I Paid Good Money to Be Covered in Leeches
Last Updated on August 7, 2026 by Adam Watts
Growing up in Cambridge, England, I only knew about leeches from, I don’t know, probably Tintin or something? I thought they were big fat things that slimed all over you and you’d bleed to death in minutes with no hope of survival. Turns out, they’re actually kinda cute.
Well, cute might be stretching it a bit, but they’re not as gross as I was expecting.
I’m in Wayanad, in Kerala, in India. It’s peak monsoon season. And every day I walk into the forest and get covered in leeches.
Just to be clear, I do this voluntarily. Not only voluntarily, but I paid to be here and this is one of the optional activities, so it’s either this or a cooking demonstration.
And just to make another thing clear: the purpose isn’t to get covered in leeches. That would be very odd indeed.
The real purpose is, ideally, to see wildlife. Cobras if we’re very lucky. Malabar pit vipers possibly. Some weird grey frogs if that’s all we can manage.
But like I said, it’s peak monsoon season, so all the sensible creatures are sheltering from the rain, burrowed underground, or deep inside trees or any other cover they can find.
Everything except leeches, which are everywhere.
Staying on the paved areas it’s mostly fine, but the second you enter the mud path through the forest, the leeches are here, there, and everywhere. They’re attracted to heat, and to them a human is just a big juicy slab of heat for them to latch onto.
We have gumboots and leech socks and all my clothes are tucked into all my other clothes, so I’m fairly well protected, but my hands and neck are exposed.
As we walk, I try with my puny human eyes to look at the trees above me for monkeys and squirrels and snakes, the bushes next to my face for snakes and leeches, and my boots and legs for the tell-tale little wriggling dance of a leech trying to find a soft juicy spot of skin to sink its suckers into.
Our naturalist, Kiran, had told us clearly and calmly not to worry about leeches. They don’t hurt, you probably won’t even feel a bite, there’s no lasting damage, mosquitoes are way more dangerous, etc.
Unfortunately, the family of five I was with were — pardon my French — losing their shit.
They’d all worn raincoats while I’d opted for an umbrella which, at the start, I thought might have been smart of them, giving them more protection while I would only have one hand to steady myself through any slippery patches.
But as soon as we stepped off the trail into the forest, I felt like a genius. After a few feet, they were screaming that there were leeches underneath their raincoats and flailing their bodies around like some maniacal dance trying to shake them off.
Leeches are really good at sticking to things. You can’t just shake them off. Thankfully, my umbrella’s new primary use was as a tool to prise them off my boots before they could wriggle their way up my leg.
Kiran placated the family (“the bleeding will stop in 5-10 minutes”) and we continued deeper into the forest.
A clear hierarchy emerged. The family was engaged in a battle for survival, shedding layers and slapping themselves in a blind panic. Meanwhile, armed with my trusty umbrella, I was flicking the parasites off my boots like a seasoned golfer sinking putt after putt.
Half an hour later, when we’d sauntered/dragged ourselves (delete as appropriate) back to the main path, we hadn’t seen a cobra. We hadn’t seen a pit viper. We hadn’t even seen a weird grey frog. But I’d had a great time.
The next day the family were, unsurprisingly, nowhere to be found. Kiran gave me my gumboots and leech socks and cheerfully said, “Today it’s just us! We’ll go further without them slowing us down.”
I took my trusty umbrella and we set off on the path. He told me, “there are fewer leeches when it’s just us and walking faster also helps”, so we sped our way back to the end point of yesterday’s walk… and kept going.
We brushed past grass up to my head, weaved squat-like through coffee plants like boxers dodging punches, and trudged through muddy paths to a stunning hillside overlooking the forests of Wayanad.
It took a while to appreciate the view though — my boots and legs were covered in leeches, and some had wriggled their way up to my jacket and my hands. Stealthy little buggers. I hurriedly flicked them off. Close call.
“Even more leeches this area,” Kiran said wryly.
But I had no fear. They were just annoying.
From the top of the hill looking out over the sea of green, we saw tons of brightly-coloured birds whose names Kiran told me and I forgot immediately, some giant squirrels, and a rare macaque.
An hour later we were back at the lodge, wet, sweaty and muddy, and I was excited to jump in the shower.
I peeled off my sock and there I saw I’d been defeated at last. A small patch of dried, clotted blood at my ankle. No pain. No lasting damage. I hadn’t even noticed it happening. But nevertheless, my facade faded. I was no great naturalist exploring a new frontier.
All I wanted to do now was drink a steaming cup of cocoa and read Tintin.
At least for tonight.
