North Pantanal: My stories in the kingdom of the cat

Ousado, meaning “Bold”, of the Northern Pantanal has it all—a hunter’s toolkit, strong genes, undeniable swagger, and a backstory that made him a legend. During the devastating fires of 2020, he was found injured, his paw pads burned and unable to walk. Rescued by the Jaguar Ecological Reserve and Jaguar Identification Project, he was airlifted to São Paulo, treated, and later released with a GPS collar by Panthera. When I saw him, he had just taken down a caiman, his jaws clamped and eyes locked. My guide, Branco, whispered, “When we’re with Ousado… stay focused.” I’m glad I listened.

A heron takes flight with a piranha clamped in its beak, a blur of motion I didn’t fully register until I checked the image on the back of my Canon R1. We had just rounded a bend in Branco’s boat, coming from a jaguar sighting, when the bird exploded from the riverbank. I still had my 600mm lens on, not ideal for handheld shots on a moving boat, but there was no time to switch. In the Pantanal, every second counts. This time, the bird won. Nature here is fast, raw, and beautifully unforgiving. Stay ready.

In the heart of the Pantanal, a caiman rests motionless, not hunting, but hosting. Perched above its eye, a butterfly sips minerals from the reptile’s skin. It’s a fleeting moment of unexpected harmony between predator and pollinator. The contrast is striking, armored scales and fragile wings, stillness and grace. Scenes like this are common here, but never ordinary. Sometimes, even the fiercest animals become part of something gentle. In the Pantanal, balance reveals itself in the most surprising ways, and there is always beauty in the mundane.

The sun breaks over the horizon, casting golden rays across a waking Pantanal. From above, fog rolls like a soft tide over the treetops, and thin clouds stretch across the sky, dancing between dawn and day. The scene feels suspended in time, quiet, vast, and untouched. Along the river’s edge, the absence of development is striking. It’s a reminder that the only true landowners here are the ones who sleep under the stars, earn every meal, and move through the wild with silent authority. I’m speaking of the wildlife, of course. Here, it runs the show.

In the soft light of sunset, Branco’s boat carves a path through the winding river. The water mirrors the sky, broken only by the gentle wake behind us. We’re heading back after a full day with jaguars—how many? I’ve honestly lost count at this point. Guided by a man who knows every bend, branch, and whisker of this place, the ride looks calm from above. But in that moment, adrenaline is still coursing through me. No two days in the Pantanal are the same, but one thing’s for sure, the wildlife always delivers.

Two kingfishers clashed mid-air, their beaks locked in a blur of feathers and fury. Spinning above the river like aerial acrobats, they battled over territory, pride, or perhaps a mate—neither willing to back down. All this unfolded while we were sipping coffee on the boat, the stillness shattered by a flash of blue and the slice of wings through air. They came so close, I spilled coffee on my camera. Perks of the job. In the Pantanal, even the smallest creatures live with intensity, beauty, and constant, breathtaking competition.

High above the Pantanal floor, a jaguar cub reaches out and gently licks river water from its paws. He lounges beside his mother in the bend of a tree, both wrapped in shade and silence. She rests with the calm confidence of a queen, while he does his best to look stoic, even at such a young age. One day, he’ll inherit this stretch of wild, everything the light touches will be his, if he’s strong enough to keep it. For now, it’s a quiet moment between predator and cub. Even in the Pantanal, power makes space for tenderness.

Giant water lilies float like natural sculptures across the still river in Serra do Amolar, the Pantanal’s mountainous heart. I found a single lily flower among them, delicate yet bold against a canvas of greens and golds. In frame, the peaks glowed with morning light as the day slowly began. Here, you can unwind with the locals, share a warm meal, and catch an infectious smile. The river reflects it all, sky, shadow, and the quiet rhythm of life. In Serra do Amolar, stillness meets grandeur, and every layer reveals a story of wild, understated beauty.

A jaguar glides silently through the river, muscles rippling just beneath the surface. Behind it, a boat full of photographers watches in stunned silence, cameras raised, breaths held. In the Pantanal, this is where dream photos become real. The cat moves with quiet confidence, fully aware, yet entirely unbothered. Normally, I frame people out, letting the jaguar own the image. But not this time. In this moment, predator and observer shared the same current. And, for once, I felt compelled to include the human animals, too, equally wild in their wonder.

As the sun sinks over the Transpantaneira Highway, I’m reminded of the saying, “tough roads bring good people.” Are the roads paved? No. Are they bumpy? Absolutely. But that’s part of what makes this place a wildlife spectacle—minimal development, maximum magic. The wooden planks rumble beneath our tires as the sky burns red and orange, casting long shadows across the wetlands. This isn’t just a road: It’s a path into the wild heart of Brazil. And after the life-changing adventure I’ve had here, I know this won’t be the last time I cross it.

Serra do Amolar is a place that feels imagined yet entirely real, a fairy tale woven into the wetlands. The mountains rise like ancient towers above endless rivers, lily pads, and mist-laced lagoons. It’s a rare blend of grandeur and intimacy, where time slows and silence holds meaning. Parakeets call through the fog, paddles glide softly through still water, and locals live with the land, not just on it. Here, biodiversity and culture thrive side by side. Untouched, unhurried, and unforgettable. Amolar is a place that stays with you.

Spontaneity and laughter led to these images. A sudden storm forced our bush plane to land on a remote Pantanal farm, where my pilot, Marcelo, and I were welcomed by locals with open arms. As rain tapped on the tin roof, we shared stories and smiles with people we had just met, but felt we’d known forever. That’s where I saw Elizabeth Silva de Jesus cooking over an open fire, smiling as if nothing in the world could rush her. In that moment, we experienced something unfiltered and rare: Life in the Pantanal, lived slowly, joyfully, and deeply committed to connections.

This is my pilot, Marcelo, not just a skilled flyer, but a man completely at ease in the heart of the Pantanal. It helps to know someone who knows the land and the stories here. After all, everything in my world is about access, and a great guide will unlock every door. After an unexpected landing on this farm, we found ourselves standing in a stranger’s kitchen, surrounded by the warmth of woodsmoke, laughter, and local hospitality. His boots may have been built for the sky, but they fit right in on the ground. Sometimes, detours make the best chapters.

Soar above the South Pantanal here