Sunday morning I woke to the distinct forest sounds of Fundación EcoMinga’s Cerro Candelaria Reserve. Three Fulbright friends dozed lightly next to me. The bird orchestra of caciques and motmots had just begun. I pulled on camp socks, quietly unzipped our tent, and padded out to the consistently awe-inspiring view. I breathed in the wispy clouds which revealed then obscured the steep lush mountains. I pushed myself up to sit on one of the wooden handrails clutching my camera and attempting to capture the violet-fronted brilliants and green-backed hummingbirds drinking their breakfast from the Callianthe bellflowers surrounding the station.
A few weekends ago, I organized a pilot trip with EcoMinga’s new reserve manager, inviting two other Fulbright researchers and a mutual friend to experience it. At the end of January, the Executive Director of EcoMinga, Javier Robayo, had told me that the organization would like to establish ecotourism routes in some of their reserves. With the intention of my Fulbright project, I expressed interest in supporting these efforts and offered the idea of a pilot trip.
The trip had not gone entirely according to plan, but overall, we were able to become very familiar with the reserve and its quintessential representation of the Ecuadorian montane cloud forest. The original plan was to hike from the village of El Placer to the Soledad research station then continue up to the top of Cerro Candelaria. The night before the trip however, we arrived in El Placer from Quito around 10pm without set logistics for the following morning. So, it was decided that we would re-assess plans early the next morning.
At 6:30am on Friday, we hauled our backpacking packs onto our shoulders and met Darwin outside his house in El Placer. Darwin Recalde is a park guard for EcoMinga, inheriting the post from his dad, who was EcoMinga’s first park guard, when he was 16—now, ten years ago. I met Darwin as a study abroad student in 2019 when he climbed up to retrieve leaves on branches sometimes ten or so meters from the ground so I could more easily identify the trees. Over the last few years we lost touch, but I knew he would be just as accommodating for my friends. A few years prior, Darwin also received training and certification as a local guide through a World Wildlife Fund (WWF) program. I hoped this trip would prove as important practice for future EcoMinga tours.
After re-organizing packs and distributing food, we set out at around 7:30am into a dry, partially cloudy day. Like most newcomers to El Placer, Kelsey, Sophie, and Isabella ogled over the large metal bridge crossing the Rio Pastaza and connecting El Placer to the mountains behind the village. The ravine stretches into the horizons with plunging green mountains on either side; it is an appropriate welcome to the hike.
At first, Darwin plowed ahead, having hiked this trail thousands of times, but I called him back, requesting information about the geography, rivers, and typical flora to be found in the region. At the smaller bridge crossing Río Chinchín as it roared toward the confluence of Río Pastaza, he paused and launched into an introduction of the local ecosystem and background on EcoMinga’s reserves in the area. It seemed Darwin knew almost everything my friends asked of him, he just lacked a little confidence when it came to public speaking. He improved, however, as he warmed up to the group and began to anticipate our questions. His shyness matches my experience with others from El Placer along with the typical culture of the mountains. This was important to note as a need for supporting other local guides from rural mountain towns as we work to expand ecotourism.
We steadily trudged up to the Soledad research station with intermittent breaks at the various waterfalls and fauna sightings, arriving around 10:30 in the morning. Darwin acted as an excellent host, immediately boiling water for tea and drinking water as well as starting a smokey fire to keep the mosquitos at bay. We exchanged our damp clothing for dry layers because no matter your proximity to the equator, it is always a little cold at 2000 meters (6,000 feet) in the mountains. Over Ritz crackers and hierba luisa tea, we discussed our plan for the next few days. Due to our later start, we decided to leave hiking up to the cerro or peak of Candelaria for the following day and explore the waterfalls near the station. Sophie was particularly enthusiastic about catching the evening gallo de la peña concert. At about 4:30 every morning and afternoon, ten or more male gallos de la peña gather around one old growth tree to squawk out a serenade and perform distinct choreography in their attempt of securing a mate. It is a spectacular show with the males banging around their neon orange headdresses of feathers; I promised Sophie we wouldn’t miss it.
On our way to one of the farther waterfalls from Soledad, we came across two signs of recent oso andino or Andean bear activity. One was a large type of cane plant strewn across the trail on which certainly a bear had gnawed. The second was less conspicuous: one of EcoMinga’s reserve signs knocked off a tree. Darwin pointed this out, noting that the bears often pull down EcoMinga’s signs along the trails. Apparently, they don’t like them. Although we were hoping the third indication would be an actual oso andino, we had no such luck. Oso andinos are the only bear species native to South America and are often found in cloud forests. They are approximately the same size as an American black bear, but are known as the most peaceful species of bear indulging in fruits and plants as 95% of their diet. They are also known as the oso anteojos or spectacled bear for their white facial markings unique to each individual. Their species is vulnerable due to habitat loss from human activity, so it is difficult to see one; however, camera traps near the reserve have indicated a few individuals.
