letting an accident guide me, playing with the unexpected disclosing new possibilities of thinking and doing. The clearing is a room with forest walls, where lingering for a while, the musk is welcoming, we glide.
The wood is not the place of going, but that of staying. It isn’t a place to cross, but one to be crossed by. Making the wild inhabit us.
In times of synthetic thinking, I take shelter in the woods to keep in touch with life in its wild state. To feed vitalizing desires.
Meanwhile, a little green spider is exploring a small wheat spike, right above my head. I see him busy, playing with the invisible. After a while I look back at him, and here I see him literally take off. At first travelling up away, and then changing direction to fly over our heads to a close plant. We are amazed. The air seemed still, but it took only the slightest stream (unperceived by us) to sail the spider a few metres away clinging to his invisible thread.
The mud on my feet has dried at last. In the meantime, the evening is approaching. We take our way back, through the forest. We are among beech trees scattered with the occasional fir, our hesitant pace leads us through deep trenches. Wandering towards the darkness, we move in a world of shadows that almost conceal all contours, when the shapes melt with the background. It is some kind of vanishing, before emerging next to a clearing where the sounds of the bells of a herd of cows reach us. Dogs start barking. We make ourselves heard while springing from the dark. The herder, struggling to see us clearly, keeps the distance. We don’t know each other and, understanding his hesitation, I introduce myself, naming all the herders I have met throughout the years, and telling him I am the granddaughter of Sandu Zbarcea. He had mistaken us for gipsies, coming from the village beyond the forest, and was afraid for us to assault him in order to mug him. His dogs are quiet and he tells us not to fear them. He, Gheorghe Muntean, guards 39 cows, 15 of his property, and the rest belonging to an associate of his. He is leading a project with EU funds together with his son (who has become a vet) aimed at the maintenance of the traditional open-air kettle farming for the production of milk. They have even set up an open-air milking device.
The Sun has set. We head home.
