Brazil’s Wild Wet

“I’d contracted to fly to Fazenda Santa Sophia with a bush pilot I didn’t know. It was already getting dark when I met him, and we sprinted to his car to drive to the airstrip. We could smell his car from 50 feet (15 meters): A jerry can of gas had tipped over in the trunk, and gallons of fuel were sloshing around in it. He laughed, righted the can, and we flung ourselves into the car and roared away, he sluicing around every corner on two wheels, me hanging out the window, gasping for air.”

I came across these Field Notes from one of Susan’s trips and thought you might enjoy them. Click here to go to the page.

Joel Horn