Steph Spyro standing beside an endangered mountain gorilla in Bwindi Impenetrable National Park (Image: Adam Gerrard/Daily Express)
I have seen gorillas before but never like this.
In zoos, I have watched them through glass: their vast, expressive eyes dulled by confinement, their powerful bodies subdued alongside signs pleading with visitors not to tap glass or flash cameras.
It is deeply unsettling meeting a creature in a place so unlike its home.
There isn’t a single mountain gorilla in captivity in the entire world. The animals do not adapt to captive life, making their survival entirely dependent on protecting their natural habitat.
So, when I found myself lacing up my boots on the edge of Uganda’s Bwindi Impenetrable National Park, preparing to step into one of the last true sanctuaries of the endangered mountain gorilla, it felt less like a trip and more like a pilgrimage.
Long before I set foot in Uganda, the journey had already begun.
There was the £600 permit from the Ugandan Wildlife Authority, a fee that helps fund the fragile survival of these animals and the ecosystems they depend on.
Then came a Covid-19 throwback in the form of a trip to my local pharmacy for face masks.
The rules are uncompromising. A cough, a fever, even the faintest hint of illness could bar entry.
These gorillas share around 98% of our DNA, and with that similarity comes deadly vulnerability to human disease.
I navigated the germ-laden crush of the London Underground in the days leading up to the trek and endured the long-haul flight to Central Africa with quiet vigilance, hoping my body would not betray me.
It never did and at dawn one Thursday, the real journey began.
The forest earns its name quickly. Thick vines twist like ropes. Branches claw at my clothes. Rangers swing sickles in rhythmic arcs, carving a path where none sometimes seems to exist.
The air is heavy with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves; mud clings stubbornly to every crevice of my boots.
We walked single file, deeper and deeper, following faint trails left by trackers and the thousands who have come before, all drawn by the same hope. To see them.
We were searching for a habituated family, a group that has spent years slowly learning to tolerate the presence of humans.
It can take up to five years for gorillas to accept us into their world, and even then, the privilege is fragile.
After about an hour, we heard a sound.
A low, resonant call broke through the forest’s morning chorus.
Rare sighting of a silverback carrying a baby in Uganda (Image: Adam Gerrard/Daily Express)
Branches shook overhead. Leaves spiralled down through shafts of dim light. I looked up and a ball of black fur high in the canopy moved with great purpose as it foraged for breakfast.
Our guide, Amos, motioned silently. Masks on.
We moved closer towards him, with heads turned up to the sky.
And then, suddenly, they were everywhere. Not just the one in the tree but dotted all around us.
Young gorillas tumbled playfully down a slope, rolling and somersaulting like children in a playground.
One paused, peering at us with curiosity before turning back to the nutritious foliage on offer.
Another emerged and stopped us in our tracks just an arm’s length away. I held my breath. Too close. And then another followed suit closely behind.
The careful rule, keep a seven-metre distance, dissolved in the face of reality occasionally as the animals moved around us.
The 17-strong Rushegura family were mostly unbothered or unimpressed by our presence.
We, on the other hand, were transfixed.
Something happened that even our seasoned guide of nearly 14 years had never witnessed: a massive silverback, weighing around 200kg, allowing a baby to clamber onto his back and ride deeper into the park.
Reporter Steph Spyro posing with guides during a mountain gorilla trek (Image: Adam Gerrard/Daily Express)
The view inside Bwindi’s Impenetrable National Park (Image: Adam Gerrard/Daily Express)
For a few seconds, the great patriarch became something softer – a caretaker.
And just when it felt the morning could offer no more, the animals delivered one final, unforgettable display.
Another younger silverback strode into view. He paused, gazing into the vast green expanse, then rose, towering onto two legs.
His chest thundered and pounded on his chest, creating a high-pitched “pop pop” sound which echoed through the trees.
A reminder that this is his kingdom, and we simply his guests for a moment.
We took the hint and began our trek out the forest which seemed to close behind us again – erasing any trace of the encounter.
Unlike our footprint in the mud, these memories will always remain, alongside the enduring desire to protect the only recently critically endangered animals currently in the fight of their lives.