So the Niassa National Reserve, a fantastical landscape of balding granite inselbergs that head-butt their way through endless plains, is enormous. Bogglingly so.

It doesn't help being told it’s twice the size of Kruger. Two things help pin down the scale:

First, a ranger’s tale of how he went walkabout for a full week and didn't once see another human face (try that in Kruger).

Second, when swigging sundowners upon a granite outcrop, as flames from bush fires licked across the slope, our guide pointed to a giant among inselbergs that glowered above the miombo woodlands to the north.

Stand on top of 1,441-meter high Mount Mecula, he said, and just like here, unadulterated wilderness would stretch in all directions. No wonder the Portuguese once called this part of Mozambique the ‘fim do mundo’, or end of the world.

Tucked away in far northern Mozambique, Niassa’s 42,000 km2 of wilderness is not easy to access. The remote location and minimal infrastructure means eco-tourists are largely limited to the privileged few who bump down on the grass landing strip at Lugenda Wilderness Camp, an exclusive eight-tent enclave on a concession owned by Rani Resorts. Basics such as eggs and apples travel almost as far as some tourists do. And aside from fishermen floating down the river in dugout canoes and the odd honey collector, visitors are more likely to bump into an elephants than people.

Which we nearly did. There are some 20,000 elephant wondering among the boababs of Niassa. Less in-your-face than their South African equivalents, these wily creatures tend to melt rapidly into the bush when spotted, tails lifted. One afternoon our guide Nic led us on foot in pursuit of a skittish herd, led by an impressive tusker.

The wind was on our side, and all of a sudden bumbling grey boulders materialised in the undergrowth, browsing and chewing intently. A hilarious dance followed: tourists tiptoeing forward, cameras aloft, then retreating rapidly as the pachyderms changed direction and headed our way, oblivious to our presence.

Finally one got a whiff of us (or perhaps they just heard our hearts beating) and within seconds, the entire group was gone. ‘That older male – he’ll only charge if he means business,’ Nic said later, beaming. ‘He knows sometimes it’s better to walk away. That’s how he got old.’

Niassa is one of those rare places where the wildlife has survived the carnage of the years (the park itself and core animal populations made it through the war years, but it’s only since 2000 that more focused conservation has seen numbers climb.)

The immense landscape is home to buffalo, numerous antelope and rarer species such as wild dogs; the only key species lost is rhino. Lion roared all around as dinner was served on tables set out on a golden beach on the river bed.

A leopard had chewed the couch cushions in the Lugenda’s lounge. Tiny Grant’s bushbabies galloped through trees, and samango monkeys scattered a rain of half-eaten figs onto tent roofs. Anyone walking back to their tent in the dark was accompanied by a ranger in case they were gobbled up on their way to bed.

But it doesn't really make sense to come to Lugenda to tick off the Big Five. The wildlife is not yet indifferent to humans or vehicles. Also, some 90 per cent of the park is miombo woodland. It’s beautiful, but doesn’t support nearly as many animals as more nutrient-rich biomes.

This is a place to slow down (two days won’t be enough) and bathe in the silence; to delight in lesser-known knowledge, readily provided by the superior guides. Tidbits like the fact that hyenas have such peculiar genitalia, it’s something of a miracle that they ever have pups.

That locals venerate baobabs as magical homes for their ancestors (someone tells a creepy tale of a bad-tempered elephant that protected a grove of the ancient trees). Or that vultures fly as high as 30,000 feet, only known because a Rüppell's vulture was once sucked into a jet engine.

Because the showy species don’t exactly throw themselves at visitors’ feet, Lugenda choreographs other experiences. The main camp, snuggled among giant fig trees, is the base; game drives are always on offer. But you can also walk.

We followed cat tracks in dry river beds and poked fascinating piles of dung (who knew that nomadic termites ‘fossilise’ entire balls of elephant droppings by coating them in mud as they eat the grass innards?). Other guests on a second trip to Lugenda were taken up Mount Mecula to examine ferns and orchids.

We scrambled up a desperately steep slope to eyeball subtle smears of red ochre in a cave: rock art dating back 3,500 to 4,000 years, made by Batwa people from central Africa. And if we’d had the time to stop and study every good-looking bird that flew past, we’d not have made it more than 200 meters from camp.

New discoveries are a feature of Niassa. Campfire tales told under the fuzzy Miky Way starred numerous scientists at work in northern Moz. ‘There were virtually no proper bio-inventories done in the reserve until the early 2000s,’ Lugenda manager Derek Littleton told us one night. (Derek helped found Lugenda and has lived here for 11 years.)

