THE DAY'S BIG DRAMA comes during a late-afternoon lull in the rain, when the ever-alert Baiju spots three elephants—a bull, a female, and a baby—drinking at the farthest edge of a lake about half a mile from the road. We're so far away that looking at them is like taking an eye exam.

"See the baby standing behind the mother?" I say.

"Oh, yes, I see it now," Baiju replies.

"That male looks like he could be pretty big."

"Yes. But he also looks quite small from here."

After a few minutes of this, an older man wearing a steeply peaked policeman's cap pops out of the nearby woods. He's a local game officer who, following a brief chat with Baiju, shows us a spot where the fence protecting the elephants' habitat has been cut. If we're so interested in elephants, he says, holding out his palms, why don't we climb through the fence and hike down to the edge of the lake while he looks the other way?

The "pay to play" game is, of course, slightly older in India than it is in Illinois. I decide to help the guy maintain the integrity of his position.

"No, we're fine," I say, trying to convey the immense personal satisfaction I derive from respecting the terrain of wild animals. "We're happy to watch from here."

Baiju, however, has no intention of letting an official offer to skirt the law pass him by, especially since it gives him a rare opportunity for close-up wildlife photography. He charges into the brush, shouting "Come on, come on!" Not because he's afraid I'll miss out on anything but because he knows that my pricey Canon 200mm zoom lens will fit right onto his shitty old EOS body. In place of his knockoff 50mm lens, my optical beast will make him four times the photographer.

I follow Baiju through the fence. (The Thompson coat of arms depicts a man being handed a beer while someone twists his arm.) We sidestep down a slippery hillside covered with tall razor grass. Pellets of rain tickle our faces. At the bottom of the hill we get a clear shot of the elephants across the water, barely 50 yards away. I hand Baiju the 200mm.

"I can see the hairs on his ass! It is fantastic!" Baiju clicks off 20 identical frames. He shakes with delight each time he lines up a trunk in the viewfinder, but with a new rain attack suddenly thundering above us, I can't help but worry about my lens. I shove my camera under my shirt for protection, but Baiju waves his/my equipment around as though it's made of Gore-Tex.

After snuffling by the lakeshore for a bit, the elephants make an unexpected plunge into the water and start swimming directly for our position. Judging by the fresh turds, flattened grass, and rapid approach of the great gray dreadnoughts, it's clear that Baiju and I are standing in the middle of a popular elephant hangout. I mutter something about our possibly illegal and certainly uncool encroachment on pachyderm turf, but Baiju stays crouched in the reeds.

While Baiju burns chip memory, I detect a slight itching near my ankle. Through the wet grass I look down at my Teva'd feet and find two slimy, purplish-black streaks, like squiggles of dark snot, writhing on top of my right foot. At first I have no idea what I'm looking at. Then it becomes painfully clear.

"Leeches! Baiju, goddammit, leeches! Let's get the hell out of here!"

Holding his ground, Baiju is blind to my horror. I haul ass up the elephant track and back to the road. The game officer is still there, standing in the rain next to our car, smiling as though he's expecting a tip. I ignore him and conduct a deeply personal leech search, toenails to taint. Baiju pops out of the bushes five minutes behind me, out of breath, out of battery power, and, most alarmingly, out of professional boundaries.

"There were many leeches where I was standing," he says. He peels one off his calf, as though he's picking lint off a sweater, and holds it up for me to examine. "I must ask you the generosity of allowing me to take a hot shower in your hotel room tonight. You may have to call for an extra towel."