Where Wildlife Comes Close

I have travelled to Brazil three times, and each journey revealed a very different side of the country.

My first visit was with my partner Carly, exploring Iguazú Falls from the Brazilian side. From the ground, the sheer volume and power of the water were overwhelming; from a helicopter, the falls became something entirely different, an immense landscape carved into the forest, revealing a scale impossible to appreciate from below.

My second journey, with my friend and fellow photographer Vincent Verstraete, took us into the Pantanal, with one clear objective: wildlife photography.

We had arranged and paid for a guide in advance, but on arrival Elionil told us that the original agreement would not be honoured and that his price had increased by 50%. We decided to continue, but the photographic experience quickly became disappointing. When jaguars were reported, boats normally moved rapidly towards the sighting. Elionil sometimes chose to paddle instead, and by the time we arrived, the animals had disappeared. On another occasion, he simply decided that we had taken enough photographs for the day.

Eventually, I decided we could not continue like this.

Then came an unexpected change of fortune.

At our lodge we met Carlos from Pantaneiros Tours, who invited us to join a barbecue. During the evening, our conversation naturally turned towards wildlife and photography. I explained our situation and asked whether he could take over our programme.

Three days later, he did.

The difference was immediate. Carlos understood that we were not simply looking to see animals. We wanted to photograph behaviour, atmosphere and decisive moments. With his knowledge and enthusiasm, the Pantanal opened up: giant anteaters, tapirs, caimans, blue-and-yellow macaws, wading birds and giant river otters all became part of the journey. At night, the clear skies offered another photographic world, with the Milky Way stretching above the wetlands.

The Three Brothers River

Then came the Three Brothers River, where everything changed within seconds.

We had been watching a jaguar from the boat, following its movements without knowing what it intended to do. The animal remained close to the water, apparently calm. Then its attention shifted towards an alligator.

There was a brief pause, almost as if the entire scene had stopped.

The jaguar moved.

In one sudden movement, it launched itself from the tree towards the alligator below. For a fraction of a second, the two animals seemed suspended above the water before the jaguar dropped towards its target.

We were extremely close.

There was no time to think about composition or settings. We simply reacted, cameras firing as quickly as possible while the boat rocked beneath us. The action was over almost before we understood what we had witnessed.

Only afterwards did the excitement give way to the fact of how extraordinary, and how close, the encounter had been.

For a wildlife photographer, these are the moments you wait for: not because they can be predicted, but because when nature suddenly erupts into action, instinct has to take over before thought has time to catch up.

My third journey took me deeper into Brazil, to the Amazon and Mamirauá Reserve, where I stayed at Uakari Lodgein search of the elusive white uakari monkey. Because of the exceptionally high water level, the usual possibilities for exploring the reserve were severely limited, leaving us with a five day boat journey as our only option.

Five days on the water sounds like an extraordinary photographic opportunity, but the reality was very different. The vast flooded forest seemed to stretch endlessly around us, and wildlife could remain hidden for hours, even days. I spent much of the time scanning the trees, watching the riverbanks and waiting for something to emerge from the dense vegetation.

During those five days, I had only two brief moments when a genuine photographic opportunity presented itself.

It was frustrating, but also strangely instructive. In a place as immense as the Amazon, simply being there does not guarantee a photograph. The forest decides what it reveals and when. After the intensity of the Pantanal, where a jaguar could erupt into action within seconds, the Amazon demanded a completely different kind of patience.

Sometimes the most honest wildlife photograph is preceded by hours, or days, of seeing almost nothing. And when that brief moment finally arrives, you understand why you kept looking.