Trollsjön is a small lake not far from Särna; its name means "Magic Lake", and I don't know the origin. Maybe some local legend, some encounter with animals in a distant past which has been confused with a display of arcane powers, or who knows what else (well, now I'm curious: I'll ask in the village). Actually, there is nothing different from the average of the Swedish forest lakes: surrounded by the saw-toothed silhouette of the taiga which reflects in it, patiently passes its six months of frost (like all of us, however), to offer itself as a cradle of life for birds and insects which thrive in its waters during the short summer . I get there by chance, a few nights ago, while a cloudy day is leaving room for a few minutes to the low sun, just when I arrive; the perfect mirror surface is swept by a sudden bright light, despite the late hour. While I am taking pictures, immersed in a total silence, the piercing whine of a Black-throated Diver explodes from the center of the lake, leaving an echo pushing toward the walls of trees as ripples of a stone thrown into water, and then vanish. A magical moment: the lake kept the promise hidden in its name. They come back every year. Welcome, as welcome, after almost seven months of snow, is the warm season which drives them back here. I'm obviously speaking of migratory birds. Usual presences they are, whether they are on the top of a tundra covered peak – as Dotterel and Golden Plover on Nipfjället, or in the village's gardens – as Pied Flycatcher. The appointment with the two plovers is a kind of ritual of mine: they arrive in May, when the snow is melting on the high altitudes and I'm busy in my own spring migrations. In June I am seeking them, and the quest sanctions that my summer has begun; I find them where I left them at the end of the previous one (you can see other images of Dotterel in the Chronicles from June 2008 and July 2010). All Swedes, instead, are looking after the Pied Flycatcher, and they fill their gardens with nestboxes, gladly used by the small bird in black&white. I've seen them darting from tree to tree for years, and these are two simple documentary shots I delayed for a long time.
Why doing them now? Because the nestbox is the one in my garden, this time, and its residents have been our next-door neighbours along June. We saw them courting, breeding, struggling to feed always hungrier and noisier chicks, defending the area from fieldfares, magpies and even squirrels (the lovely rodent is a skilled eggs predator. We all have a dark side). Until the beginning of this week, when the nest was suddenly quiet, and the surrounding trees deprived of the frantic coming and going of the parents. A new offspring is out there, now; we'll meet next year. |
All site contents are: © Vitantonio Dell'Orto, all rights reserved worldwide. The Chronicles of Särna, and other stories from the North.
I live in Sweden, in Särna (Dalarna). The Chronicles are a photo diary about the nature (but not just) here around and from all the Scandinavian areas where my photo job takes me.
My book: "My Sweden - Tales from an Italian photographer in the North" is available in the bookstores and by the publisher.
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