It is our last morning in the forest.
I am fetched by a shy cook. Earlier in the week I had asked if I could photograph her making bread and, true to her word, she comes to find me before dawn. I was not expecting it to be quite so early, nor so dark that she needs a head torch to see what she is doing.
In a makeshift kitchen beneath tarpaulins, dough is already proving in neat little rows while more is being rolled and shaped ready for the day ahead. While most of us are still asleep, the camp is quietly stirring into life. She shows me how she rolls out the dough before it is baked, and I am very glad that I got to see it.
It is going to be a real wrench to leave the Mapari camp. It rained quite heavily during the night and this morning's drift has been abandoned. Instead, we are packing up. Everything, including the food, has been brought in from Caiman House and when we leave, everything has to go back.
Again, we are promised a little drifting, but we seem to be travelling quite fast and noisily down the river. Maybe they are worried about more rain, or perhaps it simply feels that way because I am so reluctant to leave.
Cormorants had become familiar companions on the Mapari creek. Perched on branches with their wings spread to dry, they would tolerate our approach only up to a point before launching themselves into the air. Their take-off always amused me. They would run across the surface of the water, feet pattering furiously, before finally gathering enough speed to become airborne.
Often they would simply fly a little further upstream and wait for us to catch up before repeating the whole performance. After several rounds of this game, they would eventually give up and allow us to pass without further effort.
Some of the photographs below never quite found a home in the earlier diary entries, but they are very much part of my memories of time on the river and in the rainforest. They are moments glimpsed from the boat, encounters that happened in passing and things that stayed with me long after the camera had been put away.
The banks of the creek were never empty for long. Some sightings lasted only a few seconds before disappearing into the vegetation, while others seemed entirely unbothered by our presence.
Our guides at the front of the boats were constantly scanning the riverbanks and treetops with their binoculars. More often than not, they spotted the wildlife long before the rest of us. The Macaw was perched very high above the canopy and I am quite sure it was one of the guides who spotted it first. Once seen, however, that flash of scarlet was impossible to miss.
Some encounters were over almost before they had begun. We surprised a family of Capybaras on a small grassy clearing beside the river and they scattered almost immediately. I was delighted to come away with a photograph at all, even if it is not quite the gallery-worthy image I might have hoped for.
The Giant River Otters were often heard before they were seen. Their calls sounded remarkably like scalding cats somewhere amongst the reeds and riverbanks. Once spotted, they proved endlessly fascinating. There were clearly adults and younger animals in the group, and while they always seemed aware of our presence, they kept their distance. One moment they would be watching us from the surface and the next they would slip beneath the water without a ripple, only to reappear somewhere completely unexpected.
Not all the birds were quite so elegant as the Macaws. This guy immediately reminded me of Woody Woodpecker, complete with his bright red Mohican. Like so much of the wildlife, he was spotted while travelling along the Rupununi river and provided a brief but memorable distraction.
Butterflies were another matter altogether. Some of the most beautiful species seemed determined not to be photographed. Brilliant flashes of electric blue would drift through the trees, catching my eye before disappearing again without so much as a pause. I spent far more time than I care to admit chasing after them and only managed to catch up with two or three willing subjects.
Of course, not all the rainforest's smaller inhabitants were encountered during the day. Some only revealed themselves during our night drifts, when the river took on a completely different character. Under torchlight, eyeshine reflected from the darkness and creatures that had remained hidden during the heat of the day suddenly became visible.
After several hours travelling downriver, we stop at a stretch of the Rupununi that looks no different from anywhere else. From the boat there is little to suggest that anything unusual lies beyond it. The forest floor sits several metres above the river and reaching it requires a near-vertical climb up the bank. There are no steps and no obvious path, just a muddy slope disappearing into the trees. Looking at it, I am already feeling rather nervous about how I am going to get back down again.
Once at the top, we walk for fifteen or twenty minutes through the forest to a secluded oxbow lake, cut off from the main river during the dry season.
The lake is home to Arapaima, one of the largest freshwater fish in the world. When they come up to breathe they break the surface dramatically, rather like the Loch Ness Monster emerging from the depths. Unfortunately, they have absolutely no regard for photographers. There is no pattern to their appearances, no warning and no time to react. By the time you've heard the splash and turned your head, they've vanished again.
On the return to the boats, Mahadeo has thoughtfully cut steps into the muddy bank, making the descent considerably easier. We are rewarded with fresh melon and mango juice before continuing on our way.
Not all the wildlife we encountered were quite so elusive. Yellow-spotted River Terrapins were a frequent sight, hauled out on logs and sandbanks to enjoy the sunshine. Thanks to ongoing conservation efforts in the Rupununi, their numbers are slowly recovering and they have become one of the region's conservation success stories.
Caiman were also a frequent sight along the Rupununi, often found stretched out on sandbanks or resting quietly beside the river...
On an earlier evening, before we headed to the forest camp, we had the opportunity to join part of the caiman research programme based at Caiman House. For years, members of the local community have been collecting measurements and recording details from these remarkable reptiles.
In the darkness, we followed another boat along the river while a powerful spotlight swept from bank to bank searching for eyeshine. The caiman, however, seemed to know we were coming. Despite everyone's efforts, only a small individual was caught that evening, less than a metre long but already around four years old.
Once it had told the researchers everything it could, it was gently released and we left the team to continue their search for a larger specimen.
There was a rumour that a jaguar had been seen nearby and, despite crossing all my fingers and toes, we saw nothing. The sound of insects drowned out the engine of the boat and, beneath a sky full of stars, the beam of Rambo's spotlight swept silently across the riverbanks. It was all rather mesmerising.
As mesmerising as the night drifts had been, our own journey downstream continued.
As we continued along the Rupununi, some landmarks were becoming familiar. One of them was a Jabiru nest high above the riverbank. We had first seen the birds on an evening drift before heading to the forest camp and, like old friends, they were still there when we passed again.
High above the river, the young Jabirus waited patiently for a returning parent. Even at a distance they looked enormous.
As we near the village again, the air changes. I have never quite been able to explain it, but it seems warmer and sweeter somehow. It reminds me of a kitchen baking cakes. Perhaps it is simply the smell of people and home after several days in the forest, but it is something I notice immediately.
We arrive back at Caiman House shortly after three o'clock. As we have not stopped for lunch, dinner is brought forward and the planned evening excursion is quietly abandoned.
I can't say I am not disappointed.
Tomorrow there is an early start and a flight to Georgetown.
For now, there is little to do other than repack the things left behind, enjoy an early dinner, read for a while and head to bed. Leaving the rainforest camp has been far harder than I ever expected.
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