I've geared up for the big jungle trek, complete with rubber boots and covered in several layers of deet. Apart from melting plastic, the enormous quantities of the stuff in which I've drenched myself appears to have had no effect, as I'm still bitten all over. The mozzies are unfased.
The trek starts ominously. Five minutes from camp an orange-brown snake crosses the path and hurries into the bushes. I feel sick. Ten minutes later I'm crossing a roaring river on a narrow wooden plank with no hand support. The only other way is to wade across.
In some ways the jungle is like the Inca Trail and the phrase 'Andean flat' returns to haunt me. It's undulating and one minute I'm wading through swampy bog until I'm up to my knees in mud (I had wondered why I needed rubber boots) and the next climbing steep forested hills. Our guide hacks his way through with a machete, pointing out various plants and animals. I'm so uncomfortably hot and wet, I can barely concentrate on the botany lesson, even though I'm a plant fanatic.
At the edge of the Higher Napo river children are swinging on lianas. While the others strip off and jump into the river to cool off (and provide a satisfying lunch for the sand flies) I spot a whirlwind of butterflies flitting by the bank of the river and like a true photography geek take out my telephoto lens and get to work.
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