News came soon of a jaguar this morning, though not before we had spent many minutes watching a slippery knot of otters and their pups outside the mouth of their new holt. They flashed their spotty apricot throats at us and yawned widely, baring harsh teeth and startling pink mouths. We were glad to be a respectful distance away as, even from here, we could smell the fishy tang of their breath.
The jaguar we saw was a neat, petite female: light gold with clustered black rosettes, finer by far than the big black blotches on the back of Maxim yesterday. This lovely cat was almost certainly Bianca, as we were close to where she has been for days, though her identity has yet to be confirmed from the photographs taken. She padded along the wet bank and waded in the muddied waters. It was hot.
We moved upstream to the shade but, having lost herself in the dense marsh grasses of the river's edge, she never reappeared. Instead we listened to ashy-headed greenlets fluting in the tree above us, watched masked gnatcatchers at their impeccable nest, and sweatily reflected on the privilege of being in this marvellous place.