I'd been living in the region of Germany known as the Bavarian Forest for three years already. The life of the forest there is palpable, with so many details to absorb.
Birds sift through leaf litter, spiders decorate branches, mushrooms bloom from the earth and mosses and lichens coat the trees in vibrant colours. You feel the physicality of the weather and the constant change of the seasons.
Even in moments when the world seems to stand still, there is something to notice. And some things you may never notice. The feeling that some things are invisible, dissolving into the trees before your senses can detect them, makes nature even more alive for me.
I spend a great deal of my free time pottering about the forests, hills, and crags wherever I am. Knowing that lynx were present here was tantalising, and being out so often I hoped I would have the chance to see one.
Every time I'd been out, I would think: "perhaps there was one close by; the time of day, the habitat, it was just perfect for a lynx!"
But how close you actually were, you cannot know. Even if you are in the right place at the right time, the silent, camouflaged and careful lynx will decide whether you see them, or not.
One day, on a walk that felt no different from any other, she decided to let me see her. I was passing a tumble of branches below some crags, when I saw movement in my peripheral vision. A lynx.
We both stopped in our tracks, looking at each other. I was in awe, trying to record every detail in my mind.
Her confident stance, head directed at me with no sense of fear, just caution. Body and feet pointed away from me, ready for flight if necessary. She remained still, happy that I was a safe distance from her, perhaps 20 metres, waiting for me to move.
The moment seemed to last an age, I even had time to take a photo.
