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The Amazon Basin, September 1987
At noon, the clouds clinging to the top of Cerro Gordo broke free and scattered. Far above, in the upper reaches of the forest canopy, Whittlesey could see golden tints of sunlight. Animals—probably spider monkeys—thrashed and hooted above his head and a macaw swooped low, squawking obscenely.
Whittlesey stopped next to a fallen jacaranda tree and watched Carlos, his sweating camp assistant, catch up.
“We will stop here,” he said in Spanish. “Baja la caja. Put down the box.”