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DGIS-WWF Tropical Forest Portfolio

From heights more wuthering than you would expect so close to the Equator, down tosteamy lowlands, Sangay National Park covers the eastern side of the EcuadorianAndes and the western extreme of the Amazon basin. 'A wilderness in its truest sense',the Lonely Planet guidebook says.To keep it that way, Fundacion Natura,WWF’sassociate organisation in Ecuador, is seeking alliances with highland peasants andlowlanders - settlers and Indians - just outside the park. But what will happen, someday soon, when a fine new road crosses the area?

Finding Defenders for a Tropical FortressPeople and Conservation in Ecuador's Sangay National Park

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•• LLoossiinngg ggaammee

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Living Documents

EquadorDef 06-03-2001 12:08 Pagina 1

5,400 metres high; its eastern limit is tropical, at aheight of around 800 metres above sea-level. Sangayis a special park. It is not just conservationists whosay so - conservationists, after all, are tempted to callany area ‘special’ that they can lay their hands on.Here is what an unbiased source, the well-knownLonely Planet guidebook to Ecuador, says aboutSangay: it is ‘one of the most remote andinaccessible areas in Ecuador’, which ‘provides anincredible variety of terrain’. Some of ‘its terrain isso steep, rugged and wet (over 400 cm of annualrainfall in some eastern areas) that it remains awilderness in the truest sense’. These ‘thicklyvegetated slopes east of the mountains are the hauntof very rarely seen mammals such as Andeanspectacled bears, mountain tapirs, pumas, ocelots,jaguarunis and porcupines.’ (The guidebook is notup-to-date regarding the park’s size, which it puts atjust a quarter of a million hectares.)

Sangay is also special because, protected as it is bymountains, rivers and dense forests, it is a naturalfortress of sorts. Therefore, it is under no immediatethreat, or no immediate severe threat anyway.Limited numbers of people regularly enter it andeven fewer live inside its boundaries. This meansconservation has a fairer chance than in many otherplaces. Fundación Natura, WWF’s Ecuadorianassociate organisation, is trying to seize on thatchance. The following stories report on their attempt.▲

Few countries have a higher number ofendemic species than Ecuador.

Its number of species not found anywhere else in theworld is 26 in mammals, 37 in birds, 106 in reptiles

and 138 in amphibians. For that reason, as well as forits general abundance of animal and plant species,this modest-sized republic - bigger than Britain, butsmaller than Italy - ranks among the countries of so-called ‘megadiversity’.

A disproportionate share of this is concentrated intwo regions: the famous Galápagos islands, whichwill not be dealt with here, and the eastern rainforestregion. The latter is under threat: at 200,000 hectaresa year, deforestation is fast-paced. This is causedpartly by agricultural development, which extendsthe cultivated area by 3 per cent a year - the secondhighest rate in South America. Logging and oil-drilling do the rest.

Part of Ecuador’s natural riches has been granted acertain degree of official protection. Again,Galápagos are the best known example, but also onthe mainland, an increasing number of national parksand other forms of protection have been established.At the moment, they number twenty-four, coveringsome 20 percent of the national territory.

One of these is Sangay National Park, an area ofjust over half a million hectares situated on theeastern flank of the Andes mountains. Its highestpoint is the volcano of the same name, which is over

• 2 •FINDING DEFENDERS FOR A TROPICAL FORTRESS PEOPLE AND CONSERVATION IN ECUADOR'S SANGAY NATIONAL PARK

LIVING DOCUMENTS DGIS-WWF Tropical Forest Portfolio

A fair chance for conservation

Mountain tapir WWF-CANON/JUAN PRATGINESTOS


get the sort of budget it takes for proper parkmanagement. Therefore, local allies have to befound.’

He speaks while we are winding our way towardsa group of people that Natura hopes will becomesuch allies: the community of Atillo, in theeasternmost part of the Andes mountains. When weenter the valley, the windscreen of our vehicle seemsto turn into a television screen. An impressivelywide, brownish green landscape unfolds, bounded onboth sides by mountains that are higher than theirgentle slopes suggest and overarched by a blue skywith some large very white clouds. The smoothemptiness of the hill-sides is only occasionallyinterrupted by herds of seemingly tiny cattle,accompanied by colourful speckles on horseback.The comfortable warmth and pleasant music in thecar add to the sensation of being a mere spectator,admiring a recorded scene.

When we reach the group of villagers that havebeen waiting for us, the spell is broken by car doorsswinging open and letting in the cold. The company

Atillo valley is cold and barren. People keepthemselves warm by wearing several layersof clothes. Their small houses are thatched

with bundles of long straw all the way downto the ground, a form of insulation which

makes them look like heads with wigs. Whilebiologists disagree whether this was a

wooded area in the past, it is as good astreeless nowadays. And cropless, since the

frequent frosts will not even let potatoesgrow, not to mention cereals or fruits.

Welcome to one of WWF’s tropicalrainforest conservation projects.

‘There is little political support in Ecuador forconservation’, says Jorge Rivas. He is in charge

at the Riobamba office of Fundación Natura, a Quito-based foundation that is associated with WWFInternational. ‘Inefan, the government agencyresponsible for forestry and natural areas, does not


‘This is Ecuador’s best-managed national park’

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inside, into the narrow passage where two occasionalvets, bending astride over the agitated animals, givethem a jab in the neck. Some recalcitrant bulls haveto be lassoed - vaguely unsettling to see Indians castfor that part - and tugged into the passage. Thestrongest of them manage to drag their owners intothe opposite direction, which earns them roars oflaughter. While the men do this rough job, a group ofwomen shoos and waves back animals that try toescape through the gate. Only one or two womenbring a small herd of their own for vaccination.

When all the animals near the corral have had theirinjection and the owners have paid their dues toOlmedo (since an amazing number of Atilleños haveChacha as their family name, only first names will beused from here on), several villagers vie with eachother to offer their horses to the vaccinators. Thatsettled, the company sets off for the next herd.

Fiercely guarding their independence What is all this to do with protected areamanagement? Obviously, there must be someconnection with Sangay, a national park and UnescoWorld Natural Heritage Site, a bit further east. Buthow does preventing foot-and-mouth disease in Atillohelp Sangay’s main endangered species, the tapir andthe spectacled bear, neither of which can get infected?

The answer lies in the fine new road that passesthrough Atillo. While he drives up the valley, Rivassays, ‘When it’s ready, it will connect Guamote, westof here, to Macas, in the Oriente. There’s thirteenkilometres missing at the moment and constructionhas recently been suspended for lack of funds. But Ithink we should expect it to be finished within a fewyears. There have been plans to build it since earlythis century. Some pioneers then settled along the oldcolonial bridle trail, expecting the road to followsoon. But for a long time, nothing came of it. Still,when Sangay National Park was proclaimed in 1976,the planners took care not to touch the trail. Then, in1990, the government started building the road afterall. Unfortunately, it has been designed in such a waythat it runs a bit north of the old trail in some places.As a result, some eight kilometres of it actually docross a tip of the park after all. We are getting there ina little while.’

