This Lesser-Known South American Destination Offers Unforgettable Wildlife Encounters

It’s no surprise that budding biologist David Attenborough chose Guyana—formerly known as British Guiana—as the second filming location for his Zoo Quest series in 1955. In his book, Adventures of a Young Naturalist, he described South America as home to some of the most unusual, beautiful, and even terrifying animals on the planet. Guyana, in particular, is famed for its giant wildlife, including record-breaking jaguars, anteaters, river otters, harpy eagles, and anacondas.

While an offshore oil boom is set to thrust Guyana into the 21st century (it has experienced the world’s fastest-growing GDP for two consecutive years), the interior of the country remains astonishingly unchanged—not just since Attenborough's visit, but even dating back to the 1590s, when Sir Walter Raleigh explored these lands in search of the legendary city of gold, El Dorado.

The interior of Guyana is home to about 10 percent of the nation’s approximately 830,000 residents, which means that all its non-coastal inhabitants could comfortably fit in a few college football stadiums. This sparse population results in a relatively low environmental footprint, particularly in the pristine, river-laden Rupununi Savannah, which borders Venezuela and Brazil, just across from the Amazon. Access is limited to air travel or a single unpaved red-dirt road that runs from north to south.

I’m choosing to bypass the notoriously bumpy road and instead join a small-group tour with Wilderness Explorers. We board a plane that’s nearly the size of a bus in Georgetown, and within minutes, the traffic-choked capital disappears, replaced by endless greenery. An hour later, we land in Lethem, a dusty settlement near the Brazilian border, and begin our van journey into the savannah.

Our journey begins at Caiman House, an eco-lodge and research station run by the Indigenous Yupukari community. The accommodations are simple yet comfortable, featuring open-air showers and mosquito nets, all arranged around a courtyard with cement pools where staff nurture vulnerable yellow-spotted Amazon River turtles, giving them a head start against predators from both the animal kingdom and humans.

In the morning, we engage in birdwatching from dugout canoes on a tranquil lake; in the afternoon, we wander through the village, which seamlessly blends tradition with emerging tourism opportunities. There’s a compact house adorned with spider motifs, where local weavers create their crafts, and another where a seamstress stitches school uniforms. Additionally, solar panels and a facility equipped with Starlink internet access are present, all thanks to government initiatives fueled by an influx of oil revenue.

Herpetologists have trained local villagers to gather data on the lodge’s namesake, the black caiman, an understudied crocodilian species that can reach lengths of 20 feet. “We’re going to use a wire snare to catch a caiman,” our guide explains as we make our way to the Rupununi River to board small boats. “If we capture a large one, you’ll see a lot of thrashing and biting. We won’t harm the caiman, but we will need to tire it out from a safe distance.”

As twilight descends, nighthawks swoop overhead, snatching insects midair. From their nearby boat, the researchers are diligently shining a spotlight along the shoreline, eager to catch a glimpse of eye shine. When they succeed, the atmosphere transforms into a scene straight out of a Spielberg film.

They throw a lasso around the caiman’s neck and begin the challenging task of wearing it out. The caiman swims vigorously, occasionally slamming its powerful tail against the metal boat, creating a thunderous sound. Eventually, when they feel confident that it lacks the strength to retaliate, they secure its snout with electrical tape and pull it onto the sandy bank.

We gather around, just feet away from a formidable creature capable of lethal force in numerous ways. The researchers soon discover that this is a familiar specimen they’ve encountered before, number 316. They utilize a unique numbering system, which includes snipping off a piece of a scute, a bony plate found on the tail.

They take measurements—10 feet, 5 inches in length and 120 kilograms (approximately 265 pounds)—and encourage us to touch the soft underbelly, which has historically been sought after for luxury leather. There’s a thrill in being this close to such a formidable creature. After removing a piece of barbed wire that was bothering his jaw, they release him back into the wild.

