Cameraman Barrie Britton and I had been in the Kambui Hills, south-east Sierra Leone, for a few days when the trouble started, says Felicity Lanchester. We were on assignment for the 2013 BBC One series Africa, filming the extraordinary bird known as the yellow-headed picathartes.
Conditions were trying and, as we wearily finished our preparations for the next day's shoot at the end of a long, tiring shift, we were blissfully unaware that seven police detectives were trekking up to our remote forest camp.
Arriving back at base, covered in sweat, mud and insect bites, we found them waiting to arrest the entire crew. Allegations had been made against us - though no one would say what the accusations were - and we were to be taken to give a statement. So in thunderous rain - matching our mood - we trudged along the path to the nearest village, where 15 of us were crammed into a vehicle built for 5 and whisked away to a police station some half an hour's drive away.
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En route I called our production manager, who reassured me that the British High Commission and the BBC's High Risks Team would be ready to step in if necessary. But at this stage, the situation seemed more of an inconvenience than a real concern - until, that is, we heard the allegations.
We were sitting at old school desks in the police station, a moth head-butting the bare bulb overhead, as a policeman listed our alleged crimes: "Illegal entry into Sierra Leone; illegal stay in the Eastern District; and suspected subversive activities in the forest."
We had reams of paperwork to prove we had permission to be in Kambui, but that last charge scared me - and I was even more alarmed when we were accused of training a rebel army. It sounds ludicrous, unless you're familiar with the country's recent history: during the long, terrible civil war that ended a decade ago, guerrillas trained child soldiers in the Kambui Hills. So it was entirely understandable that our camouflage outfits had raised some suspicions.
We explained what we were doing in the area, but I could see how unlikely our story might seem: spending three weeks in the forest - in the wet season - to film just one bird. We were grilled on the details of the project, as well as our views of Leonean politics, before we completed our statements.
It was touch and go whether we'd be able to avoid a night in the cells. But just before midnight they let us retreat to a nearby B&B, complete with bedbugs and bloodstains, and ordered us to report back the following morning.
Next day, after interrogation by yet more officials, one of the detectives found the source of the problem - a letter detailing our plans that had, quite literally, been lost in the post on its way to the authorities and hadn't arrived till the day of our arrest.
So we were free to go - but only after the regional minister had had his say.
After telling us off for the trouble we'd caused, he slapped us on the backs and suggested a group photo. We just about managed to force a smile for the camera before being released and heading back to the forest - and to a sweaty base camp.