But first, we get to a barrier across the road. UponRivas’s hooting, a young soldier comes running outto open it. Then, we pass two small lakes, one ofwhich has a bump-shaped island all covered in forest,like a camouflaged helmet. Soon after, we cross thepass, and at once Atillo’s grim beauty is left behind.It feels like getting off a long-distance flight:suddenly, the sun is shining, the air is pleasantlywarm and the valley we look down on is as lush anddeep-green as any tropical forest.

that welcomes us with numerous hand-shakes looksworried. An untypically tall man with a deep voicecalled Olmedo Chacha, the treasurer of the localcattle-raisers’ association, explains why. ‘We knowyou asked us to collect all the cattle near the corral,so you could make a quick job of vaccinating them’,he says. ‘But we think some of them have caughtfoot-and-mouth disease already. So we thought, wehad better keep the herds separate, to stop theminfecting each other.’

Rivas and his colleague Óscar Yepes agree. Thequestion now is how to vaccinate some eight hundredanimals spread over a wide area, with only twovaccination sets available. (Earlier on, thecommunity claimed they only had some twohundred. One of the aims of Natura’s vaccinationcampaign is to find out the real number.) They decidefirst to do the few dozen heads that have beenbrought down to the agreed venue and then let two ofthe Natura team move from one herd to the next,starting from the highest part of the valley.

The cattle are driven into the corral and, once



Atillo valley

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The eight kilometres of road that cut through thepark are not the main problem, Rivas continues. In1992, the Ecuadorian government extended the parksouthwards. This may sound like good news forconservationists, but it was a dubious gain: while thepark’s size nearly doubled, problems andcontroversies multiplied. All of a sudden, fortykilometres of the road were within its boundaries.Local communities had not previously beeninformed, much less had they had a say in the matter.

They reacted furiously. The people of Playas, thepersevering heirs to the pioneers that settled the area



Landscape

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Sangay National Park

Seen from the air, Sangay National Park resembles nothing so much as a huge green slide. From theAndes mountain range in the west to the Amazon basin in the east, it plunges from over 5,000 metresabove sea-level to just 800.The average temperature range traces the same curve, from refrigeratorto greenhouse values.The wide variety of natural conditions makes for a stunning diversity of plantand animal species. In the whole of eastern Ecuador, 1,662 different orchids have been described ataltitudes between 300 and 3,000 metres, a good number of which are thought to occur in Sangay. Anestimated 500 bird species live in this area, as well as several endangered mammal species,including the mountain tapir (Tapirus pinchaque) and the Andean spectacled bear (Tremarctusornatus).The Sangay National Park also plays a crucial role in watershed conservation.Theoretically, the parkcould provide most of Ecuador with clean drinking water, while the hydropower plant on the Río Pauteis already one of the country’s main sources of electricity.Politically, the park extends acrossfive provinces: Chimborazo,Tungurahua, Cañar and Azuay inthe west and Morona Santiago inthe east.Within the park, thereare hardly any humansettlements, with the exceptionof a small colonisation zone inthe south. Just west of the park,population pressure hastraditionally been high.This areais inhabited by Quechua (orQuichua) Indians, most of whomare peasants. Until the 1960s,population density in theAmazon basin was extremelylow. Outside a small number ofold colonial towns, theinhabitants belonged to severalindigenous ethnic groups, suchas the Shuar. In recent decades,colonisation from the west hasbrought in mestizos andQuechua Indians, resulting in acertain degree of modernisationwhich extends even to Shuarcommunities.

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Park guard and Playas resident Gonzalo Llerena -an elderly, wiry man sporting a martial whitemoustache, who declares he will ‘defend Sangay likea lion, till the bitter end’ - has experienced just that inthe flesh. ‘I’ve been treated with hostility there manytimes. And on two occasions, they were really out toget me. What I remember most was the time when Icrossed Atillo on my motorcycle and I was stoppedby a crowd on the road. They meant to keep me there,as a hostage I guess. But my bike saved me. I had puther into first, so she wouldn’t stop moving. Theyhadn’t a clue what to do about it. After a while theygot sort of fed up with the situation and returned herto me. They just told me to go to hell.’

Admittedly, as a clash, it didn’t amount to much.In two other villages around Sangay, Alao and Nuevede Octubre, disgruntled peasants succeeded inkidnapping Inefan officials, high officials even. Theywere both beaten up and one of them was nearlykilled by drowning. But Llerena’s adventures doshow how tense the relationship between Atillo andInefan is.

Or was, rather. To Álvarez’s mind, everything inthe park is lovely nowadays. ‘We really co-operatewell now, Atillo and us.’ He and Llerena pass throughthe community waving and greeting. And thewooden lodge along the road inside the park, whichis the operating base for Llerena and some otherguards, has been built with Atillo’s consent; theywouldn’t have let them a few years ago.

All of which has come about thanks to twochanges. One: an agreement signed in 1995, in whichInefan guarantees that private property along the newroad will be respected. The road and its southernfringe will be converted into a buffer zone, as will thedensely populated patch in the south. ‘And of course,we’ll keep to our word’, Álvarez assures. ‘If not, Iwill have to move abroad!’The agreement,incidentally, was signed after a meeting of all partiesinvolved, attended by hundreds of exasperatedvillagers. ‘That put a lot of pressure on Inefan’, Rivassays. ‘Not a very good negotiating strategy.’ But he

in anticipation of the road, suddenly foundthemselves back in the midst of a protected area, withall the constraints on exploitation that that entails. Inthe southernmost part, the park now comprised adensely settled patch of limited natural value - whythe planners should have wished to include it wasanybody’s guess. In two villages, whose communalareas had remained outside the new limits, peoplefeared that some of their private land might havebeen swallowed up by the park. By the time theconfusion was cleared - the state did not evenproperly inform its citizens after the deed - their fearsproved well-founded. One of these villages wasAtillo. People must have remembered the fate ofthose pioneers in Sangay’s Palora valley, years ago,who had been allotted plots by the state land reformand colonisation agency, Ierac, and who werewaiting for their official titles. Then, from one day tothe next, they were told their new land belonged to aprotected natural area. They were forced to leavewithout compensation. As it happens, Atillo is unlikemany other rural communities in the EcuadorianAndes. Before the land reform of the 1970s, most ofthe mountain peasants led miserable lives as so-called huasipungueros (‘wasseepoongayros’), near-serfs bound to an hacienda. Not so the people ofAtillo, who led difficult lives as independentherdsmen. They have a long tradition of jealouslyand fiercely guarding their independence.Predictably enough, being deprived of land that waslegally theirs did not go down well with them. Aclash with the national parks authority, Inefan, was amere matter of time.