The following morning, we say goodbye to our hosts and set off by boat to Karanambu Lodge, established in 1927 by Tiny McTurk, who raised cattle and harvested balata, a rubber-like substance from trees. His daughter became a prominent advocate for the conservation of giant river otters in the area, nurturing and raising orphaned pups right there. Today, her nephew Ed and his wife, Melanie, carry on this conservation legacy at the lodge.

“We serve as a surrogate family for the otters,” Melanie explains. “When you do it right, your cub is bold, independent, and out all night. It’s like having a teenager.” Sadly for me, there are no pups to spend time with at the lodge—but, of course, no orphaned pups is excellent news for the ecosystem.

When Ed leads me to my thatch-roofed bungalow, he recommends keeping the windows open. Slightly taken aback, I ask if that would allow wildlife to enter, to which he replies, “They’re going to come in regardless, so you might as well enjoy the breeze.” It’s an exercise in surrendering to nature. Indeed, I find a hefty scorpion in my shower, and at night, bats flit around above my mosquito net.

Later, Melanie shares a story, her laughter barely contained, about a bright idea that backfired: she hand-harvested snakes from the jungle and placed them in the villas’ thatched roofs to catch bats. It was all fun until a guest sprinted out of her bungalow in a panic when a snake slithered down from above while she was in the shower.

The next day, we rise before dawn and set out into the savannah by truck with guides from the local Macushi Indigenous community. Our objective is to spot the elusive giant anteater, which is most active at dusk and dawn, resting during the morning light. A local vaqueiro (cowboy) is assisting us from horseback, and within moments of departing from the lodge, we are quickly ushered out of the truck and into the tall, sharp grasses. A flash of flowing hair, resembling a blend of a watering can and an Afghan hound, begins to gallop across the horizon toward us before veering sharply away just a few feet from where we stand. During his visit, Attenborough filmed himself chasing an anteater, but we are decidedly more respectful—or at least too awestruck to act as nuisances.

With the sun shining brightly, the ideal way to escape the midday heat is to lounge in hammocks, while the property’s charming cats, Chairman Meow and Cinnamon, weave around us below. As we enjoy a lunch of fish (peacock bass), yucca and plantain chips, and green mango salad, Melanie shares captivating stories about this legendary property. This is the very table where David Attenborough dined in 1955; these rafters are where a curious jaguar would sneak in at night to watch Auntie Diane while she slept.

That evening, we climb back into a boat in search of giant river otters. Although we don’t spot any, the riverbanks are alive with action, featuring black spider monkeys, brown capuchin monkeys, and brown-bearded saki monkeys chattering and chasing each other through the treetops.

We stop at a muddy riverbank and take a brief hike to an inland lagoon, where the surface is nearly choked with massive Victoria amazonica water lilies. Guyana’s title as the land of giants extends to its flora: these pads can grow up to 10 feet wide and can support the weight of an adult. We paddle to the center of the lagoon in small rowboats and sit quietly as a natural spectacle unfolds around us: the lilies bloom at sunset, and plump golden scarab beetles nestle into them for the night, drawn in by their sweet fragrance. They remain trapped (happily) inside, keeping warm and well-fed, and emerge the next day dusted in pollen.

We celebrate a successful pollination with a secret-recipe punch made from Guyanese El Dorado Rum before heading back to the lodge. Along our ride, our guide’s spotlight reveals greater bulldog bats, which use echolocation to glide over the river’s surface, expertly catching fish in the pouch beneath their legs.

Upon returning to the lodge, the McTurks have prepared a barbecue featuring freshly caught river fish beneath a towering mango tree adorned with lights. Melanie’s mother was a celebrated Chinese Guyanese cookbook author and caterer for the National Assembly, and it’s clear that her love for hospitality has been passed down. In this rugged and wild interior, danger seems to lurk around every corner. This land is home to piranhas, jaguars, vampire bats, and scorpions, and our group has taken to repeating a phrase casually mentioned by one of our guides—“There’s an anaconda in every puddle”—as a sort of mantra for our courage. Yet, with a glass of rum, a pot of cook-up rice, and some freshly baked roti, the warmth of Guyanese hospitality makes this land of giants feel far less daunting.