The alarm goes off early. On tiptoe, I leave the inn for a meeting with Thierry Petit, forester and wildlife expert in the Great Forest of Saint-Hubert. We want to be in the forest before it gets light. That's when the chance of seeing wildlife is greatest. “"But it's no guarantee, you know, this is nature,"” the expert had already made his disclaimer in advance.
Through the darkness, we drive a terrain vehicle over sand, gravel, and muddy paths. Until we reach a spot where we can only continue on foot. “"Gently close the car door, don't slam it,"” Thierry says softly. He's dressed entirely in green, wearing high boots, and has covered his face with a bandana so his pale complexion won't give us away.
Through the mud, leaves, and soggy peat soil, we reach an observation hut. The hidden platform overlooks a clearing that's popular with roe deer and red deer. “"We'll stay here for forty-five minutes,"” the forester whispers. “"The wind is very strong, I'm afraid the animals will shelter deeper in the forest, but who knows, we might get lucky."”
The Great Forest of Saint-Hubert, at 100,000 hectares - of which over 52,000 hectares are forest - is about twenty times larger than the most extensive nature reserve in the Netherlands: the Hoge Veluwe. Twenty times! A limited number of observation huts are marked on the map. The rest are not.
“"It has to stay that way,"” Thierry explains. “"If you make the coordinates known, the viewing hut becomes a destination and people come only to spot wildlife, like some kind of outing. Those aren't the people you want in your nature reserve. You want visitors to come here for the beauty and tranquility. And yes, maybe you'll be lucky and see a red deer or wild boar."”
My guide's suspicion is confirmed. No wildlife. We traverse part of the enormous forest in search of another observation post. This one is more sheltered, and possibly the animals will emerge from their hiding places there. The light is still balancing on the border between night and day, but visibility is much better than half an hour ago.
“"Walking through nature is like visiting a cathedral,"” says Thierry. “"It demands respect. There's a delicate balance that we as humans shouldn't disturb. Look, everyone is happy with this wonderful forest, of course. But it shouldn't be an excuse to make a mess of things elsewhere. Nature deserves attention there too."”
We spend a few wonderful hours in the forest. Wandering through the morning twilight, listening to the sighing of the tallest trees, feet springing on the peat soil. Pure enjoyment, even without wildlife. In fact, it gives a potential encounter in the coming days more luster. Nature is in charge.
I return to the inn in Awenne, La Fontaine du Sabotier. It's contemporary without being unnecessarily hip. With a lounge where the fireplace burns and a kitchen where excellent cooking is done in the evening by Luc Dewalque and his son Romain. Local and seasonal products take the lead. Daughter Morgane serves.
I have breakfast, warm up a bit, and make sure I'm out the door in time for something special. In the basilica of Saint-Hubert, there's a special celebration in honor of Saint Hubert, the patron saint of hunting.
It's busy in the town that was so empty yesterday. The basilica, despite its substantial size, is packed. There aren't enough seats, so people have to stand at the sides and back. The most striking thing: there are lots of dogs, which will be blessed after the service. And behind the altar sit the hunting societies of Saint-Hubert.
The famous horn blowers of Saint-Hubert are also there. Dressed in red and blue. The blare of their hunting horns resonates beautifully through the high space. It's a church service that's unique in its kind. If only for the barking of the dogs, the pastor who playfully deals with it, and the references to Saint Hubert, patron saint of hunting, who renounced hunting himself when he saw a cross light up between the antlers of a red deer...
Saint-Hubert has been the official European capital of hunting for decades. Later, the title European capital of nature was added. That's why during the service, attention is paid not only to the saint, but also to the preservation of forests, rivers, and peatlands.
While the pastor goes around the church square after the service to bless the accompanying pets, other pilgrims have mainly become thirsty and hungry. They go to the food and drink stalls that, in good Belgian tradition, adorn the feast day of the patron saint.
I drive back into the forests. Make a tour of beautiful places such as the old iron foundry Fourneau Saint-Michel, the rural museum, and centuries-old inn l'Auberge du Prévost. There, a Planche du chasseur is served, including soup, toast with mushrooms, wild boar ham, and a game terrine.
Via Awenne, I drive to Mirwart, which is on the list of most beautiful villages in Wallonia, and through the forests around the hamlets of Smuid and Poix-Saint-Hubert. Occasionally, a meager sun pierces through the constantly threatening clouds. The rays play with the dark trunks of the pine forest and sometimes spotlight the forest floor.
Many roads and paths are closed to motorized traffic, but there are still plenty that remain open. Although it has rained a lot and some paths have turned into mud tracks, the relatively light Jimny plows through easily. Only twice do I have to put the 4x4 in low gear to get out of the mud. Calmly, with respect for the surroundings.
It brings me to a spot that overlooks a long straight path. There I see a roe deer for the first time. Or a hind. The animal moves too quickly to notice the difference. And how beautiful is the valley of the Basseilles a little later, a narrow river that drains the water to the Ourthe. I take a hike along beaver dams and rapids. I feel like I'm in Canada, but I'm barely two hours from home.
Tonight, another delicious dinner awaits at La Fontaine du Sabotier. But it's not that far yet. I want to make one last attempt to spot wildlife and drive back to the peatlands around Mochamps. The wind has died down a bit.
The beauty of searching for wildlife is that you walk through the forest in a different way. Quieter, more aware. After a while, I forget that I'm spotting wildlife and enjoy nature's generosity: a beautiful transparent mushroom, fresh moss covering a fallen tree, a small bird drinking water from a puddle between the bushes.
From 1847, when a law was passed to plant “"infertile"” lands, an unprecedented number of pine trees were planted in the Ardennes. Mainly for logging. It created an almost continuous Ardennes forest. With one drawback: it was monotonous. And that has changed for the better over the past twenty years, with the return of deciduous trees and the restoration of hundreds of hectares of peatlands and wet heathland.
I climb the observation hut and read in the hut booklet that red deer, roe deer, and wild boars have been spotted recently. The bench creaks as I sit down and take out the binoculars. In complete solitude, I look out over a plain with patches of yellow and orange-colored trees. And then I suddenly see that typical rear end of the roe deer with a large white spot, the mirror. In fact, there are two, but only one dares to come out of the forest edge.
It doesn't last long, maybe just five minutes. But it's beautiful, and I note the score in the booklet: two roe deer, 5:35 PM. When I look through the hole of the observation hut again, a bird of prey hovers above the plain, almost immediately plunging down like a stone. For a brief moment, it disappears into the tall grass, only to fly away with a small unrecognizable prey between its claws.
It's dusk as I drive the Suzuki Jimny out of the forests on an unpaved road. The lights shine on the verge where wild boars have rooted up the ground. Through the massive darkness, it's back to small Awenne with its natural stone houses. I park in front of the inn. Without noticing, I've gotten cold. Inside, the fireplace is burning, and a glass of red wine is waiting. In the kitchen, cooking has already begun.
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