The sound of the Pantanal, the world’s largest tropical wetland, ratchets up a notch come sunset. Menwig frogs broadcast their whereabouts with the rumble of a Formula One engine. A giant anteater barrels down the track in front of us, its bulbous nose almost touching the dirt ahead of it. One by one, stars ignite in the undergrowth. Fireflies? Or the eyes of a jaguar illuminated by our headlights?

Lured by rumours that El Dorado, the mythical golden city, was located here, European settlers first began arriving in the Pantanal in the mid-16^th century. Instead of gold, they found 42 million hectares of wet, wild terrain sculpted by seasonal floods and fires, billions of mosquitoes and thousands of Brazil’s most elusive predator. Approximately 4,000 jaguars still roam this land, one of which I’m about to get so close to I can practically count her whiskers.

Beatriz Monteiro, who is guiding myself and photographer Mark Rammers, points to an island of undergrowth in the grassland. The face of a young jaguar is just visible through the gathering gloom. The twitch of her ear reveals that she is aware of us, but her eyes never leave the blubbery capybaras chewing the grass in front. Just as she tenses her shoulders, preparing to pounce, a pair of hyacinth macaws swoop over the grassland screaming. The capybaras waddle away, destined to survive another night.

Images: Mark Rammers

I’m staying at Caiman Ecological Refuge, a hacienda-style eco-lodge with 18 suites, a private rental villa and 130,000 acres of grounds. The property has been owned by the Klabin family since 1952 and is currently in the hands of Roberto Klabin, the founder of numerous conservation initiatives in the area. Having fallen in love with safari holidays in Africa, Klabin is credited with introducing the concept of high-end ecotourism-funded conservation to Brazil. “When I was a child, I never saw jaguars,” Klabin tells me, recalling long summers spent roaming the grounds. “Now, 99 per cent of our guests see them.” 

This dramatic change is largely thanks to the efforts of Onçafari, a non-profit organisation located in the reserve that has become a powerful voice for jaguar conservation in Brazil. Between 2015 and 2016, Onçafari successfully rewilded two big cats. The cubs, which were born in captivity, were housed in a large enclosure for a year and taught survival skills with minimal human contact, before being set free. The entire process was filmed and released as Jaguars: Brazil’s Super Cats, narrated by David Attenborough. 

Alongside ecotourism and conservation, Caiman Ecological Refuge has a third and – given jaguars’ fondness for beef – somewhat unexpected vision: cattle ranching. Colonial settlers established ranches the size of small kingdoms in the 17th century, and ranching remains the spinal column of the Pantanal’s economy, with heirs of the original dynasties dividing farms between them. 

After an excellent night’s sleep, we leave the hotel at 5.30am, when night flowers pollinated by bats are still open and pink spoonbill cranes shine in the soft morning light. Eduardo Santos da Rosa, who has been Caiman’s cattle manager for six years, hands me a hollowed-out cow’s horn filled with ice-cold yerba maté – the Pantaneiro’s favourite way to fight the heat, which is already fierce.

Images: Mark Rammers

The 4x4 pitches through the grasslands like a young colt. Above the sound of the engines, da Rosa explains that the persecution of jaguars began when cattle first came to the area. “We lose around 1.5 per cent of our herd every year to jaguars. We view it a little like paying a tax because they bring in far more money than that through ecotourism. Convincing locals that it’s more lucrative to protect the cats than kill them has been an important part of Caiman’s mission,” da Rosa continues, holding onto his hat as the car bounds between ruts caused by white-lipped peccaries foraging in the mud. Farmers who operate in Caiman’s grounds are compensated when cats kill their cattle and Klabin has funded the building of fences around local houses to protect children and domestic animals. 

Finally, we stop in a vast grassland filled with jowly Nelore cows. Da Rosa cups his ears, emanating the shape of the marsh deer in order to amplify a sound still imperceptible to us. Finally, a cowboy appears on the horizon, then another and another. They raise their hats to each other before cracking their whips and shouting. What begins as a few obedient animals becomes a trickle and eventually a full-on cascade that reminds me of the wildebeest stampede in The Lion King. It’s a magnificent sight.

Later, on the shady porch of his bungalow, Marcio Alaman Marques takes off his cowboy hat and reaches for his yerba maté. His five-year-old son, Alefe, sits on his lap and Valkiria da Silva, his wife, stirs a meat stew in the background. She’s in charge of preparing lunch for the other cowboys and, judging by this morning’s performance, they’re going to be hungry. “To lasso a cow, you need to be strong,” Marques says proudly. “I was out there learning from my father when I was five years old. Now the kids have to go to school instead.” He sounds distinctly disapproving.

Images: Mark Rammers

I ask how his attitude towards jaguars has changed over time. He reflects that ecotourism has changed the way he and the other ranchers perceive them. “When I was young, I used to think jaguars were dangerous and we hunted them. Now, thanks to the biologists from Onçafari, I get that they are an umbrella species – without them, the whole ecosystem of the Pantanal would crumble.” We drive back to the hotel as the sun sets, causing the marshlands to blush lavender and pink. Tiny butterflies drink minerals from the eyes of caiman just visible above the darkening water.

That night, the hotel throws its weekly party where cowboys and guests rub shoulders in a smoky barn filled with the rhythm of live sertanejo music. What appears to be most of a cow is spit-roasted over an open fire, its unctuous flesh emitting a smell so tantalising it even tempts my vegetarian nose. Da Rosa comes over, his plate loaded with different cuts and implores me to try “just one bite”. “You haven’t been to the Pantanal until you’ve tasted our beef,” he wheedles. I grin and pop a piece into my mouth. It’s salty, smooth and so soft you could practically cut it with a spoon. He laughs seeing the expression of bliss spread across my face.

“You can rest easy – no jaguars were harmed in the farming of this cow. Go on, have a proper portion.” He claps me on the back and walks toward the fire. I hesitate and then load my plate. If the cowboys can change their generational beliefs about jaguars, surely I can shift my stance on eating meat. Just this once. 

Rates at Caiman Pantanal start from approx. £620 per night on an all inclusive basis, visit originaltravel.co.uk.

Read more: In conversation with Marie-Louise Sciò, CEO of the Pellicano Group