Photos by renan_ozturk / words by m_synnott, from #TheLostWorldExpedition story. I’m pretty sure that I was the one who first started calling it mud world. It seemed an apt description, considering that within hours of first entering the jungle, our lives became a war of attrition against the oozing muck, from which there seemed to be no escape. It was supposed to be the dry season, but it rained every single day. The key to survival was a wet-dry system. By day, we did our best to embrace the filth and wetness. But at night, we found respite, if only briefly, by changing into dry clothes and slipping into our sleeping bags and hammocks beneath elaborate post- and-beam tarp structures, constructed by our Akawaio guides. My first night in the jungle, I sat in my hammock, legs dangling, wondering what to do with my mud-caked boots. I thought I was being clever when I stuffed them into a waterproof duffel, not realizing there was food in it—and I had failed to completely zip it shut. ...