The evening was velvet dark. The air was sweet with the scent of night flowers and filled with an orchestra of cicadas and tree frogs. Far off in the forest, I heard the whippoorwill-trill of a nightjar. Somewhere out there, close by, a jaguar was padding through the trees. She knew we were there. We’d seen her footprints in the mud, on the trail next to the river as we’d walked up; we’d smelt her acrid feline musk in the air. But jaguars steer clear of people, even on the flanks of Brazil’s Aracá, the wildest, remotest mountain in the tropics.
Here, untouched Amazon forest and river, lily-filled lakes, reed beds and swamps spread for hundreds of kilometres all around, unbroken by road or town. I wasn’t frightened, but my…