LETTER OF THE WEEK

One of the least populated areas of the world, with as few as five inhabitants per square mile, is the Chilean side of Patagonia. Yes, it attracts overseas visitors – but once you venture away from the tourist spots, it is possible to believe that you and your guide are the only people on the planet.

The majestic Torres del Paine massif dominates the pristine landscape, its towering, horn-like peaks glowing red in the dawn light. The turquoise waters of lagoons, some with mini icebergs on the surface, reflect jagged mountains with pockets of glistening snow. Andean condors soar overhead while guanacos – camelids closely related to llamas – graze on lichen and tuft grasses, leaving the carpets of colourful wild lupins to grace the landscape.

If you are very fortunate, you may catch a glimpse of the elusive puma, Patagonia’s apex predator. Here in the wilds of Patagonia, the silence and splendour of a unique environment are there to be discovered. Janet Jordan, from Hertfordshire, wins a £350 Naturetrek holiday voucher

COAST WITH THE MOST

Cley-next-the-Sea is anything but – a once coastal Norfolk village, now separated from the sea by the saltmarsh: an open, liminal landscape of blue lavender and samphire. In the far distance, waves pound the beach – and beyond that, wind turbines turn silently offshore.

Look up at the wide, open skies and watch a skein of brent geese flying in close formation towards their nesting grounds in the west. A meander of wooden shepherd’s bridges takes you towards Blakeney Point and its seal colony. This landscape could feel threatening, a nowhere-to-hide place – but you are never alone, the ebb and flow of the tides filling the creeks, and the startled cry of a curlew rising from the marsh. Look out to sea, then back at the shore, and let your heart soar. David Stephens, East Sussex

FROG MARCH

The cacophony was almost deafening, especially from the pond. There on a leaf was the smallest frog I had ever seen, making the biggest noise. How could it be so loud? Touring Manuel Antonio National Park in Costa Rica, we saw howler monkeys and a sloth hanging in a tree with a baby about a week old. We visited untouched coves on a boat ride through Tortuguero National Park, and saw crocodiles basking on banks, plus lizards, iguanas and colourful birds.

On a nocturnal walk through the rainforest in the rain, the guides were brilliant at spotting frogs in the leaf litter. Suddenly, the one I had wanted to see landed on one guide’s arm. It was a red-eyed tree frog, the symbol of Costa Rica. I was so excited and have never felt so happy in the rain. Seeing so much wildlife in its natural habitat was amazing, and I am longing to return. Angela Rodgers, Devon

TWO IN THE BUSH

I looked out of the window to see the shadow of our four-seater plane, a tiny black cross skimming over endless hectares of empty bush. We landed on a strip of sand in the north-east of Hwange National Park, Zimbabwe. The arrivals gate was a table under a shady tree and a small, bare-footed boy was there to chase animals off the runway.

Driving along deeply rutted, sandy tracks with the unique, hot smell of the African bush in our nostrils and the distant horizon glowing with the embers of the setting sun, we arrived at our thatched lodge and ate dinner under a huge, empty, star-spangled sky.

That night, in our tent, we fell asleep to the sounds of jackals howling, an elephant trumpeting and, in the far distance, a lion roaring. The next day we would be up at dawn to explore the wide, empty spaces on a game drive. Jane Gregory, Kent