‘But it wasn’t just us they fought’, emphasisesInefan’s Vicente Álvarez, a middle-aged man ofwinning manners who is in charge of the western halfof Sangay. ‘Atillo would not let anyone enter thecommunity. No state agency, no scientists, not eventhe Catholic Church.’



Park guard and Playas resident Gonzalo Llerena

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management and the local communities have acommon interest there: keeping the settlers out. Atillodoes not have the right to do that, but no-one can enterthe park from the west without their noticing. Inefan,on the other hand, which is entitled to summon andeven force people to leave, doesn’t have the numbersof personnel to keep a sufficiently close watch on thepark. (Much to Álvarez’s frustration. ‘In Quito, thegovernment employs advisers to advisers and paysthem two or three thousand dollars a month’, hecomplains. ‘But in 1993, our guards, who earn justover a hundred dollars, were offered a premium toquit. We were left with only sixteen of them, out ofover thirty. This was a year after the Ministry doubledthe protected area’s size!’ If the local population is atthe mercy of government whims, they may findcomfort in not being the only ones.)

So Atillo and Inefan could mean a lot to eachother, if only Atillo could be persuaded that they maystand to gain, not lose, by co-operating. But forpersuasion, a minimum of trust is required. And the1995 agreement may have laid to rest thecommunity’s most tormenting fears, it takes more fortrust to be built.

This is where today’s vaccination campaign comesin, as well as other support activities. With foot-and-mouth disease raging in nearby provinces, anyonehelping Atillo to save their cattle will be welcomed.‘We are donating it to the cattle-raisers’ association’,Rivas explains. ‘They sell it to their members. Therevenue goes into a fund from which they can financein advance the cost of a new round of vaccinationwhen some other epidemic looms.’ Still, Naturausually stresses the point that giving gifts is not thename of their game.

Making it illegalSo let’s assume Inefan, Atillo and neighbouring localcommunities will succeed in keeping new-comersfrom settling, logging and hunting. Next problem:who will keep these communities from damaging thepark themselves?

Surely, one of the aims of the project’s supportactivities is to make Atillo’s economy both moreproductive and more sustainable, alleviating thecommunity’s poverty without impoverishing theirnatural resources. But at the same time, thanks to theroad, it will be more tempting than ever to enter theforest and take its products to market. In the buffer-zone, it would not even be illegal.

‘Well, that depends’, Álvarez says. ‘We may makeit illegal.’And he proceeds to explain the subtleties ofEcuadorian forestry legislation. It amounts to ageneral ban on felling trees unless two legalrequirements have been met: a land managementplan, approved by the National Agricultural

too thinks that the agreement should be observed.Two: the participatory approach to conservation

that has been proclaimed official Inefan policy inSangay. It must be the origin of Álvarez’s pet phrase,‘the decisive role of the community’. But theparticipation thing does not seem to sit easily withhim. However genial his way of dealing with people,he also perceives a ‘need for control measures’ insettled parts of the park. He has, after all, beenworking in Sangay right from the start in 1976, anduntil recently, this was a conventional gazette-and-guard conservation effort. Not for Natura to mock iteither - it has been supporting Inefan since 1989, mostof the time through a debt-for-nature swap scheme.Only under the current project, local people’s rightsand demands are being considered more seriously, thebetter to protect nature - remember Rivas’s words thatthe park ‘needs allies’.

The Atilleños potentially make most useful allies.The new road is bound to attract settlers, who willgrab land, cut trees and hunt for game. So the park


Cattle grazing on cleared land that was once cloud forest, Cosanga Valley

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But even if the worst comes to the worst, SangayNational Park need not be given up as a bad job. Ithas two important assets which have always come toits rescue: size and roughness of terrain. ‘Of its totalsurface area, which is over half a million hectares,three quarters to 80 per cent are perfectly safe’, saysÁlvarez. ‘In spite of the road, in spite of the settledbits in the South. I even think, as far as the original,northern half of the park is concerned, humans havenever set foot on 90 per cent of it. In the sixties, anaeroplane crashed a bit further east. The approximatelocation was known, but the wreckage wasn’t founduntil fifteen years later.’

‘This park is a model’, agrees Günther Reck, ateacher in natural resource management at one ofEcuador’s leading universities, who happens to passwith a group of students. ‘Even the road does notaffect more than 20,000 hectares, I think. Unesco hasclassified Sangay as a World Natural Heritage Site atRisk. Rubbish, I call that. It will just lead journalistsin their usual ignorance to write alarmist storiesabout ‘a park on the brink of disaster’. Or somejournalists anyway. ‘Actually, this is the best-managed national park of all Ecuador.’

A sudden downpourAtillo valley looks less hospitable than ever when weget back. The sky has become overcast and the windhas risen. We have just passed the two lakes, whenwe are stopped by a small group of ill-tempered men,

Development Institute (Inda) and a permit issued byInefan. ‘In the corridor along the road, we will try toco-ordinate with Inda in such a way that rational,sustainable exploitation is ensured’, Álvarezannounces. What he fails to mention is that the Inefanthat issues logging permits is not the green-at-heartnational parks branch, but the hard-nosed money-making forestry department, which has a solidtradition of laissez faire. Convincing his forestrycounterparts to step up inspections will be asstrenuous a job as talking Inda into requiringmanagement plans based on a modicum of respectfor nature. There is a hopeful sign, though: thecurrent government, which has reasonableenvironmental credentials, has appointed aconservationist as Inefan’s executive director, ratherthan a forester as tradition would have it.

Alvarez has also placed some hope in the military.Ecuador’s armed forces have been looking for new rolessince the country’s 1998 peace treaty with itsarchenemy, Peru. Protecting national parks is one of thenew tasks they have found themselves. In recent years,an increasing number of tourists have been robbed inthese natural areas. More relevant to Sangay, which hasattracted few tourists so far, is the generals’ intention ofcracking down on illegal logging. The military post wepassed before was built for a different reason, but maycome in handy. What remains to be seen is whether theforces’ rank and file will decide to inspect and enforceor prefer to track down and cash in.