We did catch sight of a lone gallo de la peña and just as it flew away, we noticed a troupe of white-fronted capuchin monkeys making a late lunch of a fruit tree. We watched mesmerized for a while as they swung from one branch to the next. One male of the troupe saw us and attempted to intimidate us by walking out onto a long branch, crouching, and staring in our direction. I had hiked through parts of the Cerro Candelaria reserve numerous times, yet this was my first time seeing monkeys. Darwin said he sees them on about three occasions a year which also made this a unique experience.
Up the muddy and overgrown Sendero de Cedro or Cedar Trail from Soledad, we finally reached the destination waterfall. It rolled over the mountainside, dragging boulders and shaping them smooth over centuries before meeting Río Chinchín. We hopped down the rocks alongside it to capture photos of the smaller offshoots and find a pool adequate for swimming. It began to drizzle, but regardless, Kelsey stripped off her hiking pants down to her swimsuit and waded into a shallow pool. Isabella and I were quick to follow, never missing the opportunity for a waterfall dip. The water was clear like glass and icy. We were only about 1,000 meters (3,000 feet) from the peaks of these mountains so the water maintained its clarity and frigid temperature from the alpine ecosystem where it fell.
Despite the cold, the water felt therapeutic on my worn legs from the hike up and I soaked in its pristineness. We inhaled deeply and looked out across Río Chinchín below. On the opposite bank, another thin waterfall traced the mountainside and cut through the thick vegetation. The roar of the cascading water all around inundated my ears. I was overwhelmed with gratitude; there was nowhere else I would have rather been.
The moment ended briefly, however, as the raindrops grew and our skin prickled into goosebumps. Luckily, the humid air held more warmth than the water. We dressed quickly and returned back up the trail towards Soledad.
As we traipsed through the underbrush closer to the research station, we turned off on a trail toward another, more grandiose waterfall. We paused halfway down, however, as the raucous calls of the gallo de la peña became clear. We focused on a towering old growth tree about 30 meters (100 feet) from the trail with about ten individuals. They bopped their bright orange heads at random intervals with grating squawks in between. We watched in complete silence for 20 minutes until they migrated to a tree farther in the forest, following the unimpressed female. Sophie was pleased with the experience, so we retired to Soledad.
We awoke early the following morning at 5am to rain bombarding the tin roof. Regardless, we unzipped our sleeping bags, pulled on all our rain gear, and set out to hike to the peak of Candelaria. Within the first few switchbacks up from the research station, we realized that the trek would be more challenging than we expected, which is an understatement. The deep mud reached above our ankles and sucked off our rubber boots. The steep incline caused us to slide backward with each squishy footfall forward. We continued climbing upward for five hours out of the humid forest surrounding the research station, into a region with giant palms, then an ecosystem brimming with mosses. We reached the higher camp—a glorified tent for 15 people with a fire pit—soaked to the bone and dripping, yet the rain had no intention of stopping. Fortunately, Sophie, Isabella, and Kelsey are true adventurers and maintained positive attitudes for which I was grateful; I was struggling to keep my spirits up. I did feel guilty for dragging Darwin with us to spend his Saturday drenched, shivering, and muddy hiking up a mountain of 1,000 meters (3,000 feet) with overambitious women. Yet, his demeanor also remained optimistic.
Over a dwindling fire and an assortment of snacks from peanut butter on tortillas to orange-flavored gummy candies, we decided that continuing to hike up to the peak, at least another two hours of trekking, would not be feasible nor worth the effort with the rain. The glimpses of views we had on the way up revealed a continuous fog obscuring all visibility and we imagined the panorama from the top would be no different. Yet on the descent, the pouring rain let up and with it, our mood improved. Isabella and Sophie asked Darwin to teach them the Spanish version of our nursery rhyme, “Rain, Rain, Go Away” to bring out the sun. After about ten minutes of practice, their singing could be heard throughout the jungle.
Just before we arrived back at Soledad, the sun pushed through the heavy clouds and painted the plants and trees in a layer of gold. The shades of green unveiled with sunlight in the cloud forest are innumerable. The individual textures become vivid. Straight linear vines. Serrated fronds of the giant and epiphytic ferns. Plump lichens and lotus-shaped bromeliads. As a girl from the driest desert in North America, it is easy to fathom my infatuation with this vivacious corner of the world.
We returned to the research station with the sun and lazy afternoon clouds. We climbed to the second floor to peer out at the quintessential vista, sighing in exhaustion and contentment. The following morning we would hike back down to El Placer and my friends would return to the civilized commotion of Quito. But for those moments, we steeped in the tranquility of the reserve.
The pilot yielded substantial feedback for incorporation into EcoMinga’s plans for expanding ecotourism opportunities in their reserves, especially in Cerro Candelaria. The reserve and potential experience within it are distinct nationally and internationally. EcoMinga ecotours would allow foreigners to immerse themselves in the magic of the cloud forest and embed in them the need to protect it. These types of tours would also show the community the value of preserving their environment. Sophie, Isabella, Kelsey and I thoroughly enjoyed our tour despite the apparent challenges (these would likely be excluded from other ecotours). I hope this experience will soon be available to others as an effective means of supporting conservation in this very special area.