The tiger of our forests...or the art of camouflage

The tiger of our forests...or the art of camouflage In the darkness of an overcast sky announcing a storm to come, I tried to spot the silhouette of an owl between the branches. The wind was raging across the sleeping canopy. The tree trunks were cracking and branches were being thrown at me sneakily. For this outing, I had anticipated a soft snowfall. I hadn't considered this wind intensity. Finding a bird in these conditions was almost impossible. It always seemed to me that in high winds, owls seemed to fly away and disappear above the clouds waiting for the lull. After a long and meticulous search, I decided to go and observe in the distance the river that bordered the forest where I was. While observing the ice that had formed in a small bay, I saw from the corner of my eye in the hollow of a trunk a head and two feathers rocking with the wind. It was unreal, a Great Horned Owl was a few centimeters from the ice, hidden in its small alcove of rotten wood. As soon as I saw him, I became a statue. This sudden stop of movement alerted him and he flew away. This bird is so big, as silent as the wind. With my eyes, I followed him between the tree trunks until I could no longer see him. The only clue as to its destination was that it seemed to have skirted the shoreline. I changed my lens and began a slow and silent walk. My eyes and ears were focused on discerning any abnormal movement. I walked like an idling wave that doesn't want to crash. After a while, I concluded that he had gone far away to perch for the day. I had lost all hope of finding him. To my right, a contrast agitated my senses. Almost by intuition, I had spotted him. He, without a doubt, had observed me for more than a hundred meters. Seeing me walking like a predator stalking its prey, he had chosen to disappear into a tree. It was his large yellow eyes that alerted my peripheral vision. Nothing of his plumage could have warned me of his presence. Thanks to his impeccable camouflage, all he had to do was turn his head to disappear again. It looked like it had flown away in search of the tree with the bark most similar to its plumage. I did not make the same mistake as when we first met. So I continued walking a little further and settled down at a good distance. After a while, he became accustomed to my presence until he closed his eyes and let me also take a nap at the foot of a tree. Both alone and together. I had gained the trust of the tiger of our forests. When we see it, it seems obvious, often too late for an image. Both intense and obvious, the beauty of his eyes reminded me that the art of camouflage is not only in the physical aspect, but in the movement of the one who wants to disappear.