Few of the communities on Sangay’s western side rely as exclusively on cattle-raising as Atillo does. Growingpotatoes and cereals are at least as important in valleys such as Alao and Guargallá.Their major problem is lowagricultural production.Therefore, Natura, together with other organisations, offers advice on how to boostproductivity as an alternative to opening up ever more marginal fields, ever higher up the mountains. Keeping thebest rather than the puniest potatoes for next season’s planting, planting bushes to protect fields from wind and frostand constructing so-called ‘slow-formation terraces’ are among the suggestions. Moreover, Natura has organisedtrips to peasant communities elsewhere in the Andes where certain productive innovations have been successful.‘Seeing that something works in practice convinces them much more than any agronomist’s explanation’, Naturaofficial Óscar Yepes says. ‘At the same time, it helps to build trust between us and them.’As in Atillo, the question is, what’s it to do with the forest? Nothing, this time. But part of Sangay National Park ismade up of a different ecosystem, called paramo.Though high, cold and seemingly poor in biodiversity, this is aunique habitat, threatened in many parts of the Andes, but relatively safe in Sangay.Relatively, because the cattle of Alao en Guargallá might be, or become, a problem for the paramo.That, again,depends on the way the cattle-raisers manage the paramo. Experts have strong reason to think that with bettermanagement, their herds can increase without serious damage to the ecosystem. But to persuade the herdsmen tochange their ways, especially to quit their counterproductive habit of burning patches of land to stimulate regrowth,will take a lot of patience and trust.Interestingly, the Riobamba power company has decided to finance some small projects in Alao quite similar toNatura’s activities. Healthy paramo has an extremely high water-absorbing capacity. If the Alao paramo were to fallvictim to overgrazing and degradation, the important hydroelectric plant situated further downstream in the samevalley, might grind to a halt in a few years’ time.

A watershed of paramo importance


opportunity to take the floor. While frequent flashesof lightning render the whole scene somewhatsurreal, his worries are real enough. ‘Why are we nolonger allowed to gather firewood from our own landacross the hill?’

‘As far as I know, you are’, the reporter answerstruthfully.

‘If that’s so, then why do the soldiers at the check-point stop us from bringing the wood home?’

Of all the guys here, the reporter’s interviewer hasto be sober. Time to call for reinforcement. Yepesturns up.

‘The soldiers shouldn’t do that’, he says. ‘Theyhave no right to. As long as the wood or timber youbring is for your own use, that’s allowed. If you wantto market it, that’s different. I will have a word withthe commander at the check-point to sort this out.’

‘But you see’, Estuardo resumes, ‘sometimes wehave somebody ill, or there is some other familycalamity. That means we need money. More moneythan the little we have. So we go out, cut a tree andtake the timber to market. Not to destroy the forest,but to cure the ill person. Surely the park can’t forbidthat.’

‘You’re right’,Yepes says. ‘And the park doesn’tforbid that. That’s in the agreement we signed acouple of years ago, remember? All you have to do ismake a management plan for your land, have itapproved by Inefan and then ask a permit to cut sometrees.’

Estuardo asks no more, but his thoughts are easy toread.

Asking for favours‘We’re leaving’, Rivas announces. Another round ofdrinks, some more chatting.

‘Let’s go’,Yepes says, and he starts movingtowards the vehicle. The whole company movesalong, offering cups, insisting they be emptied.

After ten minutes or so, the Natura team are allseated, together with some villagers who will betaken back home. The windows are opened to discusssome last arrangements. Still, we can’t leave: severalmen, all drunk now, lean on the open window, theircrossed arms inside the car, and start to ask forfavours. They want to keep the vaccination sets. ‘Thesets aren’t ours’, Rivas explains. They want a vet tocome and see whether their cattle may have someother disease. ‘I’ll see what I can do’,Yepespromises. If necessary, they want another vaccinationcampaign. ‘Yeah, if necessary.’ Rivas makes theengine roar every now and again, but the small crowdaround the car are not impressed. They hand inanother cup of liquor, ask for yet other favours. Rivasinches the car forwards. Yepes inches the windowsup. Finally, the crowd splits. We’re off. ▲

Florencio, Atillo’s president among them. In bitterand barely polite words, they complain they havebeen waiting all day for the vaccinators. Rivas andYepes promise we’ll go down, pick them up andbring them.

It takes a while to find them in the vastness of thehill-sides. Most of the all-male company - the twovaccinators, treasurer Olmedo with his note-book inone hand and a bottle of liquor in the other, andseveral herdsmen, some on horseback, others onbright-coloured mountain bikes - are in high spirits,with the work being nearly done and the bottle nearlyempty. Rivas tells them they have forgotten the herdsat the top of the valley, which leads to some confusedbickering as to who is to blame.

When the company finally reaches the men theyforgot earlier today, the bickering flares up again andturns into a more heated argument between Olmedoand Florencio. ‘Come on, there’s work to be done,let’s get it over with’,Yepes tries to make himselfheard, but only when the vaccinators pick up theirtools and set off for the pasture do the owners of thecattle grudgingly follow them.

When they return, emotions seem to have settledinto shape. The treasurer brings out another bottlefrom heaven knows what hidden pocket. Other mendo likewise and in no time at all, cups of liquor arehanded about at a good rate. The drink sets the men’stongues wagging. All of a sudden, the Natura team,the visiting reporter included, find themselvesbombarded with questions.

‘Excuse me, señor’ - the speaker, named Eulogioand more than a little drunk, spits the word out -‘allow me to ask you, is it true that this land acrossthe hill that we have bought, this land that we havescrimped and saved for in our poverty, for you haveseen for yourself that we have very, very little here,just a few cattle, no fields, nothing - no, don’t youinterrupt me’, he snaps to a younger man, ‘ I want totell this ingeniero something he may not know yet.’Meanwhile, a sudden downpour forces us to standclose together so as to be all sheltered by the eaves ofFlorencio’s house. Turning to the supposed ingenieroagain, Eulogio continues, ‘Is it true, and do you thinkit’s fair, that the park will deprive us of our hard-wonpieces of land? Pardon me saying so, mister’ - hemakes it sound even worse than señor - ‘I shouldthink that the land that we’ve paid for, that is ours byrights, as we can demonstrate with official titles, thatit is up to us what we shall do with such land. Not upto Inefan, not up to Natura, not up to the armedforces, but up to us!’And without waiting for ananswer, he turns away. After the manner of old-fashioned literature, a roll of thunder underlines thelast words of his tirade.

The young man, Estuardo, seizes on the




The forest east of the road stretches all the way tothe Peruvian border and from there down to

Brazil. Not without its threats and disturbances, forsure, but still part of the world’s largest survivingchunk of tropical rainforest.

Not so the thin green line on the hazy westernhorizon. In the past thirty years, this area has becomesomething of an ‘island ecosystem’. Bordered by thedensely inhabited Andes mountains on one side, thePuyo-Macas strip on the other and main roads on thenarrow far ends, it will in biological terms have to


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Colonisation has cut a wide swathe through the forest

between Puyo and Macas. All along the metalled road

between the two Ecuadorean Amazon cities, pasture

dominates the landscape. Cattle chew their cud in the

shade of low trees and bushes. On both sides, only in the

distance is there a hint of closed forest. Dirt tracks fork

off, apparently to nowhere at all, but wooden signposts in

roughly painted lettering suggest otherwise: Juan Pablo,

Séptima Cooperativa, Sinaí.

