The flying of thousands of butterflies of invisible wings embellish this fantastic walk... but the lagoon is not anywhere. "We are almost there", point out Mercedes, who doesn't get tired of showing trees and plants, who doesn't stop to decipher the sounds of the forest "that is a macaw, that is a cicada, that is a gentleman bird" and that never stop narrating stories, legends and myths.

"The 'tunche' is a boring spirit, but the 'chullachaqui ' that is short, hefty and limp, cheats people so they get lost in the mount; to avoid it, the natives prepare a sort of makeup with a pigment extracted of the bark of a tree called mashonate" and put it on their faces, the guide adds that she also knows the story of the perverse "Chamán" that threatened to dry all the rivers of the region, if somebody dared to cut a trunk of "lupuna."

The story ends, the road does too. "We have arrived"... and a sigh of relief, that summarizes the fatigue of three hours of walking by the trail, under an incessant heat, under an undecided rain, is listened. Time to navigate in a fragile canoe, but before, we must give a glance to the zigzaging roots and powerful branches of the highest tree in the reserve: a noble and mature ficus of, approximately, 65 meters high.

A desire before departing: "hopefully the wolves are there", but the giant otters have left. What can we do, it is a matter of luck!, Mercedes resigns while cutting the water with an oar that seems to be a toy. The canoe is rocked, it advances with extreme slowness, it skirts the bank, coming closer to the exuberant vegetation that flanks the lagoon.

And the rain returns. The canoe is an abandoned leaf in the middle of the lagoon. The incessant drops peal in the craft, composing a strange melody of life. Melodies of the nature in the Reserved Area of Tambopata-Candamo.

In the trails of the forest