It’s the middle of the day, it’s hot, I’m sweaty. But when I heard those words – tiger tracks – I was suddenly up and about. We traded our walking for scooters, as the elderly man led us along the bumpy road toward the jungle. It was barely ten minutes of riding in the direction that we had already walked from when the man stopped and pointed to a puddle. There in the mud was a massive tiger track. What was even better was behind the big track: a slightly smaller track. The elderly man said they see a mother tiger and her two sub-adult cubs quite often.

The sound of Sumatra plays back and forth like a tennis match as the local White Handed Gibbons and Siamangs start a vocal battle over territory, which goes on forever. It’s a beautiful sound and I have no idea who the winner is.