In 1992, Ugandan-born Jonathan Wright first looked out over this 1000km2 wilderness of savannah and rainforest and wondered if it could be saved. For two decades, Semliki Valley Wildlife Reserve had been ravaged by poachers. "There were years," he says, "when the occupying Tanzanian army were taking dead animals out by the truckload." And when the Tanzanians left, a series of rebel armies moved in, killing game for food and profit. The vast herds of Ugandan Kob (an elegant antelope) were decimated, the lion had disappeared and the remaining elephant clung warily to the shelter of the dense forests. "Even the vultures had left," says Wright.

But Wright had fallen in love. Semliki lies about six hours' drive from Kampala in a bowl bordered by the dramatic escarpment of the Rift Valley, the Ruwenzori Mountains in the west, and Lake Albert and the Blue Mountains of the Congo in the north. Wright says he had never imagined such ecological variation: swamps, the lake, rivers, marshes, gallery and tropical rainforests, riverine forests, savannahs, waterfalls.

Though the savannah game was all but gone, the forest species were thriving. Wright found the tangled, dark depths alive with Colobus monkeys, chimps, baboons, forest hog and leopard. He turned to a biologist friend for advice - and got the answer he wanted: with help, Semliki could return to health.

Better yet, Ugandan President Yoweri Museveni had committed himself to ridding this western region of the rebels responsible for the poaching and the violent harassment of local villagers and tourists.

Eight years later, the signs are good. In fact, knowing the reserve's history, I couldn't help but feel a miracle has come to pass. The kob population has increased from a mere 600 to over 8000. There are probably 16 lion, several with healthy cubs. The nights of Semliki are once again alive with their throaty growls. The elephant, both the forest and savannah species, remain shy, but Wright says he sees them more and more, with many young. Buffalo, reedbuck, bushbuck, sitatunga and waterbuck are all reappearing in greater numbers each year. And rebel activity has abated, thanks to the Ugandan army's continued presence in the area.

Wright and his wife Pamela have build a small, elegant camp near the site of the original Semliki Lodge. The old lodge thrived in the 1960s when the reserve, like many of Uganda's other wild places, was a major safari destination. The 40 rooms ran at 80% occupancy. But after Idi Amin brutally derailed the country's economy in the early 1970s, tourists stopped coming, the lodge burnt down and Semliki was abandoned.

Since Museveni began his tenure in 1985, investors and Ugandaphiles like the Wrights have been looking for ways to participate in the country's recovery. Although Uganda is plagued with serious problems, Semliki's rehabilitation is indicative of the country's overwhelming optimism about itself. Ugandans are convinced that Uganda will once again be the envy of its neighbours, an economic force in the region, the Pearl of Africa.

The Wrights' camp is not ambitious: just eight luxury tents, a large sitting/dining zone and a swimming pool. Having revived the area, they want to keep it truly wild. As they have leased the entire 1000km2 concession, the visitor can be assured that there will be no minibuses or khaki-clad hordes. I was one of the very few humans for miles in any direction - and every direction was breathtaking.

Seeing savannah game is still a challenge here - not just because the numbers remain well below their potential, but because of the long, rainy-season grass and the cover of acacia woodland. The land tilts into low canyons, or rushes into deep forest or over-my-head marsh reeds.

One evening, we spotted three adult and two baby elephant through the trees. We tried to keep pace in the Landcruiser, but suddenly, they vanished. Ten tons of elephant had simply melted into thin air. What I felt was not disappointment, but thrill. Semliki is for the animals and they will reveal themselves only at their convenience. After the zoo-like atmosphere of the Masai Mara or Ngorongoro Crater, it was a relief to be reminded that these animals do not exist for my amusement, but for themselves. They have private lives, their own business.

There's something else to be said for being in a place where the animals hide themselves. Instead of trying to complete some absurd checklist, I allowed my other senses leeway. This is a world vibrating with smell and sound -especially in the forest. Oketch, my guide, took me into the stretch of rainforestjust below the camp. Smells came in currents, like cold water in a warm lake: the sharp, acrid scent of a leopard; the peaty solidity of buffalo (neither of which we saw, but they were there, watching us); the whiff of muddy river water, wild jasmine, or damp grass. And there were sounds: a constant rustling and scampering among the dry leaves of the forest floor. Who? What? I would turn and there was nothing but the teasing swish of a palm frond, the sway of a vine. Above the canopy, I heard turacos cawing.

Wood doves, parrots, sunbirds and kingfishers sang to each other and occasionally flickered across my vision. Deeper into the forest, we heard Colobus monkeys, but only because they chose to amuse themselves by crashing into the branches directly above our heads, showering us with leaves. Straining my neck, I looked up and caught a glimpse of one: a flashy black and white coat; long, white-fringed tail and small, neat black face. She glanced down at me - just for a moment - and then flounced off. Gone. Further on, I saw a tiny emerald-green tree snake slipping from branch to branch. A few steps more and we found a lizard, yellow and white butterflies like confetti, a vine with blood-red flowers, upturned earth where a forest hog had dug for roots.

If we'd kept walking (which we could have: the Wrights encourage it) we would have entered the rainforest that houses several communities of chimps. They are slowly becoming habituated, thanks to on-going research. The Semliki research has special significance as the chimps here often wander into the savannah, collecting food bipedally - as did our ancestors when making the transition from a forest to a plains species. Unfortunately, I didn't have time to see the chimps, but there are more than 30km of walking trails through their habitat. Chances are good, Wright says, that visitors will see the chimps on any given day.

Semliki's birdlife was less affected by the difficult times. The Wrights have logged over 400 species, including the rare Black cuckoo and Shoebill. Because Semliki has such a varied ecology and is at the southern end of the northern-species migration, the birding here is spectacular. Wright drove me out to Lake Albert one afternoon: a dreamy blue expanse of water that faded into the distant and mysterious mountains of the Congo. From here, he launches fishing expeditions for those inclined to catch Nile perch, Tiger fish or Tilapia. But we stayed on land, walking through the tangled underbrush along a low cliff at the lake's edge.

Suddenly, several dozen red-throated bee-eaters erupted from their nests. They seemed oblivious to us, perching on branches less than a metre from where I sat. I could see the exquisite detail of their colouring: ruby throats, rust-coloured heads, a flash of blue on their underbellies. Swooping over the still blue water were Pied, Grey-headed and Malachite kingfishers, Fire finches, pelicans, ducks and Fish eagles. En route back to camp, we saw Black cuckoo, Blue turaco, Marshall's eagle and Maribou stork.

The return of birds of prey and scavengers is another indication of Semliki's rebounding health. Hyaena have recently been seen and heard near the camp, as have jackals and vultures. That night, I had no doubt about the life seething beyond my sight. Three times I was awoken by the hysterical screaming of baboons as a leopard hunted one of their number in the forest. The next morning, as I drank my tea on the balcony of my tent, I noticed a paw print on the pathway: a lion had passed this way. He had vanished into the savannah, leaving only a faint trail in the long, dew-wet grass.

Melanie Finn has written for many international publications including Newsweek and The Independent. She is currently based in East Africa.

Published in Travel Africa Edition Fifteen: Spring 2001 Text is subject to Worldwide Copyright (c)