Since then, reserve director general Anabela Rodrigues has brought in ‘top guys’, like Jonathan Timberlake from Kew and venerable bird man Vincent Parker, and expeditions kept turning up surprises, from a girdled lizard on Mount Mecula to vertebrate worms. Even the rock art was only stumbled on some three years ago. ‘You think you’ve walked the place flat, but every time you go out you find something new and that’s the thing I love about this place,’ says Derek. ‘It’s still fresh. You haven’t got that trampled-on feeling.’

That’s for sure. Canoeing down the Lugenda River, immaculate landscapes unfurled on either bank. On the wider, glassy stretches, all that could be heard was the plash of oars; huge skies made me feel as small as a pepper tick.

African skimmers (endangered elsewhere but seen regularly here) decorated sandbars; saddle-billed storks waded through the shallows. We splashed steadily downstream, kilometer after kilometer, kept wide awake by the need to skirt the odd hippo pod and the chance of seeing an osprey drift by. Somewhere down that dreamy river was one of those incandescent moments when ‘the marvellous presence of the physical world’ (as Penelope Lively puts it) hits home. Then a series of rocky rapids spat us out drenched and exhilarated on the shores of a bush camp, miraculously assembled in a matter of hours – complete with hot shower, bar, short-drop loo and premium cosmetics.

Earlier, we’d stopped on a sandbank where some locals had set up a fishing camp. An elderly man busy smoking the day’s catch said his father had also been a fisherman; the teens working alongside him said that when they had sons, they hoped they’d be fishermen too. But life is changing along the Lugenda. Niassa’s wilderness is also home to some 35,000 villagers.

Even 10 years ago, people here didn’t use cash in any form and fishermen like those we met exchanged their catch for necessities like batteries and clothing (hardy traders still cycle over from Tanzania with supplies). But as animal and human populations surge, overlaps are inevitable. A heap of deadly snares is piled outside a ranger’s hut; local villagers complain of hippos in the cassava. Right now subsistence poaching is still sustainable, but organized syndicates targeting elephant are a real threat.

As Niassa’s beauty and bounty becomes better-known, it’s inevitable that future visitors will have to share its charms. More camps will spring up, more roads snake their way through the wilderness, and new facilities bring in more visitors. But right now, Lugenda is all about a smattering of tents on a sweep of wild river. About Verreaux’s eagle owls and fireflies and delicate spoor in the dust. And elephant footprints overlaying your own in the short distance between dinner and bed.

If you go

Getting there: LAM (www.lam.co.mz/en) flies return from Johannesburg to Pemba via Maputo on Friday, Wednesday and Sunday; tickets cost from around R4500 return. From Pemba, CFA charters will fly you to Lugenda for R5000 return; this can be arranged through Rani Resorts. The flight – which provides fantastic views of the inselbergs – takes about 80 minutes.

The alternative route: You can drive from Pemba to Marrupa, but it’s still a good way to park headquarters at Mbatamila. Self-driving in Niassa is in its infancy. There is no fuel available, and you need to be totally self-sufficient. You should be able to pitch a tent near the entrance gate at Kiboko on the Lugenda River, if not at Mbatamila. A Chinese-built bridge now connects Negomano to Tanzania (over the Ruvuma River). See www.niassareserve.org.

The bigger picture: Niassa is managed by a public/private partnership. The Sociedade para a Gestão e Desenvolvimento da Reserva do Niassa is in charge, and receives funding from Fauna & Flora International. Lugenda has the largest concession area of over 200 km along the Lugenda River. While photographic tourism is growing, hunting concessions also keep the reserve afloat.

Need to Know: Take precautions against malaria. Insect repellant is supplied. Use it – for tsetse flies during the day and mozzies after hours.

Open season: Lugenda Wilderness Camp is closed during the rainy season, when roads become impassable. Open from 1 June and 30 November. (Also, you are more likely to see game coming to the main river to drink deeper into the dry season, when other water sources have dried up.) Rates From $500 (R3,500) a day per person sharing. It’s all inclusive though, so aside from gratuities, you won’t have to touch your wallet again. Ask about specials – they are on offer from time to time.

Contact: Book through Rani Resorts on 011 658-0633, or visit www.raniresorts.com and www.lugenda.com.

Janine Stephen visited Lugenda as a guest of Rani Resorts