Dugout transport: Locals use hand-carved canoes to drift along the river. All photos by Kimberly Conger © CARE 2001.

Day 3: Profits without Plunder
Through the screened window at the side of my bed I can see the morning mist and orange glow of the sun on the forest canopy across the Cayapas River. After dressing and eating a couple of hard-boiled eggs and some banana chips, I make my way to the river's edge and carefully balance onto the narrow canoe. Today we are journeying into the rainforest to visit the Afro-Ecuadorian community of Chispero.

Rain begins pelting down on us as the bow of the canoe comes to rest in the sand when we reach the landing point for Chispero a half-hour later. We scuttle up and around the embankment, sliding over slick fallen leaves to a narrow path that leads us under the forest canopy. Broad puddles form under our feet as we stride into the rainforest, vanishing almost immediately into the permanent dusk of titanic trees stitched half-heartedly together with vines.

"Over the past 50 years, clear-cut logging has destroyed a large part of this forest," says Jody Stallings, CARE SUBIR director. "Last year, the lumber monopoly dropped the price from $1.55 per cubic foot to $.34. So they were able to get a lot more wood for almost nothing. The monopoly drives more than 70 percent of the country's plywood out of the surrounding buffer zone without much thought for the regeneration of land."

Muddy trails lead deep into Ecuador's coastal rainforest.

CARE has been working with communities along the Cayapas and Santiago Rivers to increase the value of the forest and protect it. Through an active, participatory approach, these communities have developed conservation management plans to make the most of their timber resources. "In the past, when people cut trees to earn a living, they had two alternatives. Either they went into the forest, selected the largest, most valuable tree, cut it down, hauled it to the river and floated it downstream to Borbón, or they sold exploitation rights directly to wood companies, earning a mere $5 per tree," says Stallings. "But now they have another alternative, which you'll see in Chispero."

Our shirts dampen with perspiration and water from the thick morning air. Falling rain reaches the forest floor by rolling down branches and trunks or falling in a fine spray. The calls of birds and choir of insects pierce the jungle as we pick our way around massive exposed tree roots. Our boots are sucked into the mud, then burped back out with every careful step we take. Many puddles are deceptively deep and our pants are soon coated with mud. For two hours we hike as the narrow, muddy trail leads us to our destination. Lines of leaf-cutter ants cross our path bearing triangular pieces of foliage that resemble tiny green sails.

Soon we hear the sound of a chainsaw bellowing just ahead of us.

Cutting with CARE: The Corozo brothers manage and conserve natural resources.

Three Brothers, a Chainsaw
and a Plan
"Usually a handful of people work together to split up a tree," says Damian Villacres, a forestry engineer with CARE's partner organization Jatun Sacha, as we approach a group of cutters. Then, Villacres yells out a greeting in the local dialect to catch the cutters' attention during an intermission in the gasoline-powered noise. A few seconds later, someone yells back to let us know their whereabouts in the jungle maze. Traipsing off the beaten path, slashing through mounds of vegetation, we walk up to a fallen mascare tree where three barefoot young men wearing shorts greet us with smiles.

"These are the Corozo brothers," says Villacres, shaking their hands and making introductions among a swarm of strange-looking bees that gather around fresh cut wood. "We worked with them to develop a conservation plan."

Standing in front of a block of logs, Jose, 36, hands the bulky chainsaw to his brother Eduardo, 25, and explains that taking turns, the three of them can cut about 20 beams a day. And they carry them to the river by hand.

"We use strength of hand and the strength of the river to move wood. Last year, we got $48 for 12 beams, but now, because our land is managed, we get $60 through a local organization called La Red," he says.

By conserving their native habitat now, communities will have an income year after year, for generations.

"Communities like Chispero that have a long-range conservation plan work on a 30-year rotation. So rather than cutting all the big trees in one area, they cut only one or two trees per acre before moving on to another part of the land," says Stallings. "They also are trained on minimum impact felling techniques."

"These people put in a lot of extra effort to move around, measure and mark trees by species and size. Marked trees run between two to four feet in diameter. Anything less is not marked. By the time the rotation is complete, smaller trees will be larger and ready to cut and the cycle can start again. This provides an income not only today, but also year after year, for generations.

"Some species of trees are on the verge of extinction and won't be touched at all," continues Stallings. "A number of hollowed trees are also left for birds to nest in. For example, the Lek species of bird flocks around one tree for mating purposes. We keep a close eye on those trees and protect them."

Kids in San Miguel play soccer on a rain-soaked makeshift field.

CARE also is working with an international certifier to get the green seal for timber that is logged under these types of conservation plans. The certification doesn't necessarily mean communities will get a better price for their wood, but it does let vendors know that these communities are abiding by international standards to harvest native forests in an ecologically, economically and socially responsible way.

According to Stallings, who has worked on SUBIR since August 1991, "The certifier was reviewing the management plans and observing their timber-cutting practices. But when the price dropped last year to $.34 per cubic foot, these communities stopped cutting and the certification was put on hold because there was nothing to observe. In February, we were able to advocate for $1 for the managed timber, so they are cutting again and the certification process will continue. We should have the green seal in July."

As the Corozo brothers get back to work, we make our way to the forest path.

We make excellent time through the chlorophyll cinema, listening to birdcalls that sound like a distant ship's foghorn.

The day's end: A sunset view from the CARE field house in San Miguel.

Exhausted but exhilarated, we arrive back at the river around 3 p.m. The sun peeks out as we sit on a huge rock watching local residents paddle by, as we take a breather before getting in the canoe.

The weather, which had been holding clear, quickly turns savage, dumping buckets of rain on us in the minutes before we pull up to San Miguel. We hurry past a group of teenagers playing soccer in a puddle-filled clearing, up to the shelter of the field house.

After a light dinner of shrimp and rice, we go out on the porch to watch a sunset that would bankrupt the English language to describe.