Turningchainsaws

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manner of exploitation that was misguided: ill-informed and self-defeating. Like most tropicalrainforests, this was a rich ecosystem sustained by apoor soil. In the course of dozens or maybehundreds of generations, the indigenousinhabitants, such as the Shuar, had found out how tocope with this paradox. The development plannershowever, unaware or heedless of it, brought in fromthe Andes large numbers of settlers and advisedthem to clear the forest. The national developmentbank - which had money to burn, thanks toEcuador’s newly-won oil wealth - through much ofthe 1970s and 1980s easily gave credit for thepurchase of cattle.

But then, two things happened, one dramatically,the other creepingly. One: interest rates went up.Many borrowers defaulted, went bust, sold theirland and left to try their fortune in Macas, theUnited States or Spain. Two: pastures graduallydegraded, so that ever fewer cattle could besustained by one hectare. More land had to beopened up to maintain the size of the herds, moreyet to increase them. Farming too, while lessimportant here than cattle-raising, continuouslyneeded fresh soil. And after cattle-raising had lostmuch of its appeal, logging became an importantcash-cow. As a result, the Puyo-Macas corridorbecame wider and wider, even though the stream ofnew settlers had dried up. On its western side, thedeforested land has moved very close to the nationalpark, touching it in some places.

The Shuar, meanwhile, after discovering there wasno way of keeping the settlers out, had to changetheir lifestyle, because of shrinking land and forestresources. Their traditional form of agriculture, inwhich a mixture of crops and trees was grown insmall plots, has largely given way to standardmodern practice. They have also adopted cattle-raising. They have clung to hunting though, albeit toa lesser extent than in the old days - for lack of time.

Not a very glitzy jobTo a conservationist’s mind, Sangay’s east side is apromising place to work. The people living here donot really want to enter the forest (except for theShuar hunters). They find it too far from the road, toofar from the market, especially for timber. Theywould prefer to make a living around their homes,growing some crops, tending their cattle. If only theyknew how.

Which is exactly what Fundación Natura, WWF’sassociate organisation in Ecuador, is trying to findout. Development for the sake of conservation, somemay conclude, with a frown or without. But theywould only be half right. It is also conservation forthe sake of development: if Sangay cannot be saved

fend for itself. Another road, which is nearing itscompletion, cuts it in two bits of roughly equal size.The name of the area is Sangay National Park.

The Puyo-Macas strip, which has been opened upsince the mid-sixties, is the result of a classicalmisguided development effort. Not necessarilymisguided because a natural area was sacrificed.Ecuador needed land for its growing population, soit made sense to turn to the eastern one third of itsterritory, whose population was very small - mainlya number of scattered indigenous tribes. It was the




how to introduce home-gardening, how to improveguinea pig breeding and how to get a better pricefor products. Development organisations have longknown how hard it all is. So how does aconservation-minded group such as Natura goabout it? There is a real enough risk of repeatingthe mistakes that development organisations havemade in the past: speaking to and working forrather than with people, always knowing better,making too optimistic cost-benefit analyses,assuming everybody to have the same interests,regardless of age, sex and income, paying peoplefor their participation - the list of potential errors isendless.

In one respect, Natura is lucky. In areas wheredevelopment organisations have repeatedlyblundered, the intended ‘beneficiaries’ have grownsuspicious and weary of interference. On the otherhand, in much of the Oriente and certainly in thispart, people are relatively keen on any assistance andadvice they can get, especially from private groups.For as a man in Sexta Cooperativa put it, ‘We don’tmatter to the government.’

Woodworms‘This is turnip, these are gherkins, that’s radish.’Robert Samaniego’s forefinger points from one bedto the next. ‘I suppose you know cabbage, over there.Then we have soya beans and frijoles. And do yougrow groundnuts in Europe?’ (No, we don’t.)

A lot of work must have gone into this vegetablegarden. It is fairly large at 200 square metres,protected against poultry by a good fence and

from degradation and eventual deforestation, thewhole surrounding region’s resource-base (water,soil fertility, game, even its mild climate) will go towaste. Therefore, this project, is financed by theDutch government - not by its conservationdepartment, but from development co-operationfunds.

Finding out how poor villagers in a remote areacan make a more comfortable living is not an easytask. If it were easy, they would not be so poor. Noris it a very glitzy job. It comes down to patientlydiscussing and considering all the crucialtrivialities about questions such as whether and



Sexta Cooperativa

Losing game

Hunting and fishing used to be part and parcel of the Shuar life-style.Though this must have affected the forest faunasomewhat when they started these practices upon their arrival, several thousand years ago, their numbers were toosmall to threaten the ecosystem seriously. Moreover, they developed certain patterns, such as not fishing withbarbasco poison in certain seasons, which further reduced the impact of their exploitation. None of this could holdafter the settlers arrived from the late 1960s on.Though they never really took to hunting, they did destroy much ofthe natural habitat.The wildlife population dwindled accordingly. At the same time, the Shuar became cattle-raisersand spent more time on agriculture, so that on balance hunting and fishing grew less important. It is significant thatPedro Tiwi, the síndico or chosen leader of the community of Saar-Entsa, says that his father knew how to hunt fordeer, tapir, armadillos, pacas and all sorts of birds, but he himself - in his thirties now - has never learnt it from him,‘neither with a blowpipe and poisoned arrows, not with a shotgun’.Others have, and continue the practice. Mostly for the family table, but in some cases the bush-meat will be taken tothe market in Macas. Reducing the hunting and fishing pressure is among the Sangay project’s objectives.Tapir andmaybe some other mammals could be bred in captivity or semi-captivity. Fish-ponds are an obvious option. But whilethe settlers may seize on these opportunities, the Shuar are less likely to. ‘The urge to hunt is not just rooted in a needfor protein, but in their very culture’, Natura’s Robert Samaniego says. On the other hand, Shuar culture is far fromstatic - they are probably among the best of South America’s indigenous groups that have achieved a balance betweentradition and adaptation. And of course, they are well aware that there is much less game than before. ‘I have heardseveral of them say, ‘We should make sure that wildlife can recover’’, Natura’s Martha Núñez says hopefully.

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put everything else into the back seat. A number offamilies still grow some vegetables, but few of theyouth do. When this garden was first suggested, fivefamilies participated. We’re at thirteen now. And youcan see it’s well-kept.’ ‘Of course it is’, contributesJuan Tigre, one of the villagers. ‘We want a goodharvest. It’s a nonsense to buy vegetables at the goingprice if you can grow them for yourself.’

