This time we started from Malga Monteriù (Valle del Lumiei da Lateis – Ampezzo) and walked towards Casera Campo. The day was wonderful. All around us, the mountains formed a splendid backdrop. “That's malga Palazzo, above is malga Gerona and further on malga Pieltinis,” explains Giorgio, a colleague from the forestry force walking briskly ahead of me. Behind us, Ira follows. A strange name, which means guarding, watchful. I gave her name to the highest tree in Friuli, because we discovered these forests together and I'm glad that it is a “guardian” to all the trees in these valleys.

Today, the destination is the bosco del Diavolo (the Devil’s Forest), a beautiful forest and one of the most untouched in our mountains, as it is hard to get to and therefore unspoilt. We walk in silence, almost hearing the woods that welcome us. I find traces of fresh deer on the trail. In a short while, we come to the isolated Casera Campo and a little lower, while looking at a clump of old larches, I see a splendid female deer looking at me. In just an instant, without fear, it retreats into the trees and disappears. Its eyes gazing into my curious ones remain imprinted on my face. I turn and and see Giorgio. He smiles. He saw it too. We continue our silent walk and I look down as though looking for other tracks on the path. Almost in the conviction that the deer will turn up again.

I start to see some blue signs on the trees lining our way. “They want to make a forest track to cut lumber,” Giorgio explains. “But how can they think of destroying these places just to cut down half a dozen trees and turn them into timber? It is one of the most beautiful places in our Friuli.” He is desperate and angry just thinking about it. We slip back into silence and keep walking. And I look constantly around for the deer.

But we arrive at Casera Campo. A mountain dairy made of stone and wood cleverly combined by men who loved this land and did not exploit it to ruin. Respectful of seasons and life, knowing that they were part of a nature that would only support them if loved and understood. On a rock, carved by a shepherd in a moment of tranquility, we see the portrait of an animal. “There are others on the trail,” Giorgio explains, seeing me eyeing the work curiously. I look more closely. It is a stylised deer, with large horns and two intense eyes. That seems to return my gaze.

We go down a hundred metres to see the conditions of Friuli's oldest larch. A few years ago, the snow had broken some branches and I remembered it as being badly knocked about. But the mighty trunk of a circumference of over five metres of has found the strength to recover. New growth adorns the old branches, and its top still glistens healthily above the younger larches that form a crown for it. Only beings used to struggling against the pain and suffering of life can live among these mountains. Be they men, animals or plants.

We decide to take a small piece of a branch that had fallen to the ground to check the age of the magnificent old larch and we then towards Casera Veltri. Not far away, we hear the alarm calls of the roe deer that saw us and have fled without showing themselves. I lead the way and again on the path or at its margins I find fresh tracks of deer. “It's ahead of us,” I think. In my mind I see the deer just a few hundred metres ahead of us, turning curiously, hidden by the branches and looking at us, wondering who we are and who the man is who so intensely looked at it. Fast way, detaching your comrades. I know it wants me to know more about me. From far away the song of a capercaillie rises from the mist of a meadow. Giorgio is an expert on these birds and often walks through the night in these valleys to find and photograph them. One step, a crunch, and suddenly another capercaillie takes flight to my left. I look and expect Giorgio to say “did you see it?” “Yes, you're lucky. The roe deer, a deer and now a capercaillie…”

We set off once more. And again there is a another noise in the bushes. Another capercaillie is startled and takes to the air in front of us. The capercaillie further up the mountain has stopped singing. I think that even the deer, my lover of today, will have fled before our heavy and frightening footfalls. But I still see its tracks impressed where the path is damp. I feel and am pleased with its presence.

“The roe deer bark and talk to each other often, especially in the spring, during the breeding season, while the deer call only in autumn when it is their turn to look for a wife. Then for the rest of the year they are silent.” Ira explains this to me: perhaps with her feminine intuition, she sees what I'm looking and waiting for, without even looking at me.

Now we slip between two steep basins beneath the summit of monte Veltri just above the Devil's Forest. The blue signs of the forest track to be constructed still follow us, charged with evil pretensions. Then the valley suddenly opens, and the malga Veltri welcomes us with a smile formed of hundreds of peaks and we sit for a moment to admire all the ancient beauty of an world unknown to most people. The hut is splendid in its humble and ancient simplicity.

“Now let's go down into the Devil's Forest; I've seen lots of great trees there I think you'll be interested in seeing,” says Ira, starting off. Somewhat disappointed, I think I will no longer come across “my” deer again, but on the other hand I will see some fantastic new trees. Greetings and thanks to the peaks, then, before immediately entering the dense forest.

Stepping slowly, I walk between the dark green of the forest looking at the path. I sense an impressive presence. A few metres from me, partially hidden by an old trunk, an animal looks at me, still as a statue. I lift my face and meet its my gaze. It’s my deer. It has come to give me a last greeting as I leave its kingdom. Without fear, it makes an imperceptible movement and comes out in the open, as if to show itself in all its superb beauty. Its large ears move to grasp every least sound. Its black eyes are fixed one me. It lowers its head, almost in a light and regal greeting, then turns and disappears without the slightest noise. I still stand still a few seconds, immersed in the gift of that limpid and profound look.