The visit to Sunderbans

It was a routine tracking event for Biswas babu and his team .
The daily flooding of the shores at high tide had hidden pug marks, so they had to patiently wait out the time. In their boats, that bobbed in the muddy backwaters, their heads scraping the low hanging branches, of the mangrove trees.
When the waters receded, the slush glistening muddy underbelly of the Sunderbans shore was exposed to view, with the tree trunks still wet. The air smelt damp and fishy, from all the rotting and wet decaying logs , vegetation. Some logs floated desultorily amid the waters hanging around between the aerial mangrove roots ,reluctant to leave.
“If you stare at them too long, you will see them turn into crocodiles,”Biswas babu cautioned me with a nervous laugh.
True enough, I could see the bark on the back of a log , transform into scary looking bristly scales. I hated this job.
Biswas babu and his team nonchalantly took out their kit and busied themselves in the slush and slippery mud , their pant legs rolled up high.All of us wore masks, back-to front. This was done , apparently to confuse the tiger, who attacked the humans , behind their backs .They had come across, what was obviously a pug-mark, but to my untrained eye, it just looked a small depression in the clayey mud. Measuring and making POP cast of the paw print took some time , and a lookout shouted , after scouting a bit ahead that he had found another pug -mark. After two hours and couple of pug marks more, the trail now grew cold.
We were standing on this rickety bamboo bridge, surrounded by mangrove trees and “logs”, when we heard a twig snap , behind us…

Some one screamed-"baagh!!"(tiger)and a deafening roar was heard, from a disconcertingly close quarters.

And we all ran. Pell-mell. 

Slipping and floundering , in the slick mud , we ran , as best as we could . No one looked behind to even ascertain , if we were being followed, so great was our fear. Some one slipped and fell into the smelly,swirly , muddy waters, with a sickening splash. We stopped and turned . A local raced to offer his hand and pull him out . It was then that we saw the cause of our fear had changed shapes. 

A giant" log "was determinedly following us , his evil, unblinking eyes focussed on us .

The "baagh" was nowhere to be seen .

Now we were pursued by a new predator.

We breathlessly piled into the boat, with our wet and muddied friend . Some of us lost our footwear in the melee, and some one had dropped his expensive handicam , in the tiger and  croc infested Sunderbans . 

For some nerve-wracking stretch , the boat had to be manoeuvred out of green gullies surrounded on all sides by mangrove roots, by hand held oars. The glad splash of the oars, was marred by the swift, silent pursuit by the crocodile , his unblinking mud covered eyes, focussed on us. His giant tail moved soundlessly side to side, not even creating a ripple.

The  entangled roots of the mangroves sat just beneath the water ,waiting to ensnare the motor and pull us down. It was one of the scariest , heart-in-the-mouth ten minutes of my life.

As soon as we were clear of the greenery, the motor purred to life , one of the most happiest sounds we'd heard in a long time . The boat raced to mainland, and civilisation.

Biswas babu, with none of his humour lost , asked us to look back.

The island looked breathtakingly beautiful in the gathering darkness.

 "A beauty best visualised from a safe distance ," A visitor echoed my thoughts