What else has Natura done here? ‘The garden hasbeen the main thing so far’, Tigre replies. ‘But theyhave also looked into this matter of how to fertilisethe soil and the possibilities of planting trees on ourprivate land. And they have given some advicerelated to cattle and pasture. The park? I don’t thinkit’s anything to do with the park. But they do say wehad better exploit natural areas with somemoderation. We should log with moderation. Theygive us suggestions on how to log better. No, we

perfectly tidy. Quite something for a communalenterprise. Samaniego, an agronomist on the Naturateam for the eastern half of Sangay, gives advice,pulls out a weed or two, demonstrates how to setseeds along with a handful of guinea pig manure andshows his guest around. In the meantime, the groupof men and women working the garden grows fromthree to about a dozen. This is Sexta Cooperativa, avillage - only formally a co-operative - of twentyfamilies between Sangay National Park and thePuyo-Macas road.

‘They are mostly cattle-raisers’, says Samaniego.‘They also grow some crops, but not in a big way -some plantains, sugar cane, yucca, camote, a little bitof coffee, too. But unfortunately, they have sort ofgiven up home-gardening. They used to do that backwhere they came from, in the sierra, but down herethe development bank insisted on cattle so much it


Squatters could settle along the new road through Sangay NP

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here, the temperature was usually some 22 tot 26degrees centigrade. Now, 30 degrees is common.That’s because in those days, there was more forestleft. Now, what do you think?’

‘Well, let’s discuss it’, one villager says hesitantly.Upon which everyone remains silent for a while.

‘We would like to breed trout’, another man finallysays. Samaniego is quick to respond. ‘Well, troutneed water that’s cool and rich in oxygen. But wecould try and find out for you whether other fishmight be more suitable for this area.’

‘Can we have both trees and pasture at the sametime?’ another one asks.

Chiundia explains how it all depends on the treespecies whether they survive outside the forest,where the soil is drier, poorer and more compact.‘Yeah, I’ve noticed’, somebody observes. ‘Sometrees die right away when there’s no more forestaround them. But the laurel survives for some nineyears.’

The discussion gets going now. Some would liketo master the technique of grafting, which is neededfor fruits such as avocado and tomate de árbol [sweet‘tree tomato’]. ‘That is quite difficult’, Samaniegowarns. ‘I have done it before’, somebody remarks,‘though I wouldn’t describe myself as an expert.’

settler folks don’t go fishing or hunting, that’s for theShuar. We are real woodworms, we are!’

Research in the forestThe Natura team are served lunch in the communitycentre, a one-room wooden building on the villagesquare-cum-football pitch. ‘We don’t have anelaborate plan for this community, or for any other’,Samaniego says when we are alone. ‘We have ageneral idea, of course. We would like to introduceagroforestry systems. But what those systems shouldlook like depends on what each community wantsand what the natural conditions are like in differentplaces. And we will consider entirely differentthings, too. We assume that the people we work withare capable of telling us what they need and want. Wewill then see if their ideas are likely to improve theirincomes or their diet, and if it’s sustainable.’

After lunch, a group of about twenty gather in thecommunity centre. Some of the women are busykeeping their children quiet; others are dozing. Mostof the men listen attentively to the Natura people.

Samaniego explains, as he has done duringprevious visits, what his organisation can offer them:agroforestry systems, improved pasture managementand other things the village may come up with. ‘Youknow how desperate things are in [the nearby villageof] Sinaí. The soil has impoverished so badly thatpeople are leaving. As we have told you before, that’swhat happens when all of the forest disappears and isreplaced by pasture. On the coast and in themountains, it’s not like that. But the soil in theOriente is fragile. It needs better care. Let’s hope wecan stop Sexta from going Sinaí’s way.’

Most of the company nod or mutter words ofapproval. Samaniego continues, ‘Another reason weare here is for the protected area, Sangay. Eighteenmembers of this co-operative are the owners of SelvaAlegre, also known as Ambusha, which borders onSangay. That’s your property, and it’s up to you whatyou do with it. But we would like to talk about theway it had best be exploited. Maybe we can make adeal about that.’

Samaniego’s colleague Ángel Chiundia, a forester,takes over. ‘With your help and permission, wewould like to do some research in Ambusha forest.Not to stop you from doing what you see fit, but tosee what valuable products it contains. Becausethere’s more to a forest than just timber. You can pickfruits, medicinal plants and a load of other things.Long-term resources. And if you harvest the timberin a well-planned, cautious way, it will benefit notjust you, but also your children and grandchildren.As long as the forest is there, the rivers will not dryup, the cattle will stay healthier, the climate will notturn hotter. You’ll remember, when you first came




elbow-on-the-car discussion with him and someother men. When he hops back in, he says, ‘Yep,we’ll pay them a visit next week. See what we can dohere. They seem quite eager.’

Boycott the middlemenNext day. The rain is pouring down, but the Naturateam stay dry on the veranda of Luz Suscal’s woodenhouse in Quinta Cooperativa. Time for a laid-backchat about how things are going.

‘I was kicked by a horse the other day’, Suscalsays, and she shows an impressive black spot on herupper arm.

‘Ay, Dios mío’, says Martha Núñez, ananthropologist who is in charge of the eastern part ofNatura’s Sangay project. ‘Were you hauling timberwhen it happened?’

‘No, I wasn’t. My husband, Hugo, does that. Butyou’re right in that there’s always that risk. One daythe horses will kick you, the next day, they will bolt.It’s a hard job, hauling timber is. And the mostinfuriating thing about it is the pittance we get for itfrom the gran señor who comes to buy it. While hedoesn’t as much as dirty his shoes.’

‘You sell too cheap.’‘I know. We know we get cheated all the time. But

every week, the children need money for this or thatat school. Where else do I find the cash?’

‘In [the northern province of] Esmeraldas, theyhave set up a network of communities to take a standagainst the middlemen’, Núñez says. ‘We know alawyer there that we could ask to come to Macas. Wecould have a meeting of all the communities in thisarea and let him explain how they did it inEsmeraldas.’

‘If you boycott the middlemen for a couple ofmonths, they’ll get the message’, Chiundia adds in.‘If we find an alternative source of income, you canafford not to sell for a while’, Núñez agrees. That’show it went in Esmeraldas. The middlemen had tochoose: either pay up or be forced out of business.We should calculate some time soon what would be afair price here.’

‘And when a plank is not quite perfectly sawed,they halve the price’, Suscal resumes her complaints.‘It’s hardly worth all the trouble. We have to hire achainsaw, buy fuel, hire horses. And when we cuttrees on somebody else’s land, they get half the price.I’d rather just keep hens. That’s way less trouble.’

