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Often on this trip I found myself inhaling involuntarily at the very moment a new view cascaded through my eyes... my brain trying to comprehend if the image was real, or if I had accidently walked into a living postcard.
I have a photo my wife took of me drinking water from the edge of this lake, but the water was so clear the camera could not see it. So while I was drinking pure clear water from the melting snow - the image is of me face down a half a meter form the ground, kissing something that appears to no longer be there.
We walked at both of these lakes in the foothills underneath the mountains, between the town of Tarvisio and the boarder of Slovenia.
The images we saw were of seamless beauty, stretching from our toes out across the lake into the mountains. Images that continued up overhead through the tops of the trees and the sky, until they were cut off... by the point where my vision was limited by my own eye lids.
The Camera could only be focused on individual portions of what we walked through; capturing tiny glimpses of what was an entire image. The only thing close to the beauty surrounding us was that of the lady by my side.
The next day we hiked in a different area, a forest only a 30 minute drive away on the opposite side of the valley where the sun had more impact.
These ruts were between 100 and 150 mm deep. They were worn into the stone by Romans travelling back and forth, in a time so different... so far away from ours I can’t begin to image what hardships and obstacles they would have faced.
The squirrel we photographed below is the one used for inspiration in the children’s movie “Ice Age”. I know because I watched it! If you blinked three times in quick succession you would have three distinct separate images. It was as if, it had a bad case of “attention deficit disorder” and three to many espresso’s.
A glimpse of an image through the lens of a camera can’t capture its entire essence. When the 1st of the two lakes mentioned above came into view, Doris and I both had to clear our eyes and look again to see if it was real. It could easily have been an image from an Alice in Wonderland adventure - but for the fact we could touch it to see for certain that it was real. While the photos of the lakes are nice... they don’t grab you by your senses and thrust you a step forward for a closer look like the real image did.
When we walked in the snow it was well over a meter deep, this you can see on some of the photos. What you can’t see is the sound it made when we stepped on it. While walking I would put snow in my mouth, feeling it change in density as it melted. Unlike ice cream that becomes softer as it melts, the snow becomes harder initially as it changes from flakes to ice - then melting further... to again become liquid.
The images also don’t capture the feeling of the wind. I have heard it said and seen it written that the leaves play in the wind... but I can tell you with absolute conviction that it is the wind that plays with the leaves. As we walked through the forest I observed the leaves and the way the wind interacted with them. The wind would dart amongst the trees as if playing hide and seek, and then a puff of it would select a specific leaf... and toss it in the air or tumble it along the ground like a boisterous teenager would if teasing a friend.
The stream also played its part in the opera of the forest, splashing and jumping from rock to rock, seemingly with the delight of a 5 year old. So enthusiastic was its play that at times I was inspired to run ahead as though looking for the source of laughter. When walking up above the lakes we could hear the rumble of avalanches as the warm spring weather caused the snow to lose its grip on the steepest of the rocky slopes. It’s rumbling noise distinctly different from any other sound I have heard before.
Walking with all of your senses alive and alert, to notice the aroma of the forest... the softness of the moist earth... the temperature of the flowing stream or the way the light and shadows play on the forest floor, and to be still for long enough to become aware of it. Who would think a mere walk could be such a sensuous experience?
© Peter Nicholson 2014 Terms & Conditions
