Masoala National Park, Madagascar

Getting to Masoala National Park was no small feat, as I travelled with a local guide in a 4x4. There was definitely no winging it on these roads. The journey was long, bumpy, and often felt like a test of both patience and suspension, but it was the only way to reach the remote northeastern coast. By the time I arrived in Antongil Bay, I felt bruised and battered. My legs were stiff from extensive sitting, and I welcomed the opportunity to stand up and stretch before boarding a boat across the largest bay in Madagascar.  

During the Golden Age of Piracy (16th-17th century), Antongil Bay was a base for pirates like James Plantain, who established a settlement here and even married the local king’s granddaughter, though that still led to conflict. The bay’s relative isolation, paired with easy access to the Indian Ocean, made it an ideal hideout. Here, pirates would refit their ships, restock supplies and, unsurprisingly, plan more attacks. 

As the boat reached the Masoala Peninsula, the guide pointed out that Masoala National Park, established in 1997, is Madagascar’s largest protected area. Covering more than 880mi² (2,300km²), the park encompasses dense rainforest, coastal forest, marshes, mangroves and marine parks. 

With such vast stretches of wilderness, I knew I was in for a treat. I organised several days of hiking through the thick jungle, keen to scan the trees and undergrowth for the island’s endemic species. 

One evening, with my guide’s torchlight scanning the branches, I spotted an aye-aye, Madagascar’s most elusive lemur. As the world’s largest nocturnal primate, the aye-aye uses its large ears to echolocate food sources and its long, spindly middle finger to tap and probe the bark for grubs. 

On the forest floor, I spotted a greater hedgehog tenrec waddling through the undergrowth. It looked strikingly similar to a hedgehog, covered in spiky spines, but it’s not actually related. These spiky creatures can roll themselves into a ball, turning into an impenetrable shield of spines.

Then there were the Uroplatus geckos, the ultimate camouflage artists. Their flat bodies and bark-like skin made them nearly impossible to see against the rough texture of tree trunks, especially since they are nocturnal, blending even more seamlessly into the night.

The next morning, I set off early, heading deeper into the park, when I caught sight of the red ruffed lemur. Perched high in the canopy, its vibrant red fur and black ruffs stood out, and its loud, throaty call—perhaps a warning to other lemurs—echoed through the trees. As one of the largest lemur species, they are endemic to Masoala and critically endangered due to habitat loss.

Whenever there was an opening in the canopy, I would look up, hoping to see a serpent eagle circling, its wings slicing through the humid air as it searched for chameleons and geckos. Deforestation and habitat fragmentation have put pressure on this species, with fewer than 300 birds left in the wild. As such, it is listed as an endangered species alongside the rare red owl, which is even more difficult to find.

With a few more days here, I plan to revisit these spots and explore new ones, hoping to uncover even more elusive species in this wilderness.