The twin propellers of the old DC-3 pulled us along at about 7,000 feet, still below the top of the tepui and below the cloud cover, and into Devil’s Canyon. The pilot had put away his newspaper and had opened the cockpit window and the sound of the propellers grew louder. The Indian seated on a box behind the pilot pointed out features but if he said anything you couldn’t hear it. With small adjustments the pilot guided us into the canyon. On either side were numerous waterfalls, straight and narrow, dropping out of lower ledges of the rock face and into the jungle below. Ahead, through the windscreen, a much longer ribbon of water — Angel Falls.

So begins the chronicle of this expedition to Angel Falls in Venezuela back in 1992. This narrative includes photographs from the journey and was based on a journal I kept of this trip.