Seen from a distance, the bearded vulture’s nearly three-meter wingspan disappears against the mighty profile of the mountain. The distance is considerable, but I can clearly make out the silhouette of the great vulture as the bird strides forward with outstretched wings, like a consummate sailor. It is surrounded by overhanging walls and dense clouds that are rising from the valley floor. I am quivering; I could not wish for a better frame. It is a primal scene and I am enjoying it all, glued to the camera viewfinder.
It has taken seventy years and the efforts of many to see this true winged myth flying over the skies of the Alps again, after the last individual had been killed-unceremoniously-at the beginning of the last century. I continue to follow it through the viewfinder of my camera, careful not to lose it. I don’t know when I can repeat the experience, and I don’t want to miss a second of it.
With the bearded vulture flies the hope of a better future.