National Geographic Magazine - UK October 2024

THE ISSUE YOU HOLD in your hands is genuinely special. It is the culmination of incredibly deep research, exploration, inquiry, and documentation designed to give us all greater insight into one of our most critical ecosystems. Amazonia—a popular term for the waterways and terrestrial areas around the Amazon River and its tributaries—is a place like no other. A huge carbon sink of 344 billion trees. A haven of biodiversity that’s home to 10 percent of the planet’s species. A cultural landscape rich in knowledge and creativity developed over millennia. A source of millions of gallons of water and rich nutrients that feed our oceans. Our planet would simply not be the same without it. Over the past two years, the National Geographic editorial team has partnered with scientists, researchers, and…

A man climbs a towering date palm tree, his feet nimbly navigating the trunk, also known as a stem, like a ladder until he reaches the canopy. Amid the palm leaves, he pulls a long, curved blade to expertly cut away a cluster of dates that he lowers to the ground. It’s a scene almost unchanged for millennia in the oasis of AlUla, northwest Saudi Arabia. The region is renowned for its dates, which have been essential to oasis life for almost as long as humans have lived here. The oasis of AlUla was always more than a vital watering hole for travelers: It was a community and kingdom built on farming the desert. AlUla’s oasis was formed by a wadi, a desert ravine that brings water from faraway rains…

FROM SOURCE TO SEA A conservation photographer who normally focuses on the ocean immersed himself in the Amazon Basin to reveal its aquatic wonders—and its challenges. THE DRIVING FORCE behind our Amazon expedition, Thomas Peschak—a National Geographic Explorer since 2017—spent more than a year documenting the world’s most biodiverse rainforest and the scientists studying it. He and his team, including videographer Otto Whitehead, embedded for weeks and months in over 30 locations. It was often demanding, says the South Africa–based photojournalist, but his best experiences were “off the charts.” Among them: snorkeling with a tapir and diving with human-size catfish. Peschak’s Amazon Tally 1,931 Books and scientific papers he read before the expedition 490,064 Photographs he made while exploring the Amazon Basin 6 Languages in which he learned how to…

The story of how the Amazon got its name begins on June 24, 1542. Francisco de Orellana was praying for an escape from the green world that had swallowed his beleaguered expedition. The Spaniard’s two boats, containing fewer than 50 starving men, were nearing what the crew hoped would be their salvation. After seven months of navigating a series of tributaries beginning at the foot of the Andes, they’d finally reached the largest river any of them had ever seen, and Orellana hoped it would soon lead them to the Atlantic Ocean. He was accompanied by Gaspar de Carvajal, a Dominican friar, who kept a detailed chronicle of their journey. The priest recorded the Europeans’ astonishment at the advanced cultures they encountered—densely populated villages along the riverside, including one that…

ANDES TO ATLANTIC From mountain headwaters to tributaries, water takes on sediments and chemicals that change its appearance and characteristics as it flows over different terrain. More than 58 million gallons, enough to fill 88 Olympic swimming pools, flow from the Amazon’s mouths into the Atlantic every second. WATER CYCLE OF LIFE Much of the Amazon Basin’s water is returned to the forest as rain. The remainder is carried by east-west winds as an aerial current—a mix of moist ocean air and some transpiration from the forest—that is directed south when coming up against the Andes. SOURCES: ANA P. BARROS, UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS URBANA-CHAMPAIGN; SCIENCE FOR NATURE AND PEOPLE PARTNERSHIP; ESA; NASA/JPL; OPENSTREETMAP…

MOST MORNINGS, INSIDE MY FIELD STATION BEDROOM IN THE PERUVIAN ANDES, I WAKE UP BEFORE DAWN. The bats on the ceiling start skittering, and as the light comes up, I can watch the clouds slide along the steep forested ridges outside. They’re rivers in the air, these clouds. Ríos voladores, flying rivers, they carry moisture that will make its way into soil, and then creeks, and hundreds of miles of river on the ground, all the way out to the sea. I grew up not far from here, but what truly taught me the ríos voladores lesson was a single day of desperation: me stuck amid the dense foliage of these mountains, parched with thirst. Let me back up. I came to this station and laboratory, a few hours’ drive…