Not all that much less, though, it turns out. Someweeks ago, Suscal and eleven other women bought ahundred chicks, which are kept in a coop behind herhouse. They decided to do this after an extension

‘Come to think of it, I have seen people do it in acouple of places’, Samaniego says. ‘Both men andwomen. And fast, too.’To which he adds, ‘You see,we would really like to know what you already knowand do, and then improve on it. If it can be improvedany further, that is. ‘There’s yet another thing youmight be interested in’, Chiundia says. ‘It’s calledagroforestry modules. Invented in Brazil, where itwas very successful in the Amazon region. It’s amixture of different crops on a small plot of abouttwenty by twenty. They grow on different levels,from short-cycle crops down on the ground up totrees. Costs are low and production is good. We havea German in Riobamba who knows all about it. Wecould bring him here.’

‘That would be great’, the answer comes.Before we take our leave, Samaniego and

Chiundia bring out a dozen or so little bags withvegetable seeds, some of them in quaint brightcolours - pink, blue, purple. The tiny seeds arepoured into large, callous hands, from where they gointo makeshift packagings - pieces of torn-up plasticbags, matchboxes, curled-up leaves - which arehandled with much care. On our way back to themain road, Samaniego calls on the president of aShuar community along the track. He has a short



Landslides along the Guamote / Macas Road

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women. Maybe that was becausewe were only men at the time, allabout 25 years old. We didn’tmake our wives and children comeover until two or three years later.At least we could offer themsomething by then: a little house,running water, even electric power.For suffering on your own is badenough, but to see your familysuffer, that’s different altogether.

In the beginning, theDevelopment Bank said, ‘Youhave to sow elephant grass, just

clear the jungle’. We didn’t knowbetter. We didn’t even sell the timber. The trees were just leftto rot, the finest woods, everything. That’s how we createdthe pastures. But they went bad in no time at all. The troubleis, the soil here needs a whole different sort of managementthan we were used to. In many places, there is just tencentimetres of topsoil. When you remove the vegetation, itwashes away instantly. In the sierra, people have grown theircrops on the same fields for centuries and the soil is stillfertile. Plants can root deeper there, which stops the soil frombeing washed or blown away. And the fields have morestones, which fertilise the soil.

Didn’t you know that? I’ll tell you a story to prove it. Therewas this rich man in the sierra who hired a group of labourersto clear a field of all the stones they would find. ‘Just throwthem into the river’, he said. But next year, instead of yieldinga rich harvest as he had expected, the maize came up poorerthan normally. And the year after that, it would only growknee-high. So he regretted what he had done, and he hired thelabourers again. ‘Get the stones back out of the river andspread them over the field’, he told them, and so they did. Thefollowing year, the harvest was better again. But it wouldnever be like it used to.▲

The above statements were made during a group interviewwith three men in Sexta Cooperativa: Segundo Chinchilima,Juan Tigre and Segundo Yunga.

‘Iwas the third man tosettle down here in

Sexta. No, I didn’t comestraight from Azuay. I hadbeen in other places for abit, west from here. But Ididn’t like any of them allthat well, so I packed mythings yet again - a ten-kilobundle was all I carried withme - and walked for ninehours, until I hit on this spot.

We were reallywandering from one place tothe next in those days. Andwherever we liked it, we would settle down. Depending onwhat the soil looked like, but also depending a lot on merechance: what the weather happened to be like that day,whether the river happened to be high or low, whatever. SinceI settled down here in Sexta, I’ve seen many others come andgo, looking for a good place to live, just like I once did. Andsome stayed, of course.

Back in the sierra, there was simply no land for us. Noirrigation water, either. New land had to be opened up. Whichcouldn’t be done there. There was none left.

I remember that around 1970, you would hear this radiocommercial all the time: ‘El Oriente es tu destino’ (theOriente is your destination/destiny). It said you could movestraight into a house in a street, all for free. That was a lie. Butwe only found that out when we got here. What they did giveus, though, was food. During the first two years, CREA [theofficial colonisation agency] and the Peace Corps providedfoodstuffs in exchange for us building roads, bridges andcableways.

In those days, it was all pure jungle here, pura montaña. Atfirst, we had nothing but our axes and machetes. With those,we built our first huts. In (the nearby community of) Sinaí webought some sowing seed. That’s how we began farming.

In 1973, just after establishing the co-operative, we wereattacked by the Shuar. It was such a frightening experiencethat some settlers fled back to the sierra. Apparently, theShuar believed we would grab their land and carry off their



‘At first, we had nothing butour axes and machetes’

Settlers in the Amazon usually get a bad press, especially in the industrialisedworld. Not without reason: colonisation is among the main causes of

deforestation, hence of biodiversity loss. But that is only one side of the story.Here is their side.

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‘Anyway, most of the chickens have remained ingood health’, Suscal says.

‘Only ten have died. But we have another problemnow: we have run dead out of compound feed, andout of money to buy it. That’s because three señorashave pulled out of our group. They could no longerafford it, they claimed. I’ve told them, it’s aninvestment, you stand to make a profit. But theywouldn’t continue, so we’ve had to return theirdeposit. And now we can’t buy the three bags of feedfor the chickens to reach their full weight.’

Núñez looks thoughtful. ‘We’ll see what we cando. Maybe we can help with you the feed when wereturn to Macas this afternoon. But are you sure thiswhole thing is profitable at all?’

Upon which the whole company tackles acomplex sum, adding costs for purchase of theanimals, feed, vaccinations, vitamins and fuel forlighting, estimating the amount of time needed forfeeding, killing and plucking, multiplying this by afictitious hourly wage, predicting the mortality rate,the weight of the survivors and their market price,and subtracting the full cost from the sales price.

‘Yes, you’ll make a good profit’, Núñez finallyconcludes. ‘Some 200,000 sucres (US$30) for eachof you, not counting the payment for hours worked.And that’s on the basis of a moderate market price. Ifyou can get seven thousand rather than six thousandsucres a pound, you’ll make a good deal more. So,what do you plan to do with the money?’

‘First, pay back everybody’s deposit’, Suscalanswers. ‘And then, the idea is to reinvest the profit,buying chicks again. It’s our capitalcito.

‘And what if your husbands want any of it?’ Núñezasks.

‘They can borrow some money if they like’,Suscal says, laughing. ‘With an interest!’

When we get back from Quinta, which is near theforest, to the main road, it turns out it hasn’t rainedthere at all.

‘That’s typical’, Samaniego says.

Buffer zone‘What worries me most is whether we will actuallybe able to identify and develop livelihoods that areviable alternatives to logging’, Martha Núñez says.‘We really have to work even harder on that.’

We are seated in a shiny, cool Chinese restaurantin Macas. The hot and dusty co-operatives and Shuarvillages seem far away - which is true in terms oftravelling time, but not in kilometres.

