I can still feel my heart pounding as I write this. It was late morning in the ancient, mist-shrouded forest that surrounds the Angkor Wat temple complex — a place I know well, but never expected to witness anything so breathtaking and tender.
I had come out with a small team of wildlife volunteers, hoping to document macaque troops that live in the forest near the temples. The air was warm, humid, alive with the cries of birds hidden somewhere high in canopy. We were following a narrow footpath lined with moss-draped stone ruins when suddenly we heard a sound that didn’t belong: a soft, plaintive “meow,” small but urgent, echoing through the trees.
We froze.
At first I thought it might be a feral cat, but as I peered through the branches, I saw something much more surprising — a baby lynx, impossibly small, perched on a slender branch near the top of a very tall tree. Its little body trembled. Its wide eyes scanned its surroundings. It looked utterly lost.
And just below, another shape: a small monkey, gently calling up into the branches. It wasn’t scolding or aggressive — more like pleading. The monkey’s face was earnest, anxious. It was going up and down the trunk, calling out softly, “Mama! Help!”
My breath caught in my throat. The monkey seemed to understand something: that the lynx needed help. The pair, baby lynx and concerned monkey, were watching each other in that silent, unbelievable moment. I felt like I’d stumbled into a fairy tale — as if the forest itself was holding its breath.
Then, to my amazement, the monkey climbed. Carefully, deliberately. It moved up the trunk, using its strong limbs, pausing to look back, as if making sure we were watching — and that no danger would come. The baby lynx, curled small and vulnerable on its branch, didn’t flinch. It seemed to trust the monkey in a way that made me cry.
I whispered to my teammates to stay still, to not scare them. We recorded, we watched, our cameras trembling in our hands. The monkey reached the lynx’s branch. It sat next to the little cat, stretched out a gentle arm, and touched its side — so carefully. The baby lynx let out a tiny, soft chirp. The monkey looked up, as if calling for its mother again. Seconds felt like hours.
Suddenly, a rustle above. The mother monkey, perhaps alerted by the calls, appeared — a larger, strong figure. She hurried down through the foliage, calling back to us: “Mama!” She joined the small male or female who had climbed, and together they gently coaxed the baby lynx, helping it down a safer branch, guiding it inch by inch. There was so much care in their movements, as if the forest had decided that this little lynx was one of their own.
When the baby lynx was finally low enough, the mother monkey wrapped her tail around the trunk, turned, and leaned in, touching the lynx softly again — reassuringly. The baby blinked, then padded carefully along a branch toward her. My eyes welled up. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.
After a long moment, the lynx crept close enough to a fork in the tree, where a safer limb jutted out. The monkeys, mother and offspring, stayed nearby, chattering quietly. They didn’t let go of each other, not yet, and I felt the magic of the forest close in on us all.
When we finally moved closer (but still carefully), the monkeys froze and watched us, alert. The baby lynx, now resting on a lower branch, seemed calmer, but still wary. I whispered into the camera, my voice trembling with emotion: “You’re safe now.”
We stayed until the mother monkey and child couldn’t help any more. When it seemed too risky, they retreated back into the deep foliage, leaving the baby lynx in a safer spot. Then we backed away slowly, our hearts full.
Later, our team reached out to wildlife rescue experts working with the Angkor Wildlife Release Project, part of the Wildlife Alliance, which works to protect and reintroduce animals into Angkor forest. Wildlife Alliance+2Wildlife Alliance+2 We shared our video, our trembling voices, our tears. They told us they would monitor the area, and make sure the lynx would be safe.
I cannot shake the feeling that the forest — ancient, eternal, sacred — wove a miracle for us that day. Two very different wild beings, of different species, connected in a moment of pure, selfless care.
As I sit here now, reflecting, I feel both humbled and awed. The Angkor forest, with its temples and its trees, has held countless stories across centuries — but I believe this little one, this baby lynx and its monkey protectors, has become a story in its own right. A story of compassion, trust, and wild love.
If you watch the video below, you’ll see it too. I hope it moves you the way it moved me.