‘It’s all very well to keep chickens or bees or builda pond and breed fish. But you have to consider verycarefully if it’s really profitable, like we did in Quintathis morning. For one thing, you tend not to includethe opportunity cost, that is the income people could

worker of the Ministry of Agriculture had given atalk on poultry keeping. A one-off affair: he nevershowed up again. No follow-up veterinaryassistance, no commercial advice, nothing. Sloppywork, we all agree.

(Ironically, Natura gave a similar talk on poultry-keeping in the Shuar community of Paantiin. Not asubject to be thought of lightly, given the number andcomplexity of specifications for the coops, the feedand animal health care. But since Paantiin, which hadrepeatedly asked for this information, was outsideNatura’s priority area, they were told right from thestart that there would be no further assistance. Onecouldn’t help feeling that whoever would invest inchickens on the basis of the lecture was at a severerisk of losing their money.)

‘We didn’t know that some vaccinations had to berepeated after a couple of weeks’, Suscal says. ‘Andit’s hard to get a vet to come to Quinta in the firstplace. Some time ago, our guinea pigs were dying onus one after the other. When I cut one open, I found itwas full of yellow foam. But there was no-one to askwhat might be the matter.’

‘We will talk to some vets in Macas’, Núñez says.‘See if we can establish some sort of relationshipwith one of them for you.’



Transport east

of Sangay NP

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will have created aninformal buffer zonefor Sangay, becauseit borders the park.

‘The majortimber companyaround here,Arboriente, hassawmills in Puyoand Ambato, but notyet in Macas. Theyare active in thisarea, though notwithin in the park.We’ve alreadyspoken withcompany people, sothey know we arewatching them.

‘At the momentwe’re telling peopleit’s better to saveSangay as a fall-back for the future.If resources outsidethe park are usedmore efficiently,more rationally,they will last much

longer, we explain to them. They say they didn’tknow it was unwise to cut down all the trees - it waswhat the bank told them to do. We hope that later onthey’ll understand it’s best not to log it out.’

But that’s for the long term - longer than the fouryears the current project is planned to run. ‘True’,Núñez says. ‘And that is not just Sangay’s problem.In a study by WWF International, one or two yearsago, the conclusion was that Integrated Conservationand Development Projects cannot be expected toreach their objectives in four or five years. Doublethat, more likely.’ ▲

earn doingsomething else withtheir time.Especially withwomen, you’reeasily tempted topile more and moreburdens onto them,assuming they’rearound the houseanyway.’

Fortunately,some alternatives doseem to stand up tosuch scrutiny; notjust poultry-keepingand fish-breeding,but also at least oneproduct that comesstraight from theforest. ‘They have amedicine here,extracted from atree, which is calledsangre de drago’,Núñez says. ‘Itdisinfects and helpshealing. Here inMacas, it’s sold atsix thousand sucres a litre. In Quito, that’s the pricefor a two centilitre bottle!’

Nonetheless, timber is likely to remain animportant source of income. The challenge will be tokeep people out of Sangay nonetheless. ‘Oneimportant way of achieving that is by making surethey get a better price while at the same time drawingup management plans’, Núñez says. ‘We hope wewill be able to organise forest owners into a network,Maybe they could get linked with the ForestStewardship Council. If we can get the Ambushaowners to work according to a management plan, we



WWF’s Sangay project has the twin objectives ofconserving the National Park’s rich biodiversity andensuring the local population’s participation in themanagement of the area.More specific objectives include the following:• To reduce the pressure on the park exerted by the

human settlements in and around the park.• To minimise the adverse ecological and social impact

of the Guamote-Macas road, which is approachingcompletion.

• To make sure that the local communities in and aroundthe protected area participate in its conservation andmanagement and in the sustainable use of the bufferzones.

• To upgrade the official park administration, which is aresponsibility of the National Forestry andConservation Institute’s Directorate for Natural Areasand Wildlife.

Why this project?

Sangay NP


Which are the crucial problems that have to be solved tomake Fundación Natura’s Sangay project a success?

On the western highland side of Sangay, there is as yet noserious threat to the forest, since there is very little illegallogging in this area. On the other hand, overgrazing andmisguided natural resource management methods are realthreats to the paramo ecosystem on the western fringe of thepark and beyond. Sustainable levels of grazing and improvedvegetation management are in the best interest of both theherdsmen and the ecosystem. But to persuade them tochange their ways, especially to quit their counterproductivehabit of burning patches of land to stimulate regrowth, willtake a lot of patience and trust on the part of the Naturaproject officers. Fortunately the officers seem well qualifiedin this respect. The highlanders’ traditional antipathy toanybody who vaguely resembles an authority make the taskall the harder.

On Sangay’s eastern lowland side, there are three majorthreats to the forest: the advance of the agricultural frontiertowards the limits of the national park, illegal logging and thehunting practices of the Shuar Indians. The latter problem is

hard to tackle, since hunting is considered culturally, ratherthan nutritionally, important. However, the intensity ofhunting has declined significantly with the increasingimportance of agriculture and cattle-raising in the Shuareconomy.

Logging, though on a small scale, and clearing new landfor agriculture pose greater threats. Both can be countered byoffering alternative livelihoods. But this is not an easy task.The decisive question is ‘whether we will actually be able toidentify and develop livelihoods that are viable alternatives tologging’, as one of the project officers put it. Severalalternatives are currently being put to the test with the eagerparticipation of the local people, who have traditionally feltneglected by central government and developmentorganisations.

The third potential source of future ecological concern isthe road that will, within a few years, cut the park in two. Thiswill open up a large area to loggers, hunters and farmers. Boththe park authorities and the Natura project are aware of therisks and are taking pre-emptive action.▲



Looking forward


Acknowledgements

All texts written by Gaston Dorren of Bureau M&O - Environment & Development Productions

© WWF March 2001

Published by the DGIS-WWF Tropical Forest Portfolio based at WWF International.For further copies contact Astrid Bjorvik, Finance/Communications Co-ordinator,DGIS-WWF Tropical Forest Portfolio WWF International, Avenue de Mont Blanc 27, 1196 Gland, SwitzerlandTel: +41 22 364 90 16, Fax +41 22 364 06 40, E-mail: [email protected]

Cover pictures:WWF-Canon/Kevin Schafer Layout and design: MMS Grafisch Werk, Amsterdam,The Netherlands Production: Bureau M&O, Amsterdam,The Netherlands

This publication receives outside financing. Citation is encouraged. Shorts excerpts may betranslated and/or reproduced without prior permission, on the condition that the source isindicated. For translation and/or reproduction in whole,WWF International should be notified inadvance. Responsibility for the contents and for the opinions expressed rest solely with theauthor; this publication does not constitute an endorsement by WWF International or thefinancier.The material and the geograpical designations in this magazine do not imply theexpression of any opinion whatsoever on the part of WWF concerning the legal status of anycountry, territory, or area, or concerning the delimitation of its frontiers or boundaries.

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